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Hamilton Apartment, Munich, Germany
His son is standing on tip toes, on top of a chair, reaching upwards to grasp for something on the shelf. It seems to be a precarious balance and Alexander is quite torn between scolding him and rushing over to steady him. There comes a time in every parent's life when they are torn between taking an action that their child would perceive as needless coddling or otherwise risking them injuring themselves. Alexander is no less vexed by this decision than anyone else.
“You alright there, buddy?” He asks, slightly amused by the way Philipp’s curls whip around, how his eyes go wide as he knows he has been caught. Ten year olds are not very good at hiding their guilt. Thankfully Philipp has been turning out to be a very regular ten year old.
“You moved the chocolate again,” Philipp accuses, crossing his arms and huffing at him. “I wanted to take some to school today. You said I could. It’s Martin’s birthday and I want to share chocolate with him.”
“Ah, but did I move it, or did you eat all of it? Your last dental appointment suggests this may be your fault.”
“No,” Philipp says, scowling at Alexander heavily. “You eat as much sweet stuff as I do, maybe more. I caught you eating waffles at midnight a week ago.”
In a way Alexander always knew raising a kid by himself would result in a terribly opinionated household. Still, it's jarring to be confronted with precisely how readily Philipp defends his actions. If only Eliza were still alive to exert some gentler influences. If only Thomas were alive to do the same. Alexander does not get these pangs often. They are reserved for Philipp’s milestones, wonderful events that only he witnesses now. When they come, they overwhelm him though. In trying not to let Philipp in on the turn that his thoughts have taken, he relents.
“They’re in the cupboard next to the fridge. Don’t hurt yourself. Hey! Be careful getting off that chair, mi vida.”
“I’m always careful,” Philipp grins at him, tongue probing the loose tooth that’s been waggling for three days now. It is another marker, Alexander thinks, of the passage of time. His son almost has a full set of adult teeth now. What does one do with that knowledge?
“Did you feed Tommy yet?”
“He had an excellent breakfast of lettuce, carrots and strawberries,” Philipp assures him. For a ten year old, he is remarkably responsible, Alex thinks with no small amount of pride. Alexander has only had to feed the turtle twice, and both times Philipp was too sick to get out of bed.
“And where did you get strawberries? I know we don’t have any…” Alexander wonders, checking the fridge all the same. Sure enough, there is a plate in there, covered with re-used cling-wrap, containing the aforementioned strawberries along with a high pile of cookies.
“Now I know I didn’t bake in the last few days,” Alexander scratches at his head. It is true that sometimes there are things he forgets, but those tend to be past experiences. A certain way Thomas laughed, for one. A certain eyebrow raise Eliza had in her repertoire. He doesn’t usually forget his recent activities. That would be ground for concern.
“They’re from Frau Hermann, across the hall. She brought them over while you were in the shower this morning and said to remind you that you have a lovely, wonderful son.”
“That’s what she said?” Alexander snorts, though he knows it isn’t implausible. His son is a charmer, he is well aware of that fact. Philipp had his first little girlfriend in the second grade, though that didn’t last long. Still, from what his teachers say the girls in particular seem to like him.
“She may have initially wanted me to tell you about the Wohnungseigentümerversammlungsprotokolldienst you signed up for, but she did call me a freundlicher junger Mann when I said I’d pass it on.”
Mrs. Hermann is an elderly widow, with children older than Alexander but no grandchildren of her own, and she dotes on Philipp, it is no secret. This isn’t the first time she’s given him food, not even the thirtieth. Philipp likes playing with her cat in the hallway, because despite his love for his turtle, there isn’t much fluffiness to be found in the shell. Two years ago Philipp found the cat when it wandered off during a storm, and since then the fat thing has loved his son very much, second only to its owner.
“I did sign up for that, didn’t I? Is that tonight?”
“Yep,” Philipp says, stealing a cookie from the plate before glancing at their clock and weaseling towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Am I going to make myself dinner?” Philipp wonders, re-emerging with a foaming toothbrush in his mouth and wincing slightly when it snags on his loose tooth.
“I’ll make something while you’re at school, you can heat it up,” Alexander assures him. He’s still ahead in his writing schedule; it would be alright if he took the whole day off, his agent likely wouldn’t care. (In fact, she’d recommended he maybe take a break once in a while, but Alexander has never been good at that.)
He's got a different Meeting today as well, one that makes him more nervous than any Eigentümerversammlung could.
“I could just make pizza,” Philipp shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance.
“Looks like you have a surprise to look forward to after school then, to see if your Papi can find the time to make you something nutritious or if he’s going to abandon you to the horrors of processed food.”
Philipp grins. A bit of toothpaste slips down his chin.
Most days, Alexander is content.
+
A café, Munich, Germany
“You know,” Alexander teases as he slides into his seat, “I could have had plans today. This is all a bit sudden.”
“Which is precisely why I called and asked you if you could fit me into your schedule for today. Don’t play games with me, Hamilton.”
Across from him, James Madison folds a napkin into a boat, only looking up once he has finished. It’s objectively a very well folded boat.
“It’s still Jefferson,” Alexander sighs, “I haven’t…German bureaucracy is insanely detailed, they’d want a whole history of my son’s life and it’s just not worth it to change back to a name neither of us has used in almost a decade.”
James Madison hums, thoughtfully. “That is your prerogative. I think you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t call you Jefferson, though.”
“Of course,” Alexander nods. He may have lost his husband almost five years ago, but James Madison lost his childhood best friend – those are two very different but equally horrible things. He wonders if Madison wakes up in a cold sweat sometimes, tears in his eyes, missing Thomas. Alexander can’t ask that – it would mean admitting he does the same. “How are Tallmadge and Brewster?”
It’s only polite to inquire, after all. He spoke with Benjamin on the phone two weeks ago, things might have changed. They do so quickly, often.
“I haven’t worked with them in years,” Madison reminds him, “But I hear they are looking into adoption, possibly.”
“Lovely.”
Alexander’s capability of making small-talk with the stoic agent is quickly reaching its hard limits. “And Dolley?”
“She is well and sends greetings to you and your son. I’m not here for that though, lovely though this conversation is turning out to be.”
“No you are not,” Alexander agrees, having suspected as much, “You’ve left me guessing as to why you’re here though.”
It is as much an invitation to speak as it is a subtle (as subtle as he can manage) critique of the man’s proceedings. Alexander does not like being left in the dark, and the vague phone call he received last night was as much in the dark as he has ever been.
“Your request went through,” Madison reveals, placing a manila folder onto the table between them. Alexander stares at it, mouth agape. “The declassified protocols of what happened in Paris five years ago.”
“I requested those over three years ago,” Alexander manages, at last. “The request was denied.”
“Other requests were made for you.”
James Madison’s eyes are hard. It is likely the man is very much aware that he’s created a controversy in throwing himself so firmly in Alexander’s camp when it comes to obtaining closure. Alexander is grateful, he will admit. Unfortunately, he is also very overwhelmed at the moment.
“Is that legal?”
“Washington himself approved it. Steuben disapproved. Tallmadge broke the tie,” James Madison reveals, purposefully not giving a direct answer. Alexander can hazard a guess what that means.
“I don’t know what to say,” Alexander stares at the yellow cardboard. Years of uncertainty are now about to come to an end, how is he supposed to feel? Of course there’s always a small spark of hope that has never gone out entirely, but even so. What does he do now that the flame of his hope is being fanned so determinedly?
“I’m fine with you not saying anything,” Madison says, showing the barest hint of a smile. “Take it home. Take your time reading it.”
“The bureau won’t come busting down my apartment door when they find out I have this?”
“We wouldn’t have the jurisdiction, and the Bundesnachrichtendienst doesn’t like me enough to make it possible. And as I said, Washington himself approved.”
“Thank you,” Alexander says, because he feels like this warrants a more thorough demonstration of gratitude, even if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Ah, now there are tears in his eyes. Wonderful, exactly what he needed. (Then again, he’s cried so much in front of FBI agents in his life that another tally on the scoreboard hardly matters.)
“You deserve to know what happened to him, Alexander,” Madison says, nodding determinedly. Then he rises and wishes Alexander a good day.
“I’ve got a Wienerschnitzel with my name on it waiting for me,” he says, and Alexander is too busy staring at the folder to tell the man that he’s in the wrong country for that particular specialty. Americans, honestly.
The folder remains on the desk for over an hour before Alexander gathers the courage to slip it into his own bag and leave.
+
Hamilton Apartment, Munich, Germany
Philipp is setting the table and talking about his day on the playground with Mrs. Hermann and her new friend Herr Paule, about a week later. Apparently his son thinks it is nice that she's found someone again. He recognizes that as one of Philipp's more practiced attempts at subtletly, though it is still uncomfortable.
Alexander hates to admit it, but he is only listening half-heartedly. His mind is on the manila folder, still sitting on the wonderful oak desk in his office, unopened. He’d tried. That first night he had stared at the thing for hours, hands twitching towards it but the movement always aborted.
The night after that, once Philipp had gone to sleep, Alexander had broken out two good bottles of wine in the hope that it’d make getting confirmation of Thomas’ death easier. It hadn’t. He hadn’t been able to open the damn thing all the same. Instead he’d sobbed in the shower for three quarters of an hour, until his skin had turned wrinkly and numb. He wishes he’d had the foresight to ask Madison just to confirm it.
Ever since he hasn’t as much as stepped foot in the office where the terrible document sits, moving his work to the living room couch or the kitchen table. If Philipp has noticed, he has not let it show.
As long as he does not read the words, Thomas is not truly dead. There is no chance of closure, but a part of him lives on, even if only in Alexander’s imagination. Schrödinger’s Thomas, he thinks with a hint of bitter amusement.
So, he throws in the occasional fitting ‘oh’ or ‘really?’ as he cleans up the mess they made in the kitchen in the process of teaching Philipp how to puree soup.
Then, there comes a knock at the door.
“I’ve got it,” Philipp chirps, setting Tommy back into his enclosure and skidding over to the door on his fuzzy socks. Tile sliding is a habit Alexander cannot get his son out of. Occasionally, he knows which battles to pick.
“Hey, hey!” Alexander curbs his enthusiasm. “What did I say about answering the door when you aren’t expecting anyone?”
“It might me Frau Hermann bringing me food, but it might not be,” Philipp repeats dutifully, already returning to drag a kitchen chair across the tile – grinning when he watches Alexander shiver in disgust at the produced sound – and stepping onto it to glance out of the peephole.
The gasp that follows is ecstatic.
“Who is it?” Alexander wonders when Philipp excitedly drags the chair back. “Is it Frau Hermann?”
“It’s Dad!” Philipp announces as the door swings open. Alexander barely has time to register the words before he is faced with the man himself.
“Hello,” Thomas says.
+
That is all he says. One word. Alexander drops a fucking plate and doesn’t even notice. He can’t stop staring. A spectre, surely. He’s imagining this.
Maybe the dreams only stopped to taunt him so that they could come back full throttle as actual hallucinations.
Thomas is wearing a light coat, befitting the season. Thomas’ hair is longer than Alexander remembers it being, but still as lovely. Thomas’ cheeks look flushed, and there is a careful, hesitant smile playing about his lips that slides right off when he registers the dropped plate. His mouth opens as if to say something else, but Philipp beats him to it.
“Dad, warum hast du einen Gehstock?” Philipp asks, peering owlishly at the cane Thomas is propping his body on. Alexander hadn’t even noticed. Thomas never had a cane in his dreams.
“Ganz lange Geschichte, Kleiner,” he sighs, smiling at Philipp for a second, before staring back at Alex, tears in his eyes. The lights are low enough that it isn’t too obvious, but the shimmer of tears is still noticeable, especially to Alexander.
“Ich mag Geschichten,” Philipp points out, helpfully.
“I remember,” Thomas nods, and he sounds wistful as he says it, so much that Alexander’s heart clenches.
“May I come in?” Thomas addresses Alexander now, carefully.
Somehow Alexander must manage to nod, because Thomas steps past the threshold and closes the door behind him, hand quivering a bit as he leans onto the cane more.
“Philipp, why don’t you show Thomas where he can put his coat?” Alexander says, turning back to the dishes. There are still shards on the floor, and he bends to pick them up unthinkingly.
“Alex, don’t-” Thomas says, and the worried tone of voice startles Alexander. How can he know Thomas is here? By happenstance, pain does the trick. The porcelain shard cuts him, and there’s a sharp inhale and a minute trickle of blood that stops hurting after a second.
Not a dream.
For once.
“Are you okay?” Thomas worries, winter coat halfway off, hobbling towards him. One of his legs seems damaged for good, but the cane lies forgotten in the hall.
“I’m fine. Are you well?”
It’s such an absurd thing to say, Alexander considers. Thomas is here. Thomas is alive. Alive.
(Briefly, Alex considers grabbing for the shards again, because this cannot be real. His mind has found a new way to trick itself.)
“If one loosely defines the term,” Thomas nods. “This…this is sudden, I know. Can we talk?”
“Dad?” Philipp says, peeking into the kitchen door, picking up the abandoned coat and dutifully hanging it up before asking: “Are you going to stay this time?”
Thomas looks unsure what to say. Tears gather in his eyes, too many to contain. Some spill over. Philipp attaches himself firmly to Thomas, tears building in his own eyes.
“No, you can’t leave again. Please, I just got you back. Daddy please don’t leave again I’ve missed you so much and Papi has been so sad without you. You can’t leave, I still need to show you my Tommy and my room and my friends and-”
“Easy there, Buddy,” Thomas says, holding Philipp to him, one hand grasping at the kitchen counter behind him. “My leg isn’t what it used to be. Plenty about me isn’t what it used to be, actually. And there are shards on the floor, you should be wearing slippers.”
“Don’t go,” Philipp whimpers. Thomas makes an aborted movement or two before he finally decides to kiss Philipp’s head. It seems to take a great deal of effort for Thomas to bend down.
“Philipp, why don’t you go finish that letter to Ginny you started earlier…” Alexander suggests, amazed that he manages to say anything at all.
This can’t be real.
“Promise me you’ll stay?” Philipp asks solemnly, looking up at Thomas.
“I promise,” Thomas gets out through a thick throat.
Philipp leaves, though Alexander has to remind him twice that lingering in the hallway and listening isn’t the same as giving them privacy.
“Let’s talk,” Alexander says, turning around and walking to – where? The bedroom? Impossible. Absolutely not. The study? Too close to Philipp’s bedroom. They’ll have to stay where they are.
“I…wasn’t sure he would remember me. I was almost sure he wouldn’t,” Thomas says, tears still shimmering in his eyes. Alexander aches for him. He hasn’t moved from where he is gripping the kitchen counter, out of breath and sweat on his brow. Alexander thinks to fetch him his cane, and Thomas manages his way to the kitchen table with the assistance. Alexander distracts himself by cleaning up the shards, properly this time.
Could this possibly be real?
“He named his pet after you.”
He says this because otherwise his brain will go down into a terrible spiral in which he convinces himself not to trust what is in front of his own eyes.
“What did he get?”
“A turtle.”
Thomas smiles, though it looks so watery Alexander is quite afraid the man will shortly break down. He isn’t too far from that edge either.
“Fitting,” Thomas whispers, the barest hint of a thing.
“I…I thought you were dead,” Alexander's resolve snaps. The sobs come, the floodgates open. “For five years, Thomas, we thought you were dead.”
“Alexander,” Thomas sobs, a sound so anguished that it tears right through Alexander’s chest, harsher than the porcelain. “Alexander I’m so sorry, they didn’t approve my request to contact you until two weeks ago. I came as soon as I could, I’m sorry.”
He shakes now, and he does not know how to stop. It has been so long since he has worked himself into a panic like this.
“James said he gave you the protocols…I thought you’d know…I wouldn’t have shown up here unannounced if I thought you didn’t know.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to open the damn thing,” Alexander manages to get out through the tightness in his chest, the dizziness he feels. Thomas pulls him close, presses his chest to Alexander’s back, breathes with him.
He’s done this before – Did this often, in fact, years ago.
Thomas still knows exactly how to react to his panic, past years apart. He knows. He knows. He knows.
Real?
Is this real?
Every sign points to yes, and still Alexander cannot wrap his head around it.
“I’m so sorry,” Thomas whispers into Alexander’s neck, his lips soft and warm. “I shouldn’t have come – I thought…”
“No,” Alexander interrupts. “You…you are alive. I…it’s good to know. I'd wanted to know, I just wasn't brave enough to risk finding it out myself...”
“Still. I could have had James check you knew, I didn’t mean to catch you so unaware…I’m sorry.”
Alexander turns around to look up at Thomas.
“It’s late,” he finally manages, after having his fill of cataloguing how much Thomas’ face has changed.
“I can call a cab – I’m sure I’ll be able to get a hotel room,” Thomas starts. Alexander shakes his head, softly takes Thomas’ hand.
“You can stay.”
“Alex-”
“You should stay, in fact. I think Philipp will be very upset if he doesn’t see you at the breakfast table.”
In the end Thomas spends the night on the couch.
+
Alexander watches Thomas sleep as he works on making breakfast. Time has done some damage to both of their faces, but there’s something more on Thomas’ face that is unfamiliar to Alexander on him. Pain, even as he rests. It does not take a genius to figure out the cause is his bad leg.
“Dad’s gone,” Philipp rubs his eyes when he enters the kitchen, looking dejected. “He’s not in the bedroom, I checked. Did he go away again?”
Alexander points his son towards the couch. Philipp’s face slides back into delight, and he rushes to wake Thomas up.
“Besamé,” Alexander hears, and covers his mouth to stifle the sound of reluctant joy about to leave him.
“Dad…” Philipp starts, once he has made a show of eating enough of his breakfast that his attempt at questioning will not be dismissed with a sigh and an ‘eat your breakfast, son’. “Why did you sleep on the couch? You and Pops always slept in the same bed unless you were fighting. Are you fighting?”
Thomas pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. He puts it back down, shuffles around on his seat a bit, and clears his throat. Alexander barely catches the quick glance he is thrown, before Thomas begins to explain: “I’ve been gone for a long time, Buddy. I didn’t know if your Papi might have met someone new, so we agreed it was best that I slept on the couch. I don't think we're fighting.”
“But you’re back, so it wouldn’t matter even if he had met someone,” Philipp argues, throwing a blueberry into the turtle enclosure with incredible accuracy. Alexander gets up and begins cleaning up the kitchen. Trust his son to breach uncomfortable subjects with no regard for decency.
“That’s…not how it works, Philipp. I love him very, very much, but he thought I would never come back. It’s okay if he has moved on, or if he doesn’t love me anymore.”
It hurts to hear Thomas' obvious pain, he’ll freely admit it. He understands, and he knows Thomas is wrong about most of what he just said in regard to Alexander's capability to move on, but the sentiment still hurts. It reminds Alexander that he isn’t the only one who has been living in uncertainty for the past few years.
“What will you do if he doesn’t? Will you leave?” Philipp narrows his eyes.
“I’m not just here for him, Philipp. He's a big part of it, but so are you. You are my son. I won’t leave you. Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want you to,” Philipp decides, promptly clearing the rest of his breakfast before getting up to place it in the sink. “Can I read you a story, Dad? I wrote it myself.”
Sometimes it’s just that easy.
Alexander has a nagging feeling it won’t be as easy for Thomas and him.
+
All things considered, it is a small thing to have Philipp miss a day or two of school to reconnect with Thomas. On the first day, he drags Thomas to see all his favorite spots in the city.
(“This is where I play with my friend Martin.”
“This is where I found Frau Hermann’s cat when it ran away. She gave me rhubarb cake to thank me.”
“This is where I buy gum after school with the pocket money Pops gives me. It’s really sour and it makes my tongue numb so he tells me I shouldn’t, but he also says I can do what I want with the money I am given.”
“This is where I collect grass for Tommy.”
“This is the market where Frau Müller gives me scraps to feed Tommy. I brought him with me once and she called me a Schätzchen.”)
On the second day, Philipp sits Thomas down and gives him a thorough recount of the entirety of his life that he can remember, while Alexander watches, keeping some distance.
“I’m glad you’re back, Dad.” Philipp flings himself into Thomas’ arms, and it is clear to Alexander that Thomas isn’t sure what exactly to do with all of his emotions. He holds Philipp tight to his chest and blinks away tears.
“I’m glad as well, Buddy.”
+
Once Philipp has retired to bed, Thomas and Alexander share a bottle of wine together. For the most part they sit on the couch in silence. Alexander isn’t sure what to say. He has a million things they could talk about, but all he reallly wants to do is stare at Thomas some more and convince himself that this is real.
“Philipp mentioned something at breakfast the other day, and it’s something I want to address, even though I know I neither have the right nor…”
“There…hasn’t been anyone,” Alex puts him out of his evident misery. Then he takes a very liberal sip, one sufficient enough to warrant a refill.
“Do you want there to be someone?”
His voice is so careful, and Alexander doesn’t know what to think of that.
“I want you to assure me that you’ll be a part of Philipp’s life no matter what that answer may be at any point in the future.”
“I will. I know he isn’t biologically mine, Alexander, but I love him just the same,” Thomas is unbearably sincere as he stops Alexander from refilling his glass a third time, though he makes no move to stop him from drinking his own fill. They both know this situation is delicate.
“Then you’ll stay.”
“Alexander,” Thomas says, reaching for Alexander’s hand. Alexander glances at where they are connected. His second hand comes up to caress Alexander’s cheek, a hesitant smile plays around his mouth. For a second he thinks Thomas is about to lean in. Then Thomas seems to think better of it.
It’s just as well, Alexander thinks. He doesn’t think they should rush back into it.
No one could possibly accuse them of rushing into intimacy the first time around, but they aren’t the same people they were five years ago. There’s nothing wrong with doing this right, this time around, if they truly have time. Alexander chooses to believe Thomas when the man says he’ll stay.
He came back to him. That’s what matters. Thomas came back.
“On the couch,” he adds, quietly. “You can stay on the couch.”
And Thomas’ face is sweet and understanding as he acquiesces.
Alone in bed, Alexander regrets his decision a little, but he knows he needs some more time to adjust to this new reality, so he sticks with it.
+
Thomas only works as a Consultant to the Bureau, these days, Alexander finds out in the following weeks. His knee means he can’t work missions anymore anyway, but when Thomas shrugs and says that this job is much safer, Alexander becomes keenly aware of the fact that this is another thing Thomas sacrificed to come back to them.
(He’d said he would, way back when. Thomas has always been a man of his word. )
He takes Philipp to school in the mornings, he meets Philipp’s friends when they come over for play dates. Frau Hermann welcomes him with cake and seems utterly delighted, readily buying into the story about Thomas being away for so long due to work reasons.
“I’d always wondered about the ring, but it wasn’t polite to ask,” she tells Alexander with sparkling eyes when they chat in the halls. “I’m glad you got him back.”
“Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t still expect you to hand me the results of your Protokolldienst, young man.”
“Of course not.”
There are a lot of things about Thomas that Alexander has the joy of either rediscovering or finding out for the first time. A prime example: Thomas can cook now. He used to be hopeless at it.
(“I took a few classes, while I was recovering. The rehabilitation center was big on making sure I could still do mundane tasks, even though half my body was utter shit.”)
In the evenings, Alexander sometimes helps Thomas apply ointment to his knee, or bandages it for him when the pain flares up. No, they aren’t the same men they were back then, but it’s still unbelievably easy to fall right back in with Thomas. The love hasn’t changed.
And yet, Thomas never makes a move.
Oh, he’s keenly aware that Thomas wants to. Alexander catches his eyes lingering on Alexander’s lips, watches the man throw tender smiles in his direction. He feels Thomas touch him with gentle hands, always holding back from crossing an invisible line Alexander painted when he first came back into their lives. He noticed Thomas’ attraction to him easily enough the first time around, though they’d danced around it for a long time. He has no trouble at all discerning it now. It’s on Alexander to cross the final bridge now.
So why doesn’t he?
+
“And you trust this Martin kid?”
“Our lives have been pleasantly mundane since Paris, Thomas. We’ve not had a single run-in with the law, not even over as much as a parking ticket. You can call that complacency in the face of a false sense of security, but all evidence points to the van Buren’s being trustworthy people to send our son to for a sleepover with a friend.”
“Old habits are hard to break.”
Alexander hums in agreement. Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches for Thomas’ hand, intertwining their fingers. Thomas doesn’t comment on it, but Alexander watches a slow, relieved smile stretch across his face. He pretends to check on his cane, and Alexander thinks he might even be blushing. Thomas never ceases to amaze him.
“You should come to bed with me tonight.”
“Should I?” Thomas wonders, looking off to the side so Alexander can’t see the entirety of the grin that has now replaced the careful smile.
“If you like.”
“Are you sure that’s proper, Alex?”
“We will have been married for almost a decade soon, Thomas, we’re past caring for propriety now.”
“I can think of a few improper things I want to do, if that’s the case.”
“If you’re thinking about kissing me, I can assure you it’s actually a very proper thing to do.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Alexander smiles, stopping short so he can stand chest to chest with Thomas, “You have been wonderful, the past few weeks. I know – I know my reaction has probably not been what you had hoped for, when you imagined our reunion – if you ever did, I know I did often enough, and I wasn’t expecting this either – anyway, the point is: I needed some time, Thomas. You reappearing in my life…it was unexpected, and it…it shook everything up again, things I had tried very hard to deal with in a healthy manner but couldn't entirely manage. But you’re back, and I feel like I’ve finally accepted that you’re back for good, that I won’t wake up one day to discover I’ve only imagined your return.”
“I understand,” Thomas nods, and looks like he really does.
“So I suppose you also understand that I feel like I can finally kiss you and have it not be the end of a fever dream I got myself into?”
Thomas’ face is a thing of beauty when he smiles, and this particular expression might be Alexander’s all-time favorite. In the face of that it's an easy thing to cross whatever space remains between their lips.