2 weeks later- Jefferson's p.o.v

Luckily, all the tests came back normal, and the baby and I seemed perfectly healthy, so Franklin let us go with orders to take it easy and come back in 2 weeks, which, obviously, is now. Pretty much as soon as we got home, I ditched the crutches and stuck to my trusty cane.

My baby bump was growing steadily and was now sort of noticeable. I couldn't believe that 3 months had passed already, and I was now a third of the way through my pregnancy.

Then came that morning.

I woke up bright and early to throw up, just like always. By this point, I rarely if ever got the headaches anymore, so I was wide awake when I looked up into the mirror.

Spots.

So many fucking spots, all just sitting there on my face. Before I could stop myself, I screamed out loud and then clapped my hand over my mouth. I heard a bash, a clang, a few muttered curses and then James leapt into the bathroom, sleep still half-sticking his eyes together, yelling incoherently and brandishing a frozen garlic baguette.

"Of all the things you could've chosen. A garlic baguette. Really?" were the first words out of my mouth. I quickly looked down, not turning around to face my husband.

"I thought you were in danger," he replied through a yawn, lowering the baguette. "It was the first thing I found."

"Lafayette would be proud."

I could feel James studying me, trying to figure out the problem, but I still didn't look up, ashamed of my face.

"You okay?" he asked. Unable to stand it any longer, I shook my head. "What's wrong, baby?"

The alarm in his voice was evident, and I finally looked up at him.

He didn't even react, just looked at my face, down at my bare torso and studied that for a moment before nodding in approval, smirking and looking back up at my face.

"I don't notice anything too drastic," he said.

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm literally only wearing sweatpants, I'm pregnant and my face has been maimed by unwanted acne," I shot back with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "Totally normal, totally."

"It's only a few spots," James replied, stepping forward a little.

"I counted at least 20," I said, giving him a look. "Don't try and be cute with me, we both know it works but stop it."

He giggled.

"Why don't you just pop them?" he said casually. I gasped in abhorrence, placing a hand to my chest. James seemed confused by my reaction. "What?" he added, narrowing his eyes.

"You never had acne," I explained. "They hurt like hell to pop and some are so goddamn stubborn that you have to stick a pin in 'em."

He hissed and winced. I shrugged, walking out of the bathroom with my feet splayed out and one hand on my stomach. James followed, looking at me curiously.

"It's my waddle," I said as I flopped on to the sofa. "What d'you think?"

He laughed and kissed the top of my nose.

"It's adorable!"

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Around 11, we got a knock on the door.

I was fast asleep tucked up in bed like some old sick guy when the knock came, so James answered it.

"PEGGY'S HERE, BITCHES!!!!!"

Not exactly the most pleasant thing to wake up to.

I sat bolt upright, all sleepiness gone as I listened to James and who I assumed to be her sisters whisper-scold her..

"Thomas is asleep!" James whisper angrily. Well, as angrily as he could. Did you know that James can only get so angry before he just bursts out crying?

"Geez, sorry, I didn't realise," she replied, still pretty loud.

"Don't worry about it, Pegsters," I shouted to her, signalling my wakefullness. There was some inaudible whispering, and then I heard some badly disguised sniffling. So James had reached the pinnacle of his anger.

Peggy poked her around the doorframe, looking apologetic and guilty.

"Hey," she said, coming in and sitting on the edge of the bed. I sat up, drawing the covers up to the neck. "So, your husband's crying 'cause of me."

"It's only because he's mad at you," I replied. "Like, really mad. Probably because you woke me up."

She shrugged, now sitting cross-legged in front of me as she rubbed the back of her neck, averting her gaze.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't worry," I said. I couldn't take it any longer as I looked up at the ceiling, biting my lip as not to ask the question. "So was he like full-on sobbing or just..."

"Full-on sobbing," Peggy admitted after a pause. I watched her for a moment as she picked at the bedclothes and sniffed back tears.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," I said quickly as Angelica stormed in, glaring at Peggy with slap-like intensity. We both shuffled back a bit.

"Well, congratulations, Peggy," she hissed, hands on hips.

"Honestly, Angelica, it doesn't matter," I insisted, running a hand through my hair and suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about my face. "James is just super mad."

Angelica shook her head, tutting as she pulled out a make-up bag from her Mary-Poppins-like handbag.

"James said that there was a dire situation that required our expertise," Peggy explained, holding out her hand for a tube of foundation that Angelica handed her. The youngest Schuyler sister beckoned for my hand.

"Throw that t-shirt over?" I asked, putting on my best puppy-dog eyes. Angelica chucked over my Squip t-shirt, which I pulled quickly over my head before climbing out from under the duvet and giving Peggy my hand. Placing a blob of the liquid onto my skin. Peggy observed it for a moment before shaking her hand and saying to her sister,

"Your's is too dark, Angie. Try mine."

The foundation on my hand was wiped off and another blob, lighter this time, replaced it. My brow crinkled as I tried to make sense of this bizarre circus act. I mean, I understand the whole hair deal, I have to go through all that myself, but make-up? Nope. Never have, never will.

"Looks good, Pegs," Angelica said, interrupting my thoughts. "We'll use your concealer as well."

Peggy was handed a brush, and I was painted like a bloody canvas. It must've been 3 inches thick, and very obvious. I tried to smile gratefully as I stared in the mirror.

All of a sudden, James' tear-streaked face poked around the door. He was sniffing feebly, but his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Who dumped a bucket of melted crayon on your face?" he asked stupidly before remembering who must've done it. "I-I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean it like that!" he stammered. Peggy silently handed me a make-up wipe, and I wiped it very quickly off.

"Sorry, Pegs," I said, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. She shrugged, seeming unphased.

I'm very lucky to have the friends that I have, aren't I?

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Oh God, sorry this took so long. Writer's block and hayfever have been collaborating to kill me. Hope this okay!!