Early 1970s. Fluff.

"My God, does that smell divine."

"All yours, Lieutenant."

There Columbo sat at the counter of Barney's, his dive of choice. The massive, steaming bowl of chili sitting in front of him seemed particularly appetizing tonight, simply begging to be eaten. Juicy chunks of ground beef swam in thick, brick red broth, its spicy aroma tantalizing. Four different types of beans, melted cheese, even creamy slices of avocado sitting atop. It seemed almost-no, was indeed-too nice a chili for Barney's, but no matter. He crushed a packet of saltines into his dinner anxiously.

"Hold up, there's more where that came from!" Bert said, setting a succulent hamburger with fries down in front of him. Columbo furrowed his brow.

"Bertie, I didn't order a burger. You sure this is for me?"

"On the house. After all, you're one of our best customers."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you, thank you very much," he said delightedly, his hands together in excitement. "Now, the question is, where do I start?"

"Maybe here," Bert said, also setting down a comically large slice of chocolate layer cake.

"Wha…" Columbo trailed off, jaw slack in shock. "This too? C'mon, Bert…"

"Ah, we gotta get rid of it after tonight anyway, Lieutenant. It's about to go stale. Why not?"

"I just didn't know I was that good a customer," he said with a grin, eagerly munching on a french fry from his burger plate. A low rumbling sounded in the distance. "Whassat?"

"Must be one of them earthquakes," replied Bert, wiping the counter casually.

"Oh. Yeah, of course. Must be," the lieutenant replied equally casually, dipping another fry in his chili. None of the other patrons nor staff seemed to mind, either. The rumbling increased, condiments on the countertop beginning to topple. Plates began to crash. But he was so hungry he continued regardless, raising the picturesque burger to his mouth to take a bite.

He cracked open a single bleary eye, staring not at a hamburger but at popcorn-that is, the stippled finish on his living room ceiling. No such luck with free, delicious Barney's tonight. Regaining his bearings, he immediately found that the source of the earthquake wasn't the San Andreas fault, it was his own. He hadn't eaten in over a day, rendering his stomach clamorous enough to rouse him.

It was coming back to him, now. Called to a fresh crime scene at two o'clock the previous morning, he'd spent his whole Saturday working on almost no sleep. He'd pushed through, of course, on caffeine, adrenaline, and sheer will.

Then he crossed the threshold into his house, where he'd allowed the exhaustion to seep in. Rose hadn't yet finished dinner when he'd arrived at around six in the evening; in an effort to kill some time, he'd plopped himself down on the sofa to watch TV with the kids. And it was no sooner than when he'd merely rested his head against the back cushion that he was dead to the world.

Six in the evening. How long ago was that? It was light out when it was lights-out; now it was well into the night. He eyed the wall clock. Nearly one in the morning now, the house still and dark save for the kitchen. He sat up a bit and spied his wife puttering about inside.

Speaking of which, he realized then that she'd done some thorough adjusting for him at some point in the evening. He was now supine, for one, rather than seated. There were extra pillows propped under his head-the good ones, not the lumpy throw pillows. He'd fallen asleep fully clothed but awoke in his underclothes, draped in a thick blanket. Somehow, she'd managed all that without disturbing him. No wonder he'd slept so well.

He laid back, ready to once again slip into sweet slumber until rudely reminded of just one thing-those sharp, aching hunger pangs. Cursing silently, he arose and shuffled into the kitchen.

"Up already?" Rose asked in surprise. He mm'd, rubbing his eyes. "Don't tell me they want you in again. Tell 'em to send the other guy, for Pete's sake. Doesn't he do anything? I don't want you drivin' in this condition, let alone goin' after people." Columbo yawned, waving a hand.

"No, I don't gotta go in tomorrow. Let's hope, at least. This new one's an easy nut to crack, anyway," he muttered, scratching his head. "Clear motive, enough holes in the execution. Sweats buckets when I look at 'er too long. I just need the clincher, somethin' real uhh…somethin'..."

"Compelling."

"Compelling, yes, thank you." He swayed slightly in fatigue and braced himself against the wall. "Besides, I think I've slept almost long enough."

"Not even close, by the looks of it," she said concernedly, attempting to usher him out. He resisted.

"Okay, okay, that may be, but what I do need right now is food. Really, I mean my own stomach actually woke me up." He made his way to the bar top and climbed onto a stool.

"Didn't you have breakfast?"

"There were no eggs in the fridge, remember?"

"Oh, right, sorry about that. I meant to boil some for you yesterday."

"I was so busy, I had no time to eat anyhow. I was gonna pick somethin' up after, but I was so beat I just wanted to come home. Then I meant to eat with you guys, but dinner wasn't ready, so I sat down with the kids. They were watchin' that space show, what's it called."

"Star Trek?" Rose said, filling up a glass of water for him.

"That's the one. And then…then, uh," he said with a yawn. "Gee, I don't even remember. How come you didn't wake me for dinner?"

"Hm? Oh, I couldn't have if I tried," Rose said with a sympathetic chuckle, setting the glass down in front of him. Parched, he sipped it eagerly. "You didn't bat an eye when I took your day clothes to wash, you were out cold. Hell, I took your pulse too, just to make sure you didn't up and die on me. Besides, you looked too peaceful to wake. Cherubic." She gently patted his amply-stubbled cheek. He smiled.

"Well, whaddya got for this starvin' angel?"

"We've got some leftover ziti with chicken parm from tonight."

"Ooh. And?"

"...And…I got some smoked mozzarell' and cold cuts from DiSanti's," she said, taking various foods out of the fridge for him. "You want?"

"Oh yeah, all sounds very good. And?"

"And what?" she said, shrugging. He pouted and traced circles on the counter with his index finger.

"Don't we have any sweet in this house?" he asked, reminiscing fondly upon the rich chocolate layer cake from his dream. "Cookies…ice cream…maybe a chocolate layer cake…" She smirked.

"Well, not quite. But you're in luck, I did pick up some tiramisu from that new bakery on Ventura. I guess that counts. Real good stuff, you know."

"Now you're talkin'," he said, nodding in anticipation. Rose gave him a look.

"Well, with all that, I'm cuttin' up a salad for you. And you better finish it or else no dessert, capisce?"

"Ohh yes, ma'am, capisce. Loud n' clear." he replied, chin propped up in his hands.

"You just gotta get more fresh veg in," she said attentively. "You need the fiber, you need the vitamins, yadda yadda. Y'know ya gotta eat more variety, more greens, and that means more than just askin' for beans in the chili. Whaddya want, scurvy?"

"No, ma'am," he said, voice low. He closed his eyes.

"You can't be eatin' that stuff every day, either. I know it's good, it's convenient, but it's gonna kill you one'a these days. And I can't afford this house on just my salary, even if I cashed out on that life insurance, what, the way real estate in this city is goin'. So eat ya vegetables. I shouldn't have to tell you this. The hell am I, ya motha'?"

She put her hand on her hip and turned to face him. His eyes were still closed, face in hands, grin ear-to-ear. After years of marriage, she found herself still at the mercy of that grin. Reflexively, she grinned in return.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

"I love you."

"...Yeah, yeah," she said, stirring the ziti before popping it in the toaster oven. She tousled his hair and pecked his forehead. "Love you too."