It was a well-known fact that you did not bother Hangover on one particular day of the year.

Sometimes she was sent on a mission on this particular day. Typically, it involved an assassination.

Sometimes she was free to stay home. It was then that she simply did not leave her bed. Her brothers let her be, because it was always safer to do so.

Of course, it hadn't always been this way. Once upon a time, this day was no different than any other. Once upon a time, she would celebrate it like any other. This changed when she was 19.

Once upon a time, Hangover had celebrated this holiday like any other teenaged girl. Dreaming and looking forward to the gifts she'd be getting from her brothers. She was a little spoiled, of course, since she had 12 of them and they all gave her chocolate. But she always gave as good as she got. Even if it was just with a very well-planned meal. Duck never complained about this.

When she was 18, she'd met a very charming young man of similar age. He was from Denmark, with the typical Scandinavian features. Dusty blonde hair, pale skin and with a tall, muscular build. It was no wonder she'd been smitten, the way he talked, the way he walked. He loved her haircut, even when other girls made fun of it. He kept her close, tried to 'protect' her from other men and strangers. It was cute, honestly, considering she was more than capable of killing any of them with ease.

The thing that made him most likeable, was his understanding and willingness to wait when it came to sex.

Hangover was not ready for such things. She had made it abundantly clear that she could only give herself to someone that would be in her life for many years. It wasn't that she was 'saving herself for marraige'. She made sure he knew she wasn't nearly so cliche. But she wanted to be certain she wouldn't be giving herself to a man that would be in her life for a few years, at least.

He understood. He could wait. She was worth it.

And that was why she hated this day.

Her brothers let her be. Chalked it up to a broken heart, she was grieving for the man she had loved and lost.

Three days after Valentine's day. The night before they were to celebrate a full year together, his car went off the side of the road at a dangerous curve. It crashed on the rocks below in a fireball of screaming metal.

She was grieving, her brothers said. Her heart would mend someday when someone was able to fill the void Freyr had left in it.

But they didn't know the real reason she hated Valentine's day.

The Medical Examiner said his blood-alcohol level had been too high. He'd been drinking and driving. His reflexes were too slow to navigate the turn.

Hangover knew better.

She also knew that the girl in the passengers seat hadn't been 'a friend from highschool'. She'd found them together three nights before when she'd snuck into his apartment to 'surprise' him for Valentine's day. Shock alone had kept her from flying in to a blind rage then and there. Instead, she'd simply left as silently as she'd come, leaving the oblivious couple wrapped in their carnal embrace.

No one suspected foul play, or they would have looked just a little closer at that wreckage. Subtle wasn't Hangover's forte, but she could pull it off when she tried.

All it took was a properly applied nail to the rear tire and tampered brake lines.

Yes, Hangover hated Valentine's day.