Disclaimer: I own nothing but my trust in Andrew Marlowe.

Be My Belated Valentine

He forgot about Valentine's Day.

Granted, there had been a lot of distractions around the date. There was the whole Pandora to Linchpin, We-Got-Thrown-Off-A-Pier-In-A-Car-And-Nearly-Drowned thing, and then of course nearly being killed again by his former muse turned traitor Sophia Turner.

Sophia.

She had been a problem in and of itself. Kate had been on offense from the moment Sophia first said his name, an all too knowing smile on her face and a private twinkle in her eye. It worsened when Sophia handed him – well, both of them, but him first – coffee, worsened still when Kate found out she hadn't been his first muse. He could tell by the fact that Kate brought it up in the cruiser afterwards at all that this was bugging her. He also knew what she couldn't admit, either aloud or to herself: It made her jealous. Fiercely jealous. And untrusting.

That was what he hated most. The trust issue. They'd hashed out the partners thing so many a time, with so much conviction each time, that it hurt him to think she'd question his intentions, question if she was part of "the club". There was no club. He told her that, and yet she still kept the tension in her jaw, the squint in her eyes. Then, when Sophia's traitorous ways finally came to light and they were both on their knees, waiting to die, he knew the jealousy was gone. At least temporarily, to be replaced by fear for his life, for hers. He could still hear her scream, the raspy "No!" that rang out around the parking garage louder to his ears than even the gunshot that killed Sophia. Like she was desperate. Like she thought she was losing him.

It's not that he doesn't think Kate would care if he died– he knows she would. It's hearing the confirmation of it, the desperation and – what he hopes to be – love. If he hadn't already been on his knees, the force of it radiating from her in that moment would have sent him to them.

So he has to make it up to her.

He has to erase any jealousy, any doubt, any issues of trust that may be left in her.

So that maybe she'll come to him sooner, so that he can put a sledgehammer through the final cracks of that wall of hers sooner. So she can be his sooner.

So that he can be hers.

They'd never really done much for Valentine's Day in the past. They met after Valentine's Day the first year he shadowed her, when muse was still a forbidden word. That was probably for the better, since if he'd tried to bring up the date with her then, he would have most likely ended up with a bruised arm. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed giving it to him, he knew that much. She probably would've smirked afterwards, turned from him to try and hide it. Hide the fact that she didn't loathe him. That she enjoyed the flirting just as much as he did, even if she hated it, too.

The second year held a little more promise. They smiled at each other, wished each other a happy Valentine's Day, warmth spreading through their eyes in that silent communication of theirs even as Kate turned back to the murder board, already sinking back into the mystery.

The third year, of course, had been a tough one.

His childhood mentor had just crushed him, had made his world turn upside down in a war of good versus evil, of heroes becoming villains. And Kate had had a boyfriend. A boyfriend she was meeting for dinner that night. And yet she still took him out for a drink, nudged his side with hers in a way that made everything seem a little brighter, a little better.

But it only made it hurt more. His longing for her. Even as they shared quiet words and heated gazes over the bar, and the not-quite-unintentional brush of a hand against hand as they reached for another drink, a handful of nuts. She'd left him that night with a sympathetic smile, her hand reaching out to brush down his arm, lingering for a moment at his fingers. He'd returned her smile with one of his own, forcing away the hurt clutching at his insides to bring warmth to his eyes, just so he could see hers burn a little brighter in return.

He wrote all night that night. Buried his sorrow of the day's case and his longing for her in the pages of Nikki Heat, until he could breathe a little easier, close his eyes long enough to sleep.

This year has to be different. Even if it has to be late.

She's running late this morning.

In a feat of pure genius on her part, she'd tried to reach for a container of raspberries at the same moment she stretched out in the opposite direction to grab for her coffee mug, and managed to spill the burning liquid across the counter and down the front of her pants.

She doesn't even know why she bothers making coffee at home anymore when she knows Castle will have a piping hot cup ready to hand to her when he gets to the precinct, made just the way she likes it. The thought brings a smile to her face as she slips into a fresh pair of jeans. They're the ones that always make his head turn in her direction as she walks past him, his gaze drifting lower than what should be socially acceptable. She hesitates, then pulls off her top as well, tossing it on her bed as she heads for her closet, pulls out the shirt she knows he loves, too. It's the white button down with the cuffed sleeves and deep collar, buttons ending only just above the swell of her chest. Burberry. A frivolous gift to herself a couple of years back for closing a particularly tough case. She hasn't worn it much, lately, and she wonders why. She really, really should stop teasing him, dressing for him. She's been doing it more and more lately, experimenting with what puts an extra large smile on his face when he sees her in the morning. She really should stop. It's silly. It's absolutely ridiculous.

But it's so, so much fun.

She's noticed that, above anything, it's her motorcycle helmet that really gets him going, lights a fire in his eyes as he helps her into her jacket at the end of the day, helmet tucked under her arm. It was that fire – okay, that and the adrenaline from almost being eaten by a tiger – that had prompted the next time line to leave her lips, the extra sway in her hips as she strolled away from him, daring a look back over her shoulder to see the absolute shock on his face. That look had been priceless, had made the risk worth it. She aches to see that look again.

So she rides her motorcycle to work this morning, completes the fire-earning look with a leather jacket and some of her sexiest while still cop-appropriate – barely – boots.

The bike makes up for the time she lost this morning, so she still manages to get to work relatively early. As she rounds the corner from the elevator, helmet tucked under her arm, and her desk comes into view, she puts that extra sway back into her hips. Just because she can.

She is almost mortified by how disappointed she is when she doesn't see him at her desk.

She remembers that she is still early for his arrival standards, and quickly clears the disappointment from her face, schools her walk back to normal. Shakes her head at her own foolishness.

The smell of her favourite coffee makes her stride falter, and she looks around, perplexed.

Then she sees it, and the confusion on her face grows even as a smile begins to tug at the corner of her lips.

She moves closer, sets her things down on her desk, and stares.

Sitting in Castle's seat is a medium-sized Build-A-Bear, dressed in a barista's uniform, a cap with holes for the furry ears to poke through on its head. Cradled against its front is a steaming cup of coffee, in the usual mug, the scent of it hitting her nose with that heavenly vanilla aroma she so loves, so reminds her of him.

Kate cocks her head, mouth falling open, still completely baffled.

She reaches down, picks up the coffee and the bear, sits at her desk and examines them almost suspiciously. The bear is really quite cute, and without the coffee in the way she notices the name tag for the first time. When she reads it, she lets out a choked laugh in shock, not expecting what she sees.

"The Coffee Bitch," she reads aloud, still surprised by the abruptness of it.

"That would be me," a voice sounds from down the hallway.

She looks up to see Castle striding towards her, watches with an open-mouthed, mystified smile as he takes his usual seat, where the bear was just sitting, waiting.

He must have come in early to do this.

She opens her mouth wider to speak, closes it again. Stares at him. Opens her mouth again.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

Nothing more intelligent comes to her in this state, so she shakes her head to clear her of her bewilderment and tries again.

"You got me coffee."

"I did."

"And a bear."

"I did."

She nods, looks back at the bear. Studies it.

"It's... he's so cute."

Castle grins. "I'm glad you think so, because he's me."

Her gaze shoots back to him. "What?"

"Let me rephrase," Castle leans forward in his seat, takes the bear from her hands. "This bear represents me, and my... well, one of my roles here, with you. And before you get too attached to him, he's not really for you."

Now she's completely confused again. What the hell is he playing at? "I... what–"

"He's me, so he's for me. And this..." Castle reaches behind him to where he's managed to cleverly hide something from her– how's he's managed to for this long is beyond her – "is you."

Kate takes the bear from him, a large smile splaying across her face as he finishes his thought.

"So it's also for you."

The miniature her is dressed in a bullet-proof vest, "POLICE" printed across the chest and back, a cop hat with the same ear holes the him bear sports adorned on its head. At its waist sits a belt holding a miniature NYPD badge – complete with her number on it – a tiny set of handcuffs, and a tiny handgun. The name tag stuck to the vest reads "Muse". Kate stares, unable to control the smile on her face no matter how much she wants to ream an explanation from him. She tries anyways, turns to him and forces the giddy grin from her face as much as she can. God forbid she should start to blush...

"Castle, what–"

"Happy Valentine's Day."

His answer is just about the last thing she expected. "Castle, Valentine's Day was over two weeks ago!"

"And we were quite preoccupied then, weren't we?"

She watches him, knows he's right, waits to hear the rest of his explanation.

"And, given everything that's happened, I thought letting it go completely unnoticed would be..."

Kate lifts an eyebrow. "Would be...?"

Castle falters, tries to gather his words. Kate can tell he's trying not to reveal too much, to not make this seem like too deep of a gesture, too laden with feelings. She can also see the moment he gives that up, chooses instead to meet her eyes with a love-filled gaze and smile.

"It would be a crying shame, since there's nothing I want to give you more right now than the opportunity to smile a little more."

The blush she was trying so hard to avoid now hits her with abandon, crawling up her chest and to her cheeks, reaching past them to brush at her ears. This man. What he does to her. She smiles at him so wide her eyes nearly shut, crinkling with affection for him. They stare at each other, drinking in their love for one another, until Kate finally shakes her head, tries to speak.

He's made her speechless. Damn him.

"I... Thank, you, Castle," she manages at last, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. He startles her by turning his palm upwards, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing back for a moment before letting go. Her entire hand tingles from his touch, the dizzying feeling shooting up her arm to further mess with the fuzz that is her brain right now.

"Always," he answers immediately, and then she can only stare again.

The ringing of her phone breaks the spell, and she blinks, has to take a breath before answering the phone.

"Maybe mini-Beckett should answer for you."

She has to take another breath at his comment, this time to roll her eyes at him – playfully, because she can't manage disapprovingly right now – before answering the phone. "Beckett."

While she's on the phone, Castle pulls out his phone and grins at it while composing a text, and Kate looks over at him with a cocked eyebrow even as she listens to the dispatcher give her the address.

"Got it, thanks. Come on, Castle, we've got a body."

She turns to hang up, then goes completely still as she feels his sudden presence right beside her, leaning closer to whisper in her ear as he grabs for her bag. His lips graze skin ever so slightly, and she can't the shiver that comes in response.

"Don't think this is over, detective."

She is a mess. An absolute mess. And it's all because of him.

She couldn't stop thinking about the bears the entire car ride over to the body. When she approached Lanie and the victim in the apartment for the COD, the M.E. picked up on her mood immediately. Even a crime scene couldn't keep the grin off her face completely.

Kate wishes, prays, for a complicated murder, something to take her mind – and Lanie's – from her current state. But it is a simple gunshot wound to the chest, and fingerprints cover the victim's body and everything in the room. Someone had clearly just lost control, panicked, and run. They even dropped the gun in the apartment building. It would be an easy solve. They'd be done by mid-afternoon. Shit.

They were done by mid-afternoon. Kate had not only had to deal with Lanie pulling her aside in the morgue to ask her why she looked like the cat that got the canary, but even the boys had picked up on her mood. Espo kept asking what Writer-Boy had done this time, but he and Ryan seemed to know something she didn't. It drove her crazy. She couldn't even keep a smile off her face in the interrogation room when Castle made a particularly funny comment. She had to turn her head and press her grin into her hand. She nearly died when Gates called her into her office to ask why she was so cheerful this afternoon, if there was something more to it than an easy case. What really put her over the edge, though, was Castle's reaction to all of it. Throughout the whole day, whenever she looked at him, he just looked back, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He knew what he was doing to her. He knew and he loved every minute of it.

She loved him.

She was going to kill him, the bastard.

If he didn't kill her first.

She thinks she is finally getting herself under control when she sits down for the paperwork. Castle has gone into the break room to get them more coffee, and Kate takes the moment alone to breathe, try to focus. She has just about readied herself to get down to business when she decides she needs a little pick-me-up. She reaches across her desk to pull her bowl of M&M's towards her, only to stop and become completely derailed again when she realizes what Castle has done.

She. Is going. To kill him.

Instead of the usual M&M's inside the bowl, Castle has replaced them with little heart-shaped chocolates, all red, all with the word Always written across one side. It's so unbelievably cheesy, sappy, typical, and exactly what she hates about Valentine's Day, but it's so perfect. So unbelievably him. Her smile returns full-force, and she pops one into her mouth quickly, too excited to savor the moment.

When she bites into the chocolate, she stills.

They were milk-chocolate praline, her absolute favourite. How the hell had he-

"Good?"

Of course he chooses that moment to walk back over to her desk, when she is at her most vulnerable. The chocolate is pressed into one of her cheeks, puffing it out like a chipmunk's, and the look on her face must be pretty priceless because he just stares at her and laughs, love radiating off him in waves.

"I guess so."

She just nods, stunned, eyes brimming. He sits back down next to her, places her coffee in front of her still-unmoving hands. He watches her for a moment, still smiling that shit-eater of his.

"You might want to swallow sometime soon."

That snaps her out of it. She finishes chewing, swallows, then turns to look at him and finds she is speechless again.

This is ridiculous. Kate does not get this tongue-tied. She does not grin like a lovesick teenager like this. And yet she can't stop, can't find the words she wants so desperately to tell him. She hears a snicker ahead of them, looks up to see the boys watching them, smirking at her. She uses their devilish faces to find her focus and bring herself out of it. She glares at them fiercely and they turn away sheepishly, go back to their own paperwork. Her eyes find Castles' again and she finds that she can finally speak.

"You are... really something, Castle."

"You're welcome, Kate."

"How did you even...?" She gestures to the chocolates, to herself. "How did you even know this is my favourite kind of chocolate? Where did you even get these–"

"Ah, see now telling you would ruin the wonder of it, wouldn't it?"

"Castle–"

"My lips are sealed, detective."

She smirks at that, and he's right there with her thought process, of what their lips could be doing if his weren't sealed, if she wasn't still sitting on her side of her desk in the precinct.

"So, how are you going to let me repay you for this?"

Castle grins. "That's easy."

"Is it?"

"Be my belated Valentine?"

"Kind of figured I already was. Anything else?"

"Yes. Have dinner with me. Tonight."

As if Kate wants to be anywhere else but with him tonight.

"And if I say yes?"

"Then consider the debt repaid."

"Oh, so it's a debt now?"

"Hey, you said it yourself– it's not really Valentine's Day. Means I went to extra-special trouble to do all of this without the weight of a date on the calendar and its ramifications over my head–"

"Means you just made it all the more difficult for yourself, brought this on of your own accord."

"Touché."

They stare at each other, grinning, saying nothing more out loud but so much more with their eyes. Kate looks away first, turns to grab her bag. And the motorcycle helmet.

"Okay, Castle, let's go repay my debt to you."

"It was absolutely delicious, Castle," Kate tells him again as she hands him her rinsed plate to put in the dishwasher, "I'm impressed."

"You know, there may be many layers of the Beckett onion left to peel, but I still have some surprises left up my sleeve," Castle smiles at her and starts the washer, then grabs the bottle of wine from the counter. He gestures to the glass still clutched in her hand, now empty. "More?"

She shouldn't, she really shouldn't, she's already had two large glasses. But the evening has been so wonderful, so perfect, and she finds herself going for that extra excuse to stay a little longer.

"Sure."

Once both their glasses have been filled, they head for the couch, sitting close but not quite touching, turned towards each other. They had spent dinner flirting quietly over Castle's amazing pasta carbonara, shooting playful banter back and forth in the manner they'd perfected over four years of their... their foreplay, for lack of a better word. The butterflies that had gathered so forcefully in Kate's stomach throughout the day hadn't quite dissipated, and she found herself giggling more than usual at his jokes, reaching out for contact more than she usually allowed herself. She knew she was flirting with dangerous territory, but she wasn't sure she could really do something about it anymore. Or if she even wanted to.

Kate looks over at the coffee table to where the two bears are sitting, side-by-side, their plush shoulders and legs touching.

Castle notices, too. "They look comfortable."

"Mm," Kate replies, a small smile playing at her lips.

"And you?"

Kate turns to him, startled, and sobers when she sees the love in his gaze, eyes darkened with what she knows to be good company and arousal. Her eyes have taken the same hazy route. She knows that he already knows her answer.

"Thank you for tonight, Castle," she says instead, turning to face him fully. Her fingers play with the bottom of her wineglass as she continues, eyes watching them in a sudden fit of shyness. She fumbles over her next words, bites her bottom lip as she tries to gather herself, her emotions. "After everything that's happened lately, I've really... I've really needed something like this. With– with you. And I didn't– I wasn't sure if– I wasn't sure you'd still... want to have an evening like this, with me, after everything. All the danger I've put you in recently and Alexis hearing us argue and Sophia–"

"Kate," he cuts her off then, knowing where this is going. Suddenly, he needs her to know how he feels, how he still feels, how he'd never feel anything but this no matter what they went through, no matter what she did to him. "You have to know that what happened with Sophia was never like it was– it is, with us. You have to know that. And like I said, if you're stubborn enough to keep going even when things get dangerous or tough, I'm stupid enough to go with you. Every time. I'm your partner, through everything, always. Understand?"

Kate finally meets his eyes, and he's relieved to find a smile is finding its way to her lips again, that her eyes have lost that sense of worry, of self-doubt. Instead, they're filled with relief, but he wants that gone, too. He wants them filled with something else.

"And besides," he says, turning again towards the bears, "What are our mini-selves going to think if they can handle things better than we do?"

Her smile returns full force now, reaches her eyes. "Castle."

"What? It's true! We've got to set the example for them! If you think about it, they're kind of like our children, we've got to show them the ropes–"

When her smile falters, he realizes what he's just said. Stupid stupid stupid. Before he can try to remedy the situation, Kate stands, puts her wineglass on the coffee table, heads for the center of the room.

"Kate, wait–"

He thinks she's leaving, thinks he's messed this entire thing up. He follows after her, startles when she turns suddenly, can't stop fast enough. He bumps into her, chest to chest, and she huffs out a little laugh, reaches out to steady him.

When he sees that her smile doesn't fade, he realizes she's misread her.

Her hands come up to find his, fingers lacing together by their brushing chests. She doesn't move away.

"Dance with me, Castle."

He is floored. Absolutely floored. Because he thought he'd ruined everything, and here she is wanting to dance with him. Wanting to be close to him. It's a dizzying thought, and it takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

"I, uh... There's no music. Let me go put some on–"

"Don't. This is fine."

Again, he's floored. This cannot be happening. Kate Beckett doesn't ask for a dance, let alone a dance without any music. He takes a moment, gathers himself up. If she's going to do this, he sure as hell wants to be a man throughout it, not some blubbery mess. She leans into him, and they start to move, swaying back and forth in the quiet space of the loft.

"Are we really doing this right now?"

"Yes, Castle, don't ruin it."

They're silent for a moment, then he grins, hoping to get some of their playfulness back. "You know, I think I saw this in The Notebook–"

"Shut up, Castle."

She's grinning; he's succeeded. After a moment's hesitation, Kate lowers her head to his shoulder, face pressed into his collarbone. Castle brings one arm up to wrap around her back, the other lowers to her waist. She hums, so quietly he almost misses it, before bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck.

What happened to wanting to kill him, Kate?

This is way, way past the boundaries they'd set for themselves – that Kate set for themselves – and she seems to realize that Castle is thinking about this because she pulls her head away from his shoulder, meets his eyes.

"This is just fine, Castle."

"Is that all it is?" He whispers, not angrily, not accusingly. He just... needs to know the answer.

Kate looks down for a moment, looks up at him again with glowing eyes. She shakes her head, a tiny movement, sucks her lip between her teeth. She's nervous– her stomach is fluttering, every part of her body aware of how close he is, how he sends shivers from her head to her toes, makes her chest swell with emotion. Suddenly, she smiles, a hint of a smirk in her eyes.

"Well, I think I'd consider this a debt well-repaid, wouldn't you?"

Castle smirks back at her, happy for the sudden change in mood. "This is assuming you have been excellent company, Beckett, that you've fulfilled my needs."

"You have many needs."

"All the more effort needed to fulfill them all, then."

"Like I haven't."

"Cocky, are we?"

"Well, Castle, I happen to know what I have left up my sleeve, you don't."

He stills, watches her, body humming with the possibility that something could be coming next, that she's thought about doing anything else for him besides being here at all.

"Kate, you don't really have to–"

"You made Valentine's Day up to me, Castle. I'm your belated Valentine, you're mine. Now I have a date to make up to you."

Castle's mind churns, tries to think of what she could possibly be talking about. He tries to put a stop to it, wants to be in this moment fully for as long as it lasts. Wants to savor Kate like this, pressed again him, open, caring. Loving. He doesn't know how he'll survive when it's over, how he'll be able to let her walk out the door tonight and go back to the way things were. He can't imagine being back at the precinct tomorrow, back to the no touching, no dancing, no loving rule they've got – she's got – for them in place, even though it falters more with each passing heated look.

Her hand against his cheek startles him, and he realizes he's drifted again. It's warm, and he finds himself immediately leaning into her touch, eyes drifting shut for a moment at the overwhelming feeling of the rightness of it all, of how it just fits. How she fits. How they fit.

"And what date might this be?" He's found his voice again, eyes meeting hers. He thinks it may be a birthday, or an important anniversary of some sort at the 12th that requires celebration.

She leans in closer to him, body singing in their embrace, elated, righteous. "I'm a little later than two weeks with this particular date, but I wouldn't have been able to... make it up to you, any sooner."

Castle is totally, totally unprepared for what happens next, can only press her to him more tightly as she leans closer to his face, nose brushing his ever so faintly. She falters for a moment, overcome by the feeling of being so close to him, of being so in love with him. His fingers come up to brush against the nape of her neck, and she smiles, eyes flitting down to his lips before meeting his again, the love surging from her so powerfully he thinks he can feel it in the air. Oh, how he loves her, too. How he soars with it. He brings her with him on the high.

"Castle," she breathes, leaning in to close the last few millimeters of space between them. She opens her mouth to whisper to him one last time, before her lips finally come to meet his.

"Happy belated New Year's."