"Oh, Aaron," he breathes. And he smiles, a little laugh into Aaron's shoulders as the tears spill. "If you hurt me, it is the pain of a set bone, and not the break -- it is the paltry pinpricks of stitching to a raw wound." He pulls back, to look at Aaron with clear eyes. "If I had such precious gifts as your words every day, then I hope I would still feel them so dear."

He takes a long breath, and interlaces his fingers with Burr's, places them on the swell of his belly.

"What would ease my heart," he says, "what would make me happy, is for you to be strong, and healthy, and make sure that both of us are here to raise this child." Tomorrow's sentiments no doubt will come easier when today's hardships have passed. "I want a long future with you."