Valentine’s Day was a ridiculous holiday for ridiculous women. ‘Juliet Douglas’ sat in the cafeteria of Headquarters, cutting daintily at her meat. If one more woman came up to her to coo and giggle over whatever insipid gift their husband/boyfriend/fiance/man they wanted to get into bed had given them, she was going to strangle someone. Not that her smooth, calm face revealed any of this. No, she sat like a proper lady and smiled and nodded and pretended to care because that was what she did.

The single rose sitting in a slim vase on her desk didn’t help matters. It led to questions of ‘oh! You have a boyfriend?’. Sloth simply shook her head to the question and went back to her work. She ignored the comforting words of ‘well, you’ll find the right man’ and ‘it must be so hard with your job!’. The rose had been a gift from the Fuhrer - thoughtful of course, but overall a stupid gesture. She’d had to listen to him go on about his plans with his wife later that evening, complete with a rousing rendition of the first Valentine‘s Day they had shared together. She swore she was getting a headache from it all.

Didn’t these women have lives outside of their men? It was only another day. She wasn’t bitter - she had seen the bitter women, glaring hatefully at gifts and flowers and chocolates as though they had been stabbed. No, she wasn’t bitter he was simply uncomprehending and annoyed.

Upon returning to her office after lunch, Sloth sank into her chair and checked the place beside the phone for messages. There were none. Perhaps she could go home early - and miss the rush of young men picking up their women for dinners or dancing of moving picture shows or whatever it is that they did.

“Miss Douglas?”

“Hmm?” Sloth glanced up, her face its usual mask of pleasant disinterest. Lovely, a lost courier. Why did half of Headquarters think she was some sort of directory?

“Package for you, ma’am.”

Sloth could see the women in the offices outside craning their heads to see. A package? What sort of package would she be getting?

“Bring it,” Sloth said, laying down her pen and folding her hands on her desk. A crudely wrapped rectangle box was set upon her desk. The wrapping was red and torn at the edges. It looked as though it had either been wrapped in haste, anger, or by a five year old with mangled fingers.

“Sign here please?”

Sloth signed without looking, watching the box with mild interest. There was no card, no note, nothing but the torn wrapping held loosely with a bit of string.

“Happy valentine’s day, ma’am.”

Sloth just nodded. The gaggle of women from the administrative offices were gathered around the door. She set the package aside and continued with her work, sparing it not another glance. Eventually the women gave up and went back to their desks.

Who would have sent her a gift? Were it another present from her superior, she imagined it would professionally wrapped and delivered in person. There was no man who courted her - there was only a man who took her to bed when they both had the time and he had the inclination. Hardly a romantic situation. Romance was simply something she had no time for or interest in. Lust was the one who baited men to woo her and fall at her feet with sonnets and flowers. Perhaps the women of the office had simply felt sorry for her.

When her work was finished, Sloth finally turned her attention to the box. Her expression remaining the same she slit the tattered paper with her fingernail and slid the string off. The box itself was white and lacquered, giving no hint to what was inside. She lifted the lid and pulled apart the white tissue paper within.

Lying in the box was a swatch of gauzy violet-blue cloth. Sloth lifted it, puzzled. It was a scarf. One of the fashionable ones that were so popular with women these days. There was no note within the box, either.

“Juliet…oh!”

“May I help you sir?” Sloth turned her head to smile politely at the Fuhrer, the scarf still draped over her hands.

“What a lovely scarf!” The Fuhrer exclaimed. “Let me see… oh my! This is a Swansea! My wife has one - they’re the finest quality, you know.”

“No,” Sloth said simply, “I didn’t know.”

“Have you been hiding a young man?” the Fuhrer asked, winking.

“No.”

“Oh?” He beamed. “A secret admirer then! He must fancy you quite a bit!”

“I suppose so.” How odd. An expensive gift wrapped in tatters and sent without a note. Any idea that it had been a gift of pity was washed away by the revelation of the expense. “Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, yes! I’m heading out early. Don’t want to keep the wife waiting, and you know children are when you stay out too late!”

“Of course.” No, she didn’t know. “I’ll finish up here.”

“Wonderful! I don’t know what I’d do without you, Juliet.” The Fuhrer clapped her familiarly on the shoulder and Sloth smiled politely.

“Enjoy your evening, sir,” she said as he left, humming under his breath. But her attention was back to the mysterious gift of the scarf. A secret admirer. She didn’t think she’d caught the eye of any men, but she had to admit she didn’t pay much attention. Well, either the young man in question would step up or he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter either way to her. Best that he stayed secret, really. Envy was a jealous and possessive creature. Any admirer would likely find himself dead if he made himself known.

After closing up the office, Sloth fingered the soft cloth of the scarf. On impulse, she wrapped it about her neck as she had seen other women wearing them.

Walking home she was surrounded by reminders of the trivial holiday. Couples chattering and giggling and hanging off of one another like fools. Shop displays that made generous use of hearts and pinks. She touched the scarf at her neck without thinking.

She’d never been given a gift before. The ‘birthday’ and other holiday gifts from the Fuhrer didn’t count. The situation perplexed her more than anything. It wasn’t as though she were a particularly attractive woman - Lust held the monopoly on female beauty. Nor was she particularly friendly. She was professional and polite but withdrawn. She doubted most of her co-workers even knew her name. And yet someone had given her a gift.

She reached her small townhouse and slid the key into the door to find it unlocked. Her lips tightened ever so slightly then. She shouldn’t have given him a key - not that that would stop him from entering her home whenever he liked. She pushed the door open and flipped on her light. He was there, sprawled out on her couch and staring at the ceiling. She wondered how long he had been there.

“You’re here,” Sloth said, mildly. She set her briefcase down on a small table and stood, her hands at her side. He rarely came by on days that she worked. It was too risky, on the off chance that a co-worker dropped by.

“Yeah, I am.” Envy turned his head to look at her, his usual charming and disarming grin lighting up his face. He always looked that way, at first. So pleasant and friendly. It was part of his danger. “You’re early.”

“I finished quickly,” Sloth said. She really didn’t want to see Envy at the moment. He may be her… whatever he was, but she didn’t need be reminded of the specifics of their relationship. She hated to even call him her lover - it was too soft and warm of a word. There was no love involved in their meetings or their couplings. “Do you have orders for me?”

“What? No.” Envy sat up, swinging his legs with an easy grace and stretching his arms out over the back of her couch. Then he stood, restless as always. He could never sit still. He shook his head and rolled his shoulders, useless movements that were designed to disarm. But she knew him better. He grinned, smugly. “You got it.”

“Hmm?” Sloth tilted her head, politely curious. What was he on about? Envy spoke the way he moved, quickly and leaping from place to place.

“That.” Envy jabbed a finger at her neck, frustrated. He was easily frustrated, a stark contrast to Sloth’s eternal patience. “You got it.”

“This?” She touched the scarf at her neck, her expression melting into one of legitimate confusion. Was he insinuating what she thought he was insinuating? No, it couldn‘t be. And yet… “<I>You</I> sent this?”

“Yeah.” Envy shrugged, glancing off to look out the window. His eyes were shaded now, his head slightly bowed. <I>He</I> had sent her a Valentine’s Day gift? The idea was so absurd that Sloth imaged she had to have heard him wrong. Envy wasn’t the sort to send gifts - not pleasant ones, at any rate. But his sheepish behavior only backed up his words. But it was Envy. Cruel, sadistic, sarcastic, violent Envy who spent most of their time together either complaining, raging or dragging her into bed.

“Why?”

“Because.” There was an annoyed note to his voice and he still wouldn’t look at her. He was like a young boy who’d been caught doing something improper, half shrugging and petulant. She expected him to start toeing the ground in sheepish apology. What in god’s name was going on? “It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“Oh.” Sloth shrugged. She couldn’t quite pin down her feelings at the moment. What did he think of her, she wondered. She crossed the distance between them slipping from Juliet to Sloth as she went, the scarf still clinging to her now bare shoulders and neck. It was what was done, yes, between lovers. Sloth fixed her face into its calm mask, giving no hint to the internal turmoil his actions had caused.

“Yes,” she said, leaning to press a hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth as she had seen women do when given gifts. It was awkward and strange, this… <I>normalcy</I> that was creeping between them. They were neither one of them normal. And yet here they were, in their own parody of humanity, giving gifts and acting like lovers. Had he been sweet or pleasant she would have doubted his sincerity. But she knew him too well. He wasn’t annoyed, he was embarrassed and perhaps disgusted with himself. She supposed it was sweet, in a way. As sweet as he could be, which was good enough for her. It was the best she had. And honest embarrassment was worth more than false praise or thoughtless gifts given out of some human born duty.

“Yes,“ she said again as he stood still and silent beneath her kiss, his eyes cast to the floor in brooding shame. “I suppose it is.” She paused, standing before him in her dim living room. “Come,” she finally said, taking his hand and dropping her own eyes at the guarded and perturbed look he gave her at the touch. Rarely did she ever touch him without invitation or urging. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He shrugged and in a flash he was back his usual smiling self, all bright eyes and easy grins. He tugged playfully at the soft material around at her throat, mischievous and devilish as he took her upstairs to her sparsely decorated bedroom. And he kissed her before they went to the bed, teasing and roguish. He pulled at the straps of her dress with his teeth, grinning as he disrobed her and tossed her onto the bed.

Even as they made love, he didn’t unwrap the scarf from around her neck.