Diane stuck her key in the lock and turned. The door to her apartment flew open, and she walked inside, hung up her coat, and tossed her keys on the table. She heated some water for tea and sat on the couch. Every muscle in her body ached after chasing Wendy and Roger�s children around and investigating Lauren�s house. She sipped her tea and wondered if she would ever feel safe enough to have children of her own one day. She wondered if Wendy looked at all like Lauren, since she wasn�t at the bar scene that morning, and they were supposed to be twins. She wondered how Claire was doing, and sat bolt upright, then jumped over the couch, grabbed her coat and purse, ran for the door, ran back for her keys, and left her apartment so fast she imagined she left a dust devil twirling papers in a little cyclone behind her.

�Claire? Can you hear me?� Diane whispered, leaning over her partner. �Oh, Claire. You�re so pale, so pale.� Diane�s lip quivered, but she wanted to be strong for her partner. For a moment, she imagined Bobby�s pale face as he lay dying of a septic infection. He had been perspiring, trying to speak, running off lists of things to take care of before he left. He seemed to be having a conversation with someone else most of the time. Occasionally, he would drift back into consciousness and she knew he could see her. Diane�s heart ached, and as her tears began to flow, she sobbed out loud.

�Let her sleep,� a familiar masculine voice said from behind her. Diane didn�t turn to look at him.

�I had a feeling you might be skulking around here, Harry,� she sniffled. �Returning to the scene of the crime like the scummer in some bad mystery novel? Need to finish off one last witness?�

�That�s not why I�m here, and you know it.�

�Well, I take it you�re not here to bring me my flowers for Valentine�s Day.�

Harry remained in silence, and Diane finally turned to face him. Her tear-streaked face registered shock when she saw him. His face had been cut and bruised, he had dried blood on his arm surrounding what looked like a gunshot wound, and he looked like he had survived a fairly major fight. Wiping her face with her fingers, Diane felt an odd combination of sympathy and justice at his condition.

�No. I don�t give flowers for Valentine�s Day.�

�Why not? For the first time in years, we both have someone on Valentine�s Day, and you chose to go drinking alone in that pit of a pub? Where do you come up with all these romantic notions?� Her bitter sarcasm pierced him, but he didn�t move from his spot, other than to lower his head and look at the ground for a second.