March 8th, 1895

He'd been in France for the last half of the week and while he knew he didn't have much to worry about while he was gone, it didn't stop him. Everything still felt a little fragile and though he tried not to think of it that way, the reality of it was that he had to tread carefully and he was consciously aware of it. Nothing and nobody had imploded in his absence though, so far as he knew and so he'd figured everything was as fine as it could have been. He'd brought back a couple bottles of the good French wine he liked, was currently cutting up some snacks in the kitchen, waiting on Don Juan to arrive to spend the night in. He'd gotten back earlier this afternoon, but had sent a owl ahead of time to see who was around. Hanna was harder to nail down, as they couldn't quite make any sort of patterns to their visits, but he'd sent her some chocolates he'd picked up anyway and would try to figure something out during the week, if he could.

His housekeeper had left everything out that he'd asked her to, had offered to prepare everything, but Dean hadn't wanted to keep her any later than her usual time, plus he wasn't completely useless in the kitchen. It wasn't that hard to make the little snack plate he intended to, pour the wine and relax for the rest of the evening. Or it shouldn't have been. One distraction, one slip of the knife and he was swearing a stream that would make a sailor blush, in French, because he typically defaulted to that in surprise.

Too afraid to look at the damage he'd just done to his finger, Dean grabbed the nearest tea towel and wrapped it around his finger to staunch the bleeding. Drops fell to the floor and he scowled. This was inconvenient for his plans this evening at best and another earful from Sage at worst. Fortunately he had that small treasure trove of supplies that she had left for him somewhere. He hadn't touched them since she'd been here last, so now he wasn't quite sure where they'd wound up. ""Do you remember where I put those potions?" He asked as he paused in the hallway, seeing Don Juan stepping out of the fireplace. He realized that wasn't a very coherent thought and so he added, "The ones to fix what I just did to my finger?" That wasn't much better, but he was a little distracted by the fact that he was starting to feel the slice in his finger a little more acutely.

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Don Juan had missed Hudson while he was away. Probably that would always have been the case, but it seemed especially poor timing given that while he was gone the Dempseys had met with the solicitor and he'd spent some subsequent days feeling maudlin about Kaatjie. There wasn't anyone else he felt he could talk to about it, because everyone else had jumped to their own conclusions already and didn't have sympathy to spare for hearing him out. Now that he'd been bottling it up for days he wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk to Dean about any of it anymore, if only to keep from giving the impression that every time Dean left Don Juan was liable to have some sort of crisis. This wasn't a crisis. He could do things on his own. He'd sent Kaatjie a letter, which she hadn't responded to yet. Maybe she never would. Maybe having sent the letter in the first place would be enough to get his mind off the matter, particularly now that he had Dean back to distract him.

Coming through the floo only to be met with a flash of fresh-blood red certainly wasn't the type of distraction he'd had in mind. His eyes widened slightly in shock, but he understood immediately what Dean was asking. "Yeah," he agreed, heading straight towards the downstairs bathroom. He knew where they were because he'd gone looking for them, after overhearing the conversation where the mediwitch had dropped them off. A few days later he'd added a few potions he'd picked up at the apothecary to the collection, without saying anything about it to Dean. Don Juan didn't know if Hudson was going to follow through on his resolution to stop fighting or if it had just been something to say to keep him from worrying, but in any case he had no desire to have Dean left in the same state as he had been the night Don Juan had surprised him. Particularly not when it was, in a roundabout way, his fault that Hudson had gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

"What'd you do?" he asked, glancing only briefly at the blood stained towel. At least he could be relatively certain that hadn't come from getting beaten up in a fighting ring. Not that he would have said anything even if he was sure it had — he was in no position to judge Dean for any of his habits or coping mechanisms. He couldn't even be upset about the lying, if that's what it was. He was no stranger to promising his partner things and meaning them in the moment and then being unable to follow through when it came down to it. So there was nothing to fight about — but there was plenty to worry about, and even if the supply of healing materials in the bathroom cabinet never budged it would probably be months before Don Juan stopped feeling the urge to check them to be sure.

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MJ made this <3

Dean followed at a more leisurely pace, keeping a tight hold on his finger beneath the towel to hopefully slow the bleeding. He wasn't squeamish, not really, but he didn't particularly enjoy the sight of blood. He hadn't exactly looked at it either, just grabbed the tea towel and wrapped it up. It couldn't be that bad, at least not that deep, but he was annoyed with himself nevertheless. Fortunately, Don Juan seemed to have paid attention to where they were and Dean supposed he ought to know, for situations like this, even sticking to his no-fighting promise, he wasn't safe from himself apparently.

"I was cutting up some snacks for our night in, slipped and sliced my finger." He answered with a wry smile. Stupid really. "Do you see anything that will close it up? I don't feel like getting yelled at again." She might not even be on shift yet so he wouldn't owl anyway, unless he couldn't get it to stop. Dean's knowledge was pretty limited here, so he hoped the bottles were labeled with enough information to make an educated guess. Maybe Don Juan knew more about it than he did, that would be helpful. Dean wouldn't fight on a patch job this time either if it meant they didn't have to delay their night.

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Something that would close it up. Don Juan frowned as he opened the door to the little cabinet where the healing supplies had been crowded. Nothing like that, he didn't think — it probably wasn't the most pressing issue to address given that the supplies were only supposed to tide him over until a mediwitch could help him, not entirely replace them. If Hudson was beaten badly enough that he had gaping wounds, that was the sort of thing that would have required a healer's expertise to patch up without leaving scars. That said, there was plenty that could help.

"This one slows bleeding," he said, fishing a bottle out and holding it towards Dean for a second before he thought better of making the man with the wounded hand hold his own medical supplies. He took it back and unscrewed the lid and looked for something he could dab a bit on, so that he could then hold it over the cut. He'd said slows bleeding, but with a small wound like that Don Juan imagined it would probably stop it entirely if pressed over it for long enough. "Does it hurt? There's pain potions. General and localized." He had said this without thinking but now wondered if this was a conspicuous amount of knowledge to have about the contents of Hudson's medical cabinet. He glanced at Dean briefly to gauge his reaction, then hurriedly turned his attention back down to preparing the damp towel that would stop the blood flow.

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MJ made this <3

"That will probably do," Dean shrugged, too distracted by trying to make sure he was applying enough pressure. He didn't often find himself in such situations, unless he'd purposely put himself there. He hadn't even thought about the supplies that had been left until just now, but it seemed that maybe Don Juan had at least paid enough attention. Dean supposed he couldn't blame him, that night after the last fight had probably been jarring, among other things. Dean had promised though and so they remained untouched until now.

"It stings a little, but not the worst I've endured. Looks like it's already slowing down." He said as he pulled back the current bloodied towel to look at the slice on his forefinger. At least it wasn't his dominant hand, that would have been a pain. It ran across the middle of his finger, fortunately he'd only gotten it with the tip of the knife, but it ran a little longer than he'd expected. "At least I didn't get anything on the food." He chuckled, figuring that was probably the least of their concerns at the moment. "I think there's bandages in there too."

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There were bandages. Don Juan considered whether he ought to make a show of having to look for them, so that it was less obvious he'd been snooping through here while Dean wasn't around, but ultimately he didn't think he could justify that bit of petty deception to himself while Hudson was still bleeding. He took the bandages out and set about wrapping the cut on Dean's hand. It was gentle work. Given their proximity and the level of attention this required, perhaps it was inevitable that the task would leave him feeling warm in the chest. He didn't have many opportunities to take care of Dean.

Don Juan tied the bandage off and took a small step closer. He slid one hand around Dean's waist and put the other on his jaw, then kissed him.

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   Dean Hudson

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Silently impressed with Don Juan's attention to detail, Dean watched him wrap up the cut and tie it off. At least he wouldn't be bleeding all over the place. If it got worse he could always try the hospital later and suffer some abuse from Sage to get it sealed up.

Before he could utter his thanks, Dean found his lips otherwise occupied. He smiled slowly, leaning in, careful of his hand, but otherwise invested. Though he worried less now than he had in the past, his travel time was always tinged with just a bit of wonder about how everyone was holding up in his absence. The answer to that remained to be seen, but Dean could slowly tease it out over the course of the evening, plus this was far more preferable.

"Hi," he breathed out after a moment of indulging in the closeness. "Thanks for patching me up."

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Don Juan smiled as he took a moment to bask in Dean's attentions. "Well, I couldn't have you bleeding on my shirt," he joked. "I like this one." He hadn't given his shirt a second thought when he was dressing, so this wasn't exactly true — but it was better than the other joke that had occurred to him, I need to look presentable if I go to court, which seemed like it might have ruined the mood.

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MJ made this <3

Dean hummed out a laugh and shook his head. "Sure, can't have that, even if I plan to take it off eventually." Probably sooner rather than later, pending the mood. "Missed you," he added as he leaned in to brush his lips down Don Juan's neck. It was strange, sleeping by himself these days. He used to find himself some company when he traveled, keep the nights as eventful as the days, but now he mostly used it as time to catch up on some sleep and relax. So far he'd been doing find with balancing everything, but it required a lot of effort to make sure everyone was content.

Still, he preferred company, but not just anyone's company anymore and he was looking forward to catching up. "Anything good happen while I was gone?" Maybe if he started off with something positive, any potential discussion would flow more seamlessly.

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Don Juan's first thought was nothing good ever happens when you're gone, but he held it in. Someday, if everything went well, he'd be able to say things like that and have them just come across as sweet, romantic things to say, rather than triggering some deeply held anxieties they both shared about the liklihood of Don Juan's life going off the rails whenever Hudson wasn't around.

"Nothing interesting," he settled on instead, which was true. It was the wrong time of year for bustling society calendars, and Dean had only been gone a handful of days anyway. "Missed you, too. I hope you're planning to feed me before you start tearing off my shirt?" he joked. "Otherwise you've been wounded in vain, no?"

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Well, nothing interesting was probably good enough. Eventually everything would settle and his trips wouldn't be anything other than a few days apart. For now all he could hope for was uneventful, if nothing better. "If I must," Dean chuckled, nipping at Don Juan's jaw before leaning back. "I brought back some treats." French wine would always be superior to him, plus their cheese was better too. And the chocolate. Maybe he was a little biased being raised in a house with a French cook. He'd set aside a new bottle of red for Hanna, but other than that, they could try whatever they wanted.

Disentangling himself, Dean grabbed the bloodied towel from the edge of the sink with the intention of cleaning up the kitchen floor. He led the way back to the kitchen and bent to wipe up the few drops of blood on the floor and the knife before tossing the rag into the sink. He inspected the cutting board, but thankfully nothing had gotten on there. It wasn't much, just a good baguette, some hard cheese, fruit. Enough to pick on and if they decided they wanted more there was something in the icebox from the housekeeper they could share, too.

"The wine is over there," he tossed a hand haphazardly in the direction of the two bottles to choose between, setting back to finishing the task he'd started before cutting his finger, this time with a smaller knife he hopefully he wouldn't injure himself with. He'd tucked the reserved one in the cabinet so it wasn't something he had to explain.

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Don Juan helped himself to the wine and poured a glass for Hudson, then settled in at the kitchen table to watch him work. What was the phrase he'd used once jokingly early in their relationship? Delightfully domestic? He'd been poking fun at Hudson then, but there really was something both soothing and charming about watching Hudson going about routine tasks like this in his home. Just coexisting, without pretense, without performance. When Don Juan was with anyone else in an environment like this he was always trying hard to be suave, and they almost certainly were too. Moments like this, where he was presumably seeing Hudson at ease and fully himself, were hard won. There was an intimacy to something like this that was distinct from and perhaps more rare and precious than the sort achieved through sex.

"I decided to write to her," he admitted eventually, as he swirled the wine in his glass to let it breathe. "The — my daughter."

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   Dean Hudson

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Fortunately he'd been almost done before getting distracted and slicing his finger instead of the apple, so it didn't take him long to slide everything into the serving plate. He detoured to get the strawberries from the ice box and some silverware from the drawer before setting it all down in the middle of the table. He took the seat at the side of the table just next to Don Juan and sipped at his wine pensively before tucking into the snacks.

"How did it go?" This whole thing still had him torn, but he'd decided not to share any thoughts or feelings without direct promoting. It wasn't his situation to navigate, only to play a supporting role and he could do that without muddying the waters any further. He still couldn't quite get a read on how Don Juan was handling it either, but it must have been on his mind to bring it up

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He shrugged. "It hasn't, yet. She didn't write me back." He'd only written her the day prior, so there was still time for it to happen, but honestly he wasn't holding out much hope. She'd written him back immediately when he'd sent her letters in January, before his fitness as a parent had been legally called into question. He supposed that the difference now was either that her aunt and uncle had already instructed her not to talk to him, and she was following their directions, or that someone had told her she wasn't obligated to write him and she had elected not to. He had no reason to think that she liked him, or that she would want to talk to him.

He sipped his wine. "This is nice," he said, tilting the glass. "Well picked."

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MJ made this <3

Dean sighed softly, leaning both forearms in the table, wine glass spinning idly between his fingers. "What did you write to her about?" He knew he had to choose his questions carefully. He also knew that there were likely extenuating circumstances now that everything was out in the open. Legally things were under more scrutiny. This sort of litigation was mostly beyond his comprehension, but Dean had enough experience translating in court rooms and with legal documents to know there was very little margin for error.

It never failed that he left the country and something heavy came up, but it seemed like Don Juan had gotten through alright without him. He was here now and they could talk it out if he wanted. Still, in an effort to lighten the mood he asked, with less seriousness, evident in his smile,"Should I stop learning Dutch?" He hadn't put a ton of effort into it yet, but he'd be fluent before the trial, he hoped, it didn't seem all that difficult, compared to some of the others he'd learned. Its necessity remained to be seen, but he hated when people around him spoke in languages he didn't understand, especially when it was important. It was a two-fold desire; one, he didn't want the other party involved in the trial to think they could get away with anything by speaking in a foreign language and two, if Don Juan's daughter did come to live with the Dempseys, she might like to have someone around who could speak her first language.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Don Juan was chewing over how to respond to the first question when Hudson's second drew him up short. He'd said it with the cadence of a joke. Was it a joke? Don Juan had only mentioned that Kaatjie was Dutch in passing, but it wasn't surprising that Hudson had eagerly snatched up every tidbit of information Don Juan had dropped, both about Kaatjie or her mother. It wouldn't have been out of character for Hudson to start learning Dutch, but the question then was — to what end? Don Juan had already said he intended to have little, if anything, to do with Kaatjie if she did come to live with the Dempseys. By extension that meant that Hudson would have no cause to interact with her. So if he had been learning Dutch, that meant that in the weeks between when Don Juan had told him and now, he had determined that Don Juan wasn't going to hold to his resolution to not be involved.

Correctly, it seemed, given that Don Juan had just admitted to writing to her. Hudson had more faith in him than he deserved. Dean was a better partner than he was. This wasn't a novel thought; he'd been thinking this to various degrees for years. The next one, brought on by the sudden image of Hudson coaxing Kaatjie out of her shell with questions asked in Dutch, was new: Dean would make a better father than him, too. And if he never had the chance, then that was probably Don Juan's fault — had he not derailed his life so thoroughly throughout the years, Hudson might be happily married now.

Don Juan frowned at his wine, then set it down on the table and reached for one of Dean's hands. He slid his fingers up against Dean's palm, then further up his wrist and onto his forearm, getting as much skin contact as he could. "You can keep learning Dutch," he said softly.

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