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Dancing had never been something they did a lot of. They knew how, of course, but the reasons why they should or would want to were few and far between.
After the Third World War, the first war they had weathered together, Helen had decided to simply start doing things like this again. Little things mostly – taking each other out to the surface more often, taking trips to Hollow Earth, taking on new inventions and ideas, watching history unfold, or even simply chasing Abnormals like it was the most natural thing in the world – and everything became a game. Each event was something to be treasured. Each time he chased her through the back halls of the Sanctuary, especially when she let him catch her, made her feel about 300 years younger. Sometimes when he kissed her with his hands tangled in her hair, she could hear the cries of, “Get a room, Magnus!” and she could pretend that her original staff wasn’t slowly dwindling; that Henry, Will, Erika, and Abby weren’t grandparents or verging on great-grandparents; that Helen could open her eyes to see them just as they always were.
Perhaps that was why she liked moments like this. With her staff far underground, she didn’t have to worry about them getting hurt. Or seeing her with Nikola and earning her noises of displeasure. By now, she knew they were just formalities. Nikola had more than made up for anything in their eyes, though Will never lost a chance to say, “Every time, Magnus,” before they left on some mission or vacation together. The hilarious part came when Declan’s children picked up the way he watched Nikola. Protectively, as though daring Nikola to do anything to hurt Helen. Will and Abby’s children picked up Will’s saying, passing it to their children, and Helen had a feeling everything would just keep rolling.
At least then a part of her people would live on forever.
Nikola’s arm slid further around her back, tucking her close as her arm rested around his shoulders. Her head settled against his and as her eyes slid closed, she let him lead their waltz. The jukebox was far enough away to be easily ignored, even as it provided soft background noise. Helen and Nikola both agreed that it was some hybrid of the 1960’s and 1980’s and constituted as noise. Hence they were dancing on a hill far away, where Helen couldn’t even strain to hear it properly and Nikola’s delicate senses weren’t bothered by it.
“Do you remember the first time we did this?” he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper against her ear.
“The first time we danced or the first time we came up to this hill?”
“You were wearing more color than the entirety of Oxford, if memory serves.”
“And if I recall, your mustache kept tangling in my hair. Thank god you got rid of it.”
“Helen,” he gasped, as though she’d hit a nerve. “Well, now you’ve hurt my feelings.”
“Whatever shall I do to make it up to you?” she questioned, pulling back so she could smile fondly at him.
Releasing her hand, he moved his to cradle her cheek. “Speak well of me,” he answered as he leaned back in. “And never stop dancing.”
“Always,” she whispered against his lips, letting him lead a dance with their lips and tongues as well as their feet.
Happy anniversary, she thought with a smile she knew he would be able to feel. That was one of those things they never needed to say. Happy anniversary of the day they became romantically involved, a day she would not soon forget. And as he slowly lowered her to the grass below them so he could make love to her in the dark clearing on the hill in the middle of the night, she thought she would not ever regret that day.