The Metro Court, Port Charles, 2018

"Hello, I'm here to pick up an order for Anna Devane."

"Let me see. Yes, it looks like you ordered the chef's special for one."

Anna let out a deep sad sigh that seemed to deflate her very soul. "Yes, dinner for one."

"Alright, we're very backed up due to being short-staffed, if you could just wait by the bar. I'll check on your order."

"Of course, of course…" She tried her hardest not to groan. She had hoped to be in and out. Could nothing go right?

It was 6 o'clock on October 29th, and Anna was trying with all her being to keep her frustration at bay. This was no small feat considering what she had endured over the last 24 hours. Springing Britt from prison had put an end to any and all birthday celebration plans, and Finn's phone call that he would be working all night had buried those plans even further. She tried not to take it; personally, she could tell how sorry he was on the phone, but it was hard not to feel woebegone being alone on her birthday. She has expected at least a text from Robert, just a hastily sent 'Happy Birthday luv' and nothing more, but not even that came.

Things seemed fearfully flat, stale, and disagreeable, so that is how she came to stand waiting by her solitary self at the bar at the Metro Court. Anna turned around to survey the dining room, and her eyes narrowed when her gaze fell on a familiar face only a few short paces away. But she looked through him as if he wasn't there and passed her eyes on without a sign of recognition. However, it was too late. He looked at her with a rather smug smile and a shrug of his impeccably suited shoulders.

Nobody would have guessed, as she stood in the Metro Court, how her heart was seething with scorn. She would not have had the courage to come to this place, even for dinner's sake, if she had thought she would meet Valentin Cassadine. The mere sight of him opened up anew a fountain of bitterness in her soul. At this moment, he was the only living creature Anna abhorred, and she despised him with all the intensity of her intense nature. She and hers had sustained grievous wrongs at his hands, and there were times when she was convinced that she would rather die than take any notice of his existence. There was an open rivalry between Valentin and Anna now. He was a foe worthy of her steel, but she wasn't in the mood to battle. Not today.

She should have gotten dinner at Kelly's; she mentally kicked herself.

But Valentin wouldn't be ignored, no matter how hard she tried. He gestured to the chair opposite and smiled with charming courtesy. She looked at him sitting tall and distinguished-looking, impeccably dressed. There was a glint in his eye and a sardonic smirk that made her wary.

"You can't avoid me, so you may as well join me. I know you are waiting. Please have a seat.``

"No, thank you, I'm sure you are waiting on Nina," she replied. "No doubt you have a wonderful evening planned together," she said more tensely than she meant, her smile tight.

"Nina is getting to know her daughter Sasha. I want to make sure they have all the time they need to get acquainted," he said matter-of-factly.

Anna met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. By the pricking of her thumbs, she knew there was more to the story of why he was here and why he was engaging with her. So she waited patiently until she saw the telltale flush around his collar, confirming her suspicions that there was more to the story. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to blink. To her delight, Valentin broke first.

"Fine." He conceded, playing with his cufflinks absently. "She thinks I'm in a business meeting. And she wouldn't want to join me anyway, not if she knew the real reason I am here."

She knew he was trying to bait her into asking why he was sitting by himself in the Metro Court bar, but she didn't give him the satisfaction, mostly because she knew it would irk him, and that pleased her. Instead, with feigned nonchalance, she picked up the bottle. She was surprised by the image of a tall ship embossed on the label.

"Cutty Sark?" she scoffed, mostly out of surprise. "I can't see you enjoying a ten-dollar bottle of scotch. That's at odds with your refined tastes." She put her nose to the bottle and inhaled, then coughed at the acrid smell. Valentin chuckled and drank from his own glass.

"There was a time when this was all we could afford; you might not remember a time before WSB expense accounts or diplomats ready to throw money to impress you. I remember passing a bottle like this back and forth while you told me about your training exercises. And I remember that you used to do a great impression of Agent Williams and his unfortunate lisp. Word was you stole and pawned his pocket watch to buy a bottle of champagne, but then gossip, as usual, was most likely one-third right and two-thirds wrong."

He reached for the bottle and took it from her hand and picked up a spare glass and poured two finger's worth, and placed it in front of her. Anna weighed her options. She could walk away and wait for her food elsewhere or see where this impromptu trip down memory lane led. Her curiosity was too strong, and she knew that he knew that. But it was too late. He had her snared. She was too intrigued to move on, so she pulled out the chair and sat down.

"It wasn't champagne; it was a Constantino Vintage Port," she said a little stiffly but tolerantly.

Taking a small sip, she tried to ignore Valentin's eyes, now focused solely on her. She made a face as she swallowed the harsh golden liquid. It tasted of yellow plums, greenwood, and an aggressive hint of what her palette could only identify as furniture polish.

He watched her with amusement. "Good choice. You must have done your sleight of hand instructor proud."

"Pride had nothing to do with it." She said tersely.

He looked at her with an intensity that almost made her blush, but she was able to keep possession of herself, and she remained stoic under his gaze. She hated that he could read her like this. But she WAS very proud—so proud that she would have died rather than let the WSB recruits, many from the well connected and influential families, among whom she had queened about in her inexperienced youth, suspect how poor she was and to what straits she was reduced. So she had shown up in the common room with the most expensive bottle of port she could procure and proceeded to treat everyone who had given her a sideways glance at her worn shoes and second-hand suitcase.

The need to prove herself to people who did not give one fig for her wellbeing had been one of her biggest follies. It was not easy to be happy when your life was eaten up with loneliness and emptiness on the familial side and when, on the material side, all you had between you and starvation is the little stipend that the WSB Academy provided to charity cases. Her youthful obsession with wealth led to more heartache than she could reckon with at the moment. What Valentin, perceptive as he was to everything around him, didn't understand that she would have sacrificed everything but her pride for a little human companionship. At that time in her life, she felt very bitter and resentful toward God and the world for taking everything from her. She had nothing to care about, and that was about as untenable a condition to her as it had been to him. But then, when she knew him as Ivan, pride was still far stronger than her capacity for caring. It was the one thing she had never sacrificed and never—so she believed at the time—could sacrifice.

"Alright, so you are spending your evening drinking cheap scotch alone. So what's the occasion then?" She was annoyed at him as he sat looking so mysterious, taking pleasure in withholding his purpose from her and grinning about it to himself.

"Your birthday," he said; he then took a long draught from his glass, his eyes never leaving hers.

"My birthday," she repeated. She couldn't hide her surprise and felt an unwanted flush reach her cheeks. She cursed inwardly, knowing that his eyes would notice the smallest change in demeanor which is exactly what he wanted. She recovered as quickly as she could.

"You're in a hotel bar, alone drinking a cheap bottle of scotch on this particular day, my birthday. You have to be joking. Or you are up to something."

"Always so suspicious, Anna." he sat back, arms crossed, with that damnable smirk on his face. "I suppose you could say that this day is my birthday too...of sorts. It was the day I stopped being Ivan Theodore and started down the path to reclaiming my birthright and becoming Valentin Cassadine. The day I became stronger than the weak person who was so desperate to be noticed by you. So every year on this day, I drink to you and the role you played in me becoming who I am. Why don't you join me in a toast?"

Valentin watched her face carefully. If he was honest with himself, he knew that his anger towards her waxed and waned like the moon. Sometimes it resulted in a toast, other times a curse.

"I did notice you," she said coolly. "And I liked you as you were then; you didn't need the Cassadine name to be worthy of friendship."

She looked him straight in the eye, and Valentin suddenly fought the urge to look away. As their eyes met, the man started, and his face flushed crimson. In his attempt to catch her off guard, he did not feel the satisfaction that he thought he would, only heat around his collar as his blood flushed his skin. Valentin picked up his glass and took a long swallow of the burning liquid, and said nothing. But their exchange somehow stemmed the tension, and presently Anna was smiling rather triumphantly, thinking rightly that she had come off best in that unwelcome encounter. SHE, at any rate, had not faltered and colored and lost her presence of mind.

Valentin, for his part, decided that a subject change may let him regain the upper hand. Why every conversation with Anna turned into a game of chess, he couldn't say. It was almost pathological for them. He breathed a measured breath and took control.

"When I was young before I was sent away to school, there was an old woman who was put in charge of me. She used to tell me Russian folk tales at night. It was one of the only things I had to look forward to. And there was one story I would beg her to tell. Do you want to hear it?"

Anna took another sip of her scotch. It was bitter but was warming her nicely. She knew that this was her opening, she could politely decline and leave the table, but something kept her in her seat. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she just didn't want to be alone, or maybe she really did want more insight into his mind for leverage. All of these options were more comfortable to her than the real reason. She was enjoying his company despite herself. She took one more sip and then waved her hand for him to continue.

"I'll give you the abbreviated version. It's actually best told in the original Russian, but I imagine yours is a little rusty now that the Cold War is over."

She bristled, and he was glad to have found another chink in her armor.

"Let me begin. Once upon a time, there was a boy named Ilya. He was the runt of the family, something his grandmother, the cold-blooded matriarch of his Boyar clan, reminded him of daily and usually, followed by the words 'We should have just drowned you as a pup as we do with hunting dog's runts since you have no use.' Growing up, Ilya's health was always fragile, in a Dacha with no room for weakness. His elder brothers were cruel, his father was cruel, and his mother was dead. All that Ilya had to recommend him was his wits and access to the library. At a tender age, he was cast out of the house since only the strong were wanted there. So Ilya changed his name and made his way into the world. One day he met a Firebird that was caught in a hunter's trap. He freed it and was granted a wish. He wished to be strong and prosperous. The Firebird answered his request. Then one day, many years later, he returned to his childhood home wealthy and prosperous. He was welcomed in and celebrated with a feast in his honor. Then he poisoned his entire family over the dessert course, except for his father. He made him sign over the family estate, treasure and wealth before he plunged a knife into his heart.

"Good Lord," Anna exclaimed, almost choking on her scotch. "These were the stories you were told when you were young? You don't tell these to Charlotte, do you? No wonder your outlook on life was so bleak."

"My early life was bleak, but I enjoyed this one the most because it had a happy ending-"

"This was a happy ending? I'm afraid to know what the unhappy ones were like," she interjected incredulously.

Valentin ignored the interruption and continued. "It had a happy ending because the boy was able to show his family that they were wrong to underestimate him."

His meaning dawned on Anna, and she leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. "Just like your family underestimated you."

"The whole world underestimated me," he said dismissively.

"Not the whole world," she said. Their eyes met, and it was his turn to look curious. She left him waiting while she took a sip from her glass and then placed it down, leaned forward, and looked at him levelly.

"I never underestimated you," she said forcefully, "but you definitely underestimated me."

Valentin looked into the bottom of his glass and weighed his words carefully. Anna expected him to make a sarcastic quip in return, but he didn't. Instead, she was surprised to see his eyes shine overbright in the light of the room. His eyes were wells of deep emotion; regret, guilt, and pain swirled in their depths.

"You're right," he said, his voice full of emotion that made her heart lurch unexpectedly. "I see that now," he said carefully, then avoided her eyes. "I mistook cruelty for strength. The Cassadines always did, and I desperately wanted to prove myself to be one of them. To be the strongest, to prove I was worthy of the name."

"You were a worthy person without them. You always were, but I'm sorry you couldn't see it." she said softly as she regarded him for a moment with her warm brown eyes, "I'm sorry I couldn't make you see it."

Valentin tried to think of an off-handed remark, but her eyes were filled with so much unexpected compassion that he was caught off guard. He was grateful for it, and he felt the sudden need to reassure her.

"That was never your responsibility."

Almost out of instinct, Anna reached forward with her hand until her fingertips just brushed his. They both jumped slightly when they felt the shock of that touch arc through them. Anna quickly withdrew her hand and clumsily muttered an apology.

"Perhaps it's time for that toast." he lifted his glass. "Za Zdarovje. Za Vstrechu. Za nashu druzjbu." he reached to tap his glass to hers, and then he drank.

Anna took a sip. "To health, to our meeting, and to our friendship,'' she translated smoothly. Her Russian wasn't that rusty as she meant to prove. "That last part might be presumptuous given our history."

"It's a traditional toast, Anna. And when sharing drinks with someone, these phrases are in a logical chronological order. First, you politely toast to the health of the person who is sharing your drink. If it tastes good, you praise yourselves lucky that you met, and by the third, you can already see that this relationship is turning into a friendship."

"Let's not get carried away." All the snap had gone by this time. Anna actually laughed—a sound that caused Valentin to give a great internal sigh of relief. They then sat in silence. Each thinking. Each remembering. Each trying to forget.

"You know what question I ask myself over and over again about that night at the Academy on your birthday?"

"I don't know. What would have happened if I had kissed you in my room that night?"

"No. "What would have happened if I hadn't let myself be so angry when you didn't kiss me. "

This surprised her. She thought for a moment and then began carefully.

"You know, your friendship grounded me at a time when my whole life felt like plates spinning, ready to crash all around me. All I wanted was a relief from that pressure And...then you wanted more from me... Just like everyone else. Everyone always wanted more from me. I should have known, but I thought you were different. I thought you were the only person who understood what it was like to feel like a fish out of water. I thought that you could see me for who I really was. But even you were just focusing on what the WSB was turning me into rather than who I was. I was taught to use intimacy, romance, and seduction as a weapon of espionage. I was trained to use my body as a distraction, incentive, or a cover in any intelligence operation. That's what you wanted. You wanted to kiss Agent Devane, never Anna Devane."

Valentin was stunned, speechless by her words, so she leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice, laced with pathos.

"You wanted to know me intimately, but you already knew my secret self, the one I never showed to anyone. I think what hurt me the most was that it wasn't enough for you. I was trained to feign love and lust as needed to be alluring and complete a mission. It was exhausting. It was so liberating just to be plain old Anna with you. No pressures or expectations, just to sit and talk. I was as scared as you, doing my best to show no weakness. My childhood was as lonely and tragic as yours. As full of loss and sorrow as yours. In that, we were equals, and I think that's why we were friends. One lost soul saw another and wanted a companion.``

"Equals…" his voice trailed off. He stared into his glass before gathering all his strength and raising his eyes to hers. "For that one moment in time, we were, and then I destroyed our friendship and started down a dark path. I wish I could undo it. I think back to the night of Maxie and Nathan's wedding when our past finally came to light out on that terrace...If I could do things differently…" his voice trailed off.

"I remember that night. And you know what I member the most? When you said that my rejection did more for you than my friendship ever could. You don't need sticks and stones; your words can wound, Valentin."

"Is it too late?" he asked. There was a pleading desperation in the low register of his voice that caught her off guard.

"Late for what?"

"Too late to ask for your forgiveness. To be a friend to you again."

Anna felt an unexpected tenderness that she would never let reveal itself in any clearer light. She laughed a long mirthless laugh, but much of the snap had gone out of her dark eyes by this time and was replaced by a twinkle of amused interest.

"Valentin, there are people who have left me for dead that I still send Christmas cards to. I firmly believe that people who have trained the way we have and done the things that we have done have the capacity for forgiveness that the ordinary world can't understand. I don't know if we can ever be friends again, but we can stop being enemies, and I'd say that's as good a place to start as ever."

Valentin opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, a waitress approached and handed Anna a bag while voicing her apologies for the wait. Valentin cursed inwardly. He wasn't ready for her to leave, not when he felt like they were finally making progress, so he played his last move.

"I didn't plan to do this now, but I have something for you. In fact, I hadn't decided how I would go about it since you work so hard to avoid me in most circumstances, but it's a gift of sorts. A token of goodwill. Or maybe call it a peace offering."

Anna looked at him skeptically. "You shouldn't have. And here I've never gotten you anything," she said dryly.

"That's not necessary; my gift will be your reaction."

She took the small box wrapped in silver paper with a royal blue bow and held it to her ear.

"It's not a bomb, Anna," Valentin said witheringly.

"One can never be too careful." She said dryly. She slowly removed the paper and lifted the lid off of the small white box. Nestled on a piece of white cotton was a blue velvet bag. She opened the bag and turned out its contents into the palm of her hand. Her eyes widened, and the blood drained from her face. Her hand flew to her mouth to keep a sound of shock from escaping her lips.

"No." was the only word she could manage to speak

In her palm was a gold coin the size of a silver dollar. One side was imprinted with a crescent moon; on the other were two six-sided stars.

"You know what that is."

"Yes." she breathed. He could almost see her pulse rising as she looked at it. He noticed that her hand trembled as she turned the coin over in her hands.

"You know what it symbolizes? It's a Stille Nacht marker, a WSB protocol so secret that most people in the Bureau think it's just a myth. But it's not, and as I can tell by your reaction that you are very familiar with it, perhaps you have handed out your own coin in the past. When that marker changes hands and the codeword is exchanged, then the agent agrees to do whatever is asked of them, legal or illegal, without question or hesitation. And once the task is complete, both forget the events of the night and move on as if it never happened and die with the secret. Only the very select few are given these coins, and they only change hands under secret circumstances.

Anna's mind raced. "How did you get it?" she demanded. "Was it given to you when you were in the WSB? Or did you have to do something sinister to come by it? Theft, blackmail, kidnapping, or murder? Tell me! What kind of trouble are you in? Why would you give something this important to me? What game are you playing at?!"

"Lower your voice, Anna; people will stare. You know I can't tell you that. It would violate the rules of Stille Nacht. Silent Night. The whole point is that when an agent accepts this coin, they are agreeing to do whatever is asked of them, no matter how extreme, and never speak of it again. It's as if it never happened. And in return, the coin will give the recipient the right to exact the same bargain at any time in the future and which can't be refused. These coins in the right or wrong hands can change the course of history. How many wars were ended or started by them? Or vengeance completed and wrongs righted. The potential for triumph or tragedy lies in each one. I think even the WSB underestimated their power which is why there are so few in existence."

"What kind of trouble are you in? How deep? I'm not agreeing to anything-"

"That's not why I'm giving it to you," he said patiently. "It's yours free and clear. For you to use it as you want."

"I don't believe you. Why would you give me something this powerful that you may need in the future."

"That is the tricky thing about Stille Nacht. It's a gamble. And from the look on your face, I can see you are working it out in your head. What you are weighing is whether this gift will put you in my debt in some way. Let me set your mind at ease on that front. There are no strings attached. And I'm betting on two things. One that you understand the true value of this gift, and two that the idea of having leverage over me is so enticing that you won't be able to refuse. So tell me, Anna, did I bet right?"

"What I'm trying to work out is what's in it for you."

"What's in it for me is being able to take one step closer to gaining you're will be the ultimate test, won't it. One day, will you trust me enough to ask for my help and then be in my debt? Will you let me be a friend to you in a time of need?"

"I don't know if that can ever be possible."

"Anna, I never waste my time on a lost cause. For one thing, it's not profitable. I don't think we are a lost cause. In fact, I firmly believe that one day we will be allies again. I dare say we make a good team. That coin is my promise that if you ever need anything- anything- I will be there to help you. No questions asked no reservations, and no moral equivocating. I'd say that is a better birthday gift than a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates or whatever pedestrian gift Finn gave you."

The end of his sentence stung, and Anna coldly set the coin down on the table and stood up, pulled on her coat, and picked up the bag that held her dinner order.

"Thank you for the drink," she said politely. She turned to move away, but something stopped her. For a moment, Anna hesitated. She had an odd cognizance under all her mistrust that the soft expression in Valentin's hazel eyes was something honest. Her eyes locked onto his and her heart gave a quick, strange little beat. She leaned forward, picked up the coin, and pocketed it before walking out without another word.

Valentin watched her go with a warm smile. Check and mate.