But I'd go through Hell for you

and I haven't been this scared in long time

And I'm so unprepared

so here's your Valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words,

a simple melody

This world's an ugly place

but you're so beautiful to me."

-Blink 182

Maria DeLuca growled at the row of hearts draped on the Crashdown Café's front door. She hated Valentine's Day. The only time she had ever got a present was from Doug Sohn in Eighth grade. It had been a bag of cinnamon hearts, which she hated, but she had thanked him very politely. That was until he tried to stick his tongue down her throat and she had been forced to use the infamous DeLuca sleeper hold on him. Needless to say it hadn't been a long term relationship.

Maria entered the home of Men-In-Blackberry Pie and Mulder and Scully shakes.... To be greeted with a life size cardboard of (what else?) Aliens. Except these Aliens were kissing with a large cartoon heart held between them.

"Yeah, right. Like they even have hearts." The blond muttered to herself. She should know. Not only had a teenage alien dumped her (something she could handle, as she told herself daily) but one had broken her best friend Liz's heart. It all made her want to punch the happy alien couple right in the kisser. Maria plopped down on the staff couch. Feeling this cranky at the beginning of a shift was not a good sign. What kind of tips could one expect when they were shooting death rays out of their eyes? God, she needed some Cyprus oil. The calming scent would fill her lungs helping her to find her centre, a strength that would hold out even against screaming babies and cold hamburgers. But even that simple pleasure was to be denied to her. Earlier that day she had been taking a whiff of the soothing scent when Michael Guerin had barrelled down the hallway calling to his fellow spaceboy, Max Evans, upsetting both Maria's mental and physical balance.

"Damn him! Nothing goes right when he's around!" Maria wanted to curl up on the couch and pout but it was almost four and duty called. She had to think positively if she was going to get through her shift. At least her locker smelled good. She smiled to herself. She still had her sense of humour. If she could keep that (and if no aliens with bed head and tight jeans appeared) she could survive tonight.

* * * *

Michael Guerin was a contrary person. It was as deeply rooted in his personality as paranoia and an aversion to the Backstreet Boys. Just when the last thing a person wanted to see was his scowling face would be the exact occasion when he would arrive on time, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Maria almost dropped the meals she was carrying when she saw his broad shoulders and unmistakable hairdo sit it's self down in booth 6. Why? Her eyes pleaded to heaven. Why did he have to show tonight? Why did Liz had to have a Biology test that meant Maria was working alone and would be forced to serve him? She felt like stomping her feet or running upstairs to Liz'sroom.

Michael looped one arm around the back of his booth. His face had a faintly annoyed expression as if amazed at the stupidity of his surroundings. This expression was not out of the ordinary but there was a certain tightness in his face, a look in his eyes that spoke of a deeper emotion. Worry? Embarrassment? No... nervousness. A skilled observer could pick up these signals from the slight differences in appearance and body language. Plus his left leg couldn't stop moving, shaking up and down as he kept folding and re-folding a small piece of paper between his fingers.

Maria, of course did not see this. She was too busy trying very hard to look at everything but the alien at booth 6. After making sure that the only other customers in the café, a young couple with a toddler in highchair, had everything they could want including salt, sugar, Parmesan cheese, napkins and free refills Maria knew that she had to approach Michael.

‘Okay,' she told herself. ‘You can do this. Fast and painless, like pulling off a bandaid. In and out, no fuss, no muss.' Just don't look into his eyes. With her own eyes focussed determinedly on her notepad Maria spoke. "What'll you have?" "Hi." Michael said softly.

Maria's eyes shot up to met his. This was not the crack about horrible service that she had been expecting. Oh, *big* mistake. Michael's soulful eyes looked right in to her, seeing her dreams, her thoughts, her deepest emotions.... Mayday! Mayday! Going down!

"What'll you have?" Maria squeaked out again wanting to kick herself. She was not Minnie Mouse. Michael could not turn her into Minnie Mouse. She was tough, she was strong. She was Teflon... as long as she didn't actually have to look at him.

"The Usual." He was still quiet. Maybe this was brooding day, Maria thought. That would mean mysterious day was yesterday and asshole day would be tomorrow....

"Uh, Maria? Before the next millennium, please? I know it's only a thousand years away but I think you can make it."

Anger filled Maria's brain, making it much easier to meet E.T.'s eyes. Through gritted teeth Maria replied, "Chocolate cake, cherry soda and tabasco sauce. Got it." Commenting to herself, none to quietly, "Who am I kidding? Everyday is asshole day."

* * * *

Michael fought the urge to hit something, more specifically himself. He swore there was a little switch between his mouth and brain that imploded whenever Maria was around. Whatever he meant to say or do with his mouth always became the exact opposite. When Max and Liz were at the reservation and he wanted her to shut up... he kissed her. At the old soap factory when the only thing he wanted to do was kiss her he spoke, using words as weapons. She must hate him. He had been such a bastard to her, saying exactly the right things to make her feel like a cheap dimestore hooker. He had to make amends. It wasn't that he still liked her, no, of course not. But she had kept their secret, risked herself in River Dog's cave, she smelled like flowers that would live forever and had the most talented hands.... A shiver ran through Michael's body as her relived every touch, every kiss... Oh God, this was torture. He needed a little button in his brain that would zap him whenever he though of Maria. Make disliking her a conditioned response, like Pavlov's dogs. Michael almost sighed. He'd be an electrified veggie within a day.

Suddenly a piece of chocolate cake and a cherry cola materialized in front of him.

"We're closing in five, you'll have to eat quickly. I'm tired and I want to go home." The young couple had left and Michael and Maria were alone in the front. Michael could hear Louie, the cook, washing up in the back, humming to himself. Michael reached for the tabasco sauce in Maria's hand, carefully not to let his fingers brush hers.

"Then I'll be done in five." Michael poured some tabasco sauce on the cake and then speared a bite with his fork. Slowly, deliberately he brought the cake to his lips. Once inside his mouth he savoured the sweet and spicy taste, making the most of every molecule, swirling it with his tongue, licking it from his lips. He meant to annoy her with his slowness but as always in the case of Michael and Maria every action produced something far from the desired result. Maria could not look away from his lush lips as Michael's pink tongue darted out to collect every last bit of non-existent chocolate from said luscious lips.

Naughty thoughts filled Maria's head and a pink flush came over her cheeks. Her tongue mirrored him as she smoothed her own suddenly dry lips.

This, of course, lead Michael to his own, very similar thoughts about strange girls who managed to be both sweet and spicy...

It was a vicious cycle that would have continued until their heads exploded from the pressure of the sexual tension they were creating or one of them used their tongue in a more mutually satisfying activity if Louie hadn't picked that moment to yell, "I'm leaving out the back, Maria. Make sure to lock up after me!" A door shut loudly.

Cheeks even pinker, eyes averted, both tried to regain their composure. Maria by wiping down the counter for the fifth time, Michael by folding and re-folding his little piece of paper.

This went on for a very long minute before they both decided to speak.

"You should go-" "I brought you-"

Both stopped. Michael stood. "You're right. I should go." he hurried for the door, praying for a natural disaster to stop him.

"Wait." He almost grinned. Maria was his own natural disaster. "What did you bring? Did you find something? Something about home?" There was the sweetness coming out. Maria could even care about the hopes of a loser like him. He turned back to her and the sincerity in her eyes gave him a pain somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It's just something I've been meaning to give you." He held out a small piece of paper to her. This time he let their fingers touch, sending shivers up his arm as she took the paper from him silently. Maria tried to kill the hope that the touch caused to spring up in her heart.

But Maria didn't need to worry about that. Michael could kill the hope for her, it was his specialty. His hand closed over hers, his callouses rough against the cream of her skin. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just something.... You deserve it. It's yours." He was only a breath away, the same distance as in that crummy Motel in Marathon, Texas when he had told her ‘Not if you were the last girl on earth.' For a split second it seemed like he would kiss her. But he didn't. Always contrary.

"Happy Valentine's Maria." The bell on the door rang and he was gone.

Maria unfolded the paper with shaking hands. She could barely breath. It didn't mean anything, she repeated his words to herself. It doesn't mean anything.

The paper was jagged as if ripped from a school notebook with familiar blue lines across it. There was only three lines on it, written with a dull pencil. Maria's fingers ran over the words, slightly smudged by Michael's nervousness. A tear ran down her cheek. She wasn't sure her chest could contain all that she was feeling. It was a simple haiku, like those written in grade nine English.