Ah'm back. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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2 weeks later- Madison's p.o.vTo be honest, the last 2 weeks had pretty much proceeded in the same fashion that the first day had gone. Thomas would wake up super early, about 6ish every morning, throw up and then crash either in bed or on the couch. The first few times, he woke me up, but then he just started tying his hair up before he went to sleep and keeping his cane by the bed. I'd kiss him goodbye at any time between 8 and half 9, then come back at about half 11 to find him animated, full of life and completely healthy again! It wasn't normal, not one little bit.

I'd scheduled an appointment with Dr Franklin, one of the doctors I'd had after the accident. He's good. I trust him. The appointment was for 1 in the afternoon the next day.

"Tommy, baby?" I said tentatively as we sat in bed watching Netflix the night before. He was lying on my lap, and I was stroking his hair.

"Yeah?" he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. He seemed riveted by Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

"You know you've been having those stomach troubles?"

He nodded. "I got you an appointment for it tomorrow."

I flinched, waiting for the fiercely independent disgust, for the why did you do that for the eventual grudging acceptance. None of it came.

"I was gonna ask if we could arrange one," he simply said.

"So you're okay with it?"

He finally looked up at me.

"I'm getting fed up of vomiting every morning," he said, turning back to the movie.

I shrugged and shifted my attention to the blaring screen.

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The next morning, he woke me when he threw up.

It was just a sharp tap on the shoulder, perhaps unintentional, but it was enough to wake me. I sleep lightly. I opened my eyes just in time to see a flash of bouncy hair disappear around the corner. Jumping up, I followed him to the bathroom to inevitably see my husband with his head stuck down the toilet. Apparently his hair tie had broken, as all his hair was in his face, and I had to hold it back for him.

"This cannot be healthy," I muttered as he leant back into me, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pyjama top.

"I concur," he replied weakly, reaching up and flushing the toilet before hauling himself up with the help of the sink and washing his mouth out with liberal amounts of Listerine. "What time is it?" he asked quietly, gripping the sides of the sink so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"Umm... 7, actually," I answered as I got up myself, mildly surprised at how late it was as I checked my watch.

"I'm gonna try to get some more sleep," he said, and we trailed back to the bedroom after spraying some air freshener. "I'm shattered."

"Same," I replied, yawning. "But I got the day off for your appointment."

"What time is it?"

"The appointment, you mean?"

"Yeah."

I let out a sigh of relief.

"1."

He seemed satisfied as we snuggled together and eventually nodded off.

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I was woken again at 11 by a hyper Thomas Jefferson.

Thomas Jefferson has 5 modes. Mode 1: the Slump. The Slump constitutes of him lying around, doing nothing, not even talking. Numerous calories are normally consumed during a Slump.

Mode 2: the Work-The-Ass-Off. So much work can be done on one of these days. I once saw him do 8 essays, 7 evaluations, read 2 books and do a ridiculously detailed drawing of a potato, all in the space of 14 hours. It was nothing short of impressive.

Mode 3: the Normal. Just average, y'know, mooch around, watch TV, insult Hamilton. Whatever.

Mode 4: the Anger. This occurs when we have an argument, or something doesn't go quite right. Maybe Hamilton's insults went too far, or, God forbid, extended to me. He goes all red in the face, says all sorts of horrible stuff. Thankfully, this is rare.

That leaves only one mode: Hyper. Hyper is arguably the worst mode by far. In short, he basically reverts back to his 3-year-old self. Well, more than usual, anyway. And that's how he was when he woke me up.

He was sat cross-legged on the bed next to me, bouncing up and down as he poked me incessantly, a huge grin plastered over his face. Blinking up at him, I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes, blocking out the harsh sunlight.

"Jemmmmmmy!!!" he squealed, his Southern lilt thick.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, removing my arm and gazing up at him.

"11."

"We're leaving in half an hour, be ready," I said, hauling myself out of bed and into the kitchen. Thomas trailed me like a hawk trails its prey, or how Hamilton trails Washington.

"Thought the appointment was at 1?" he asked, trying to casually lean on the counter. His arm missed and he went falling sideways, just managing to catch himself. I snorted into my juice.

"We're going for lunch first," I explained, sipping at my juice. "Subway sound good?"

He nodded happily, unconsciously licking his lips, revealing flashes of his pearly white teeth. God, I thought. How am I married to this man?

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"Hearty Italian, Meatball Marinara, plain cheese, and toasted, please. Oh, and better make that a footlong."

Thomas rattled off his order as if it were nothing more than the alphabet. I looked lovingly up at him, mesmerised by a grace too powerful to name as I ordered my usual turkey and ham.

"Your body baffles me," I said to him as we shuffled further up the line.

"My body baffles most people, darlin'," he deadpanned, winking. I rolled my eyes, but I have to admit that it was pretty good.

"You know what I mean," I replied forcefully. The server asked Thomas for salad. As he ordered, the server began checking me out, his eyes raking me up and down. He nodded approvingly, and smirked at me. Uncomfortable, I put my arms on the counter, resting my chin on my arms and making sure the wedding ring was very visible. He soon backed off, and we sat with our food in one of the side booths.

"Sugar, you've got sauce... everywhere," I told him, giggling as I gently wiped a napkin over his cheek. There was sauce all over his face, up his arms and coating the table, but he was smiling, so it was okay.

"Yeah, but it was delicious!" he yelled.

"Volume down, Thomas."

He stuck his tongue out at me, and I kissed him in retaliation. He tasted of Marinara sauce.

Checking my watch, I swore when I saw that it was quarter to 1.

"We gotta go!" I said quickly, grabbing my drink and pulling Thomas out and towards the hospital that might finally give us some answers to this shit.

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"James, it's good to see you again!" Dr Franklin exclaimed, pulling me into a hug as we entered his office. I hugged him back, smiling. "How have you been, how have you been?"

"Good, thanks," I replied shyly. "But Thomas hasn't been too good. It's a bit weird, actually."

"I wake up early every morning, throw up, get an awful headache, but then I'm fine a few hours later!" Thomas cut in, folding his arms and slouching in his chair. Franklin raised an eyebrow.

"Can you just lie on the bed for me?" he said, motioning to the bed. It was high. Really high. Me and Thomas glanced at each other, and his face fell. "I've got to pop out, I'll be back in 5 minutes or so," Franklin said, winking and walking out.

Jefferson's p.o.v

James helped me up onto the tall bed, with the use of an encylopaedia, a swivel chair and a rickety bucket. By the time I was lying down and we were both panting, Franklin walked back in. Behind him, he wheeled something I recognised as an ultrasound machine. It was a screen, and a wand-like thing. They put jelly on the area they want to scan. It's cold, that jelly. I've had it on my leg before.

"I just want to ultrasound your belly to see what's going on," he explained. "The symptoms don't sound like a typical bug, but it's probably nothing."

Pulling up my t-shirt, I shivered as he applied the freezing jelly to my stomach. James held my hand so tight I thought it was going to break. He was more nervous than I was. I was remarkably chill with the whole situation, to be honest.

He took the wand, switching the machine on and running it over my stomach. The image was grainy, and I couldn't tell what any of it meant. Furrowing his brow, Franklin glanced at the screen and muttered under his breath, moving the wand around more viciously. Me and James looked at each other uneasily. Tension was growing in the pit of my stomach.

After 10 minutes of this muttering routine, Franklin finally sat back, putting the wand back in its holder. He seemed dumbfounded. He didn't wipe the gel off.

"So?" James said impatiently, tapping his foot. I shushed him soothingly, but looked pointedly at Franklin.

"I-I don't know quite how this has happened, but it's pretty extraordinary," he stammered, looking up at me. "Thomas, you're pregnant."

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Mwahahahahaha!!!! You must wait with this!!!! Next chapter should be up soon!! Hope you enjoyed, my lovelies. Hugs and kisses!