"Hey. Don't be like this." Teresa placed a hand on her hip, her other holding the arm of a pair of sleek black glasses. Her mouth was pursed, her eyebrows were raised. She was in exactly the mood Patrick Jane both loved and hated simultaneously. That all-business, 'I'm-the-boss' attitude. That, 'get-your-crap-together-Jane-or-so-help-me' mood.
He raised his face from the paper he was squinting at the breakfast table, and locked eyes with his lovely, peeved wife. Her face softened visibly and he had to smile inside. All these years later and she still loved him just as much as the day they said their vows.
The feeling was mutual.
He reached out and took the glasses from her hand, turned them over in his own a few times. "It means that much to you?" He replied.
"Jane," (she only called him Jane when she was trying to stay objective.) "It's about your eyesight. Why did we go to the optometrist anyway, if you were going to just ignore everything he said about eyestrain?"
"Well, ah, *we* went because *we* love you and decided to humor you." As he spoke he slipped on the dark, rectangular frames, and pulled her towards him. "*we* can easily see through your thin attempt to hide the fact that you think glasses on me are sexy." He held her waist between his hands, and tilted his head up towards her furiously blushing face. "Because *we* think you're adorable when you're embarrassed."