A/N: More angst, and this one is going to be sadder than the last one.  I'm just in an angst mood and I'm really sad right now for no fucking reason.

"Papa?" Martha Jefferson knocked gently on the door of her father's room.  "Papa, please come out of your room.  It's been months since the funeral, Eliza can't stay here forever."

"I know it's hard, Martha, but your father is going through really tough times," Eliza said, setting a soft hand on Martha's shoulder.  Eliza slid past her, stepping into Thomas' room for just a moment, to set a plate of food down on his dresser.  Martha hadn't been exaggerating, Thomas really hadn't left his room in months, months.  At least three to be exact.  He had a bathroom that was attached to his room, and Eliza had taken over the role of parenting Martha, and cooking for the family, or what was left of it.  Eliza couldn't say she blamed the man though, he lost someone dear to him, the love of his life to be exact.

-3 months prior-

Thomas' back was stiff as he walked into the church.  Everyone's eyes were on him as he made his entrance, looking cold and unresponsive.

He smoothed out his suit jacket before looking up at everyone.  There was a lack of emotion in his eyes, only a slight hint of something that could only be described as melancholy lingering in his eyes.  He walked with loud, rhythmic footsteps towards the front of the room where the open casket was placed.  As he made his way he heard lots of things, "Thomas, are you okay?" or maybe "Thomas, oh my god I am so sorry for your loss, you must be heartbroken" or even the "He's in a better place now" which only made Thomas angry.  He wasn't a Christian, he had no belief in a higher power, no heaven or hell.  So to him, James was gone.  Gone.

As Thomas got within three feet of the coffin he stared straight up at the alter.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force his eyes downward, he couldn't look at him.

All that stuck in his mind was the thought of James' sweet, soft and always kind smile.  His laugh, or the way he would shy away when someone made a comment about how cute he really was.  There was nothing in Thomas' life that could compare to James Madison, not one  was more important.  And now that James was gone, Thomas felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest, like a piece of himself died with his lover.  And the more he thought about James, the more he couldn't stand not seeing him one last time, so with a deep breath, he looked down.

James was wearing a navy blue suit, and a necklace Thomas had gave him back when the two were high school sweethearts.  Thomas' eyes welled with tears, knowing that James' shut eyes would forever stay closed, and never again would he see that beautiful smile that he had always adored.

"James," Thomas mumbled breathlessly.  Thomas sunk to his knees, burying his head in his hands.

At that very moment everyone in the church, seeing the Thomas Jefferson they knew, the Thomas who would never be caught dead crying in front of his friends and family, crumbled to the floor sobbing into his hands, he would never be the same again.

Thomas was broken

Martha sat in the living room, listening to the sad sound of violin music coming from Thomas' room, remembering that day.  Eliza had brought her to the funeral, seeing as Thomas refused to see or talk to anyone.  She remembers how she felt, seeing her father for the last time.  Martha couldn't help chuckle sadly, knowing not only had she lost James, but she had lost Thomas too.

She didn't stop trying though.  She knocked on Thomas' door every day, hoping one day it would open.  It never did.

Martha stood, the music still filling her ears as she walked into the kitchen, filling a pitcher with water.  She returned to the living room before watering James' plants.  She knew that her father loved those plants almost as much as he loved Thomas, so she couldn't bear to watch them whither away and die.

"Papa, I'm watering Dad's plants!" She called out, knowing it wouldn't get a response.  Eliza left to get groceries, so she was practically alone in the house.

Martha froze as she heard the sound of a door creaking, the sound that only emitted from Thomas' door.  "Papa?" She turned, nearly dropping her pitcher as her eyes fell on the man she hadn't seen in months.  He looked severely unkept. His stubble looked a little too grisly, and his hair hadn't been cared for in a long time.  He was wearing one of James' really baggy sweatshirts, and it only added to the hoboish appearance, not that Martha minded.

"Can I see them?" He asked, his nasally voice was raspy and it sounded sad.

"The... The plants?" She asked, a little stunned by her father's appearance.  He nodded, taking a few unsure steps towards her.  "Um s-sure!" She stepped back, revealing the shelves in front of the window.  Thomas smiled, probably something he hadn't done in a long time.

"They're just as cute as I remember," he mumbled, walking towards the small little pots, some had succulents, some were small little flowers that Thomas couldn't recall the names of.  "They remind me of him," he said absentmindedly, carefully touching the tip of his finger to a bright green leaf, that was soft and velvety.  Thomas' smile widened as he looked over the greenery.  "You really took care of all of these?"

Martha nodded.  "Yeah, I remember Dad telling me what they all were and how to take care of them.  I didn't remember it all, so I did some research and wrote it all down so I know how to care for them.  I couldn't just watch them die."

Thomas' smile faltered.  "I'm sorry Martha, I really am.  I haven't been too good at the father thing ever since I lost him, since I lost James," Thomas winced as the name left his lips.  He hadn't said it since the day James died, and it felt sour, yet strangely like honey on his tongue.  "Though I'm sure you've noticed."

"Yeah.  But I don't blame you, Papa.  I know it was hard, and it still is," Thomas nodded, frowning.  "I missed you."

"I missed you too, darling," Thomas said, staring again at James' flowers.  His eyes widened as he felt Martha wrap her arms around him.  Without having to think about it much, he felt himself returning the embrace.  "So much."

"I miss Dad too," Martha mumbled, resting her head on Thomas' chest.

"Me too," Thomas said, feeling a lump in his throat.  "I miss him so much," Martha pulled away to meet her father's eyes.

"Pa, we're going to get through this, okay?  You're going to be my father again, and we're going to be a family.  That's not a request, Papa.  I need you to do this, for me," Thomas nodded, though he held a finger up, signaling her to wait.  He disappeared, rushing off to his room and at first she was worried he was escaping, that he was going to lock himself back in.  But as he returned, a violin in one hand and a bow in the other, she knew that after three months, she might finally have her father back.

He sat down, and started playing.  The tune wasn't as sad as it previously was, it had a happier tone to it, yet the song was somehow melancholy and nostalgic.  To Martha, it was perfect, she sat beside him with a smile on her face and glanced back to James' plants.  The flowers and succulents had always reminded her of her late father, and she thought of him and realized:

If James could see them now, now that Thomas was playing his violin happily, that he was finally smiling and could speak of James without breaking down, she knew he'd smile, he'd smile and be happy that the family he had built with Thomas was finally coming back together.  That Thomas could come to grips, that Thomas could be a father again.

Tears came to her eyes, after three long months of waiting, she had finally got what she had wanted.

She had her father back, and she wasn't letting him go.