She couldn't stop smiling.

Warm, work-roughened hands ghosted up her sides, tickling her ribs as they felt of the smooth skin hidden beneath her tunic. Every light touch of his fingertips was an electric shock, her nerves jolting from the surprise of hands that weren't her own. She relaxed under his careful touch, unafraid to let him explore her and eager to repay him when he'd had his fill. Any time of nervousness had long passed—he moved their relationship so slowly!—and she had long been waiting for this moment, when he'd finally be bold enough to initiate something more than handholding or gentle kisses.

Not that she didn't enjoy those too, of course.

She drew him closer, her fingers tangling further in his wiry locks as she draped a leg over his hip. She could feel him growing harder but ignored it for the moment, wanting to make this last as long as she could—if it went that far. She had no small doubt that it would; once he got started with something, he was stubborn about seeing it through. Only a word from her would pause their actions, and she wasn't about to say anything of the sort. Instead, she ran her lips teasingly over that one certain spot on his neck, the one that made him squirm no matter where they were.

She heard him whispering unintelligibly as his hand rose over her left breast, hesitating over her heart. She reluctantly let go of her grip on his hair to press hers over his, the thin barrier of her blouse separating her comforting fingers from his questing ones. Sighing happily, she let her head fall back against the plush goose feather mattress; they were upside down on her bed, but she wasn't in the mood to make him turn her properly. Besides, their shoes were off and her pillow had long been kicked away into the floor.

"Mmn, Zach…" Stretching out her limbs, she ground gently against his hip, lifting her heavy eyelids to see his reaction. She found him hovering over her, his brow wrinkled in—what, confusion? Heavy thought?—and his limbs locked. "What is it?"

"I…. I can't." Well, if that wasn't the mood killer of the century. She sat up halfway, propped on her elbow as she looked down to where she could feel his erection against her. What does he mean, he can't?

"What?" she snapped, a little more harshly than she meant to. Clearing her throat, she took it to mean that he was nervous about something. Hurting her, perhaps? Wasn't that a thing men were worried about, their first time sleeping with a new woman? "Don't be nervous," she purred—or tried to—lifting a hand to his cheek.

"No, I mean… I can't do this." He was lifting back, her leg falling from his waist and his hands sliding back from underneath her shirt, his look one of mingled panic and… hurt? "Not with you."

"What?!" It was as if he'd doused her with hot water, the kind of hot that felt icy cold at first. A defense mechanism borne of confusion and pain, to keep the body from being damaged by something. "What do you mean?" He was standing now, beside the bed, adjusting his shirt, pulling on his shoes. Not looking at her. "Zacharias?"

"I'm sorry, Eve. I'm sorry." He balanced flamingo-style, strapping his sandals into place. "I'm really sorry. I just can't."

"Why not?" She scrambled after him as he left the room, her shirt sagging where not five minutes before he'd been unlacing her stays, caution thrown to the wind. "Don't you dare walk out of this house without telling me what's going on!" she called after him, finding him at the foot of the stairs by the time she'd reached the top. "Zacharias? Zacharias!" The pain fueled her ire, for the moment, and she felt adrenaline grab her as she stormed through the hall, meeting him at the front door. "Zacharias!" She ran around him, physically putting herself between him and the exit. "Would you talk to me?"

"Eve… let me go."

"Not until you tell me what the matter is!" He still refused to look at her, staring down at the wooden floorboards between his sandals and her bare feet. "What is it? What happened?" He seemed to come to a decision, his jaw clenching.

"Eve, you don't deserve someone like me." The statement shocked her into silence, her arms loosening. He took advantage of her momentary bewilderment and pushed past her roughly, his hand finding the doorknob and nearly making her fall back when he opened it. "There are other people who'll make you happier. I'm sorry."

So it's… me?

Her stomach churned, a cold hand slowly gripping at her lungs and stealing the breath there. Somehow, though she didn't remember exactly when she moved, she turned and watched him go down her front walk, hands fisted.

What's… what's happening?

"How can you say that?" The words caught in her throat, mangling themselves on the way out until the ones she shouted at him were far crueler. "You don't deserve me, if you think you're the one who can make that choice!" He stopped at the gate, shoulders hunched. She slammed the door, the loud sound ringing in her ears. It kept her grounded, and she stared at the smooth wood above the doorknob, waiting to hear something. The sound of him turning, coming back, knocking at the door.

Come back… don't leave… damnit, what… you idiot!

It wasn't until she had to sniff that she realized she was crying. This was it, then. That was how it ended. She turned slowly, arms wrapping around herself as she started back down the hall towards the stairs. What the hell had just happened? That wasn't him… that wasn't the Zacharias she knew at all! What sort of evil person had a person in the bed and then decided they didn't want them anymore? Even he wasn't that mean.

But he'd done it.

You don't deserve someone like me.

What was that even supposed to mean? She knew what the words meant, how they fit together. But what did that mean about him? About them? She climbed the stairs, her feet lead. What had happened? Had she moved too fast? Everything had seemed fine, didn't it? Or had she not read a signal somewhere, ignored a subtle glance or a halfhearted touch?

The pillow was still lying demurely on the braided rug by her bedside. She picked it up; as she stared down trying to understand what had just passed, the cold begin to bubble, and then boil. Her nails bit into the case, feeling the shifting feathers in the pillow trying to accommodate the white-knuckled hold. With a wordless scream of rage, she threw the pillow onto the bed. It landed with an unimpressive plop and, looking around for something else, she only found her shoes. These were thrown at the bedroom door, and while one landed with a more satisfying clash the other missed and fell out into the hall.

"How dare you… you… you!" Suddenly she was staring at the ceiling, letting her bed enfold her in the remaining warmth that they'd been sharing. "I don't understand…." Turning over onto her side, she plucked at the bedspread. She couldn't seem to sob properly, the tears slowly coursing down her cheeks with little tickling sensations. How could he? After two years of being just fine… how could he just throw all that away? What was it to him? A—what do they call it, a passing fancy? Did he get bored? Was it really that he was waiting for me, instead of the other way around?

There's someone else. The words fell on her heart, crushing it. Of course there was. He was the most popular man in town. All the women loved him, even the ones who were clearly too old to be his wife. There had to have been some sort of affair, some liaison she was blind to… or maybe she just didn't see it because she didn't want to see it. Were all those times he was 'needed at the bakery' just an excuse? Wouldn't Espella have told her before now, though? As her best friend, wouldn't she have felt obligated to say something? And if she hadn't, surely she would have heard rumors. Even he wasn't good enough to hide a relationship from the entire town.

Maybe it was just her. The universe seemed against her from the very beginning: the Great Fire, losing her best friend to save her, her father's guilt and suicide. For once… I was really happy. I was happy… because I was with the man I care about. Why would fate want her happy? It hadn't cared about the life she had before. Of course something—or someone—would happen to impede on the little bit of self-indulgence she thought she was allowed.

He's not coming back. She thought over those four words a few times, each time pushing the meaning further and further down. It really was over. There was no going back. It's something I've done… no, it's something he's done… no, there's got to be another woman. Or man. Surely it's not a man? What if he just realized he—why didn't he at least tell me? Can't he even let me know why? Why just leave? I don't understand.

I don't understand.

"Eve? Eve!"

Crying oneself to sleep was good in theory, but in practice it was never elegant to wake up with gummed eyelids and a puffy face.

"E-e-e-e-ve!" Espella's cheerful voice was interspersed with loud, rapid knocks. Eve stood another moment in the kitchen, cup of strong coffee in her hand, and tried to think of a plausible excuse to tell her blonde friend. Sick? No, Espella would never believe it. She always tried to work through any illness. Tired? Plausible, but Espella would tell Mrs. Eclaire; the baker would just send her back with all sorts of 'healthy' carbohydrates and orders to eat every bite. She wasn't hungry. Finally, she gave up and walked to the front door, leaning her head against the soothing wood.

"Espella, go away." For a moment, she thought her hoarse whisper didn't make it through the door.

"Eve? Is that you? You sound terrible." That was not what she wanted to hear. She clenched her teeth, set her jaw, but despite her best efforts the residual anger from before manifested in a shout.

"Leave me alone!" She could hear Espella's gasp, even through the wood. She hadn't yelled at her since they were little girls, and even then it was more sisterly scolding than proper shouting. "Just… just go away." She didn't have the strength to fight it out.

"Eve?!" There was a fierce rattling of the doorknob. "Eve, what's wrong? Please tell me!" At the expense of being a hypocrite, she turned from the door and rested her back against it instead. Hearing the thump, Espella's ministrations on the knob stopped. "Eve?"

"Ask that boneheaded knight, if you really want to know." Her voice cracked. "Maybe he'll tell you, since he wouldn't tell me."

"Eve…." There was a harrumph and then the sound of receding footsteps. She waited for the blonde's face to appear at the window or something, but nothing came. Taking it that the girl had left, she trudged back to the kitchen and poured the coffee in the sink.

Maybe a bath instead.

At least she looked better. With her face washed and hair combed, drying quickly in the heat of the morning, her rumpled clothing exchanged for a light sundress that could easily double as pajamas, and a cool rag held over her eyes until they stopped burning so badly, she was almost normal.

Why then did she still feel so dirty?

Why bother? She asked herself as she lay back on the bed, hands pressed against her stomach. Why bother getting ready every day? I'm clearly not allowed to have a normal life. It was decided against me in the stars. It's not fair. It wasn't fair, and what was worse was the thought that she could do nothing to change it.

Someone was at the door again. Espella, damnit! I meant go away! It seemed that anger and emptiness were the two chief emotions of the day. It was either one or the other, and right now anger was slowly pulling back to the top with every beat of a fist against the door. Knock all you like; I'm not coming. As if they'd heard her thoughts, it stopped. Thank the Story—well, thank somebody.

A tap at the window. She looked over in confusion. She was on the second story. Who was…? Another tap, this time with a tiny blip of something. Who the hell is throwing rocks at my window?! A bigger rock, the tap more of a thunk.

"Breaking my damn windows… I wish they'd crack it… I'd crack them." The banging started again. "Would you…ugh!" Heaving herself out of bed, she stomped down the stairs, feeling a malicious glee with each resounding thump of her feet against wood. Whoever it is better be dying. Otherwise, she'd give them a reason to go beating on people's doors at (admittedly reasonable) hours. She was on a warpath and no one was safe.

"What?!" Throwing the door open, not even caring if Mr. Cantabella himself stood on the other side, she was faced with the last person in town she ever wanted to see.

"What did you tell Espella!?" He looked as if he'd been attacked, his clothes twisted and hair mussed. There was even a thin row of welts that looked suspiciously like nails across his neck. Did she… jump him?

Slam!

For some reason, slamming the door in his face was even less satisfying than slamming it at his back yesterday. She turned away when the banging resumed, this time with two hands instead of one. The emotion that steamed in her was something higher than rage, or fury, or even wrath. She felt as though, in this one moment, she might actually throttle him to death if he were to keep up that infernal banging!

"Eve, open the door or I'll break it down!" Who in the hell does he think he is?! What right does he have to enter this house?! Especially now!? She meant to shout these questions at him through the door, but found herself opening it just a crack so that he could see the finger she was holding up when she told him, in no sweeter terms, to fuck off.

What she didn't expect was his arm worming through the door. Instinct acted over preservation, and she was already angry enough at him that a little pain would only be in her favor. But what she had in vehemence, he one-upped her brute strength and no matter how hard she pushed on the door, he managed to push harder. First his arm, then his leg, his torso, and with a quick jerk his two other limbs, fingertips narrowly missing the wood as it slammed shut without his balancing force.

"Get…out…" she panted, pointing at the door. "Don't think I won't call the law."

"Eve…" He looked—inappropriately, in her eyes—both annoyed and exhausted. "We're the law."

"Not anymore." She felt a real burn in her limbs that was from weakness and exertion, not anger. "I'll go find the knights and make them throw you in the dungeon. You're breaking and entering."

"You opened the door," he pointed out with relative calm. "Now, what did you tell Espella? The girl was ready to gouge my eyes out."

"The same thing you told me," she spat. "Not a damn word." She didn't miss the quick flash of pain that crossed his face, but she was beyond caring. "Get out of my house. Who do you think you are, just coming up in here after… after what you said."

"Eve—"

"Shut up!" She shook her head. "Fuck off back to your girlfriend and tell her!" Now he looked befuddled.

"Wha—what girlfriend?" he asked, his voice rising in octave as her fury began stoking his own hot temper. "Do you think I've been cheating on you!?" He pushed away from where he'd been standing against the wall, towering over her.

"Isn't it obvious?" She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one hip. "I just can't believe I was so blind about it. Good on you, Zacharias Barnham."

"I'm not—I wasn't—" His face turned a frightening shade of red. "Just what sort of man do you even take me for, Eve?!"

"The kind that breaks up with a woman while his hand's down her shirt!" Whatever he meant to say caught visibly in his throat, his mouth snapping shut as he brushed past her and stalked the hall. He turned back, running a hand through his tangled locks.

"Would it have made you happier to wait until we were both naked?" he asked venomously. "Would you have been glad to hear it then? When, exactly, would have been the most opportune time for you, milady?"

That one word set her off, the lit match to her mental fuse.

"How about two years ago, hmm? One year ago? Six months ago?! Yesterday, before you kissed me! Do you recall that, Sir Barnham? You kissed me!" She looked down at her shaking fists, feeling the indignation burning through every bone in her body, surprised that steam wasn't pooling out of her ears like a comic strip character. "What sort of man do I take you for? The cowardly kind, that's what! Why did you even bother asking me out that first time, if you never felt for me the way I felt for you? What was it, just a joke? Were these last two years just one damn joke to you?!"

"No!" They were standing so close, eyes locked, chests heaving. But whatever she might have felt before, paled in comparison to the outrage of having her words tested and found lacking, somehow, by the one who hadn't offered her any of his own but a half-assed apology as he walked out the door. "Yesterday was just the first time I realized it! That's all!"

"Liar!" Something snapped, and she aimed to wound, to maim. "You're nothing but a cowardly liar!"

"It's not a lie!" His hand slammed flat against the wall, right beside her head, and she reacted instinctively. The slap rang in the hall, a red print immediately blistering on his cheek and pain blossoming in her palm.

"It is," she hissed. "You're a lying, no-good dog! You're a miserable, wretched, pathetic piece of garbage!" She was the one attacking him now; not scratches and hair pulling like Espella, but real punches, thrown with the intention of making him feel just a fraction of the pain that was at war with the anger and the emptiness. "You're a dew-kicking, dastardly, son. of. a. witch!" Even the top tier of Labyrinthian slurs didn't seem appropriate for this man, her voice reaching a fever pitch as she continued to beat senselessly on them, half-aware that her punches weren't pulling enough real power to do more than drive him back to the wall and bust her own knuckles.

"How dare you!" She was losing energy fast, her punches sliding more than hitting. "How… dare… you." Tears formed in her eyes, quivering but not falling. Not in front of him. He—the only person in town who could truly hurt in a way no one else could hope to reach. How dare he actually do it, after she put her faith in him. Her trust in him.

"Are you through?" It made her angry all over again, just seeing him unharmed and merely irritated by her punching. But she didn't have the energy to do more, or even to yell as loud as she had. Should've forced that coffee down…. "Did you get what you needed out of that?"

"I needed you, you big buffoon." How it hurt to say that! But it was the truth. To say anything less would be a discredit to her own feelings. "But apparently I'm not good enough for you, am I?"

"What?" Great, now he was angry again as well. "When did I say that!?"

"You said it yesterday, you git!" He pushed off the wall again, this time upsetting her balance. She stumbled back but he didn't seem to notice, walking the length of the hall twice more before turning back.

"I said you didn't deserve me!" he snarled.

"Exactly!"

"Don't act stupid, Eve!" He cut off any smart remark she meant to say. "That means that you deserve better than me." His fist smacked his other hand in time to his words, his eyes wild. "You don't think I care about you? You think the last two years were a joke?! Fine! But don't you ever stand there and think that I think lesser of you than I do of myself. That's not true."

"Lia—"

"Stop calling me a liar!" His voice roared loud enough that she was stunned into silence, rather than simply obeying. She hadn't even thought him capable of such shouting. "I'm not good enough to be with you! 'Tis the long and short of it!"

"You can't make that decision on your own!" she finally managed to say. "If I say you're good enough, then you're good enough! And I say so! In fact—if you can even get it through your thick skull—I've always thought you were the only one good enough for me!"

"How can you say that with a straight face?"

"Because I care about your bloody fat head, that's why!" That, of all things, made him pause. He blinked twice, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh.

"If…" He turned his back to her, rubbing his head. "If you knew me, you wouldn't say that. You'd stop caring."

"I know y—"

"You know nothing about me." He crossed his arms. "You know Sir Barnham. I'm not—"

"Yes you are!" She took a step forward. "What, have you fallen off your horse or something, Zacharias?"

"I'm not!" He spun around, and if she didn't know him, the look in his eyes might have been enough to frighten her. "You think you know me, but you don't. anything you knew of me is… a lie! It's all a lie, along with this damn town and it's… damn…." He shook his head, lips pressed together tightly.

"What on earth are you talking ab—"

"I remembered, okay!?" Again she was startled into silence. "I remember. Everything. It all came back to me." For once, she was at a loss for words. She didn't know him, not the way he was implying. She'd never even read his file. The Storyteller—Mr. Cantabella—he was the one in charge of approving new citizens. Until Mr. Wright and Ms. Fey, she had upheld that rule as strictly as possible.

"And?" It wasn't much, but it was better than silence. Somehow, she knew that.

"And you… you don't want someone like me. The thought of a man like me? With a woman like you? It's… repulsive." He rubbed his nose, straightening his shoulders with another quick blink, and she recognized the signs as someone trying to hold back tears of his own. "It's not—good. You'd never understand it."

"I might, if you'd just tell me. If I really am a woman worth respecting, don't you think I deserve something more than an 'I'm sorry' and just storming out!?"

"I—I—"

"Just tell me!"

"I can't!" he shouted, but it wasn't an angry shout. It was pained. He was in pain. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I can't bear it." He turned away, continuing to turn when she tried to reach around and see his face. "I can't bear the thought of you… thinking ill of me." He sniffed. "Thinking less of me."

"I wouldn't."

"You would. Anyone would. I do, and I am me."

"No, I wouldn't." She stopped herself, following his example and taking a deep breath as she searched for something to say, to make him believe what she was trying to tell him. "Zacharias? Look at me." He didn't turn around. "Please." Slowly, too slowly, he turned to her. His eyes were shinier than normal, mouth set in a tight line and arms holding himself more than they were simply crossed. "You're a good man. I know you are."

"Eve—"

"It's not about who you were before. It never was. If that's the case, than if anything, I don't deserve you. My sins against this town can never, never be made right. Even as far back as the Great Fire."

"That wasn't your fault." She silenced him with a sad shake of her head.

"Whether it was or not, my hand was the one that made the bell ring." He opened his mouth to argue, and she had to physically clap her hand over it to keep him quiet. "Surely you haven't killed an entire town…. Surely you weren't the one that made the decision that witches had to burn as well. You just went along with it. And even then, you weren't really happy. I know you weren't. I could see it in your eyes, even back then." She let out an almost hysterical little laugh. "And then you weren't the one who turned them into hypnotized slaves to make your life just a little easier. So… if we go by your standards, than my past: The Great Witch, High Inquisitor Darklaw, my own childhood, even. I'm nowhere near worthy of having anyone in my life, even a boyfriend."

"I love all of you." The words hung between them for a long moment, and she knew that somehow it hurt both of them: him saying it, and her hearing it. "I… do. I cared for the High Inquisitor, so much so that I nearly quit my dream career to keep her from knowing. And if I had had time to know her, I'd have cared for the Great Witch, because they were all parts of you."

"Then what makes you think I won't—don't—feel the same about you?" She reached for his hand, pulling his arms out of their hold around his torso. He let her take it, let her draw him closer. "I l-love all parts of you, even the ones that I haven't discovered yet." Her throat closed around the word, and its implications, but if he could say it than so could she. She felt it, even through the pain of his rejection.

That idiot… or maybe I'm the idiot, for caring this much.

"Please, let me care for you. I want to, no matter you may have done, or might do in the future." She pressed forward, just a little, eyes pleading for him to meet her halfway. She could have cried with relief when his mouth touched hers, briefly at first, then brushing in a proper kiss before he wrapped her in a tight bear hug, burying his face in her neck. She let out a wheezing breath, her lungs protesting at being crushed, but she didn't dare ask him to let her go. If this is what he needs… I'll suffer through it. After all, I did just punch him.

"I really don't deserve someone like you," he said with a watery chuckle, mouth tickling her skin. "I'm an idiot."

"And a fool."

"And that."

"And a prat."

"True."

"And a dastardly rogue."

"Eve… you sound like Rouge." He pulled away sheepishly. "I, erm—you said you didn't want to hear 'I'm sorry', but I am."

"If you had just told me all this yesterday, none of this would have happened," she pointed out. "Eve's Lesson #15: Withholding information leads to nothing but trouble." He visibly sank.

"That's Ms. Primstone's Lesson #20."

"Hmm. Then you should make doubly sure you learn it." She rubbed her neck, realizing with a start just how much she sounded like 'Darklaw'. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did he was just used to it. She cleared her throat, trying to inject more Eve into her next sentence. "You know, you and I promised each other that we'd give Labyrinthia a second chance. I don't see why that doesn't extend to us as well."

"You mean us?" He pointed to her, and then himself. "Or… we-us?"

"All of us." She waved her hand as if to wrap it all up. "Us."

"I'm glad then, that us are—we are still a thing." He licked his lips. "But I think we-us should properly make up, then."

"We-us might need to, but you need to go home. I'm tired, and Espella has probably destroyed some of your property by now."

"Augh, you're right." He winced.

"Let's both hope that mutt was far away from home."

"C-Constantine!"

Afterword: This literally came upon me a 2 am yesterday, as I was lying in bed. I felt compelled to write it. Hope it came out okay!