"Do you want some toast?"

"Or how about some bacon and eggs?"

"No—whadda ya say to some french toast?"

Denny Duquette looked up from reading the Seattle Times and grinned at his new wife in amusement—He regarded her apparel and felt his heart flip flop again, as it did every single time he looked at her---clad in a pair of light green silk pajamas and her long hair piled in a messy bun on the top of her head—she was beautiful in every way. He ruffled the paper slightly as he turned the page. "I'm fine, darlin." He chuckled. "You just get yourself something good."

"So, french toast then?"

He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach through the black t-shirt he wore. "Are you trying to fatten me up, woman?" He teased. "You're gonna make me gain fifty pounds. Just how will that help my new heart? I'll be fat—and how will you feel about me then, huh?"

She looked him over and winked. She loved to look at him—the way he moved, the dreamy look in his eyes that appeared every time he talked to her and she loved everything about him. She had to admit that he did look pretty sexy in his t-shirt and blue boxers—but he was Denny and was there ever really a time that he didn't look sexy? Hell, in the hospital, dying—the man still had enough sex appeal to accommodate a hundred women.

"The same way I feel about you now." She smiled, getting up from her chair, crossing over to the other side of the kitchen in search of something to eat. "I love you."

"Baby—" He nodded, as she walked past him. "I love you too."

"Preston says that it's best if you eat early in the morning—something about your metabolism–" She continued. "I'll have to get the book that he suggested..." She trailed off, talking to herself more than to him. "Oh, and you know about the appointment with Dr. Sellers about staying fit, right?"

"I'm fine, Izzy. Don't worry about it." He turned the page and began reading an article about some dead ducks that were found on the Seattle coastline. "I'll be there."

"Did we schedule your follow-up with Preston?"

"Yep. Tuesday at ten."

"What about with that doctor who has the special new diet plan—the really great one?"

"What about him?"

"Do you think we should see him?"

"So I can eat rabbit food?"

"Noooo—so that we have the best chance possible of keeping you healthy."

"Izzy—" He began tentatively.

"Denny, you need to eat something." She opened the refrigerator door and started rifling though its contents, hellbent on making him something nutritious. "What did you have this morning?"

After years of being a bachelor, the marine biologist knew that he need not worry about starving to death now that he was married—it would literally be impossible, considering that Izzy hovered over him night and day—which did get tiring but he understood why she felt and acted that way and when she got really bad—like waking him up in the middle of the night to check his new heart with a stethoscope—he had to draw the line, but gently.

"Cereal—Cheerios, actually." He said mildly as he grinned at her. "Surgeon General says they are essential for a healthy heart, honey." He set the paper down and rested his chin in his hand. Absently, he scratched at the three day stubble on his cheek. "And I've got one now." He reminded softly.

She considered what he'd said and reluctantly walked over to the table, stopping in front of him. "I'm doing it again aren't I?" Tears welled up in her blue eyes—why couldn't she stop fretting over him? It was becoming a compulsion—wanting to check his heart, monitoring what he ate. She was so scared of losing him—losing what they had finally found together—it was hard not to hover over him.

He nodded, but his eyes were soft, understanding. He pushed his chair back and held his arms open to her. She sat on his lap and buried her head in his shoulder and relished the feel of his strong arms around her.

"I'm sorry." She murmured softly. "I just get scared sometimes. I want you to be healthy and—"

"Shh, shhh." He soothed, as he rubbed her back. "I know that you do."

"I don't mean to be a nag."

"You're not a nag, honey. Far from it." Oh, if she only knew how much she meant to him, how she was responsible for saving his life, for giving him life. "I know that you're scared but I"m fine."

She leaned back and looked at him. "I know. I'm sorry and I'll try to not be so—" She searched for the right word to express how she felt, and failed.

"Perfect." He finished.

She smiled. "Perfect? That's not the word that I would have chosen, but it sounds good."

"You're perfect for me Isobelle Duquette and I love you for it."

"I love you too."

She leaned down for a kiss.

One kiss became two and two became three...and soon he was carrying her upstairs to their bed. Carrying her with his arms and his new, strong, perfectly healthy heart.

And for that, he would be eternally grateful.