I chugged down half the bottle of Pepto-Bismol and left it sitting on the counter just in case, then stumbled to bed. Greg was already a vague lump under the blankets. The second I got under said blankets, he flung his arm over me and turned me into an improvised pillow–his own weird way of thanking me for the ice cream, I suppose. I couldn't complain; I figured our little talk would turn into another night of shouting followed by thick, resentful silence. Thankfully it had handled with a surprising degree of civility. Now all I had to do was see if he would keep his word. In the meantime I threaded my fingers through his hair. He muttered, "Mmm...that's nice", before filling the room with his snoring. I decided to follow his example and closed my eyes.

I still love you anway.

First I heard the dull clunk of a glass being set down, then I came fully awake and saw the light stretching into the room. I blinked away the spots and saw that it was all of two in the morning, less than ninety minutes after he had finally given up and called it a night. Usually when he's up and around at some ridiculous hour he's at least polite enough to close the door. Not tonight. Hmmm...that's interesting.

I shuffled to the living room and found it empty. Then I noticed the light on in the kitchen. A few groans floated in my direction. I followed the noise into the kitchen I found Greg standing over the sink, finishing off the Pepto.

"And here I figured you had a cast-iron stomach," I said, leaning in the doorway.

Evidently he hadn't heard me walk up as he jumped and spun around, wide-eyed with shock, and dropped the bottle into the sink. Thankfully it was plastic and there was just a thudding instead of a crash and jagged pieces of glass flying everywhere.

"Jesus!" Greg yelped. "Don't do that to me again or I'm putting a bell around your neck." He turned back to the sink and rescued the Pepto, grumbling to himself.

"I'd like to see you try," I said coolly.

"I'd like to see you explain the bell collar to Cuddy. Then you'd really have to tell her that you're my bitch."

"What's wrong?" I asked even though I already knew the answer.

"Stomach-ache," he replied, still in his grumbling mode. "Why the hell did you let me eat that crap?"

"Um...because you wanted to?"

"Why did you let me eat so much?"

"You picked out all that crap right down to the last french fry and threatened to skin me alive if I didn't fix as much as you wanted, the way you wanted it? Does that sound familiar?"

He took another swig of the god-awful pink stuff and said, "You should know better than to listen to me."

"Oh, really?" I answered, more than bit amused at the way this conversation was going. " And if I hadn't made you hamburgers and french fries you'd still be bitching and moaning about how evil I am instead of bitching and moaning about an upset stomach. This is the lesser of two evils and I'll take it over your passive-aggressive bitchiness any day of the week."

"Of course. You're not the one standing over the sink while his gut is doing back flips."

"That's an interesting visual," I commented, then walked over to the counter. "You okay?"

"I'll live." He guzzled down the last of the Pepto, then unceremoniously shoved the empty bottle into my hands. I tossed it into the trash without comment.

"I hope we have some more of that stuff," Greg said.

"There's another in the cabinet."

"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" He gave me an accusing look.

"I just figured it would. Better to be safe than sorry." I put a hand on his shoulder. "Now do you see why I tell you not to eat like this?"

"If I stuff myself with carrots and celery until I puke will you shut up about it?"

"If you actually do that, yes."

He opened his mouth to bitch at me some more, but couldn't as he was laughing too hard. I had made him laugh instead giving him an excuse to bite my head off. Now that took talent. I wonder where it came from.

"Yeah," he snorted,. "I guess you would. I need to sit down."

He slumped into his chair and I settled into mine.

I raised an eyebrow and asked, "Feeling better?"

"A little. Give me a few more minutes and let the Pepto kick in."

"Do you need the other bottle? Is a monster going to burst out of your chest?"

"It felt like it for a while." A faint scowl crossed his face, then disappeared like smoke in a breeze. "Make something light and not greasy tomorrow."

"I was going to cook the pot roast tomorrow."

"Not anymore."

"I need to cook it before–"

"Unless you want a repeat performance of this, I suggest you put the damn thing back in the freezer for a few more days. Next time the monster might burst out of my chest and all over you."

"Another great visual," I muttered with a roll of my eyes. "Fine. My appetite has officially been ruined for the next two weeks. What do you want for dinner tomorrow?"

"Surprise me."

"Okay, I will; and if I hear one word about–"

"You won't." He looked over at me, his eyes throwing sparks from the harsh overhead light. "C'mon, lets go back to bed, unless you want to try and cuddle in the kitchen."

"No thanks," I said, getting up.

"I didn't think so. You make such a good pillow, Jimmy. Have I ever told you that?"

"No."

"Well, I'm telling you now and you better get used to being my pillow real damn quick."