This is a man in need. His fear is naked and obvious, but he's lost. . . Somewhere in his darkness.
His eyes wide and bleak and tortured. I can soothe him. Join him briefly in the darkness and bring him into the light.

Oh... Blip. Yeah, I see." He sounds distracted, awed.
"Your child," I whisper.
"Our child." He counters.

You smell heavenly. I slept on your side of your side of the bed because your pillow smells of you.

Suddenly, as one, all the Greys stop talking and gape at Christian.
What?
Christian is singing softly to himself at the piano. Silence descends on us all as we strain to hear his soft, lyrical voice. I've heard him sing before, haven't they? He stops, suddenly conscious of the deathly hush that's fallen over the room. Kate glances questioningly at me and I shrug. Christian turns on the stool and frowns, embarrassed to realize he's become the center of attention.
'Go on,' Grace urges softly. 'I've never heard you sing, Christian. Ever.

Your lips are so soft when you cry.

Mine," he whispers.
"Yours," I breathe.