"Why do you love me?" He asked her. They were laying in bed, naked, except for the sheet covering them. She had flopped onto her stomach and created a little nest for her head to lie in from her arms moments before. Her eyes were closed, and she was smiling. The light from the mid-day sun was shining on her dark hair, illuminating the white streaks. She shouldn't have them at 26, but he liked them on her. They didn't make her look older, just... different. He liked that she was different.

She cracked an eye open. This close, and with the light shining on her, he could see all the color in them. The blue, the streaks of green, the tiny spots of brown that she insisted were freckles. He liked her eyes too. No one had eyes like hers. He stroked her freckled shoulder. He liked her skin, too. It was so soft. All over she was speckled with freckles and marred in places by small scars. She was so proud of those scars. He'd heard most of the stories about them by now, and he was proud of them too. They were proof that she had lived without holding back. He liked that about her too.

"I don't know." She said cheerfully, pushing herself up to lean her head on her hands. "Why do I love anyone? There's just something about you." She kissed his nose fondly.

"Yes, but what?" He asked persistently.

"Hmm." She looked out the window at the garden, her eyes darkening with thought. He touched her cheek gently, and she smiled at him. Her teeth were crooked. She needed braces, but when he'd mentioned it, she had scoffed at him. He wasn't going to press the issue. If she wasn't bothered by them, why make a fuss? "Why do you love me?"

He smile up at her. "I love you because of a million small reasons. There's nothing about you I don't like."

She laughed at him, not a giggle, but a real laugh, full of happiness and good humor. It was another of those little things. She never did things half way. If she was going to laugh, she laughed. If she was going to cry, she wept. She wasn't afraid to be herself and let the world see her.

"I hate to break it to you, but there are things I don't like about you." She told him with a smile, her eyes still dancing.

"Like what?" He asked, returning her smile.

"I don't like the way you leave your dishes in the sink. I don't like the way you never put the toilet paper roll on the holder. I don't like the way you - HEY!!!" She broke off laughing, as he suddenly reached over and tickled her. "Stop that!!"

"Never!" He cried, grabbing her wrist so she couldn't pull away from him. "You know my faults and must now be destroyed!"

Later she lay against him, her fingers playing with the sparse hair on his chest. His arms encircled her waist lovingly. He ran a hand through her hair, watching the silvery threads mingling among the black. It was moments like this he loved most. It made him believe in forever. For a few moments, time stopped, and all was well. There were no bills piling up, they were both going to live forever, and there was peace on earth.

"I love you because I don't like things about you." She said suddenly. "You're not perfect." She lifted her head and looked at him, a loving smile playing at her lips. "But you are perfect for me."

He smiled at her, and kissed her gently. "Good."

Later still, when she was asleep, sprawled over almost all of the bed, he lay awake watching her. She was so small next to him. Too small. Too small to contain all of that personality. He ghosted over to his briefcase, and pulled out the piece of paper the doctor had given him the day before. The end of all the peace, sitting there in his hands.

"She doesn't have more than a few weeks at this stage." The doctor had said. "I'll let you decide whether to tell her. But I suggest you enjoy what's left of your time together."

He didn't know how to tell her. He didn't want her to know. He didn't want to see the end of her smile, didn't want to see her heart break, as his had broken. He wanted a few more years with her, wanted to see what her children would look like, wanted to see her when all her hair was silver.

A small, freckled hand touched the hand holding the paper. "It doesn't matter." She whispered, wrapping an arm around him from behind. "Come back to bed."

He lay the paper on the table, and went back to bed, to hold her close and tight. He tilted her head up for a kiss, savoring this, sweet, peaceful moment. Some day soon, he knew, she would die and leave him alone. This was what he wanted to remember. A day spent in bed, a day of peace, when there were no bills piling up, they were both going to live forever, and there was peace on earth.