This was quite a few steps up from warm beer and cold pizza - it was never the other way around, which was frustrating for all that was worth - but juggling the physically-demanding, dangerous aspects of himself with the commemorations and celebration dinners was part of the job.
He swirled the wine around in the glass absently, watching the black turn into red, purple, black again...
A name? She hadn't known, all this time?
Well, that was in part his fault. He didn't often get in touch with her, and he didn't keep a name or a face long enough to trouble her with remembering something different every few decades.
"Ryan. But the face and name changes every thirty years or so, so I can make the rounds. I probably won't be Ryan anymore in twenty years' time."
Maybe he'd become a completely different person then. Who knew.
"'Libby', huh? I don't think I could get used to calling you that."