You spend the day in a mild state of shock. Forgetting the date yourself, you wake with an unholy yell that you're sure the whole campus has heard because Millay's blowing a kazoo in your ear and Rivalz is practically jumping on your stomach as he bounces on your clean mattress with his shoes on shouting HAPPY BIRTHDAY LELOUCH while Suzaku stands a little to one side looking slightly silly in the party hat but having fun, the idiot.

Sitting up, you blearily ask why there seems to be a need to invade your room so early in the morning and watch somewhat detachedly as Shirley raps Rivalz smartly on the head and smiles apologetically but still far too brightly and tells you that they all wanted to do something special for your eighteenth year, as you're finally legal. Rivalz sits up, rubbing his head and makes a candid remark about how you're at liberty to make certain exploits you weren't before. You ask Shirley offhandedly if she can hit him again for you since he's out of your reach, and she happily complies, and he sinks to the floor, muttering.

The president cheerfully leads them all in a round of Happy Birthday, and you notice now that Nunally is here and weakly ask her why she let them into your room. She smiles her gentle smile and immediately you feel an unwilling forgiveness for the crazy student council members as she explains that she wanted to help them do something nice for you as she wouldn't be able to do much on her own. Slightly abashed at your grumpy tone earlier, you take her hand and try to convey your thanks through touch while 'thank you' leaves your lips. As they finish singing, you realize you're actually grateful for this group of idiots, and smile fondly in their general direction.

The situation is different when you enter the school building though- you walk unconcernedly through the door of your homeroom and immediately confetti is dumped upon your head (and into your open, surprised mouth)- and several girls (some of which you don't recognize at all) crowd you, each wishing you a happy birthday with identically shining eyes. Taken aback, you can do nothing but protest weakly as several pink-wrapped gifts are thrust into your arms and as you shake your head to try to dislodge the sparkling bits of paper from your hair, you take your seat while thinking that it'll be tiresome to open all of them and write thank-you notes to each of the gifters, even while saying what you hope is a sincere-sounding, warm thank-you to each.

You watch Rivalz exclaim over the sheer amount of things you have received so far as you stack the boxes in a small pile at one end of your table, and running a hand through your hair in an attempt to try and rid it of confetti, it's only now that you notice your Q1.

The crowd around you thins a little as she approaches and hesitantly wishes you a happy birthday behind red bangs. You thank her sincerely with a smile and hear several whispers behind you (how does she have the gall not to gift you, and what makes her so special anyways that she's come so late?). Her eyes quickly glance away and as she returns to her seat you ask yourself why as well- of all the people that remembered, had she forgotten? Not that it matters to you, but the thought remains there like an itch. You tell yourself it really doesn't matter, but then you remember that she wasn't there in the morning as well. You think later you'll ask Millay why, or maybe corner her after class.

You smile to yourself. Not a bad idea.

It's in the middle of health education that you notice her expression, screwed up in frustration. You can only assume that she, like you, is anxious to shed the pretense of normal students and go back to the infinitely more important matter of overthrowing Britannia but you wonder if it's something more than that.

Hand on your chin, you observe her almost lazily, oblivious to the lesson going on. When the bell rings for lunch (surprising you), she immediately gathers her book and leaves swiftly. You wonder why with a blink, but the train of thought is cut short when you're pressed with several offers to share lunches. Declining politely with smiles all around and saying you have a paper to make up; you get to your feet and ask for a library pass to try to escape the constant press of women- and to try to find out where your Q1 is going.

It's halfway to the library that you smell something undergoing a combustion reaction, and although it might just be one of Nina's experiments again, you have a hunch that today it's not. Curiosity aroused now, you redirect your steps toward the kitchen of the clubhouse, a faint smile upon your lips as you predict the scenario that surely awaits you.

You're trying hard not to laugh as she dumps the flour into the bowl for what must be the fifth time in a row, treading vengefully on the crumpled balls of paper that you know are the recipes she's printed out again and again. She mutters something incomprehensible to herself and you lean forward slightly, trying to catch her words. Unfortunately by now she's moved to the opposite end of the room and you hear a dim clanging and thunks. Your gaze is drawn to the headline of the paper on the counter- you see in bold a recipe for chocolate-chip cookies.

Of course, you have already surmised her reason for baking – or attempting to - and are surprised to find yourself rather touched. Indeed, it is not a little surprising to find that she wants to do something for you considering the past year. You realize now that you don't even know when her birthday is and you have never bothered to find out, much less do something to her. Feeling a twinge of something like regret, you observe as she moves back into your field of vision under a heavy load of ingredients and cracks eggs with something akin to battle fury into the bowl. She produces a whisk and seemingly heedless of her uniform, proceeds to beat the components together viciously. Her hair falls into her face and she pushes it back absentmindedly, leaving a smudge of flour on her cheek. Your eyes follow that smudge on her cheekbone and you find yourself staring at it instead of her actions- finding that streak of white on her pink-flushed face ridiculously endearing.

A strident beep sounds from somewhere behind her and she eeps and pulls the oven open, and the burnt smell that already pervaded the room gets stronger. You wrinkle your nose as she pulls out the last batch of... shapeless blackened bits. She puts the tray on another counter and just stands there, staring.

Out of nowhere, she kicks a cabinet and then leans against the granite-topped counters, fuming silently. After a few moments she resumes her mixing, and starts chopping up chocolate with a fork. You decide to take pity on your pilot and speak.

"Is this another terrorist act: destroying school kitchens so that Britannian students will eventually starve to death?" you ask, grinning. She jumps in surprise and her hand immediately plunges into her skirt pocket, and you catch a glimpse of something pink before she recognizes you and slowly withdraws it.

"I was making cookies," she states somewhat defiantly. "Because... I was hungry."

You have to work hard to keep your face semi-straight. "And... you couldn't just eat the ones I made yesterday?" You remember the making; twenty-five minutes of work for two dozen perfect confections of the dark chocolate variety. Dark chocolate is a preference of yours- and you can't help but notice that that is precisely what she's using right now to create more burnt carbon. You wince inwardly. What a waste.

"Well-" and her face flushes and she pushes her hair behind her ear in what you surmise is nervousness. You laugh softly and she bristles, frowning at you, but it's okay because she doesn't have the Guren right now to threaten you. "What's so funny?"

You tilt your head questioningly to one side and you glance around the chaos of the kitchen. She glowers some more and turns her back on you. You suppress a laugh when she tells you that it was just an accident. You let it go as she resumes the chopping of her chocolate (with increased ferocity, you note amusedly) and almost stabs her own hand. This time you can't hold back the comment "I suppose that was an accident too?"

Frustrated she says: "Don't you dare say anything. If you really wanted to know-"

Ah, here it comes, you think, and you smile inwardly.

"-I was going to make something for your birthday but since you don't seem to appreciate whatever I'm making, I suppose I won't!" She viciously stabs a chunk of chocolate with a fork and points it at you somewhat threateningly (really, it's only Kallen that can make a piece of chocolate on a fork threatening, you think to yourself) and you step back unconsciously, slightly taken aback as adrenaline flows through you, a response to danger. So it meant more to her than you thought. You feel your amusement lessen and something else take its place- gratefulness but more of a desire to turn the situation to your advantage- whatever way you can before you get stabbed by a fork (an inelegant end for Zero, you think wryly).

Wrapping your fingers around hers, still clutching the fork, you slowly bring the fork to your mouth, parting your lips just enough to slide the piece of chocolate onto your tongue. She tries to jerk her hand back but your grip is firm enough to keep her hand prisoner in yours.

"Don't worry," you say, and you're rather surprised to hear the truth in your words, "I appreciate your efforts-"

She snorts rather derisively and refuses to meet your eyes. You continue, regardless.

"-but honestly, I would have enjoyed just spending some time with you, rather than receive a gift." Your tone softens.

She blinks, bewildered, and asks you how you knew she'd be here. Your brain automatically goes back over the simple logic chain that led you here- and you think to yourself that really, people are easy to read, and you smirk. "You left right before lunch and I smelled something burning."

Kallen's frown returns, and she glares up at you- up, you realize, because you're so close to her, almost enough to feel her body heat. Close enough to smell her- a whiff of something like tangy citrus combined with the sweet smell of brown sugar. You inhale again, enjoying it. But the enticing perfume moves out of the range of your nose as she backs away rather suddenly (why? you wonder) as you continue: "So, either the school is under attack- or you were up to something down here."

She scowls, not up at you any more due to the increased distance- ah, that's why, you realize, laughing internally. "I was, but it's fine if you don't want anything."

Her hand jerks, jerks hard and pulls free from your grip. You almost let her slip out the door, mentally warring with yourself. You know you shouldn't.

You really shouldn't- it could throw the entire overthrow-Britannia plan off-kilter and jeopardize your anonymity, not to mention legions upon legions of others. You know you shouldn't.

But this chance is too good to lose. So in a split-second decision, you decide, for once, to act upon what you want instead of what you should do.

Catching her wrist just as she puts a foot outside, you stop her- your ace in the hole, your best pilot, your classmate, and maybe-

"What do you want?" she demands of you.

The answer springs to your lips without thinking, weighted with alternate meaning. "My birthday present."

"As you've stated before, it was a pretty big accident-"

"Not that one." You pull on her hand slightly and miraculously she obeys, drawing closer to you. "Didn't I say that I would rather..."

Her eyes widen slightly, and you wonder what in the world you're doing as you cup her cheek – so soft, her skin – and bend down slightly. Your lips are almost moving against hers as you finish your sentence in what you hope is a provocative whisper. "...spend time with you?"

She opens her mouth slightly to give an answer you'll never know as you silence her with a kiss you've been waiting too long for- and from that moment, you know you won't be able to stop.

All you can think is that she tastes like nothing you've ever experienced before, so fiery sweet that you immediately pull her body to yours because you selfishly want more of it, as much as possible. Her mouth is soft and slightly chapped and the rhythm of her lips moving with yours is heavenly. Hesitantly her arms wrap around your neck, and sliding your fingers into her thick hair, you wonder for a minute why you haven't done this earlier, especially when her thigh presses into you and you inhale sharply. You can feel her shake with laughter through the intimate press of her body to yours and in retaliation you start brushing your thumb across the small space of skin at the back of her neck. The fighter pilot you hold jerks slightly and – what a beautiful sound – lets loose a soft noise of appreciation. You take it as an invitation and smiling slightly against her lips you deepen the kiss and tighten your hold on her slight frame. Kallen is incredibly warm, a warmth you never knew you were missing, a warmth that burns through your veins and keeps your desperate hold on her.

The need for air becomes more consuming than your need for her and unwillingly, your lips separate from hers but only enough to allow for shallow breathing. Your foreheads touch and listening to her ragged breaths you wonder what has incited you to shamelessly take advantage of your ace this way- something you never should have done. You should've held yourself in your ice-cold state of perfection, that lying mask, but the temptation of this woman is overwhelming. You trace her cheek, finally able to wipe away that white smudge, and end up passing your fingertips over her red lips, even redder from kissing you. The soft give is intoxicating and you repeat the light movement, surprised when she parts her lips and darts out to touch your finger with her tongue. The momentary contact sends you reeling. Your blood pounds loudly in your veins as she somehow steps into you, slipping her leg between yours, and reaches up to unbutton your collar.

Smiling slightly, you move in to press a kiss to the junction of jaw and ear, holding her carefully, gently in place as her heady scent once more pervades your nose. As your lips graze her earlobe she pauses, and then continues down your shirt, and you shiver slightly against her when you feel the cool air flow over your chest. Her deft fingers invade the break in the recently-laundered cloth and wander provokingly over your bared skin. Her mouth moves to a similar part of you, laying kisses up and down the length of your neck. Before you can suppress it, the lowest of moans escapes your throat and you feel her lips curving in a smile against your skin. Your hands, entangled in her hair, move down to trace her collarbone lightly and feel your way to the complicated array of fastenings that hides her from you, musing if you're shattering a thousand boundary lines in the process. You accidentally brush her chest and the pleased noise she makes reassures you that if you've crossed any lines, she's happy to let you.

Confounded somewhat at the ridiculous design of her jacket yet unwilling to disentangle yourself from her enough to figure it out, you let it be and trace down her back, lingering at the twin dips that allow you to press her body against yours harder. Abruptly you reach the edge of a different-textured cloth- her skirt. Considering it, you look to her for permission but find it redundant as her hand takes yours and leads it to the bottom edge. Smiling triumphantly, you shamelessly hook your fingers around the edge and pull it up, slowly, exposing her thigh. The word shouldn't echoes faintly in your ears but Kallen makes an impatient noise as you teasingly brush her skin and you decide to go on. Tracing your fingertips ever so slowly up the inside of her leg, you feel the tremors that ripple through her increase until she seems fluid as water, rocking against your lower body with increased fervency and arching into your touches as you seek out her lips again. The friction between you and her whites out your senses completely, except anything that has to do with her. Kallen. The name that you whisper as your fingers manage to reach that sweet spot and she lets loose your name in an incensed, strangled moan. Unforgiving and half-delirious, you dig your finger into her and the slick heat that is her core. Your name is repeated in a heady mantra that flows brokenly from her lips as you slide your other hand down over her other thigh and pull it up to wrap around you. The new angle at which she undulates continuously against you, not to mention the occasional squeeze on your hips, is maddening, as are the hands she uses to undo the fly of your pants when-

"Tabasco!"

She takes your air, inhaling sharply and leaving you breathless. You're frozen in place even as she makes furious attempts to disentangle herself from you, pulling sharply down on her skirt and frantically trying to rebutton your halfway-open shirt. The green-haired witch is looking around, with careful indifference to the state of undress you both are in.

"Where's my Tabasco?"

Your eyes meet hers and you see a smirk in them that angers you slightly, enough to make you pull Kallen back against you in a very suggestive pose, her leg still hitched around your waist as you answer the pizza woman with the same indifference even as your fingers lightly stroke her back to restore a degree of calm.

"I have a month's supply in the storage closet."

She leaves without another word, and you choose to ignore the widening smirk on her face as you turn your attention back to the woman who's now as pink as her hair, carefully applying your lips to the spot right under her ear as the door slams shut, whispering.

"Now where were we?"

The next morning, when you walk into the classroom with innumerable thank-you notes in hand, you encounter Millay with a slight frown on her face. You ask her what was wrong.

"Oh Lulu, the kitchen staff was incredibly angry to find their workplace in a huge mess this morning! The cooking club swears they had nothing to do with it, and I do believe them since there's never been a problem before… anyhow, the staff asked that I make an announcement to the school at large to request the kitchen prior to using it from now on, but I do hate troubling the student body with housekeeping."

Millay puts her hands on her hips and pouts, while you attempt to conceal the grin tugging on the corners of your mouth. You cast a careful glance in the direction of Kallen's seat, and you're not surprised to find her staring determinedly at the chalkboard with her back turned to you with embarrassed indifference.

"I'll make the announcement for you," you offer courteously. "After all, this should be my duty as vice president."

Millay beams at you, while in your periphery, you see Kallen twitch in her seat.