Just a short and sweet fluff piece. Originally written for the Fangirl Workout Regime on tumblr as a gift to people who leveled up! Please join up if you want a really fun and easy way to get into shape. People are ALWAYS welcome to join up at ANY point.
As Kate Beckett ran through Central Park, rounding the reservoir, the pound of her feet against the pavement dulled into a faint background rhythm. Her mind wandered, and she turned to the quarry that had been on her mind for the past month – Rick's birthday. Her boyfriend's birthday. In mid-run she smiled at that thought, and the man coming the opposite way gave her a stunned look.
But quickly the smile fell. What was she supposed to get him? The month had been a whirlwind of cases, and Kate felt like she was living on a latte and a prayer.
Rick had surprised her with this romantic getaway for her birthday; it was small and quaint, to a cabin right on the water in Maine. Even though she was certain the whole thing had probably cost a fortune, it was understated out of respect for Kate's aversion to wealth. Indeed, it had truly been the perfect gift.
"Fuck him," she thought to herself, "Now I have to top perfection. Damn. All I have are thoughts, all too little money, and not one romantic bone in my body. All I have are my feelings, but that's not enough."
She contemplated further. Something silly like a sweater? He had a million of them. A gadget? She could never afford one. Fifty cans of whipped cream? He'd probably love it, but she wanted to give him something lasting, like his books to her.
The books. She considered the train of thought. She knew she was no writer, but maybe…
Maybe she could write him a letter, as small and puny as that sounds. It isn't eloquent nor composed. But in its own way, it's more Kate than any grand romantic gesture would have been. She'll pour her thoughts, her stream of consciousness, onto the page. It will contain every thought she has about Rick, about their past together, their present, their future. It would have both the positive and the negative, the hopes and dreams obtained and lost.
Yes, Kate thought, paired with fifty bottles of whipped cream, this could make the best gift she could give the writer.
Sitting down a few hours later, she stared at the blank sheets before her, before finally setting her pen to paper. Immediately upon contact, the words flew out. Kate quickly realized how intimate this gift would be; this letter was, at its core, her. She has never been quite so honest, quite so real – even so much herself – with Rick.
"But why shouldn't I be?" Kate thought. "I am his. Not in the sense of property or anything, but I have always been his. He's always been my one and only. And so, for his birthday, he should have me, with everything that entails."
And so, Kate wrote on furiously, frantically filling the pages, until she's left with nearly fifteen pages.
When Rick woke up on his birthday, he found his fridge full of whipped cream bottles. Smiling, thinking he's the luckiest guy in the world, he grabbed the first and squirted some into his mouth. "Food of the gods!" he proclaimed.
It's only once this first craving has been satisfied that he noticed the pages, neatly stapled together, lying on top of the bottles. Curious, he reached in, before reading the first words.
"Hey Rick, Happy birthday. So, I'm just going to come out and say it here. I love you. Don't worry, that's not your gift, an 'I love you', but I think you should know it. Your gift is this – pages of me, unfiltered, unedited, uncensored. Just pure Kate Beckett, trying to make the English language able to express the magnitude of what I feel for you."
Rick smiled, before flipping through the pages lightly. "Best. Gift. Ever," he whispered to himself, before walking to his office to read the pages on his couch.
Kate sat in her apartment, smiling, holding the radio to her ear. Before leaving the night before, she had planted one in the kitchen in order to hear Rick's immediate reaction.
Her grin couldn't be larger, and little did she know, Rick's face mirrored hers perfectly as he read her letter.
It was the perfect gift.