PROMPT: having sleepless nights because they can't think of the right gift, writing a heartfelt letter.
The letter
She had been staring a hole in the ceiling for hours now, sleep evading her despite the stillness and the dark that she had convinced herself was oh so inviting.
She rolled to her side, facing the man beside her. Castle had been sound asleep for hours now. His gentle breaths against her shoulder had evened out and turned into soft snores as he drifted into his carefree slumber.
She'd bet he already had her gift. He had probably planned it out weeks ago, kept it tucked away somewhere safe for days now.
He was so good at this... at the heartfelt stuff.
It'd be easy for him to splash an undisclosed amount of cash on chocolates and roses and a fancy dinner. Easy for him to pick out the shiniest diamond bracelet or a sparkly pair of earrings, tie a bow to the box and call it a day. But they had agreed to none of that. Something heartfelt, they had agreed.
She knew he had suggested that for her benefit. She didn't have the money to compete - and, yes, she would inevitably compare whatever gift she had received to whatever she had managed to get him. He was doing her a favour, bypassing his usual excitement for this holiday.
Because she wasn't quite as good at this... the heartfelt stuff.
Wth a huff, she tossed the blanket off of her body and pulled herself from the comfort of his bed. Unless she wanted to be rushing to the shops to buy a very last minute gift, she had today to figure this out.
She grabbed her robe, slipped into it as she plodded toward his study and sat down at his desk. She turned on the desk lamp, looking back over to the bedroom to make sure the light hadn't disturbed Castle.
Once satisfied that he wouldn't wake, she pulled a pad of paper and a pen from his drawer so that she could begin brainstorming ideas.
The pen hovered millimetres from the paper; nothing. It was as if her mind had been drained, not a single idea sparked. Seconds passed, turned into minutes. Slow, painful minutes of nothing.
She dropped the pen, frustrated, pulled herself out from behind the desk and paced toward the kitchen to make herself a tea. Something, anything, to keep her hands busy while she tried to get her brain to work.
When she returned to the study with her tea, she sat back at the desk and took a long, steadying breath.
"You can do this," she whispered the encouragement to herself. "Just... write something."
She wondered how many times this room had heard those word muttered, absorbed them into its walls, as Castle typed out yet another bestseller.
Perhaps she could write him a story: the story of them. He had always respected her impressive vocabulary and grammatical knowledge and, being a writer, he appreciated the value of the written word more than most.
She shook her head, shook off that idea. The last thing either of them needed was a reminder of the missteps they had taken in order to be where they were today.
A letter, maybe? Still words, still her appreciation of his art.
She took a swig of her tea before returning to the abandoned pen. The idea was inspired. With a newfound enthusiasm, she began to scribble words on the paper.
To my love,
That was it.
That's all that came.
Her mind was blank again.
She discarded the pen again, grabbing her cup of tea and leaning back into the chair. Maybe the middle of the night wasn't the best time to be trying to spark creativity - but she would persist.
An hour and two more cups of tea later, she sat curled up in the office chair. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her head on her forearms, using the little energy she had to keep her eyes open.
It was time to give up, to go back to bed and hope she wouldn't regret this wasted hour while at work later.
She released the hold around her legs and they dropped to the floor. She stood, yawned and stretched before picking up her half empty cup and slowly shuffling toward the kitchen. She tipped the remnants of her third tea down the sink, washing the cup and placing it on the rack to dry.
As she finished up and started to walk back to the office, she saw Castle standing at his desk.
Filled with a sudden jolt of energy, she ran toward him, but it was too late. He picked up the notepad, sleepy eyes examining the page.
She opened her mouth to tell him not to look, but stopped before any words came out. There was no point; she'd managed to jot down a whole two words in the time she had been working on it. He had, undoubtedly, seen everything there was to see.
"Did I wake you?" she asked, standing at the door.
"What's this?"
"I was trying to write you a letter," she explained, walking toward him. "For Valentine's Day."
He looked back to the paper in his hands, smirking.
"All it says is cute butt."
She felt the flush of heat rushing to her cheeks. So much for impressing him with her vocabulary.
"It's concise," he noted. The notepad dropped to the desk with a light thud.
She shrugged. "It's a rough draft-"
"I love it," he cut her off, not wanting to leave an opportunity for doubt to creep in.
"Well, I mean it. From the bottom of my heart," she pledged, with a hand to her chest and a bright smile on her face.
He walked around his desk, arms open and welcoming.
"I'll get you something else," she promised as she stepped into his embrace, resting her head against his chest as his hands soothed up and down her back.
"Are you kidding? I'm getting this framed so that it can hang on the wall."
She laughed, but appreciated his reassurances.
"Well, in that case..."
She pulled herself from his arms, reaching over the desk to grab her letter. She grabbed the pen, scrawled a few more words and embellished the note with a love heart.
When she stood by his side again, taking his hand in hers, he tilted his head to read her addition:
Yours,
Without exception, on every occasion, always.
Kate x