A/N: I wasn't intending to write anything over the holidays but I stumbled across a prompt the other day, something sparked in my mind and well, this is the result - written in the space of a few hours and not proofed, so please excuse any mistakes. New Year is a rather special time for the Bateses after all :) (and I also quite fancied rounding out 2017 with a total of 70 fics under my belt)

I don't own Downton Abbey or any of its characters. I hope you enjoy!

With thanks to yourenotevenirish on Tumblr for allowing me to use the brilliant cover image.

A First Time for Everything

If it wasn't for Robert bleeding Crawley, he wouldn't be at a New Year's Eve party. He would have much rather chosen to see out the departing year at home, the fire roaring in its hearth and Jools Holland hootenanny-ing in the background. He'd unlock the door at just gone midnight to stick to his mother's old ritual of letting the old fly out and welcoming the new in, wishing his next-door neighbour Mrs Letherby a Happy New Year as she stood at her own threshold.

And then the new year would continue as much the same as the previous one had done.

There wasn't the excuse of terrible and ridiculously overpriced public transport, not when there were enough bedrooms in Downton Abbey to house the invited guests several times over. And he couldn't come up with any others. He had no family commitments, no old friends or acquaintances to catch up with elsewhere. Certainly no romantic attachments to wrap himself up in.

As the cacophony of noise inside got steadily louder as the evening progressed he had to escape. His breath came out in billows, a white steam on the otherwise pitch-dark air. A cigarette right at this very moment would be bliss. Giving those up was one resolution he'd managed to stick to. Shelving the booze hadn't been one ounce as whimsical as all that. His 'poison' all evening had been Bucks Fizz, without the fizz. He hadn't wanted special arrangements to be made for him; instead he wanted nothing more than to just fade into the background and do things as quietly and with as little fuss as was possible.

Still, there was a saving grace. Every cloud having a silver lining; that old cliché. Four words from his oldest – and apparently dearest – friend had had the power to change everything.

"Anna will be there."

His eyes had sought her out from the moment he arrived, as desperate as it clearly was to his mind and all of his senses. She looked incredible, as she always did, and the way she illuminated the room with even the smallest of smiles lifted his spirits skywards.

Silly old fool. How long had they been working together? Coming up to three years now, and he hadn't found the least bit of courage to do anything to change their situation. Sharing conversation over coffee and walking her to the bus stop each evening was as far as it went, and as far as it ever would go – at least everywhere other than in his dreams. She was way too good for him; he was nothing compared to the lines of eligible, much younger men who he was in no doubt were falling over themselves to win her heart. He was surprised that she wasn't on the arm of some beefy bloke the size of a tree tonight; instead she'd spent much of the night in the company of Mary and Gwen.

He lowered himself embarrassingly slowly to the stone steps he had been rooted upon in an attempt to relieve the gnawing ache in his right leg. Christ, that's cold. His arse would be numb in the space of seconds, but at least it was something to take his mind off things.

The click of high-heels tailed at his back, approaching nearer with each pulse against his throat. He didn't bother to turn his head and the words were left parked on his tongue.

Honestly, Cora, I'm fine. No need for another vol-au-vent, or plate of them.

He hunched his shoulders further against the cold, the wind whistling up against his cheeks. The scent of perfume was far more familiar and nearly brought his heart to a stop. From the corner of his eye he could see waves of golden hair, dainty feet encased in sparkling shoes. She was wearing a coat to shield against the bitter chill; she was sensible, after all.

"I thought I might find you out here."

He turned his gaze fully towards her, caught off-guard by the beautiful – if slightly frozen – smile that was spread across her face.

"Don't want to spoil the fun. Haven't I told you yet; party-pooper is my middle name."

"That's catchy," she laughed melodically. "But I don't believe you."

He allowed himself to smirk at her gentle flattery, feeling his extremities beginning to warm up nicely.

"Well, it sounds like there's more than enough going on as it is. They don't need me in there."

It must have been the brush of the wind against his elbow; certainly not the caress of her fingers.

"But I do."

He did a double-take, hardly believing his ears, a dumbstruck expression upon his face. She let out a little giggle, wrapping her arms tight about herself and shifting nearer on the stone so that the sleeves of their respective coats were touching.

Her head raised to the sky, surprisingly free of cloud, allowing a studding of silver sparkles to be visibly seen, a couple shining brighter than the rest.

"I'm not really a fan of New Year's. I only came because Mary practically begged me."

She turned her face back to his, the light from the stars above casting marvellously over her features, highlighting each of them perfectly. He willed himself not to stare at her glossed lips, directing his gaze higher to her mesmerising almond-shaped eyes, the colour of the clearest summer skies, a million miles away from here.

"If I had my way right now I'd be in my comfiest pyjamas, curled up on the sofa with a book in one hand and a steaming mug of hot chocolate in the other."

By God, she'd just described his perfect night. Though it didn't take too much to imagine any evening being less than amazing if he was spending it in her company.

She uttered a sigh, resting her chin on the open palm of her hand. "I suppose I'll look back and be grateful, though. There are worse places to be. And I have to admit, the company is second-to-none."

He smiled, feeling more relaxed than he had been moments previously.

"I'll agree there. And, if it's not rude of me to say, that dress is stunning." He could feel his cheeks flaming, burning him against the raw cold of the night. He sounded downright bloody stupid. "It'd...erm...be a shame to waste it."

The way she opened her coat to peek inside and check what she was wearing endeared him deeply. For a fleeting moment he wished that she would have come out without it, so that he had a reason to be chivalrous.

"Oh, I've had this for ages. I'm surprised it still fits, given how I indulged over Christmas."

He shook his head at her reasoning, and she laughed at his attempts at humour, as she always did. The minutes went by unnoticed when they got talking, finding the words easily, and it didn't feel as half as freezing as it had done when he had been out here on his lonesome.

"There is one good thing about New Year's Eve, though."

She dipped her gaze from him, seeming to appear uncharacteristically bashful.

"What would that be, then?" He kept his voice even, ideas whirling in his head but not even daring to hope.

Her eyes raised again, blazing brilliant blue with confidence re-found.

"Having a midnight kiss."

Blood fizzed in his veins, his throat close to sealing up. She wasn't short of suitors, he had to remind himself, even if they hadn't made themselves obviously known.

A chuckle bubbled up from his chest. "I can't say I've ever had one."

The look on her face displayed far more incredulity than he felt on having missed out such a tradition.

"You've never...but, you've been married!"

To his guilt and never-dying shame.

"I can only remember one New Year's that Vera and I spent together. Every other she was off out on her own. Most of the time I didn't see hide nor hair of her until some time on 2nd January."

Her beautiful face shadowed in the moonlight. "Well, that's a terrible shame."

He shrugged, exaggerating his own smile so that it would allow hers to reappear.

"It's not the end of the world."

Her lips half-raised at one corner of her mouth, her knees angled towards his. From nowhere he threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. The actions of a good friend. The temperature must have been in minus figures now, though the snow was holding off. She rested her head against his arm and he closed his eyes, trying not to let the fragrance of her hair and the feel of her soft weight leaning upon him affect him too much.

Some way behind them, from the walls of the great house, the countdown to the final moment of the year could be heard being chanted by a crowd of voices.

"Ten – nine – eight – seven..."

He felt her leave him, his eyes flickering back open as he mourned the absence. She was looking up at him, somehow seeming to have got even further into his space.

"...six – five – four..."

Her eyes were blinking, her lips trembling from the cold. He didn't hesitate in bringing a hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb running circles over her smooth, flawless skin.

"...three – two – one..."

There was but a breath between them, closer than they'd ever been, and their lips met one another a little before the stroke of midnight, but it didn't matter in the slightest. His hand remained held to her face, pulling her nearer, clinging to the unbelievable sweetness of the moment. There was nothing else but her, so very soft and warm, chasing away any trace of chill that he had felt. Her own hand was tickling at the nape of his neck, brushing at his hairline, causing him to smile gleefully into his first ever New Year's kiss.

The first kiss he shared with Anna.

Cheers could be heard ringing out from inside. "Happy New Year!"

Her eyes opened slowly as they broke apart, though the smile was wide on her face, his hand having slipped lower to nestle between her shoulder blades.

No doubt there were already regrets and would be a flood of tears before the very early hours were ushered in, most likely from a rebuked Daisy over her sorely misguided crush. But outside there was nothing except a rush of hope for the year that had only just begun.

"Well," he said, his breath still waiting to settle within his chest, "that's the best first that I've ever had."

She bloomed as she smiled back at him, her hands sweeping at either side of his face, igniting more of a fire within him at each tender caress.

"And I'm hoping it won't be the last," she uttered, just before she leaned in to repeat recent history.

"Yes, mate. Of course, I'll give your love to them both. And sorry that we won't be able to make it."

Why on earth he should be apologising he had no idea. It came as instinct, he supposed. Both he and Anna had been regulars at the Crawleys' annual New Year's Eve bash since the turn of the millennium, the routine something of a comforting one – especially for him, not a social butterfly by any means. For most of the night and the early morning he could be found almost superglued to Anna's side, clinging onto her hand and hoping that she wouldn't stray too far, leaving him in the company of some frightful bore who was full of themselves, like that Spratt fellow.

The tables had been turned in that respect on this particular evening, the fingers of his left hand still throbbing from where she had nearly squeezed the bones from them. He didn't mind in the slightest, wearing a smile that was several miles wide. He was confident that he'd be grinning in his sleep all the same, if he would actually manage to drop off at all in the next few hours.

"Next year. We're looking forward to it already. Okay, I'll let you get back to it. Enjoy, and go easy on the champagne, hey? Thanks, mate. Bye...what? Yeah, sure, if I need any advice I'll be sure to call. Who else would I ask? Bye, mate; have a great one."

He pressed the end call button on the phone, staring at the receiver in his hand for a few moments and shaking his head in disbelief. What an evening it had been, and certainly not how he had expected it to go.

He could still see the picture of their bedroom in his mind's eye; Anna's floor-length, Grecian-style dress hanging on one side of the wardrobe with his three-piece suit, shirt and tie next to it. Underneath the dresser sat an overnight bag, already packed meticulously and ready to be picked up, ensuring that their trip to the hospital would be a smooth one when the time arrived. He was the one who had been in a flap about all of the preparations; in comparison, Anna was perfectly calm about it all, spending most of the day with her feet up and grazing on anything and everything that she was still allowed to eat at this late stage of pregnancy.

"Hardly anyone has the baby on their due date; 5 per cent I read it as. I'll probably have to get induced. My mum did, twice."

But their first baby didn't share the plans to be late.

He'd done his best not to go into full meltdown-mode when Anna had shouted him upstairs from the bathroom, informing him that her waters had broke. Everything seemed to spiral from there, much to his alarm. New Year's Eve was one of the worst times to be in labour; the roads were deserted and their car was off-the-road, waiting to have winter tyres put on.

Anna had gone frighteningly fast from pacing the floor to ending up on her hands and knees.

"It's too late, John. This one doesn't want to wait."

For God's sake, he couldn't deliver his own child. It didn't seem like they had a lot of choice, Anna's contractions shortening by the second.

Apparently useless pieces of information can hit you at the strangest of times. He didn't know where he pulled it from, but he recalled that old Mrs Letherby had mentioned that her daughter-in-law was a midwife. His neighbour never went out of an evening and always played host to her son and his family over New Year's. Thank god that routines could be depended upon, at least in most cases.

Phone back in place – and hopefully the last call they'd receive that night, given the lateness of the hour – he padded into their room, feeling completely dazed and thoroughly amazed by the sight that greeted him. There was just the one light switched on, giving off a soft glow at the bedside. It framed them beautifully, a work of art. She was radiant, hair hanging in waves from her shoulders, slightly damp from her efforts. In her arms he lay – their beautiful, absolutely perfect newborn son. He was the tiniest thing John had ever laid eyes upon and yet at the same time he was a good weight, one of his chubby little arms poking free from the blanket that he was swaddled in. His eyes were closed, his breathing was soft, and every now and then a babbling sound emerged from his mouth; the most adorable sound that either of them had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

Anna was absolutely mesmerised, staring down at the baby and holding his tiny hand in one of hers. It was a thing of infinite beauty for John to observe; seeing the woman he adored with everything he had, his wife, his confidante, his lover and his best friend transform into the mother of his child. The child they had longed for with all of their combined heart and soul, as he truly believed that they were one person.

She managed to tear her eyes away, letting out a soft laugh as she looked up at him where he sat next to her on the bed.

"John," she uttered, in a breath full of reverence.

In her arms their son wiggled his little limbs, giving a little whimper.

He didn't have the words to respond, instead nodding his head with tears in his eyes and an immovable smile on his face. He held an arm tighter around her shoulders, rubbing the palm of his hand against her arm, bare in her sleeveless nightgown.

"Rob was a bit gutted that we couldn't make it."

She chuckled, being careful not to unsettle the baby. "He is a stickler for tradition. I suppose we could have FaceTimed in to say hello."

He wrinkled his nose. "He'll have to make do with an old-school phone call. I want to keep the two of you all to myself, at least for a little while yet."

John reached a gentle hand down, tracing his fingertips over their son's cheek, while Anna allowed her head to flop against her husband's chest, exhausted from the last few hours but reluctant to let sleep claim her.

"He's so perfect," he observed, taking in all of the baby's features. "He takes after you."

"Silly beggar," she mumbled against him, their hands meeting in a criss-cross over their son's little torso. "Highlight of the year?"

"Without a doubt," John grinned, his jaw not yet beginning to hurt. "Apart from you telling me the good news, in not so many words."

She giggled, stroking his thumb with the pad of hers.

"It's been one hell of a ride, Mr Bates. And it's only going to get better from here."

He smiled, the warmth resonating deep within his chest and spreading through his whole body. With one hand cupping their baby's head, he used his other to pick up the mobile phone that was on top of the bedside cabinet.

"It's nearly here."

Anna beamed at him through hazy, happy eyes that were still the most beautiful that he'd ever seen. Her head was raised but she'd done quite enough of the work already tonight so he closed the rest of the gap between them, saying a silent thank you before pressing his lips to hers. She kissed him back with more fervour than he expected and his heart raced, brimming as it was with happiness.

He felt their son's head against his palm, both of them smiling down at him as he nudged his chin up, making his presence fully known.

Another of Anna's soft and joyful giggles sent his soul soaring.

"Happy New Year," she cooed to their baby, who had settled back down comfortably in her embrace.

John dipped his head down, this year saving his midnight kiss for their newborn son who gurgled as his father's lips pressed lightly to his forehead.

"Happy New Year, son," he said, holding his darling wife tight against him as she lay in their bed. "I promise you that the best is yet to come."

And there was so much of it waiting.

A/N: Happy New Year! Here's to another one full of fic and fangirling (well, some things never change) :)