Title: Different [7/10]

Dedications: I have to thank Jude for the inspiration and Mel for betaing this for me. And for Colin, who inspired me, so much. (How could you have never had a nickname before me?)

Author's Notes: Mostly silly and frivolous, I couldn't help myself—this just seemed like the right place to put this bit in. It's a break from anything that'll really propel the story. You can just skip on over this part, I can't really be held accountable for any efforts made into the realm of pure fluff.

7

Casey starts to bark while Colin and I are eating lunch at his dinning room table. Volunteering to get up, Casey eagerly tags along by his heels as they leave. All alone, I don't know what to do with my free time. They'll only be gone for a few minutes, I just need to bide my time. Find something to do ... there's the front page on the counter, I'll skim the headlines. No, I get enough 'current events' daily, how about something fun. There's ... there's got to be something on TV. Sure, TV will work. I walk over to the living room, taking up residence on the couch. Clicking around, I finally find something good on—a show of funny animal tapes—when I hear the door open and a dog bark.

"Hey, Col, come here, look at this—it's hilarious!" I yell over at him. As he comes over to the living room, the dog on the TV jumps even higher, reaching the table. "This dog ... look at him, how adorable!"

Truth list: 16. Cute animal shows featuring animal antics and tricks are always hilarious.

Colin settles in next to me and we watch the show together, while Casey settles in on the love seat. "Hey Case, you have competition," Colin jokes after seeing my reaction to the dogs on show. Casey doesn't even lift his head; I guess he's fast asleep. Once the show ends I turn the TV off, before we both get sucked into it and never leave the house. I lie back, thinking what we can do for the day and Colin just looks over at me. "Sydney," he says with a smile. "Sy," he tries and then shakes his head. "Ney," he tries then and shakes his head again. He did just call me knee, as in the body part, didn't he? "Syd," he says with a big smile.

On a good day he's crazy, kooky, and playful. Right now, he's certifiable. "What?" I ask.

"Syd," he says, as if there was nothing odd going on.

I look at him, of course, as if he's become even odder—because he is, every second he's getting odder then normal. "Yes? That is my name."

"I know that, Syd," says Mr. Crazy. "I just ... Syd is you're nickname, that's the only thing I could call you, other then you're full name. But that's so formal, two whole syllables."

I start to laugh then. He's gone from crazy to serious and it's all, in his own Colin way, in this lighthearted fashion. "Okay. So what, I've got a full name a nick name. It's not exactly something that's rare."

He laughs and smiles and pulls me to him. "But I'm always Colin. I've always been Colin."

I think I suddenly understand. No one else would have brought this up. If they had, it wouldn't have been with a chuckle and a smile. Maybe that's what I'm starting to really love about him—he's not anyone else, he's like no one else I've ever met, he's unique and he makes me happy.

"Do you want a nickname?" I ask him. His pull to hold me tighter seems like the only yes I'll get. We're not all perfect, he's no exception. He can be as hard headed and stubborn as I can be. He can be a typical guy and hold back his emotions, refuse to admit weakness. He doesn't always ask for help. It's not just about pride, it's something more—I think he has this need to try things on his own, to see if he can accomplish something. When he can't, he does ask, sometimes more willingly then other times. But I know him well enough now to tell when I just need to read his actions and words—or lack there of—because he won't let me know otherwise.

Thinking about this nickname business of his, it becomes silent for a little bit. He's still holding me, and it's a comfortable silence—I think. He doesn't say anything, and he's barely fidgeting, so he can't be too uncomfortable. I look over at him, but he's not really looking. He's staring at something I can't see—it's as if he sees something that's not there, but whatever it is, it's important. "Col," I try, attempting to get him to get out of his haze. He moves a bit, then turns his head, as if he's back to reality, and knows it.

"What?" he asks, a little unnerved that he was caught drifting off. When I start to smile—trying hard not to laugh—he starts to get agitated. "What?" he asks, a little gruffly, tired of not knowing the joke.

"You already have a nickname," I tell him. "You've had one for a while, apparently." I can't help but laugh. It's so domestic, it's sickening.

"What!?!" he asks, incredulously.

With a grin I let him know what I came to. "I realized you already have a nickname. I gave you one."

"I do?" he asks, eager, like a child.

"Yeah." The two of us are the down right picture of perky perfect right now. "I gave you one already." His head moves a little, his eyes become unfocused—he's trying to remember when I could have used this nickname of his and what it was. Taking pity on him, I let him in on the big secret. "I couldn't come up with one just now. But you were in this funk, so it didn't matter. When I tried to call you back to me, it came out. You just responded to it as if you've had it all your life."

"Really?" he asks, sincere. "I didn't notice."

"I know. That's what made it so cute." He's got this puppy dog face right now, and I can't help but lean in to him, to try to absorb some of it—bask in it.

"So what it is then? I'd like to know this, now, and pretend not to be an idiot."

"Well," I begin. "It starts with the letter C," I whisper, getting closer to his face. "It ends with the letter L." I get closer still. "And it's got an O in the middle." Just as I'm about to reach his face, his lips, I pause. "I'll give you a hint," I tell him with a toothy grin, "it's the first three letters of your name."

I was going to kiss him, in celebration of this nickname of his. But it's too great of an opportunity for him, apparently, because he takes it upon himself to thank me. A very handsome reward, may I say.

Truth list: 17. Being creative is fun, and rewarding.

There are several minutes of reward time. After a while, we just relax back against the couch, snuggled together. "So maybe," he says, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "we should just stay here today."

It sounds way too appealing, but I have some hesitance. I'm not a nun, but I don't want to start something—really start something—without him knowing the truth, the whole truth. It'd taken me long enough to accept him as something other then just a friend, this final barrier wasn't going to be broken easily.

Just as I was thinking of a way out, Casey came in to the rescue. With a bark, he leaps onto the couch, between us. "How about we take Casey out to the park? It is a nice day outside," I begin. "It's a rare day off for me, I want to enjoy it. Come on, it'll be fun."

He looks disappointed, but not angry—that's good for now. Soon, I'll have to tell him soon. "Come on," he says to me, "get your butt off this couch and put some sneakers on." Languidly I get up off the couch and head to the hall where my sneakers are. As I'm walking over I can still hear him talking, "While you get ready I'll get some things together for our day at the park." Just when the kitchen cabinets obstruct my view of him, and he thinks that I'm too preoccupied with my given task to hear him, I overhear him talking to himself, "Do I have plans for you ..."

tbc