"Scuffed you, you say?" Burr laughs, from deep in his belly, quickly dissolving into a wince. The whole of him is sore, as though he had been caught underfoot a team of horses. "I should think you deserved a scuff or two more than you have been given. I am surprised the omegas did you find cause to scuff you at least once during our ordeal, or me for that matter, given the great deal of complaining I did."

"Your letter was very sweet," Burr looks away, embarrassed, and perhaps there is more he should say, compliments or honied things, but those words have never flowed as easily for him as they did for Hamilton, at least, not in the instances when Bur truly meant them. "Perhaps if we are married another sixty years I might hear you admit to being wrong once or twice more, if I am lucky. As far as your bed, I don't feel as if I will ever be recovered enough to engage in those activities, I am sure there is not a bit of me that isn't torn or brusied in some way. The reports I have received from the surgeon do not seem so truthful."

More than teasing there are things he needs to know, and pressing concerns. "I am afraid I was too disoriented the last days to have much an idea of what was going on, especially considering no one would tell me anything. What do you plan, now that we have her to keep safe? We might ready another wagon, but she cannot handle the elements as you or I can, and I would be devastated if--"

Well, if much of anything happened. Had been devastated before, but the mind had a way of getting over even the most unimaginable losses, limping onward.