It really wasn't Casey's worst Valentine's Day ever. Not by a long shot. Sitting alone in his apartment on a cover assignment in Echo Park, working his way methodically through a bottle of the good stuff, three frozen burritos and several fine offerings on the Military Channel. Almost perfect, as a matter of fact.

Not like other Valentine's Days he could recall. The ones spent on missions where he had to be a bartender yet again, waiting for something to go down that never did. Those kinds of missions, the ones that came up empty, were harder to take than the ones spent captured, handcuffed to a chair and blindfolded or maybe staring into a bright light as some evildoer spouted what passed for bad guy banter in an effort to break him. So far, the cavalry had always managed to show up on time, though, and he'd ended up with nothing worse than a broken bone in his wrist. Again.

Infinitely better than a broken heart, in Casey's estimation.

Which might be a bit difficult to believe, but this knowledge actually came from personal experience. It had happened so long ago now that Casey had to make an effort to remember all the details. A sip of fire water helped him along as he tuned out the battlefield noises coming from the television and cast his mind back, before he started with the NSA, before he had become a soldier, even before he'd had his cherry popped. Man, that long ago? Time flies when you're trying to forget your past.

Anyway, Casey had finally cornered a girl at school and managed to not scare her away long enough that she agreed to go out with him. Hard to believe looking at him now, but as a callow youth, Casey had not really been up on the social graces. You know, like personal hygiene, speaking audibly, not acting like a dork, those kinds of things. There may be some of you who, looking at the man now, would say they could believe it, but, well, that's the subject for another story.

Back to our tale. Casey and his lady love managed to meet a few times just after school had resumed in the new year and things were going swimmingly, as far as Casey was concerned. Their first date had been pizza and sodas at a local joint. It went quite well. Until the fistfight started. When it was over, the girl was nowhere to be found, which was a shame, since Casey had clearly won the day and was proudly sporting a nice shiner as a memento.

Their second date was arranged after the girl relented upon seeing her knight in shining armor the next day at school and willing herself to believe him when he explained he had been protecting her honor and not just beating the crap out of those two guys for the fun of it. And he had let her pet his hair a bit and coo over his impressive battle wound. That part, Casey was surprised to discover, had been even more fun than the fight itself.

A movie this time, sitting in the dark, holding hands at first, then suddenly she was kissing him, tongue and all. It took Casey by surprise so much so that he dropped his extra-large cup of soda straight onto the floor and the contents geysered up, showering them both with the cold, wet and sticky beverage. Along with their clothes, this apparently also served to dampen the mood, and in spite of Casey's emphatic entreaties that they continue with the kissing, the girl figured that going home and getting cleaned up would be a better course of action. So much for budding romance.

Thanks to Casey's hitherto unknown powers of persuasion, he had managed to get the girl to agree to a third date, and this one actually lasted right until the end without any major mishaps. They had gone to a house party hosted by one of the guys at school, danced a bit – well, Casey managed what could be called dancing if someone wasn't too particular about the definition. But it had gone well enough that he'd coaxed his date to sit with him in a dark corner and pick up with the kissing again.

And when he had taken her back to her house afterwards, they spent another half hour together on the front porch swing, kissing and nuzzling and holding each other above the waists. Then the unexpected happened. Casey fell in love. How did he know it was love? Well, it must have been because he'd never felt that way before, all warm and full of yearning. Sort of twinkly eyed and horny at the same time.

The girl must have sensed something was different and she started a push-pull routine that Casey was having a hard time figuring out, what with his brain in a fog already with the love/lust thing. First she'd kiss him deeply then shove him upright when he tried to maneuver her into a supine position. Then she'd breathe heavily into his ear while swatting his hands away from her breasts. This carry on was starting to drive Casey a little crazy. He'd decided he'd had enough of it and tried to stand up abruptly and leave when the girl flung her arms around his neck, pressed herself to his chest, and whispered intoxicatingly into his ear.

"I love Valentine's Day. Make it special for me and I'll make it very special for you."

Hot damn.

So Casey made plans. He drew some money out of his savings account for the occasion, made a reservation at a real restaurant, ordered flowers and asked his mother to press his funeral suit and shirt. He even practiced tying a tie for a week in advance so he could get it just right. A trip to the barber for a haircut and a three-minute shave to tidy up the small tufts that had started to appear here and there, and he was ready, shoes polished and shining.

The girl had smartened herself up too. No dungarees tonight, and Casey marveled at how pretty she was in her long dress with a bit of a heel on her shoes, her hair swept up and caught in a sparkly pin at the back with long tendrils left loose to frame her face. She had even applied a bit of makeup and light-colored lipstick and there was evidence of perfume when Casey got closer so he could give her the flowers.

They drove in a taxi to the restaurant and had a nice meal of pasta and bread sticks, much more sophisticated than the pizza or popcorn had been, and Casey thought he detected an impressed look from the girl when he ordered tiramisu for dessert. And there had been definite approval when she slipped the first forkful between slightly parted, glistening lips, which she then licked with the end of her tongue as she moaned quietly with pleasure. Casey thought he had died and gone to heaven at that sound as he figured it might be a sample of things to come.

After dinner, they had gone to the house of a friend of the girl's, she said, because it had all been arranged. The parents were away and Casey and his Valentine would have the house to themselves. They got in through the back door with a key that was hidden nearby and got down to what Casey thought would end up being the perfect finish to a perfect Valentine's Day date. Alas, the perfidy of woman.

They had kissed long enough to make Casey stupid, which wasn't really that long, and he had been talked out of his clothes and onto a chair in the dark. Then the girl had left him there for a moment while she went into the next room. Not sure what to expect, this being his first time, Casey was willing to wait it out and participate in pretty much whatever she decided was going to happen.

It was only when he felt the cold metal around his wrists and the quick snick of the handcuffs closing behind him that Casey began to feel there might be something going terribly wrong. Then he heard some feminine giggling, which was even more unsettling because it sounded like the laughter of at least three girls, if not more.

His brain went immediately to full alert and quickly ticked down the possibilities. He was going to get laid by one or all of them? Probably not. They were going to leave him here in the dark for a while then let him go? Chances were better of that happening, but still not that good. They were getting a camera ready and the lights would go on soon and photos would be snapped? Yep, that's the one.

Casey didn't have much time to act, and he remembered something he had read about escape artists. They broke bones and kept themselves deformed so they could release themselves from their bonds. That appeared to be the only option at the moment, so Casey applied pressure and torsion and quickly snapped a small bone in his left wrist, which allowed him to slip his hand through the cuff. He jumped out of the chair, scooped his clothes off of the floor and was through the back door and stepping into his pants in the shadows outside when the lights went on inside the house and the disappointed wails of the girls could be heard by our jilted lover.

Casey frowned into his glass as he remembered the feeling now, all these years later. The painful throbbing in his hand and in his heart (and his groin) and the strong resolution he made that day that he would never allow it to happen again.

And the next day, as Casey stood on the roof of a suburban house and communicated with Chuck, who looked to be in a very good position to acquire not only a broken hand but also a broken heart, he advised the Intersect that "Handcuffs are a cinch," but neglected to add that they were a cinch if you've already broken the bone. And about the other thing? Chuck and Sarah pretending to be a married couple in love in their first home together? That was a cinch too, but only if, as with the handcuffs, your heart has already been broken.