Eliza walks by Alex's side down the long hallway of the hospital, doctors hovering nervously nearby. They flit in and offer condolences to his mother and him occasionally, but they are otherwise left to their own.
Alex supposes he should be walking in front- he is the man of the house now, after all, with his father's death. But it feels disrespectful to surpass his mother like that, so they settle for equals, mother and son, woman and man of the house. A balance. The other children hover around Eliza's feet, though William is by Alex's side. James stayed home to be with baby Phil. Though Eliza was unhappy about it, Alex knows how uncomfortable James is around Angelica. He doesn't like her empty stare, not recognizing, insisting she has only two brothers, one on bad days.
Alex also knows that he's going to have to be the one to break the news to Angie. She has always recognized him, papa, and Eliza the best, but now papa is out of the question and Eliza likely couldn't handle it. He steels himself accordingly.
A scream from somewhere else snaps him out of his thought, and Little E makes a little, terrified whimper, clinging to Eliza's dress from in her arms. Eliza frowns and comforts her, but Alex shoots her a little I told you look. He always said this was no place for children.
They reach the door with little fanfare, and there is a conflicted moment, Eliza and him staring at each other. Will fusses silently with his hand in this moment, so Alex slips their fingers together, squeezing his little brother's hand. "I'll go," he offers, little emotion to the words.
Eliza nods, grateful. "Come get us if she's okay afterwards. We don't want her.." and where Eliza trails off, Alex picks up with overstimulated in his mind. Outwardly, he just nods, releasing Wills hand and walking inside.
There sits Angie, in a pretty rose dress like her namesake, who is at home with James and Little Phil. She sits quietly on the piano, playing only one half of a duet. There is no lively talking, like there is sometimes, to someone who is not there, and Alex is grateful for it.
He prays Angie will recognize him, and slides beside her on the seat, beginning to play the other half of the duet. His form is clumsy- he was never as good as Angie or Philip- but he plays it recognizably, at least. His sister grins when she notices him playing, though only God knows who she thinks he is, at the moment.
Their silent playing goes on for a little longer, until Angie seems to decide he's hit one too many wrong notes, and grabs his hand, shifting his hand position with a little indignant noise. "Like this," she commands in a childish voice, setting up her own hand next to his and playing his part of the tune slowly. He plays the notes, but she shakes her head, doing the pattern again. "You have to get the fingers in the right order."
"Ah, of course," he says, then copies her exactly. She beams over at him- they're about the same height, sitting. So they play, and Alex.. he allows himself this, this happiness, this moment of respite. Maybe he is just a projection of Philip to her, but that's all he is anyway, a shell of a person, free to be filled by whomever the filler so chooses. This is fine. Nice, even.
But it can only go on for so long, and eventually Alex pulls his hands away, gently turning Angie to face him.
"Do you remember me, Angie?" he asks, and is met with a blank stare.
He's cursing mentally after a few seconds of silence, when Angie suddenly lights up. "Alex!" she cries, hugging him. "So big now, I've been away too long."
Filing away the fact that she knows she's somewhere away from home, he lets himself smile and hug her back. "Almost as big as you now," he replies in almost instinctual childlike lilt, despite the fact that he's taller than her while standing. He drops the lilt, and says, "I've got some poor news, though."
"News?" she queries, head tilted almost comically.
"Yeah. You know.." God, how does he introduce this.. "You know how papa liked to make other people mad?"
Another moment of silence, briefer now, then she nods. "Papa! He's always complaining about Burr and Jefferson," she says, amused, and Alex forces a little laugh despite wincing at the name. Then, ever sharp even in her condition, "Liked?"
"Yes, um," he stutters, seeing the half processing on her face. "You know- what Philip got into?" The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them and his breath hitches, that was a mistake.
"A duel! With George," she cries triumphantly, and Alex sucks in a breath. She remembers the duel?
"Do.. you remember what happened at the duel?" he asks, slow, careful to chose his words wisely.
She opens her mouth to respond and then stops. The gears whirring in her mind are almost audible, and her mouth closes, brow furrowed.
"Well- It's- not important." He knows better than to try and make her understand that Philip is dead right now. "What you need to know is that papa made a friend of his real mad, and they got into a duel themselves."
"Oh," she says, somewhere between a query and flat understanding.
"Papa didn't come out alive." The words are blunt, forced. He's not sure he could say it any other way.
"Oh," she says again, smaller, eyes wide and horrified.
"..Yeah," he murmurs. He can see the tears gathering in her eyes, so he yanks her into a hug. She starts off just crying, but as it processes, it breaks off into heart wrenching sobs. Alex rubs her back and whispers comforts, but inside, he's numb, wondering only if she will deny this death as well.