A/N: Okay, folks. Here's the thing...Tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day. I have never been big on that particular commercial holiday, but I have never missed a year of giving some kind of little gift to my true Valentines, my children. So I prefer to view the day, not as a chance to give chocolate and flowers to a significant other, but to celebrate the true love we hold for those closest to us. Granted, that is something we should do every day, and not a day passes that I don't tell them that I love them, but tomorrow is a nationally recognized day for celebrating that love. So this year, as an extension of my love and appreciation for the people with whom I share every day, I have composed a small gift for you, dear readers, to celebrate love and to show my appreciation in a small way for the happiness you give me just by reading the little tales I share with you here. It's a small, silly drabble, not much longer than this A/N. There's no plot, no deeper meaning, no allusions. It's just, well, what it is, short and sweet and meaningless. So Happy Valentine's Day, my friends. Thank you for brightening my life!


He took her to dinner at a nice restaurant. They ate good Italian food and drank good Italian wine. They talked and they laughed and they appreciated each other's company.

Back at her place, they sat on the couch and drank a little more wine while they watched her favorite movie. Or rather, tried to watch her favorite movie. Ten minutes into the feature, he began to distract her with gentle nuzzles and soft kisses, with light, tender touches and soft whispers of breath across her skin. They missed most of the last half of the movie and were in bed before the credits stopped rolling.

After undressing, he drew her into his arms, playing with her body and murmuring softly into her ear. She listened, but he wasn't making any sense. Laughing, she turned in his arms. "Are you drunk?"

"No."

"You're not making any sense."

"I just told you 'I love you' in twenty different languages, just in case you don't believe me in English."

She studied his face in the dim light. "What'd that take you, fifteen minutes to commit to memory?"

"Ten, but who's counting."

She slid her arms around his neck and said, "Okay, detective. I'll see your twenty languages and raise you three words."

He looked at her from under heavy lids. "I call. Show me your hand, detective. Name your three words."

She kissed his lips. "I love you," she whispered. "That's my trump card. Those are all the words I need because I know you never doubt me. And I'm sorry for doubting you the first time you said them to me."

"As I recall, you accused me of being drunk that night, too."

"Did I?"

"Yes, you did. But you're forgiven, and you win."

"Oh? So what's my prize?"

"Everything."

"Everything? That's awfully vague."

"What's vague about everything? The earth, the moon, the stars, the universe. It's all yours, Alex. Every grain of sand, every moonbeam, every beat of my heart, every tear I'll ever shed. Every bit of it is yours."

"Suppose I don't want everything?"

"Oh, so now you're getting picky?"

She shifted her position so that she lay on top of him and ran her hand over his chest. "I'll take the tears and the heartbeats. I'll take these warm dark eyes that betray every emotion you feel. I'll take your soul, in all its battered glory. You're all I want, Bobby. Just you. There's no need for you to capture the moon. You're enough for me."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I have never been more sure of anything. Now, I know that mouth of yours is good for something other than talking. So show me."

With a tender smile, he eased her onto her back and did exactly what she asked.