Author's Note: This story is supposed to correlate to one year in Labyrinthia with updates on holidays, but… to be honest, have I ever updated anything correctly? (squints at Hellsing Valentine's Special) Still, these can be taken as oneshots on their own that tie together, which is how they'll be placed in Ao3. So… enjoy?

Eyyyyy…. I don't own (finger guns)

"Miss Eve, a word. Or, rather, a proposition."

She didn't bother looking up from her desk, knowing that he would continue whether or not she asked him to. After years of working alongside Zacharias Barnham, she was used to his rather forward way of expressing ideas. It didn't matter in the slightest if anyone were even listening to him; in fact, she could tune him out easily and it wouldn't mean a thing. When they were both Inquisitors, he would hold one-sided conversations with her for hours, using her as an excuse to get his jumble of ideas into the open so that he could argue his own way to the answers. She didn't even have to get words in edgewise, since he often came to his own conclusions without her help. Clumsy and naïve he might be, but unintelligent he was not.

"Proceed, Zacharias," she murmured when he didn't answer, barely paying him any attention. Probably he was merely getting his thoughts in order, a common trait that preceded any longwinded soliloquy on his latest mental deliberations. Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a sheet of fresh parchment and grabbed her quill from its stand. Even though she could technically use a real pen now that the—secret—was out in the open, she liked the sound of her quill scratching against the parchment, the concentration she had to put towards making her lines smooth and even. She loved the look of her handwriting in wet ink, perfectly slanted along the page. It was a beautiful art, writing in such an old-fashioned manner, and one she was loath to give up just because they didn't have to hide behind a medieval guise any longer.

"Well, the bakery has been slower than usual since Yuletide, and so with all the off time I've been doing some thinking. And, considering everything that's happened in the past year, I think that starting the new one on the proper footing is essential. Essential," he repeated, and she heard the soft press of cloth shoes rather than ironclad boots as he stepped forward. "And so, in honor of the new year I, Sir Zacharias Barnham, ask full permission to give you one kiss."

Her quill fell to the desk.

"A—I—What?" She chalked up her sudden inability to speak as being caught off-guard. No… that was an understatement. Being caught off-guard meant that you expected something in the first place. This…. this completely blindsided her. She cleared her throat and tried again. "New Year's Day was nearly ten days ago."

"I know. That's why 'tis in honor of the new year," he stated proudly. "Closer to the day would have meant 'in the spirit of', not 'in honor of'." She didn't dare raise her eyes to him, not until she was certain of total control over her facial features. There was no false bravado in his tone, nor was there anything that suggested something underhanded was afoot. He simply seemed as honest and jovial as he always was, simply doing the knightly, courteous thing in asking her for a kiss. But… why me? And why a kiss? He must have sensed her confusion and doubt, or at the very least inferred it from her lack of a proper response.

"I didn't mean to overstep my bounds," he said consolingly, taking another step towards her. His shadow fell over her desk, but she still didn't look up. "It just between friends. I heard that 'twas a tradition on the new year to kiss, and I just presumed—well, it seemed the proper thing to do to a friend rather than a stranger. I heard that it was… very common… in the modern world… on new year's…." He trailed off and she finally managed to meet his gaze. He was still dressed for work, an apron covering a modern shirt and a smear of flour stark white against the tanned skin of his jaw. His eyes were earnest and hopeful, but not with desire or anything that suggested less than pure intentions. Was she reading too far into this? After all, he wasn't wrong. Kissing on midnight of the new year was a time-honored tradition.

"You—you are my closest friend," he admitted softly, again taking her utterly by surprise.

"M-me? I am?" she repeated, overawed by the confession. If anything, his cheeks were dusked with only the slightest pink and he broke eye contact, a smile curving his lips as he shrugged.

"'Tis just that I feel I know you best, out of everyone else in town." He toed a crack in the stone flooring. "After all, we've worked together for a long time, and—"

"Oh." Now that she thought about it, the same could be said for him. Even though she spent years trailing after Espella and keeping watch over her for her own sake, even to the point of staging deaths, they had grown apart. They had, of course, rebuilt their friendship from the ground up after the foreign attorney and his friends had left, but she still didn't know Espella like she knew Barnham. She knew how he ate, how he thought, how he exercised, his habits and hobbies… she even knew that he snored very loudly and that there was a tiny mole on the small of his back, just above his waistline. That was nearly as personal as one could get without seeing them as naked as the day they were born. The years of working together in a damp office one level above a dungeon had brought them together in a way she had never considered before this moment.

She thought of all the times he'd brought her dinner from food stalls when they worked late nights. She thought of the many times she'd woken up at her desk to see him working steadily away at his own. He knows what I look like when I'm sleeping, too! she thought with a flurry of panic. He's probably seen me drooling and… and… oh, do I snore? Her cheeks burned with humiliation, though at the time it had been not embarrassing in the slightest to know that he was in the room while she slept. What's changed between then and now? Was it the fact that before they were coworkers, and now they were more friends? She did consider him her friend, didn't she? I've never really thought about it before.

"Of course." The words had left her mouth before she could think them over. "As friends." He was her friend. Friends kissed sometimes, on the new year. Even if the new year was a week ago. He had no ill intent towards her, and she certainly should have none towards him. There was nothing wrong than a simple, innocent kiss between friends. Friends, she repeated firmly to herself. Why would you think it was anything else? a voice in the back of her mind replied smugly.

"Great!" He beamed at her, teeth as white as the flour. She stood, pushing her chair back with her legs and resisting the urge to lick her lips. A kiss between friends wasn't wet, thank god. And it would be over with before she could truly think. Of course, he could always mean that he wanted a peck on the cheek, or the forehead. That would be perfectly acceptable, wouldn't it? It didn't have to be the lips. But it was a new year's kiss. Could one have a new year's kiss on the forehead? She looked him over as she started around the desk, wondering why he had left his armor for more casual wear today. He usually wore it all the time, baking or not, but today he had chosen the apron he'd gotten from Espella for Yuletide. She'd sewed it for him specially. Perhaps he wore it out of politeness. Perhaps he simply liked the apron and it didn't fit over the armor.

He shifted beneath her scrutiny, muscles moving visibly beneath the tight gray shirt he wore under the apron. Did he know, somehow, that she enjoyed the sight of them? How often had she watched him from the bakery table, half-listening to Espella's chatter as she daydreamed, her eyes following every movement of his shoulder blades? No, there was no way he could know. She had been careful, making sure that she was always watching something else when he turned around: the table, the fire in the grate, her own hands. Then again, it had happened long before he had decided to work part-time at the bakery, long before he had stayed on after her birthday, prompted by a new hobby that he enjoyed. Sneaking glances at him—well, all the knights, to be fair—as she walked through the garrison on her way to the Audience Room, half-humoring the odd feelings that she didn't quite understand, or really wanted to feel.

Then her father had died, and everything had changed. Men with muscles had been one of the last things on her mind, and without really understanding what was going on she had curled in on herself like parchment applied to an open flame, losing bits and pieces of who she really was as she threw herself wholeheartedly into her plan for revenge. When it was all over, she had to find herself again, as well as reveal her true self to the town. It had been hard to let people in, when she had spent so long forcing them away. It was not hard to figure out why she only had two close friends. Three if you counted Greyearl, and that was more of an acquaintanceship through her father.

"So… in honor of the new year." She stood before him now, forcing herself to meet his eyes. He tilted his head in a doglike way, watching her closely with a ghost of his earlier grin still playing on his lips. She offered what she hoped was a friendly, welcoming smile. She wasn't exactly sure of her feelings. Nervousness? Well, kissing had never been high on her list of things to do, and she certainly hadn't done it since her earliest teenage years. Anticipation? For what? Him? How laughable. After all, it was only between friends. There should be no feelings other than comradery and the happiness of sharing a warm moment with a pal.

"'Tis an honor indeed, to have spent it in such good company." She was sure he meant everyone in Labyrinthia, and not just her, but for the moment she forgot herself and basked in the compliment. She felt her smile grow and then his hand touched her chin, strong fingers calloused from a life of hard labor and swordsmanship. They were rough against the soft skin just behind her chin, but they were inclining her head with a gentleness that betrayed the knight's tenderhearted nature. She shut her eyes, willing to let him choose where to kiss and hoping, yet not hoping that he would choose cheeks or forehead. Even nose would be fine.

His lips touched hers and she felt a thrill from her hair down to the very tips of her toes. They were soft and warm and—and—she'd never been kissed quite like this before. It was different, very different than the childish pressing of her lips against the thin line of her father's jaw; her only experience with a boy that wasn't her father had been a solid mashing of mouths followed by a quick, disappointing retreat. But this was different somehow: calmer, perhaps, and filled with an delicious heat that melted her insides into a quivering mass of bewilderment. And although it was chaste and simple, with neither party really moving at all and barely touching aside from her hand on his shoulder, and his fingers on her chin—this is not a friendly kiss.

It lasted one second longer than a neutral kiss. Two seconds. Three. Her heart quickened, a shudder running down her spine. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, rather—rather, she wanted to feel it again. The realization startled her and she pulled away, just enough to break contact and take in a gulp of fresh air. She could smell the rosemary/myrtle cologne favored by many of the men in town; it seemed more potent on him, though perhaps it was just because they were still so close. He hadn't pulled back, his breath puffing over her parted lips. His eyes were closed, face drawn and brow furrowed in concentration.

She only grew more perplexed when he took a deep, steadying breath and opened his eyes, fingers falling from her chin and leaving it oddly cold in their absence. The look in his eyes was intense, almost angry, and she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Still, it was a look that somehow liquefied her innards further, a hot blush staining her cheeks as she drew her hands close to her chest, thighs pressing together. Had he felt that too? That… whatever it was? A small part of her, a part she didn't fully get, wished that it was true. That his stomach was a fluttering mess, his heart beating just a little faster in response to whatever had passed between them in that moment.

He took one step backwards, then another, expression morphing from the cryptic intensity to puzzlement to nervousness. She saw him shut down on himself like a guilty accused on the stand, swallowing thickly as his eyes darted from her to the fireplace, to her desk and back again. His lips parted and she saw his tongue quickly wet them; he took another deep breath and she felt as though he'd stolen it directly from her, her chest aching.

"Ah, um—Happiest of New Years to you, M-Miss Eve," he stuttered hoarsely, tongue flicking over his lips again. She mimicked the motion, tasting the remnants of him there. Her heart skipped a beat, sending a fresh wave of heat to her face.

"You as well," she managed to say, though she couldn't be sure the words were fully audible. A red hue crept into his cheeks to match the one she was sure shone on hers, eyes still moving around the room in a guilty way. A thought popped into her head: he seems just as stunned as I am. The novelty of it took her unawares.

"I—I shall see you around the bakery sometime soon?" It was both a statement and a question. She forced her head into motion, managing a small, jerky parody of a nod.

"Yes," she repeated in the same tone, as though she were Birdly's parrot instead of an intelligent human. He nodded as well, halfhearted smile falling into something that, for a quick moment, was more yearning than anything else. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, closed it, and then gave her one last inscrutable look before turning and walking quickly to the door, shutting it behind him. She couldn't hear him moving down the hall the way she usually could when he was in his armor, but she knew that he was walking away just as quickly as he'd left the room.

She fell into her chair, willing her heart to stop pounding against her ribcage, one hand tangling in her hair as she slumped to the desk and rested her head against the cool wood. What did it mean? What had gone wrong? She touched her lips, shocked to find that they were curved upwards in a small smile. It was only supposed to be between friends. And… well, she supposed it had been, all things considering. But… she'd never felt that before. Not even for a friend.

And, despite the warring confusion and happiness it had caused, she wanted to feel it again.

Afterword: So, the next big holiday is Valentines, so I think I can pull something together by then. Hopefully. Leave a review in the little box if you want to make a Juju happy. Otherwise, well… glad you read this far.