"Tell me something, Jimmy," he said in a playful tone, and hugged me closer as the ending credits of Investigative Reports began to roll. I didn't know whether to be glad he feeling alright or be afraid for my life. Considering his reaction to me telling him all about his virtues several nights before, being afraid sounded like the right thing. Be afraid, be very afraid.

I'm not that person you see.

"What something do you want to know?" I asked, trying not to sound as apprehensive as I felt. "You're not going to make me tell you my deepest, darkest secret, are you?"

"Not yet." He turned to me, the same playfulness in his voice showed up in his expression. "Do you remember the first time you thought about being with me?"

Well, that came out of nowhere. "Not at the moment," I answered stupidly. I didn't even know what planet I was on right then, let alone what I was thinking years ago.

"You don't have to answer now," he said, turning back to the television and flipping through the channels. "It's not like a kitten will die if you don't tell me. But if you do remember, let me know."

I don't think he really wanted to know, he just wanted to something to keep his mind off his impending troubles for a while. There were worse things he could be doing, I suppose. A silly conversation was better than a knock-down, drag-out, ear-splitting screaming match any day. There wasn't any harm in it so I decided to play along and see where we ended up. It was quiet for a while, the only voices coming from the local news, and I thought about his question.

"I guess the first time I really seriously thought about it," I began, "was when my marriage to Bonnie began to go down the toilet."

"The devil's in the details, Jimmy. Tell me."

"Actually, now that I think about it, Bonnie gave me the idea."

"You're joking." His eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"I wish."

"Bonnie told you to be with me? That little pixie who couldn't even watch an episode of The X-Files without having nightmares for a month? I don't believe it."

"Well, it wasn't like she ordered me at gunpoint..."

"So what the hell was it? Tell me."

"We were arguing...again. She was yelling at me, telling me that I was always with you, giving you a shoulder to cry on and never one for her. She told me I practically lived with you anyway, why don't I just move in with you and get it over with. I slept on the couch that night and couldn't get that sentence out of my head. The more I thought about it, the better it sounded."

"Hmmm...interesting..." He sounded pleased for whatever reason. What that reason could be I couldn't even begin to guess and probably didn't want to. "Back then you were content with just looking."

I chuckled and said, "Well, you are nice to look at."

"Of course," he smirked, like that was a given. And it was.

"I'm just a sucker for tall, cranky diagnosticians."

"You can never have too many of those," Greg deadpanned.

"You're one of a kind."

"You're not too bad yourself."

"Thanks." I rolled my eyes and laughed softly.

"You're welcome. Now tell me this, what parts of me do you like to look at. And let's keep it above the waist for the time being."

"Your eyes," I answered immediately.

"My eyes, huh? Cliche, but a good start. Why?"

"The color...the electric blue. They're your best feature."

He grinned, and I could see that he liked my answer. "Electric blue. I've heard that before, but it fits and I'm not going to hold it against you. How about another cliche–are my eyes the window into my soul?"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, Greg." I said heavily, not in the mood to repeat myself a million times before he accepted it as the truth.

"What do you see in my best feature, my electric blue eyes?" he asked, then waited for the answer.

"Everything."

"I need specifics."

"Everything means everything. When your leg hurts, I can see the pain in your eyes," I began and watched his face melt into a demure and serene expression. "When you're happy or excited, your eyes glow like they've been plugged into the wall. When you're angry or upset, they can be as icy as the North Pole. Right now, they look like a clear blue sky, which tells me you're relaxed and enjoying yourself. If you want, I can make list of all your moods and how your eyes express them."

"No thanks," he told me. "Well, that was rather...intriguing. I didn't realize my eyes were so alive."

"Next is your beard, even if it does scratch me all to hell. It wouldn't kill you to shave more than once every ten days."

"Just can't compete with the clear blue sky," he said, and smiled down at me. "I'm a sucker for your brown eyes myself. Too bad I can't compare them to the sky, unless I want to say it's polluted sky or some stupid thing like that."

"I'm sure you'll think of something. You don't have to tell me now," I said, leaning against him and watching the rest of the news.