Hey, guys! How have your days been so far? Here is my second Hamilton one-shot… I hope you like it :) I've had this idea in mind for a while but didn't get to write most of it down until today, so… here it is. Oh, and I don't own Hamilton. The bolded words in quotes are not my own; they are from The Reynolds Pamphlet, so they aren't mine either. All credit to rightful owners! Please, please, please review and tell me what you think, because I love hearing opinions. Constructive criticism is definitely appreciated as well! Anyways, happy reading!
Alexander sat at the table, pen clenched in his fist. The page lying in front of him was lit up by the flickering candlelight of the lantern that sat in the middle of the table, illuminating the loopy curves and lines of his handwriting. The palm of his left hand was shoved against his forehead, and the man stared down at his paper.
The words wouldn't come.
For as long as he could remember, the words had flowed from him as easily as if they were a waterfall from a crystal clear spring. But now there were rocks in his river, the river of his words, obstructing their path to the lake that was his page.
He had been able to write only one thing through the entire night: I messed up. Again and again, that same phrase was repeated on his paper. It seemed to be looming above him, the words arching over his head in an ink-stained mockery of his mistake. They looped across one another in a complicated array of letters, crossing back and forth, the shape resembling a dome. The dome, however, began to get smaller, closing him in, his own writing about to crush him-
This was what Elizabeth Hamilton saw as she stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She fingered her floor-length dress that was so unlike any other she had ever owned, the material being satiny but the skirt not nearly so wide as those on the satin dresses from her youth. The neckline was plunging much lower than Eliza usually would have been comfortable with. She itched to pull it up, to wrap herself up in a modest shawl, but she set her jaw as she stared at her husband.
The children had been put to bed hours ago, and usually Eliza would have been asleep as well by this time, but that was before. Before he broke her heart and scattered the pieces in the wind. There was only a small piece left now, that which she gave to her children, because nothing- not even Alexander and his words, his terrible, treacherous words that wanted to rip her to shreds and kill her will to live, no, not even them, no matter how hard they tried- could ever make her stop loving them. But now, as she looked upon the man to whom she had given her entire being, she felt nothing.
Her fingers almost unconsciously went up to feel at her hair. The strands which were usually so smooth and straight had now become silky, curly locks- the result of spending the day with her hair in uncomfortably tight curlers with a bonnet over top to deflect suspicion. Philip had given her an odd look but said nothing, which Eliza was grateful for. The love which she had for her firstborn was a comfort.
But still as she stared at Alexander, she felt cold. He had hurt her, hurt her with his words.
"The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds for purposes of improper speculation."
No. No, please. Stop.
"My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent."
Please stop. It hurts, stop. No. He wouldn't.
"I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house."
It hurts so much. Stop, stop, stop. He loves me, he wouldn't, please!
"Mrs. Hamilton with our children being absent on a visit to her father."
Why aren't I enough?! Why doesn't he love me?!
Her fingers itched as she recalled the words that had so expertly crafted an aching hole in the spot where her heart should be, and she looked at Alexander once more. She clenched her fists and, slowly, stepped into the light. He has to understand what he's done to me.
Alexander looked up at the sound of a footstep, and his face softened at the silhouette of his wife. "Oh, Eliza, you're still up. I thought for sure you'd have fallen asleep a few hours ago. Am I bothering you?" She made no response, which was expected. She hadn't spoken to him since the pamphlet had been published. "I'll be up in a few minutes, just-"
He cut himself off as she stepped farther into the light. His eyes widened in shock as he took in her outfit and hairstyle, and his hand (which had still been writing up until this moment) stilled. The quill dropped onto the table.
Draped onto Eliza's beautiful body was a satin-y red dress with a neckline that swooped dangerously low, adorned by a deep crimson ribbon that traveled across the front in a criss-crossing pattern. The skirt made no sound as it swept over the floor.
Her hair was loose and suddenly sporting wild curls that seemed to tumble down her back in crazy spirals. It swooped down over one eye, giving her an almost mysterious look.
"Betsy," Alexander whispered, "What's this?" Any other words had died in his throat, leaving behind only an uncomfortable lump that kept him from speaking further.
Her eyes that were usually so full of love were cold. Dead cold. Eliza grasped at the skirt of her dress with both hands, clutching fistfuls of the satiny fabric, and hissed out her first words to him since the publishing of the pamphlet.
"Would you love me better if I wore a silky red dress?"
Alexander was taken aback. He gulped a bit, mind full of nothing but her statement echoing again and again, until he broke out of his reverie and began to shake his head as the weight of her words dawned on him. "Betsy, no, of course not. I love you."
Her hands moved up to her hair next. "Would you love me better if my hair was curly wild and untamed?"
Alexander could only shake his head. "Eliza, I love you just how you are. I'm sorry, okay? I made a mistake and I regret it."
Eliza smiled without humor, and that was when he noticed that her mouth had been painted a deep red. "Would you love me better if my lips were always painted crimson, so that when I kissed you they would leave a mark?"
Alexander bit his own lip, still shaking his head. "Of course not. You're perfect, Betsy."
Eliza stared at him, then brought her hands down along her sides, from the top of her chest to her hips. "Would you love me better if I never had another baby so that my figure could be as unmarred and perfect as a twenty three year old's? Or better yet, would you love me better if I had never had children at all?" There was a quaver in her voice, and Alexander met her eyes to see that they were filled with tears. This fact caused water to form in his own eyes.
His heart was pounding in his chest now. "Shoot, no, Eliza. I-I love you and I love our kids. I'm so glad we have them; I could never regret them. Stop this, it isn't funny anymore."
Eliza only laughed bitterly, and a tear slid from her eye down her cheek. "Would you love me better if I threw away all of my motherly and wifely duties so that I could always tend to your sexual frustrations, Alexander? If I never had anything to do but wait on your every whim?" There was a crack in her voice on the word "Alexander", and now tears were flowing freely down her face. It took Alexander a moment to realize that he was crying as well.
"Eliza, stop it!" he yelled. "You are perfect! Never change! I love you!"
"If I'm so perfect, then why aren't I enough for you, Alexander? What do I have to do to be enough?!" she cried back at him, a sob interrupting her halfway through. "Why aren't I enough?" she repeated more quietly. And then, before he could respond, she turned and rushed out of the room, hair still a mess and dress fanning out behind her like a rose waving in the wind as she sobbed.
Alexander sat in silence at the table for hours, long after the candle melted down to a stub and the flame went out. Then, just as the sun's rays began to peek out from beyond the horizon, he seized his quill and began to write once again.
I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad. I messed up so bad.
He filled page after page with this message, and continued until he heard footsteps coming to rest beside him. A shadow was cast over his parchment.
"Pops?" came Philip's voice. "What are you doing?"
Alexander looked up at his son with dark circles under his eyes, and his voice cracked. "Oh, Philip," he croaked, "I messed up so bad."
Thanks for reading! Please remember to review… thanks! :)