DISCLAIMER: Bla, bla, bla. Of course they don't belong to me. Don't be stupid. This is fan-made. Now stop searching for a reason to sue and read it, if you don't like fiction written by fans, get the hell out. Disclaiming fan-fiction pisses me off.

This is not a WK-request or anything relating to, involved with, or pertaining to the request offer - which will end by the middle of next week, so if I don't hear from you before then, you are out of the running - this is simply a V-Day inspired fic, using the established couples from WK since V-Day is coming up and many of us have felt the widespread panic that is ensuing as a response to the ticking of the clocks worldwide. As usual. So buckle up for a fun-filled ride all the way to Cupid-Town on the Love-Train from Hell, piloted by your truly with a side order of the Devil's own minions and Hades as my co-pilot, because this is not your average V-Day, kiddies. This is V-Day Evo-Style. To recap couples in case you're new to this, Romy, Jonda, Lancitty, Laura and Kyle Gibney (Wild Child) because I can and it is covered in awesome, and numerous other side-couples who will feature loosely but help spread the general hatred of the occasion since we all know, nothing's more painful than getting her the wrong gift.

In the immortal words of Kyle: Enjoy.


Day 1 – 08:00 hours.

It could be felt palpably in the air in the weeks leading up to the date. Already on the first, emotions were running high, and men were to be seen simply running. To those finely tuned persons – the empathic, the genetically predisposed, and the mentally ill and thusly over-aware – present to witness the phenomenon, the general mood and building tension could best be described as 'bloody frightening', 'l'enfer!', and in one memorable case 'like a bomb going off in an enclosed space – ugly, with lots of crying.' And those observations were just from the end of January.

On the first of February that year, the morning began much like any other morning. Wanda had slept over at the institute, John had come to collect her in Lance's car because Kitty had slept with Lance at the Brotherhood as was their wont on weekdays and would thus not be needing his mode of transportation, Remy was up and making Rogue her everyday breakfast of biscuits and sweet tea, and Kyle was watching him over the rim of a coffee mug that was currently his one priority. Laura was, as usual, taking longer to shower than he did, a set routine after they had established the unfortunate fact that being up and ready to shower at the same time led to delays in schedule that could set a day's start back hours if they weren't careful to ensure that he got up first and was in the kitchen by the time she was properly awake.

John slunk into the kitchen, haggard and orange-haired, his customary morning appearance when having spent a night devoid of Wanda, being as he was an otherwise chipper and breakfasty sort of guy. Remy poured him a shot of coffee so black it resembled tar, which he drank in his tired stupor before realising what it was and spitting it all over the counter.

"Jesus Chris' on a bloody stick – what the hell 're ya tryin' ta do ta me?!" he howled, placing the mug gingerly on the now coffee-moistened counter with a look of utter disgust.

"Y' shouldn' drive when y' not awake, mon ami," Remy said serenely, and John saluted him rudely and leant in over him to fetch the kettle and boil some water, pulling a clean, un-tainted mug from the cupboard and dangling a teabag from his finger which he pointed at the Cajun.

"An' y' know I don' drink coffee ya daft sod! Mind y' biscuits!" He stomped to the microwave, pushed the kettle into the appliance, turned it on, and stalked over to the island, plopping himself down on a stool next to Kyle. The feral paid him no attention whatsoever. Remy aborted the kettle+microwave = bomb mission and took John's mug from him, filled it with mildly warm water from the kettle, pushed it into the microwave, and set it to blitz.

The Australian grumbled darkly under his breath about people who were capable of kitchen-related doings before twelve. Kyle sipped his coffee.

"Don' see why y' can' come an' get de fille when she's awake, homme, what are y' – goin' t'rough wit'drawal?" Remy teased, and John glared at him.

"I'll have you know – ya pompous little bastard – that I know for a fact ya sleep with Rogue's teddybear when she's at our place an' doesn' let ya come along," he sneered, and Remy winced, looking around for possible spreaders of this heinous truth – rumour, heinous rumour. Kyle did not appear to have registered any mention of embarrassing teddy-bear incidents.

"Shut up abou' dat! Leas' I don' mope aroun' when ma chere ain' here, gettin' in ev'ryone's way!" he hissed, but the microwave ding-ed and John was distracted by the promise of Tetleys and wasted no time in fishing out the milk from the fridge without looking while he one-handedly dunked the teabag in the boiling water and then applied milk to it in a surprising burst of coordination and dexterity, drinking half of it in one go and sinking back on to his stool with a contented sigh.

"Oh, tha's good stuff..." he exhaled, and Remy rolled his eyes, one of them returning to check on his steadily rising biscuits.

"Why'd ya get up so damn early ta cook for 'er anyhow? Seems wrong," John observed, and Remy gestured with his spoon.

"L'amour, mon ami. Makes un homme do crazy tings – like gettin' up early," he said, pointing at Kyle with the implement.

"Dat one, he s'posed t' get up early, an' he de livin' dead before ten at bes'! Tink he only gets up t' please de petite fille." John shrugged, burying his nose in the sweet scent of Tetleys.

"Can' blame 'im. My Wanda gets fierce as hell when I don' do as told in the mornin's. Think she's channelin' the devil until lunchtime. Then she sorta mellows, ya know?"

"Enough t' put y' t'rough de neares' window?" John's eyes grew dustant and a misty quaver entered his voice.

"After twelve she uses the walls..." he sighed, and Remy pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Between y' an' 'im, i's a miracle none of y' be dead yet." Kyle's ears visibly pricked, and Remy raised an eyebrow.

"Sign o' life?" he mused to himself, and John shrugged, raising his own mug to his lips. As adept as they may have been at reading each other, however, they had yet to completely accustom themselves to Kyle's inbuilt alert-system. If they had, they would have realised the classic signs of identification and dismissal they had just witnessed. Instead, they were unprepared when Bobby burst through the door and started tearing things out of the fridge.

"Damn, boy, what y' doin' wit' dat – non, not on de – Drake, y' puttin' down de milk or I swear – " Remy yelled, dodging around the lad and taking things from him – in the milk's case saving it from an abrupt meeting with the floor, and John got up and took hold of the teenager's arms, pinning them to his sides while Remy relieved him of the various grocery products.

"Reason for demolishing the fridge?" the Aussie demanded, and Bobby straightened his back and answered in a concise, slightly over-accelerated manner.

"Fixing breakfast for Amara because it's the first of February, sir!" The titulation might have been related to a run-in he had had after a field-test with Logan, Kyle, Remy and John that had been set up military style to teach the kids some discipline. Some of them still hadn't quite recovered. John's look was a litte confused and quite a bit dismissive.

"At the risk o' soundin' stupid – what the hell's so special about the first of February?" he asked, letting go of the youth, who remained where he was.

"It means there are only two weeks until Valentine's Day, sir!" John looked at Remy with a nonplussed expression on his face. Remy shrugged.

"Permission to speak freely sir?" Remy nodded and turned back to his biscuits, and John crossed his arms as Bobby relaxed, his posture yet again becoming terrible but his nerves seeming to be slighty less on edge.

"Two weeks left til Valentine's Day means we've only got two weeks to make the girls feel special and plan the big day!" he blurted out, sounding pleased that he knew something they didn't, and John opened his mouth to say something about stupid greeting card holidays and that surely every day spent with the woman you loved was special, when Kurt leapt into the kitchen with something shiny and plastic in his hand, ported to the other side, took Kyle's coffee, drank it all, gave back the mug, exclaimed –

"I'll bring back ze card vhen I'm done, bro," and then ported away. Bobby's jaw went slack and he shrank into the fridge door in an attempt to hide. Kyle's eyes opened, slits of pure blue malice, and fixed on the unfortunate teen like some kind of unearthly, evil fear-tracing device. So really, he was much like himself in the mornings in the second stages of wakefulness.

"It has begun," he growled, then pointed in a rather scary foreboding way at Remy and John and uttered the apocalyptic words;

"Fourteen days from this moment, the world as we know it is going to end. This is just the beginning. May your Gods have mercy upon your souls. I'm moving to Antarctica until it's over," before getting up, rounding on Bobby, and adding,

"If any of you tell Laura about this bloody holiday, I'm telling everyone about the teddy, the adult braces, and who doesn't actually like Wanda's cookies. Enjoy." Bobby clapped both hands over his mouth, John went so white he looked as though he might faint, and Remy staggered a little. Kyle smiled evilly, and then stalked out of the kitchen, confident that February was still his bitch. Bobby looked at Remy nervously.

"W-would he really do that..?" Remy fanned himself with the oven mitt.

"I don' know, boy. But maybe i's best if we don' tell de fille 'bout Valentine's Day, non? She don' need t' hear it from us, de girls can tell 'er – we got enough t' handle makin' plans f' de big day!" John, still stark white, took a fortifying swig of tea.

"Oh hell... Do Goths even celebrate Valentine's Day?" he mumbled, mostly to himself, and Remy put a shaky hand on his arm.

"If dey do, mon ami... Dey do it diff'ren'ly t' ot'er humans..." Bobby nodded absently, hands moving towards Remy's cooling biscuits, and the Cajun smacked them soundly with the spoon.

"Y' ain' gettin' no free V-day poin's from me, homme," he growled, and Bobby was so shaken at the likeness to Kyle's doom-face that he backed up and ran from the kitchen.

"John – we need a plan. Bring de kitty coffee an' tell 'im we meet at Harry's at five t' discuss tactics," Remy said sharply, and John twisted his mouth into a grimace.

"Who's payin'?"

"I'll pay. Tell 'im i's life or deat'. Tell 'im anytin'. Sweet Jesus tell 'im i's f' de sake o' brot'erhood, jus' make 'im come!" John nodded, saluted, and tootled off in the direction Kyle had left in.

"We're gonna need t' stick t'get'er on dis," Remy muttered darkly as he spread butter on his biscuits, poured out the tea, and began the ascent to Rogue's room.