"I'm a doctor damn it, not a florist."

Dr. Christine Chapel looked up from the chartpadd she'd been perusing to discover yet another elaborate floral arrangement had taken up residence in the outer office.

"Come on Leonard, lighten up, its Valentine's Day." She rose from the desk and refilled her coffee mug then, hoping to soothe his ruffled feathers, she refilled his cup as well.

"Looks like a cotton pickin' funeral home in here." He soldiered on seemingly undaunted by her efforts to placate him.

"Hey don't give me that look; none of them are for me." She shot back tartly, then cringed at the pathetic edge of disappointment in her voice. Christine hated everything about Valentine's Day. What kind of sadistic jerk would fabricate a holiday designed to plunge a knife into the heart of every lonely lovelorn being in the galaxy?

Why did all the happy madly in love people in the world get a whole day every year to flaunt their good fortune in the face of those who found love an endless series of disillusionment and disappointment.

Valentine's Day had declared war on Christine Chapel at an early aged, firing the first salvo just a few weeks before her eleventh birthday. A shy, gangly girl, who, courtesy of a prepubescent growth spurt towered over most of her classmates, she had miraculously worked up the courage to give a boy in her class an elaborate hand made Valentine card. Marco Buonarotti, no relation to Michelangelo, had most ungraciously refused the poetic proffer of her glitter encrusted metaphorical heart, and on her way home from school had literally added insult to injury by chasing her down with his friends yelling "Brutto anatroccolo" ugly duck and "giagante" giant.

Two years later, Renaldo Berra, the fourteen year old star kicker of the Santa Croce calcio club had asked her to their school's Valentine's dance, her first real date. She'd spent a month doing chores at her mother's clinic to get the money for the flowery floor length dress and pearly pink high heeled shoes she'd seen in the window of one of the small shops on the Oltrarno. She'd spent an hour curling her long golden brown hair, and her mother had even broken down and allowed her to wear make up like the other girls.

Christine had waited for Renaldo on the verdigris wrought iron bench on the front porch, feeling like a princess on her throne, the bells of the Duomo mockingly enumerating each of the hours as she waited for her prince. But unlike the fairy tales, Prince Renaldo was a no show, and finally, as the bells tolled ten she crept up the stairs, said goodnight to her parents and cried herself to sleep.

She'd heard the other girls laughing and gossiping the next morning as she came out of church with her parents. It seemed that Renaldo had shown up at the dance with Carmela Lucido, the most beautiful and popular girl in her class. Christine packed up her princess gown and shoes and stowed the box away in the fourth floor attic and never looked at a boy again until she was seventeen years old.

That was the summer that Dr Roger, her father's former intern, came back to Florence to spend the summer with her family. Three months later she followed her fiancé Dr. Roger Korby onto a transport for San Francisco and the start a new life. But her ancient enemy was not finished with her. Roger had not been one for romance, and had accepted the flowery card she presented him on their first Valentine 's Day as a couple with a dismissive sort of tolerance. Thus put on notice she'd not acknowledged the holiday again.

She was struck with the bitter irony that the last time she'd seen Roger was on Valentine's Day as he boarded the shuttle for Earth Spacedock to make the connection for the ship that would carry him out of her life forever.

Even now, after almost fifteen years, it was hard for Christine to admit that she hadn't really been in love with Roger. She'd admired and respected him, and he'd opened her eyes to new worlds and new ideas. She'd cared for him, deeply, and she was certain that if he'd not postponed their wedding when the spot on the ship to ExoIII opened up they would have had a secure and companionable marriage.

During the four years after Roger was declared lost each Valentine's Day was another grim reminder that her future hopes and dreams remained in limbo. Then she'd gotten word that the USS Enterprise was scheduled to make a stop at EXO III and Christine had managed to secure the billet as head nurse. It had ended badly to say the least. Roger had been dead for years, and then she'd found herself in love with the Vulcan First Officer of the ship. Four more years of Valentine's Days followed, each an annual reminder that she was hopelessly in love with a man who would never return that love.

But without a doubt, the cruelest blow, and the final nail in the coffin of Valentine's Day, had come one year ago today. She'd been busy prepping for her interview at Starfleet Medical. Apparently graduating at the top of her med school class had garnered considerable notice and she was being considered for Len's old job as CMO on the refitted Enterprise .

The door chime had sounded for the tenth time that morning, no doubt signaling another in the endless parade of delivery persons laden with flowers, chocolates, and heaven knows what else for Christine's roommate.

But instead the door slid open to reveal a rather young tight faced Vulcan male. He'd spoken her name, and when she'd nodded he handed her the clothlike envelope addressed in the quaint spidery script she'd immediately recognized as Spock's handwriting. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts racing as she'd traced over her name on the silvery cloth.

For thirty magical seconds Christine Chapel wasn't the ugly duckling or the giant, she wasn't the lovesick young nurse who'd spent every Valentine's Day eating alone in her quarters hiding from the tables of blissful lovers in the mess hall. She was the princess in the flowery dress and the pearly pink shoes dancing on a starry Florentine night.

And then she'd opened the envelope. His missive had been succinct and to the point, with deadly efficiency he'd been able to break her heart with only two sentences.

"I have resigned my commission with Starfleet to pursue the ritual discipline of the Kohlinar. Live Long and Prosper."

"None of these are yours?" McCoy's soft drawl brought her back to the present.

"Valentine's day and I have never been on good terms."

" I'm sure that green blooded hobgoblin will come through with some flowers and chocolate."

"Spock? I don't imagine that Vulcan's celebrate Valentine's Day, and even if they did I doubt he'd be giving me anything other than more overtime in the labs."

"Aw come on Chris, don't try to kid a kidder, I've seen the two of you having dinner in the Officer's Mess."

"We've been meeting for dinner to discuss our work in the lab."

"Every night? Makes me wonder exactly what you two are working on in the lab? Maybe some biology' experiments? " McCoy rocked back on his heels, a Cheshire Cat grin softening his craggy features.

"It's not every night…and get your mind out of the gutter. Look, we're in a good place professionally, and he's finally comfortable around me; don't ruin it by needling him about me."

"So are you meeting him for dinner tonight?"

"I hadn't thought about it. They're doing a special Valentine's dinner in the Officer's Mess. I can just picture him hoisting up that eyebrow at all the frilly decorations and blatant emotionalism. . To be honest Len, I'm not really up to another battle with Valentine's Day. It's kind of turned into my own private Kobiashi Maru."

"Lt. Ames?"

Christine turned to find a perky yeoman with a dozen roses.

"No, she's making rounds in the ward." Christine scanned the outer office and scowled at the realization that every horizontal surface was covered with floral arrangements.

"I surrender!" she laughed as she handed the chartpadd to McCoy.

"You surrender?"

"Yes, I'm waving the white flag, standing down my troops, total uncategorical capitulation." She held her hands over her head and laughed heartily. "Valentine's Day thirty two Chapel zero…and on that note, I'm going to meet Nyota for lunch."

….