It was an altogether foreign concept to him and he stared with skeptically when the police girl offered him the little red box tied up in a black ribbon. One inky eyebrow cocked.

"What's this?"

She smiled awkwardly still uncomfortable around him after all this time. "Uhm…it's uhm…a valentine." Arms thrust the package toward him and the girl's eyes fell to the floor, blood rushing to the surface of her pale cheeks.

"Valentine?"

The girl flinched as if struck. "I'm sorry. I just thought I aught to get you something, you being so nice to me and all. It's a cow heart, you know, to be funny. Haha." She laughed weakly as his hands came up to take the box from her hands.

"Me being nice to you and all…," he echoed utterly amused as he pulled the satin ribbon free and stared down at what was indeed a bovine heart on ice. He laughed though he didn't understand her sentiments. The very idea that he should eat this thing. The absurdity of it all. Her helpless awkwardness.

Her eyebrows tightened a little creating a frown in the middle of her forehead. "You're laughing. You don't like it, do you? You're always laughing at some joke that you think I don't understand. Everything is so funny to you isn't it?"

This hostility. It was not uncommon he laughed at her. Why should it matter now? He quieted to a face splitting grin and cocked his head.

She threw her hands into the air in a helpless gesture and scowled. "You're infuriating, Master! Ugh! Just like all the guys before! It's just a….I mean it's not that I like….oooooh! Nevermind!" And with that she stomped off down the hallway in a brisk and heavy beat.

He stared after her for a moment or two, vaguely aware that he had committed an unpardonable offense of some kind and a niggling curiosity more than regret drew him to seek out answers as to why. It was unlike the police girl to make any show of affection like this. However, she was still so stubbornly human that these strange displays of human emotion bubbled up every now and again.

Walter heard his name before he saw his addresser, but this was not uncommon. He simply continued to polish the silver. Doing average butler duties was sometimes a comfort. The silver went unused, but he could pretend couldn't he?

"Master Alucard, what brings you to seek me out on so fine an evening as this?"

Alucard set the box down carefully on the white tablecloth and stepped back, staring at it with an alien expression.

Walter looked over, cocking an aged eyebrow.

"A package?"

"A…valentine…"

The butler's cragged face twisted into a wry smile. " From Miss Victoria I presume."

"Indeed."

Gloved fingers carefully removed the lid and inspected the contents. "A bit misguided, but well meant I'm sure."

"This Valentine…what does it mean?"

The bemused smile grew even wider on the butler's lips, even as he crossed to the fireplace and pulled aside the grate to dispose of the inedible piece of animal flesh. "It means that she fancies you."

"Fancies me?"

"Indeed."

"How odd."

As the flame licked at the box, and satin, the scent of burning blood filled the air with a sweet perfume. Firelight played on the face of the man and the monster as they both stared as the sentimental gift turned to ash. Neither seemed particularly affected by the sight.

"Why? You know, don't you? Tell me."

"Well. On this day it is customary for humans to exchange gifts with loved ones and friends to show their appreciation. It's called Valentine's Day. I imagine Miss Victoria was just trying to show you how fond she is of you."

"A cow heart?" The vampire did not look convinced of the gift's validity.

"The traditional shape of a valentine is a heart, the symbol of love and emotions. But of course she felt silly giving you a paper heart or some such silly nonsense, and seeing as we are all aware of your rather black sense of humor I believe she was merely trying to amuse you with the irony."

"I did laugh…"

"No doubt for the wrong reasons."

Silence sat between them for a few moments and for a second you might have thought the monster felt guilt, the way his red eyes scanned over the flames slowly and thoughtfully as if trying to reconstruct the box and pull it back into being. Gradually his mouth formed a question.

"Do all people do this?"

"Most people. For instance, I gave Sir Integra a box of very fine chocolates this morning. It's rather a tradition. It's a day to give people what they want. To show your true feelings."

"Feelings….love….Love makes you vulnerable, Walter. Love opens you and exposes you to the world. Love leaves wounds even time cannot heal. Love kills you a little bit at a time. I have known…love." He spat the final word like a damning curse upon the world, hand clenching the fabric over his heart, clinging to old memories, old wounds.

Walter found his way back to his silver and resumed polishing.

"Ignore it then. No one expects anything from you, Master Alucard. Sir Integra is not one for such sentiments anyway. I expect she'll just throw the chocolates away," he mused, but he knew he was talking to empty air.

Integra found the rose resting on the sensible white linen of her pillow that night. It was a perfectly innocuous rose, a red so deep its veins looked black, like deoxygenated blood. A black satin ribbon was tied neatly in a bow around its stem, which was cool and smooth as she lifted it with her bedtime bare fingers. A thorn found its way to the space between her thumb and her careless index finger causing her to drop the vicious little thing and place her mouth on the wound.

"Oscar Wilde wrote a story once."

How infuriating. He knew better than intrude on her personal chambers like this and she opened her mouth to rain down harsh words as she turned, her platinum braid swinging like a whip ready to strike. Her bed. He was lying on her bed, the monster, spread there like some sort of living liquid shadow, his inky locks pooling in the folds of the linen, his coat spread around him like the petals of the intoxicating poppy flower, causing a small delirium in the mind.

"You.."

But he continued, not looking at her but at the ceiling. "It told of a nightingale who loved a student and though they could never be together nor ever understand one another she longed to give him what his heart desired, a red rose to give the woman he loved. She flew far and wide asking of every rose tree one red rose in return for her most beautiful song. But they had none give her. Until she came to a tree long thought dead and barren. It said to her:

If you want a rose,you must build it out of
music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You
must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long
you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your
life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.

And the poor little thing did this, producing one perfect red rose for her love who presented it to his lady fair. The nightingale of course died, love unfulfilled. Tragic…isn't it."

She held her hand and pursed her lips. A sound verbal thrashing was in order but her tongue could not find the right words.

"It's not like you to spout such sentimental things, Alucard. What are you thinking?"

The long fingered gloved hand, fettered, chained, shackled, the hand of her slave, her dog, reached for her own wounded one and she felt herself give it willingly. A chill, starting somewhere at the base of her spine and passing upward through her belly and chest, left her out of breath as she felt his cold lips on that tender place, the tongue drawing out and finding the small bit of blood the wound had left to give. He could have taken more. So much more. He could have taken her then, but he freed her, returning her hand gently to her side.

"Pure virgin blood. It's so…rare now a days."

"Alucard…" A question sat loaded on her lips.

There was no return gaze. No petulant longing plea of eyes and body. Just a dead stare directed at the ceiling.

"Happy Valentine's Day…Master," was all he said before melting away into the sheets like a bad stain.

She placed the rose in a glass of cold water and set it on her night table next to her glasses. Without them she couldn't see. But what was there to see. Familiar forms kept changing appearance before her and she wasn't sure of anything anymore. Burying her face in the down of the pillow she could swear she smelled him, if he had a smell, something lightly acrid and burning, stinging the nose but not unpleasantly. A small smile found its way to her lips.

"Valentine…"

And then she slept.