AN: Okay, this started out as one thing and turned into something entirely different. How fun! I was inspired by a line from House, I don't remember the episode, but it's in the first season. And the rest kind of went from there. I know that Valentine's Day is on a Saturday this year...but this works for me. It should work for you too. Thanks go to P. Diddy for the unexpected burst of inspiration his performance provided. The man truly does it all. Hope you enjoy!

Wednesday

As a rule, Ryan Wolfe did not like Valentine's Day. He was a guy—so there was that genetic-predisposition to forget the holiday all together when he had someone to share it with; and when he didn't have anyone to disappoint, it seemed like all the couples in his life lost their minds. Assuming he had nothing better to do but listen to their holiday stress, they inundated him with opinions on restaurants, wardrobe, hints that had been dropped, flower delivery, and what gift—if any—sent exactly the right message.

"Do you think it's too soon for jewelry?" Eric asked for the fifth time that morning as he moved the black light over the victim. "I don't want to come on too strong, y'know?"

Ryan sighed and ran his thumbnail over his left eyebrow. "Why are you asking me about this?"

Eric shrugged. "I don't know...we're friends. And you're friends with Calleigh...I trust what you think."

"I think there are more important things to worry about," Ryan snapped, turning from the countertop. "Like this sixteen year-old kid who got shot in the face this morning." He watched with remorse as Eric's eyes dropped to the body, dragging his shoulders and the corners of his mouth down with them.

"Yeah," he agreed with an embarrassed nod. "You're right—sorry, just forget about it."

He sighed again, feeling like he'd just kicked a puppy. It wasn't Eric's fault that he was in a crappy mood. "It doesn't matter."

"Yeah," Eric repeated, switching the black light off. "Get the lights?"

Ryan reached over and flipped the switch. "No, I mean..." for a moment he considered letting it go. It would certainly mean an end to this inane questioning about flowers and restaurant reservations and this urgent need to discuss the timing of everything.

"What?"

"I mean it doesn't matter what you get her," he relented. Damnit. Those puppy dog eyes didn't just work on the ladies.

"Sure it does," Eric argued, getting up from the body. "I want to make sure she knows—"

"She knows, man," Ryan interrupted. "Trust me—she knows. She's been waiting for an excuse to jump you for weeks. You could pretty much get her anything at this point."

The side of Eric's mouth turned up in a disbelieving grin. "She told you this?"

"Of course not. I overheard her and Natalia in the locker room the other day. Seriously, it's not going to matter what you get her...flowers, chocolates, a burlap sack—she's all yours."

To his great relief, that seemed to lessen Eric's anxiety and they were able to get back to the important things. Like that kid with the bullet through his eye, for instance. And Ryan was able to focus on the real reason for his dysphoria.

It certainly wasn't Valentine's Day, despite how annoying it was that the station was littered with shiny red hearts and fat babies with wings and lethal weapons stuck to every wall and window. It wasn't even everyone's attempt to celebrate—let them be together, Ryan figured, let them wear their little ties with the hearts and the glittering bobble head bands down in reception. Wardrobe certainly wasn't the issue here.

Actually, Ryan reconsidered as he examined Eric's red floral print with a more cynical eye, wardrobe might be the issue. Someone really needed to talk to Eric about those shirts. This was getting out of hand.

Eric noticed his scrutiny. "What?" he asked, looking down at himself. "Do I have something on my shirt?"

"Yeah," Ryan scoffed with a shake of his head. "About five hundred red flowers too many."

"It's a holiday, Wolfe. Forgive me for being a little festive."

"You passed up 'a little festive' about a year ago when you stopped dressing like a man."

Eric chuckled as he dropped a swab into an evidence box. "Yeah, I meant to tell you, the Easter bunny called—he wants his ties back."

"Oh, thanks," Ryan responded cheerfully. "I'm sure you too had a lot to talk about—I hear he's a big fan of Miami Vice too." He motioned to the rest of Eric's ensemble with a cheeky grin. "Y'know, I've heard that white pants-no sock look is coming back—you'll fit right in."

"All right," Eric cut him off. "Let's just get back to work so you can go be miserable somewhere else."

Music to Ryan's ears.

***

He pondered his malcontent throughout the rest of the day. All through a trip to the victim's school with Natalia, all during lunch while munching on the heart-shaped cookies HR had sent in, even in interrogation, and after the case had been packed away and the parents given their peace, his feelings churned.

If it wasn't the holiday and it wasn't being alone...what could it be? He wasn't depressed or suicidal or even particularly angry. It was just a lack of anything to make him happy. Nothing serious—hopefully it would wear off in a day or two and he could go back to his quips and the will to wear colors again.

Emotional turmoil was not a good look, Ryan reasoned as everyone began packing up for the day. Best to cancel on Uncle Ron and stay in for the night, not inflicting his foul mood on anyone else. He was on his way to the locker room when he noticed Valera was still in her lab, her back to the door. Natalia had handled all of the DNA earlier, he remembered. He hadn't talked to Valera all day.

It had occurred to him that she may be the cause of his bad mood. For the last few weeks, the DNA lab had been abuzz with gossip about her new boyfriend—some tall, model-type from South Beach who was just too good to be true. He'd convinced himself that it didn't bother him—Valera was always bouncing from one guy to the other. And just because she knew—everyone knew, for Christ's sake—that he'd been harboring a crush on her since his first week...well that didn't mean she couldn't see whomever she wanted.

Still. While the idea of her being squired about town with some action movie stunt double or whatever the hell he did didn't do anything to improve his mood, a short visit with Valera usually cheered him right up.

"Hey," he drummed his knuckles on the doorframe, hoping she'd leave him with a dirty joke and a smile to brighten his evening. "Just heading out, wanted to say..." Ryan's train of thought crashed swiftly at the sound of a sniffle.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice thick and wobbly.

"Uh..." he took a few steps into the lab, noticing that most of the lights were off. "What are you doing?"

When she glanced over her shoulder he noticed the pools of smeared eye makeup and the blotches of red on her cheeks. "I'm uh..." she sniffled again. "I'm recalibrating the centrifuge."

He nodded slowly and cautiously sidled up next to her. "It's a sad thing...an uncalibrated centrifuge. Thank God you got to it, I've been weepy all day just thinking about it."

Valera rubbed furiously at her eyes and gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah. It has that effect on people."

"What happened?" he asked after a few long moments of sniffles.

She sighed and shrugged. "The usual—he's busy, he wants to put us on a 'break' until summer when he'll have more time."

Ryan figured the specifics of names and relationship status weren't really all that important. "You're that time consuming?"

She made a sound somewhere between disgust and amusement. "Yeah, I guess so. He said he was being a bad boyfriend because he didn't have enough time to devote to being with me." He watched as she made another sound of frustration and squeezed the bridge of her nose. "I mean, really, I thought he was a pretty great boyfriend up until this afternoon. He didn't start being a 'bad boyfriend' until he broke up with me."

Ryan looked helplessly on. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," she scoffed again. "Me too." The air hung between them for a little while longer before she continued. "And please, Ryan, please don't say anything like it's his loss or I can do better or there are other fish in the sea—I don't want to hear it."

"I...wasn't planning on it."

"Good. Because when you get right down to it, I just got dumped on Valentine's Day and it doesn't get much worse than that."

Ryan was struck with an idea. "What are you doing tonight?"

She stopped her fiddling with the centrifuge and gave him an incredulous look. "Are you doing that selective listening thing again? I told you, I just got—"

"Yeah yeah yeah," he waved a hand. "You got dumped on Valentine's Day, I know. But what if it wasn't Valentine's Day—would it still suck?"

She considered this. "Yes."

"Fine, it would. But would it suck as much?"

Another moment of contemplation. "I don't know...maybe not."

"So guess what else it is, besides Valentine's Day?"

Valera gave him a blank and miserable look through swollen eyes. "The day my social life officially died?"

"No, it's a Wednesday!" he exclaimed.

"So?"

"So millions of people get dumped on Wednesdays...it's just another day of the week." Ryan could tell she still wasn't following. "Listen, if it wasn't Valentine's Day...if it was just a Wednesday—any other Wednesday of the year—what would you be doing tonight?"

"I don't know...probably go home, order dinner and watch my soaps on TiVo?"

"Excellent," he assured with a smile. "That's perfect. You know what I do on Wednesdays?"

She shrugged. "Organize your canned goods?"

"Close. I hang out with my Uncle Ron."

"You do?"

"Yeah, he's lonely and I don't mind and we have a pretty good time. Anyway, my point is that if you go home, you're going to be reminded somehow that it's this stupid holiday and you're going to be more depressed than usual and it's not going to be good. So I'm asking you to forget that today is a holiday and join me for my Wednesday tradition."

Valera eyed him dubiously. "So this isn't like...like a date or anything...right? Because that's pretty shitty—asking me out twenty minutes after I get dumped because you feel bad for me."

"Valera, c'mon...it's Wednesday! Who asks for a Wednesday date?"

Her mouth twitched into a cautious smile. "Do I have to change?"

"Absolutely not! It's just me and Uncle Ron—no one to impress. Besides," he added softly, "you look great."

She rolled her eyes and wiped at her face. "Yeah, right," she muttered, slipping out of her lab coat. After the centrifuge had been reconfigured and set in its rightful place, she turned to him. "So where are we going for this...Wednesday...thing?"

Ryan scoffed. "And ruin the surprise? I don't think so. Just know that you're in for the thrill of your life."

***

The Dade County Jewish Community Center was much bigger and much busier than Valera would have imagined. By the time they found a parking spot, Ryan's uncle was waiting for them beneath a large banner with the words SENIORS BINGO 7-9pm! sandwiched between two blue Stars of David.

She raised her eyebrows. "We're playing Bingo?"

Ryan shrugged. "It's Wednesday—Wednesdays are Bingo nights here at the JCC."

"You do this every week?"

He nodded. "For the most part. C'mon," he urged her across the parking lot faster. "Uncle Ron hates to wait."

"Ryan!" a man's voice called from the entranceway. "Ryan, you're late! We're not gonna get a spot!"

As they approached, Valera was able to make out the owner of the voice. Ryan's uncle was, without a doubt, the cutest old man she'd ever encountered. He was the same height as his nephew with a shock of black hair, a face full of prominent features, and thick framed coke bottle glasses that enlarged his icy blue eyes. He wore light blue plaid trousers and a black polo shirt tucked in high at the waist. His shoes were silver and fastened with Velcro. Without hesitation he pulled Ryan into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. "We're not gonna get a spot," he repeated, pulling away.

"We'll be fine, Uncle Ron. I promise. There's someone I want you to meet." Ryan motioned from one to the other, "Valera, this is my uncle; Uncle Ron, this is Maxine Valera—we work together."

"Maxine," Ron smiled before pulling her in for a peck as well. "That's a good name—you don't hear that name very often anymore." He looked from Ryan to Valera and back again. "Hey, listen, Ryan...you know if you had a date, you coulda just cancelled—I woulda called Harry or somebody."

"It's not a date," Ryan assured him quickly, noticing the blush that had crept to Valera's fair cheeks. "Really."

"Yeah," Ron didn't look convinced. "Right. Good lookin' kids, out together on Valentine's Day..." he shrugged. "It's nice, Ryan. It's nice."

"We're uh..." he cleared his throat and dropped his voice, "We're actually kind of doing an anti-Valentine's thing, Uncle Ron. Sort of boycotting the whole thing."

"Oh," the older man seemed to get it. "Yeah, Valentine's Day—the hell with it. Hearts...candy..." he waved an impatient hand. "It's all bullshit as far as I'm concerned. C'mon," he motioned to the Bingo hall, "let's play. We're late enough as it is."

Valera laughed and followed him inside. She watched as he dug into his pocket and produced three curvy bottles, each with a different colored round top. "What are those?" she asked before she could help herself.

Ron turned to her with a smile. "My daubers. I always bring a spare—just in case," he handed her the bottle with the green top. "You can borrow the green this week, my sweet." He winked. "It always brings me luck."

***

Uncle Ron hadn't been lying about the green dauber being lucky. By the end of three games of Bingo, Valera had won almost a hundred dollars. When she tried to split her earnings, however, she was hushed and waved away.

"Call it a beginner's gift," Uncle Ron had said with a smile as they parted ways. "Incentive to keep you coming back."

She laughed. "Are you sure? You're the one who pointed out half my numbers...It's only fair."

"Fair shmair—did you have a good time?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Absolutely."

"Then that's all I need. Ryan, I'm serious," he pointed a serious finger at his nephew. "You bring her around—she's good for you, makes you laugh."

"No," he shook his head. "We're just friends, Uncle Ron."

"Just tell me the next time she's coming along, I'll bring Mona. It can be a double...what have you..." he shrugged good naturedly. "It'll be fun."

There was another exchange of goodbyes before they made their way back to the car. "I'll buy you dinner," Valera said suddenly, waving her wad of cash at him.

Ryan stopped fumbling with his keys and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"I mean, no Cheesecake Factory or anything—but I could definitely eat something."

They settled for Chinese on Flagler, replaying the highlights of Bingo through mouthfuls of fried rice and spring rolls.

"I can't believe that woman walked out," she said again with a shake of her head. "I mean...it's Bingo, calm the hell down."

Ryan laughed. "You wouldn't be saying that if you went every week. Plus, she was drunker than usual—it's probably a good thing she left when she did."

"When did you start doing this?"

"What? The Bingo?" he asked, shoving the rest of his egg roll into his mouth. After a deliberate swallow he said, "Uncle Ron had a roommate for a few years—this guy he'd known forever. They were Army buddies, friends since they were in their twenties, both widowers...what have you. Anyway, he died kind of suddenly last year and Uncle Ronnie took it pretty hard."

Valera felt her eyebrows raise. "Yeah, I bet he would."

Ryan shrugged. "I felt bad for him—the rest of our family's up in Boston, I'm really all he has left. They used to go to Bingo on Wednesday nights," he bobbed his shoulders again. "I figure it's the least I can do."

She smiled. "That's really sweet."

He looked down and busied himself with a package of duck sauce. "Yeah well...you don't know everything about me."

"No," she agreed, the smile not fading. "I guess I don't."

The ride to her apartment was made in companionable silence, Valera singing softly along with the radio, her voice just barely audible over the roar from the open windows. It seemed they reached her street too soon, Ryan still unsure if his brilliant plan to cheer her up had succeeded.

"Did you...uh...did you have a good time?" he asked as the car idled in her parking lot.

She smiled. "I did," she said with a nod. "I...thank you, Ryan."

He watched her duck her head and turn toward the door, her fingers reaching for the handle. "Maxine?"

She turned back. "Yes?"

"I think that you're...magnificent. And I know that you don't want to hear about the other fish in the sea and all that other bullshit but I have to say it because it's true." The words had begun to tumble out of his mouth at an alarming rate. "That guy...he's an idiot. And I'm not just saying that because that's what people say. I mean, he's really an idiot and you've been out with enough idiots—you don't need anymore. You really do deserve someone better—someone who knows what an incredible woman you are and who wouldn't even think about dumping you—on Valentine's Day or Wednesday or any other day because you're..." he faltered for a better word but none came, "you're magnificent...like I said."

Valera's large brown eyes nearly doubled in size. Her eyebrows huddled closer together. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes," he said with a decisive and embarrassed nod. "Yes, I do. Maybe I should've waited to tell you that but I just thought that you should hear it."

He was busy looking down, reading the carved letters on the seatbelt buckle, wishing he could be swallowed by his car's interior. He was looking down so he didn't see her expression soften, didn't see her lean toward him, didn't even realize what she was doing until he felt her soft hand on his cheek and looked up just in time for her to capture his lips with hers.

She pulled away after a few, lingering moments with a gentle smile. "Thanks for a great Wednesday, Ryan."

It was undefined and blurry and most definitely gray-area, but Ryan drove home with a grin on his face.

This had turned into one of the best Wednesdays ever.

AN: Yeah...I still don't know about this one. It has it's moments, I suppose. I hope you all liked it at least. Oh! And I forgot to mention that Uncle Ron is my grandfather. One hundred percent. I didn't even realize it until after I'd written the whole thing. But yeah--mad love to Frank.

Reviews? It's the season for lovers...after all...