Alexander

Gone.

Philip was gone.

He would never be coming back.

And it was all my fault.

He would never look up at me with admiration in his eyes… admiration that both Eliza and I knew I didn't deserve…

Eliza. Oh, god. Not only did I fuck up my life, I fucked up hers too.

And I tried to do it for her. I tried to fix whatever the hell our relationship was… but it backfired. Now? Now I'm going to be alone forever. Alone, knowing that I deserved it… I deserved the cold icy prison my mind was putting me in. Philip's death? And Eliza's grief? All my fault. I ruined so many people's lives… it was only fitting that years later, I would ruin mine.

Ruined.

Alone.

Gone.

Dead.

Eliza

He was gone. And he would never be coming back.

When he died, a dagger of ice plunged into my heart. And I screamed. I screamed and I screamed and then I sobbed, sobbed for the beautiful young light which had been put out so early… my child, gone.

Alex tried to put a hand on mine, but furiously, I shoved it away. Did he think I would forgive him already? Just because I was so broken? If he did, he was wrong. I never wanted to see him again. I never wanted to look into those beautiful blue eyes, those lying, deceitful eyes again. I just wanted some space. I wanted to be alone forever.

I wanted to be with Philip forever.

But I would not hasten our reunion. No, eight other children depended on me. There was no way I could trust Alexander to raise them… not that dirty, rotten bastard. No, it would have to be me. I would have to live.

So I just lay there, slumped atop his body, crying until the tears ran dry, and then just breathing. Stroking his hair. Taking in his face. Kissing him. Saying his last words. Over and over and over.

After an hour of this, I finally looked up. The doctor was standing above me, looking awkward and confused and lost. Nodding to him, I kissed Philip one last time.

"I love you," I said to him. "I will always love you. Now, when when we part this time, we cannot look back. We both know that would hurt too much. And your brothers and sisters need me. I love you."

Turning around, I staggered back home, never once looking back.

Alexander

Three days.

I stayed in my room for three days.

I cried. I vomited. I cried some more. I didn't want to feel; I wanted the pain to end.

Twice, I tried to put pen to paper. To write my way out, like I had so many times. But this time, the words didn't come. I tried and I tried, but my head started to pound, and my voices started to whisper to me.

"You shouldn't be allowed to write after all you've done," they said, and I agreed with them.

Opening the door a little bit, I saw Eliza. She walked the house like a ghost. No. I could not face her. I slammed the door again. As I did, she turned her head ever so slightly in my direction, and then looked away. I swallowed.

I didn't deserve her. I never had deserved her. And I sincerely hoped she knew it.

Eliza

For two days, I just… existed. Survived.

I did nothing, I felt nothing, I saw nothing. Just an unspeakable pain in my heart to deal with.

The children would ask me if I was okay. I would shrug it off. After all, they were coping with the loss, too. But not like me. Philip was mine. I bore him. I brought him up. I taught him piano and French. And just like that, gone, killed in a duel.

On the third day, I started off on the same track as the first couple days. Just existing, gritting through the pain as usual, pushing it away.

Somewhere along my train of guilt, my thoughts stumbled upon Alexander. I hadn't really been thinking about him, because, to be completely honest, he was not part of my family anymore. He knew it, too.

I quickly glanced at his room. His door was ajar. What was he doing with the grief?

No, I didn't want to know. Swallowing, I forced my gaze away.

But curiosity got the better of me, and I hesitantly ventured a glance through the doorway.

Oh.

He seemed to be taking it much harder than I was. Before everything happened, I thought of him as an unflappable hero who was simply beyond feelings. Even after it happened, I still felt he was beyond feelings, though it was not a compliment anymore. But now… I knew that was not true. Alexander Hamilton could feel. He could grieve. And it looked pathetic.

And though I had vowed to hate him for the rest of my life for what he had done, though I had hoped he would burn and burn and burn, a feeling almost like pity for him coursed through my veins at that moment. How long had he been in there? What was he thinking? Had he had anything to eat?

Had he had anything to eat?

I don't know what it was, but at that moment, I thought of Philip. He wouldn't want me to continue existing like this. No, even if he understood I could never move on, Philip would want me to live.

And… that pity I felt for my husband. I don't know why, but it sparked feeling in me. Like I should do something.

Had he had anything to eat?

"He doesn't deserve this," I said, and then against all my instincts, I trudged to the kitchen to cook my husband a meal.

Alexander

Worthless.

Nothing.

Pathetic.

These words were my mantra throughout the evening. I was worthless, I was nothing, and I was simply pathetic. Pathetic, to be running from the ghosts of my past for over forty years. Pathetic, to think I was worth so much for all these years, to not realize I had been leaving a trail of ruined lives in my wake. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

Sighing, I got up to close the door before I attempted to go to sleep. The past two nights, I had gotten no sleep. Instead, I had vomited my guts out, feeling guilt, guilt, guilt. And terror. Like the ghosts of my past were going to come back to me.

I peek out of the door before closing it. To my surprise, there was a bowl of soup, with a little note attached to it. It was written in a familiar hand. Dainty, yet strong.

Eat something. You can't starve. -E

I found tears forming in my eyes. Surprised, I started to wipe them away. What had I done to deserve this bowl of soup?

Then again, the truth had always been staring me in the face. I did not deserve Eliza. I never deserved Eliza. Right now, the truth slapped me. I wanted to turn the soup down, tell her I couldn't possibly.

But… I was hungry. A little. So maybe I would take the soup.

Against my instincts, I reached out and grabbed the soup before closing the door. It was good soup, I realized, as I started eating. And I was famished.

It was good soup, I thought again, before placing the bowl on my bedside table and slowly, but steadily, falling asleep.

Eliza

In the morning, I found the empty soup bowl outside his door. There was a small note attached to it.

Thank you.

It was good soup.

Thank you.

With a glimmer of a smile, I took the bowl to the kitchen.

Alexander

Morning.

At least I had gotten some sleep; Eliza's soup had made sure of that. Of course, I had woken up in the middle of the night to do my vomiting rituals, but I felt significantly better today than I had yesterday, or the day before…

I looked outside. The weather was pretty nice. But no… I couldn't go outside.

Actually, why couldn't I? Though I might be worthless, nothing, and pathetic, I could still go outside, couldn't I? And it's not like this house arrest of mine was doing anyone any good… poor Eliza was making me soup now.

I didn't deserve her.

Plus, maybe Eliza would be going for a walk too. Walking had always helped her. And maybe, just maybe, I'd get to thank her.

The walk was nice. The neighborhood was unfamiliar, but I liked it. It was quiet, peaceful…

"Philip, you would like it uptown. It's quiet uptown."

He would have liked the peace and quiet, the family time. But instead of him getting to enjoy this, it was me, forced to contemplate my worthless existence.

It should have been me. I should have died. Not Philip.

I looked up. A garden. Full of life and happiness and all things that I was not. I entered.

Eliza stood there. Quiet and patient, she just stood there, and shed silent tears for him. I wished I could help her, but I couldn't. I wished I could at least know what was going on in her mind.

"Tell her," my mind told me. "Tell her everything. Tell her you're sorry. Tell her you're grateful. At least, thank her for the soup."

I settled on the last one. It would be the easiest.

"Oh, and tell her you don't deserve her," my mind added as an afterthought.

I started to speak to her. But the words that came out of my mouth… they were not my own.

"Look at where we are… look at where we started. I know I don't deserve you, Eliza, but hear me out, that would be enough."

Hear me out? These were the words of Old Alexander Hamilton, not New Alexander Hamilton. Eliza hated Old Alexander Hamilton! What was I doing?

"If I could spare his life, if I could trade his life for mine, he'd be standing here right now…" I found a lump forming in my throat at the truth of the words. To my surprise, Eliza didn't hit me. Or slap me. Maybe Old Hamilton was who she needed me to be. Because New Hamilton was an unknown entity to her. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.

"And you would smile, and that would be enough." I found myself tearing up over the truth of the words. If Eliza could smile, if I could see that smile one last time…

"I don't pretend to know the challenges we're facing. I know there's no replacing what we've lost, and you need time. But I'm not afraid."

What? That was not true. I was terrified. Taking a deep breath, I continued.

"I know who I married. Just let me stand here by your side… that would be enough."

The tears began to flow in earnest as I realized the truth of my words. For Eliza to accept me again… though I didn't deserve her… it would get me that much closer to healing.

Eliza didn't shun me, or tell me to leave. Silently and stoically, she stared ahead, the tears pouring. I sat down on a bench beside her, putting my head in my hands, sobbing my heart out.

Eliza

"Eliza, do you like it uptown? It's quiet uptown…"

Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, I do like it uptown.

But I couldn't.

Alexander

Dusk was falling. I stood up, and started to walk home, but was stopped. A slender, female hand had slipped into mine.

"It's quiet uptown," my wife told me.

Acceptance.

Forgiveness.

I was overwhelmed, but nodded. Together, we started the journey home.

Together.

Together.

About halfway there, Eliza stopped me.

"Look at me," she said. I looked into those patient brown eyes.

"We will have to talk about… some things someday in the future. I understand if you need some time first. But someday, we will have to have that conversation."

I nodded gratefully. It was more than I deserved. She deserved answers, of course I would give them to her.

Leaning into her shoulder, I cried the rest of the way home.

Eliza

Night.

For the first time in… a while, Alex was in my bed. I cried myself to sleep, thinking about Philip, thinking about Alex, thinking about everything. These days, I always cry myself to sleep. I think I'll have to accept it.

Alex, though… I knew nothing about his sleeping habits. But when I awoke, at midnight, he was pale, and bolt upright.

He was about to get out of bed when I grabbed his arm.

"Shh," I said, wrapping an arm around him. "It's okay. You're okay."

He shook his head violently, then pointed to a pot in the bathroom.

"Oh," I understood, quickly grabbing the pot and bringing it back to him. I also grabbed a couple napkins, for good measure.

He looked to my hand, and then spoke.

"Can I?" he said, faintly.

"Of course," I say, offering it to him.

"No," he said. "Squeeze it."

Oh. He wanted to squeeze hard. To keep from throwing up.

"Yes," I say. "As hard as you want."

For an hour, we sat there, his breathing uneven, my hand draped around his shoulder, my other hand in his. My hand was losing feeling, but I kept quiet. For his sake. Finally, it happened.

As a mother of nine, I had seen vomiting. But this was not vomiting. Some unknown force was wrenching him apart, forcing him to retch and vomit and spew his guts up.

My Alexander. Was being punished like this. I knew he didn't deserve this. My husband. My Alex. He was mine, I thought to my surprise. Mine. He did not belong to these demons.

"Shh," I said, wiping his mouth. "It's okay. It's okay."

"Sorry," he said.

"No, no, it's okay. Don't feel sorry. You're okay."

"Water?" he asked. Running to the sink, I obliged him. He sipped delicately.

"You're okay. You're safe. You're here," I repeat over and over.

I think he started to believe it.

Alexander

Morning.

I woke up in Eliza's arms, and then remembered the events of last night. I swallowed.

"Your hand," I said. "Is it okay? Did I squeeze too hard?"

"No, I'm okay," Eliza soothed. I let myself sink further into that soft embrace. She had always made me feel safe.

"Do you want to talk about last night?" she continued.

I gulped. No, I did not want to, but… I also did. I wanted to tell someone, but getting the words out was hard.

"I have panic attacks," I blurt out.

She raised her eyebrows, but did not answer. I continued.

"I didn't really have panic attacks before… it happened. I mean, I think there was a point where I just hardened myself to the world, and to feeling. But now… I can't."

"It's always at night," I continued. "I feel paralyzed, like I can't breathe, like I'm too nervous, scared, panicked to do anything. And eventually… I vomit my guts out. Out of terror and panic, but also out of guilt. Mostly guilt." I shut my mouth, then looked apologetically at her. I didn't really want to elaborate on guilt.

"That's okay, you don't have to say more than you want to," Eliza said, patting my shoulders.

The two of us sat there in silence, until Eliza blurted, "I cry myself to sleep now."

"Every day?" I asked.

"Every day," she replied. "I think grief changes us in unspeakable ways. It turns us inside out. There are good days, and there are bad days. I think there always will be. As it goes on, we'll have more good days, and less bad days, until we finally start living again."

"And we'll help each other through this," she finished, kissing me.

"If I can help you… a shoulder to lean on as you cry yourself to sleep… or anything," I said, before I could think about it.

"That would be nice," Eliza said, a lump in her throat.

"It's the least I can do," I said.

Eliza

We worked through it, Alex and I.

Sometimes I had a bad day, and he would sit with me, being the steady and firm husband I once thought him to be. Other times, he would have a bad day, and I would soothe him.

Together, we were climbing out of the grief. We actually had good days! Good days! And I don't think I could have done it without him.

What I gave Alex before was not forgiveness. It was more like a contract; we both needed each other. So we agreed to move on from our issues. But I still needed to resolve them, and Alex knew it, too.

But… when he talked to me that day in the garden, when he sat with me all those days and nights I couldn't stop the tears… he acted like a different man. He retained all the qualities I loved about him, broken though he was. But grief changed him. He became less arrogant. He acted like a man worth forgiving.

So, after a week of working through our pain and sorrow, I walked up to Alex. He was sitting on the bed, reading, or at least trying to read. These days he didn't seem to be reading very much.

"Alex?" I tentatively said.

"Yeah?" he grunted.

"Are you ready to have our talk yet?" I asked.

Eliza

No. I was not ready. I would never be ready.

Because having this talk… meant facing the ghosts of my past. That was something I was trying to avoid, trying very hard to avoid.

But I owed so much to my dear Eliza. She deserved answers.

"I guess," I mumbled.

She sat down beside me and put an arm over my shoulder, our usual position. "It won't be easy for you, I know that," she said. "I'll try to help you. I'll be here for you during this talk."

I didn't reply. I couldn't. I sat there, staring at my feet nervously. The silence lasted all too long, and I looked up.

Eliza was crying. Crying. I wasn't sure why, but I gave her a squeeze. "Any time," I said.

She continued to sob. Finally, she gasped out, "Was it ever real?"

Dumbfounded, I asked, "My love for you?" She nodded.

"Why would you think it fake?" I asked. "It was more real than anything to me. I… may not have been the best husband, but you have no idea what it meant to me that you were always there for me. Whether I needed you or not, you were there. So yes, it was always real."

"I loved you," she replied. Loved. I wondered what that meant.

"Did you ever love anyone else?" she gasped out.

"Not ever the way I loved you. I loved my mother. And Laurens was my best friend. I loved him, too, but in a different way. Angelica… she and I matched each other in spirit, but I didn't love her like that, and she didn't love me like that. And Maria was… complicated," I conclude.

After a few deep breaths, she continued. "Then why? Why did you have the affair with Maria? And why did you write about it like that?"

I gulped. Better stick to plain facts. But as I started talking, I found myself saying more than I had intended to.

"First of all, know that she was… nothing to me. I… was tired. And I didn't take a break. I know, it was stupid… but I was really stressed out over that project. And I did almost lose my job. So… yeah, I guess she was my break… and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and I could say that a hundred times and it would make no difference but I'm really sorry. "

Eliza looked at me, concern etched in her face. "Continue?" she asked.

"But… I guess, more importantly… I felt bad for her. She looked so… helpless… and…" I trailed off.

"What?" Eliza asked.

"Nothing," I swallowed.

"Is that how you felt about me?" she asked.

"No. Never. You were never helpless." I replied, confidently.

"I certainly didn't feel that way…" she admitted.

"I know that, too, and I'm so sorry. I will never deserve you." I said. I said that to her about twice a day, and each time, it was true.

"Okay, sweetheart, I know you're a kind hearted person, but that is not what you do when you feel bad for a woman who looks helpless. It helps no one." Eliza looked firm. I shivered a little.

"No," I said. "I know that. But it's not like that. You don't get it."

"Tell me more, sweetheart," Eliza squeezed me.

NO. No. No. Never.

I half expected the sentences to come tumbling out of my mouth. Instead, I started to feel dizzy. My breathing and heart rate picked up.

"Oh, no," Eliza said. "It's okay, Alex, you don't have to tell me…"

It was too late. I was in full panic mode. Cocooning myself in my arms and legs, I began to cry. I tried pointing at the vomit pot. I hope she understood.

Moments later, the pot was placed in front of me. I cried and I cried, out of terror. Pure terror. There was no way I could talk about… that. It scared me. There were memories there that I never wanted to touch again.

The terror was overwhelming. Leaning into the pot, I heaved. I heaved again. I vomited. No. No. No. No.

Eliza wiped my mouth. That was her name, right? I couldn't think, I couldn't feel, I was terrified.

"I love you," she whispered into my ear. "Right here, right now."

That snapped me out of it.

Faintly, I turned to my wife. "You do?"

"Alex, we both know what you did to me was unforgivable. But this… you are punishing yourself way too much. And I know it's not your fault, but we're going to have to work through it. If you talk to me, it would be that much easier."

"I don't deserve your love," I said, leaning on my wife. My beautiful, brave, strong wife. My wife, who was too good for me. My wife, who I loved.

"Yes. You do."

"I don't," I choked out, leaning into her shoulder. "But it means the world to me that you give it to me anyway."

Stroking my hair, Eliza replied, "Would you like to tell me why you wrote about it instead?"

"Okay," I mumbled. "I'll try."

"I just… always wrote my way out. No matter my problem… I could write… and it would go away… so I just assumed…" I trailed off.

"Is there any reason for that?"

No.

I nodded once, and then shook my head. Eliza interpreted it correctly.

"You don't want to talk about it," she said, kissing me.

I nodded again, then buried my face in her shoulder. Patiently, she just waited, stroking my hair.

Eventually, she spoke. "What about it makes you not want to talk about it?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

"Is it the guilt?"

I shook my head.

"Pain?"

I tilted my head to one side. "Kinda," I mumbled.

"Trauma?" she asked.

"Kinda," I said again.

"So, pain and trauma. An experience you don't want to re-live."

"You're amazing," I replied.

"Well, if you ever want to talk about it, know that I'm here for you. I can help you through it."

"That would be nice," I said. "I actually would like to get it off my shoulders, but I don't know how."

"Oh, really?" she replied, surprise written in her face.

"Yeah," I said.

"Hey, look, a shooting star!" Eliza said suddenly. "Make a wish, Alex!"

Silently, I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart.

"What was yours?" she asked me.

"I wished to be able to write again," I said. "I can't. Ever since it happened, when I try to write, I just get a headache. I can't."

"Well, by the end of this, we are going to make sure you can write again," Eliza said confidently.

"Wait, what was your wish?" I asked.

"I wished for your demons to die," she said softly, after a moment.

I looked away so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.

A/N: Hi readers!

I'm already writing a few other stories, so this is only going to be a two-shot. It's an idea I've had for a while, but I finally chased it down and put pen to paper... I hope you like it!

If you like it, please review, it would mean the world to me. Thanks, and stay beautiful! :)