Tango

What on earth are you doing here?

By the time their two weeks in France were up, Hamilton didn't want to leave. He had made himself at home, in the comfort of trustworthy and welcoming people, he had found what he had longed for in the recent weeks. An escape. He'd been so successful at forgetting his prior mentality, that just the idea of leaving France made him homesick. He'd made himself a new home amongst the nosy Frenchwoman and passive but affectionate Frenchman. For the first time in possibly twenty years, he felt like he was part of something. Something, warm and tender not wanting to call it family for the fear of jinxing it. An acceptance, he hadn't felt for decades, a feeling he had only last felt in the embrace of his Mother. As a compromise though, he still had Thomas and Gilbert, who treated him no different. The Virginian loved him like no one ever had, and slowly Alexander was learning to love himself too. Learning to take care of himself and his body, purely because it would do him more good than harm. If Jefferson had to give something up, then he had to do it too. And while giving up his toxic mindset wasn't the easiest, he was damned if he wasn't going to try his hardest.

Once they'd made it back to New York, the taller man still hadn't reached for his walking stick. Thomas had made great progress, and it was showing not only in his gate but in his attitude. Although he still couldn't run without hurting his ankle, he was chipper and faster. Whether or not that was due to the lack of the cane or the fiery movements of his daughter was anyone's guess, but they sure encouraged him a lot. Ever since that day on the prairie, the kicks never ceased, only growing stronger by the day; Being especially active when Thomas spoke to the taut skin of his partner's stomach. It was almost like a game. Jefferson would talk normally and gradually soften his voice, trying to see how far he could go before there were no more kicks in response. Driving Alexander mad when he whispered to it one morning, rousing the brunet out of his slumber. "I'm going to kill you." The younger groused into his pillow. He'd had been having trouble sleeping lately, cherishing every bit of shut-eye he could get. In an attempt to redeem himself, the darker man caressed the protruding mound and kissed him on the head before leaving.

They went together to every appointment, the monthly visits becoming an odd sort of familiarity. Seeing their daughter on the fuzzy screen and being told she was healthy each time eased both men's minds. The prospect that it wouldn't be just the two of them in about three months' time, scratching at the back of their heads, making their hair stand on end.

They enjoyed each other's company, cuddling together on a Sunday afternoon. Thomas was holding him from behind, his hands splayed over the warm olive-toned skin as if trying to protect it from the evils of the world, feeling as his daughter rolled beneath his fingers. His breathing, even, grazing the back of Alex's nape.

"She's getting so big." The darker man mused, his eyes closed, remembering the image of the ultrasound he had seen earlier that week. Her petite profile, looking all the more like a baby each time.

"Don't remind me." The brunet agreed, eyes closed and then chuckled. "Oh, Thomas... " he sighed, exhausted.

"Does it still hurt?" Jefferson's hand moved from the younger's belly to his hip, rubbing firmly, in hopes of soothing his bedmate.

"Mmm." Alex confirmed wordlessly.

His hips had been bothering him ever since France, which they learned was due to Alexander's anatomy not being suited for childbearing. Doctor Hosack had advised against pain killers but recommended massages, or a specialized band if the pain stayed consistent. Thomas kissed his shoulder tenderly.

"We're gonna have to go shopping." He spoke into the warm flesh.

"Shopping?" Hamilton looked back to see his face.

"Well, yeah. We need to get a crib, changing table, some baby clothes-"

"God, I haven't even thought about it..." He hid his face in his hands.