Alexander Hamilton sighed deeply as he rubbed his palm. Despite the his dark hair's flowing across his face, he could see clearly his heartbroken wife, standing still in the center of the leaf-covered garden. Her hands were clenched in fists and he tried to ignore her shoulders shaking as her head is aimed at the little tombstone in front of her. Swallowing, Alexander walked toward Eliza slowly, biting his lip from allowing tears to fall.
He stood by her, turning his head to avoid where Phillip lay and to face the cold and pale features of Eliza's face. Two strands of her hair is blown from behind her ears, brushing her chest and chin. Her eyes are cold, make exception for the tears on the brim of her eyelids. A simple line is drawn on her lips, competely relaxed. It was as though she was coolly trying to contact their son.
"Look at where we are...look at where we started.", he begun, looking at the dark grey clouds above. Eliza doesn't respond nor reacts, only intakes a quiet breath. Looking through the corner of his eye, he speaks again. "Listen, 'Liza..." He swallows. Making peace with his wife wouldn't be easy. Her heart was broken too many times. Betrayal by him, deaths of her sister, her father...and now her son. He's not expecting forgiveness, Lord knows her deserved everything he got, but he might as well help process her wife through their grief.
"I'm so sorry. For everything. I only wanted to be more than I was. But my ambitions got in the way. For that, I paid a price. Breaking your heart. It cost me our child. If I can go back...if I can spare him...if I can trade his life for mine...", he stops. He would if he could. He might be mentioned in a few books, never in newspapers for his legislation in forming a government or winning a war, but saving Phillip will allow him to see Eliza smile just one more time through his hell would be all the recognition he needed right now. "He never deserved to die...if only he wasn't like this man before you. Phillip wouldn't have wanted this..."
Eliza opens her eyes suddenly. Their green colors were now a faded green-grey and sad. Without a moment's hesitiation, she starts retreating towards the house. Alexander follows suit, concern on his face for upsetting his wife. "Sorry, Betsey. I should've known better than to devestate you like that,", he claims, placing a temder palm on her shoulder. When she shoves it off, he sadly mumbles, "I never should've allowed Eacker to duel..." With a stare as cold as Albany's wintertime, Eliza hisses, "No...you shouldn't have. And never again call me Betsey.", and slams the door begind her.
A tear escaped his eye. He should've known better. So many should haves. So many things he could've done but didn't do. Go upstate. Say no to the Reynolds. Never publish the pamphlet. Allow his son to refuse the duel. Make his wife as happy as possible. Every one of them...he never did.
With a gasped sob, he walks back to the garden and sits down on the small stone branch. He places his head in his hands and shakes it. Regrets poison his mind as he silently cries. As the night rises over the grief-striken family, nobody inside nor outside ever bother to notice the body of a brokenhearted Alexander Hamilton lying on the stone bench near where the tombstone of Philip Hamilton lay.
oOoOo
"...Hamilton? Hamilton...Hamilton, wake up!"
Alexander jolted himself awake the second a chilling voice hit his ears. He sat up and looked around. He appeared to be in the garden, or so he thought. Everything looked grey from the sky to the grass. It made it unclear whether he slept through the night or if it's daytime. But what he found was somone who was sitting on the stone bench where he was rethinking everything from the previous evening.
A man was sitting calmly with his hands placed tenderly on his lap. He had on a black waistcoat with black trousers and boots. He had red hair that was tied with a loose ribbon. His gaze was relaxed and was watching Alex carefully. Long enough for Alexander to notice that he had pointed looks, with freckles and green eyes.
"I see you are awake, Mr. Hamilton.", the man said. He stood up slowly, and stared at Alexander who wrinkled his nose as he stood up to face him. "Okay, who are you and how do you know me?", he suspiciously questioned. The man simply let out a shadowed but majestic laugh and stuck his hand out, placing the other behind his back. "My name is Tyme, and you are Alexander Hamilton, the father of Philip Hamilton. I ran into him here. He absolutely never stopped talking about you."
Alexander froze and stared at this redhead stranger with his eyes hard. "You know my son?", he asks in disbelief while their hands shook. Tyme half-smirked at him and looked from the corner of his green eye. "Of course. Where you are is the death-scape. We can wander around the living for when they are awake unseen, and we can drag them here, the bridge between dream and reality. Phillip Hamilton spent most of his time around the household, looking after his broken family, Elizabeth being worst of all." Alexander swallowed sadly. "I suppose you also know my wife?", he speaks softly.
Tyme sighed mystically. "Ah, Elizabeth...she was such a woman. Kind, trusting, patient, fierce...everything you'd like in a perfect wife.", he said. His smirk disappears. "Poor girl...first she loses her father, then her husband attracts an affair, then the passing of Margarita...and now her firstborn.", he continues. Alexander can feel every bit of Eliza's sorrow in every loss. She suffered so much. But Tyme faces Alexander again, with a serious but mischievous look. "And now that we're on the topic of Elizabeth, the reason I brought you here."
He stares deeply. "I would like to make you a deal, Hamilton. What was that statement you said? In the garden? With your wife?", he asks. He taps his chin in mock thought. "Something about trading a life?" Alexander feels himself pale. His mindless offer to Eliza.
If I can go back...if I can spare him...if I can trade his life for mine...
He looks at the redhead before him, who patiently stares with a simple look in his features. "What're you proposing?", Alexander quivers, eyes narrowing. Tyme shrugs, a smile creeping slowly. "I couldn't help but overhear you trying to bond with Elizabeth again. You are absolutely willing to exchange your own living soul...for Phillip's? For her?", he offers. Alexander looks at the empty grey house. He's going to fail at something else when he came back from war. Stay alive. It would've been enough. But he can't hurt her again. It would be better for her if the last thing he did was present to her their healthy baby boy.
"With all my heart.", he silently claims. Tyme frowns, checking for a flicker of dishonest in Alexander's broken blue eyes. "Are you sure that's what you want?", Tyme questions. Alexander grits his teeth. This man offers a deal and he doesn't believe that he'll take it for his lover. Pathetic. "With all my heart.", he states bitterly. Tyme nods, his eyes wide. "I've never met another man with such persistence. Very well. Your son will live, but you...you must die. A life for a life.", Tyme confirms.
He extends his hand out to Alexander, who stares at it for a while. Shaking this palm means that he'll never truly see his family again. America will never know him. His legacy wouldn't be so secure. But it will never matter. Do it for him. Do it for her. "Deal." Their hands touch, and Alexander can suddenly feel the life draining out of him like something was sucking it out. Once the process was over, he sank to the ground on shaky knees.
A hand kindly grasps his shoulder. "Alex...are you alright?", Tyme softly asks. Gasping, Alexander looks up and smiles. "Yes...my wife should be more content at this state.", he claims. Tyme smiles back and helps Alexander up. He guides him out of the garden, where Philip's tombstone disappears. Going inside the house, Alexander sees, by the fireplace,the colored body of Philip. His face is colored, the bullet hole was gone, and his chest was rising and falling. Tears spring in his eyes. Tyme then takes his hand off his shoulder. "You've done good, Mr. Hamilton." You truly have.", he states as he turns to leave. "Tyme?" Tyme turns back to see a sobbing Alexander. He smiles through his tears. "Thank you. But I have one more request. Do you have any paper?" Tyme nods. He pulls a sheet of paper and a quill pen and hands it to Alex. He smiles lowly and kindly again as turns towards the door.
—
"No...no. Pa...No, Pa! Daddy! Daddy, you can't do this! Please! No!"
The first thing Eliza heard when she woke up that morning was screaming. Actually, they were more like pleas. Begs for mercy or begs for someone to stay. Sitting up on the empty bed, (Alexander lost his permission to sleep with her after the pamphlet, so he's spending his nights in his office. Or, at least, he was.), Eliza takes a robe off her nightstand and grabs a candle. She cautiously peeks a head in every room of her house, checking if any of her kids were having a nightmare about their father. (She didn't check the office nor Philip's old room. One makes her angry and the other gives her sorrow.)
When she checked almost every room, a warm and testy Eliza turns around to head back to bed, satisfied that all her children are sleeping soundly. But then she heard the faintest of shallow breathing. But...her children are asleep. She grumbles, turning towards the living room, where the fireplace is lit. Alexander must be awake and suffering from another nightmare. Eliza walks lightly and slowly, not wanting to get Alexander's attention. After all, she said that she wanted him to suffer while she was burning his letters, right?
But it wasn't Alexander. In fact, what she saw made her eyes wide and vision blurry. Sitting in front of the fireplace was Philip Hamilton, sweat covering his face, his arms hugging his chest. Eliza leans against the frame. Her son is back...but he can't be back. She and Alexander both saw him die. They burried him. She spent weeks sobbing and isolating herself all because she couldn't cope with him gone. But here he was, his face full of surprise and sorrow. Phillip must've heard her breathing deeply because he snapped his head around to face her.
Instantly, he ran like hell broke loose and before anything else happened, Philip was hugging her, with Eliza grasping both her son and the candle tight. Eliza could tell at that moment that this was real. He's alive and well. She carefully hugs him back, snuggling her face into his shoulder. When they broke, Phillip looked at his mom with sad but tender care. "Ma...", he whispered. Eliza can only grin, her eyes overflowing with tears. "Oh, Philip...how are you-", she asked before cutting herself off once she sees Philip bite his lip to prevent tears.
"Dad's gone.", he whispered again. Eliza's eyes got wide and her eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What? No, he's not. He's sleeping in his office.", she declared, pointing towards the door. Philip swallowed and shook his head. He stated, "No, Mom. Listen to me. He's the reason I'm back." Eliza can feel worry creeping up her throat.
Wordlessly, she turns around and barges into the office. But Alexander wasn't there. Only dried ink, quill pens, and papers that he forgot to put away. Shaking her head, Eliza dashed away again outside. She doesn't understand why she's looking for him. He ruined their family's lives. He should've gone upstate when he had the chance. She can't forgive him. He lead their son into a duel. He made so many careless mistakes. But wait. She knew why. It's because she loved him. She could've kicked him out, make sure that their children never saw him again, and she could've ruin every bit of his legacy and reputation by listing all his downsides. But she never did. She kept him in. Sure she was vivid, but that never meant that she stopped caring for him, some deep within her anger.
"Alexander!", she called, cupping her mouth with her hands, the thin drape barely covering her and her gown. Philip followed closely, holding on a sorrowful expression. His eyes are shiny and a bit wet as he turned his head around the outside of their house swiftly and almost desperate. "Alexander! Come home! Where are you!", Eliza shouts louder, throat screeching in pain. A few neighbors look out their windows and glare from their doors, but Eliza could care less. She averts herself around the yard and the garden, and there, she finds a lump. Carefully, she approaches the lump, holding on to the drapes on her stiff shoulders. Once she gets closer, she gasps. There, lying by the bench, was her husband. His hand is outstretched, his face is teary, and there appeared to be a slip of paper in his palm.
Collapsing to her knees with a deep exhale from her lips, Eliza pulls Alexander's body on her lap. She caresses his cheek to find it pale and cool, to find no response. Before this whole mess, Eliza would sometimes wake up earlier than Alexander. (Which was very rare since he'd be the one to wake up early to get a few finished documents done.) She would face her sleeping husband, and would push back his hair and rub his cheek, and from that contact he would wake up beaming. Every time. But not that morning.
Shaking him, Eliza could notice that she wasn't getting any response from him, and it scared her. Thre would always be response from Alexander, so at this point she was pleading. "Alexander.", she spoke, rubbing his jaw, gritted together. "Alexander, get up. Look who's here.", Eliza looks at Philip, who's stays standing. His hands are enfolded together. He has a stony sorrowful expression, but Eliza isn't buying that her husband was gone. She won't buy it. "Please, Alex. C'mon, get up!"
Eliza's eyes collapse toward the limp hand, where the slip of paper lays. Trembling, she took it from his freezing hand and opens the slip. She begins reading aloud.
To my dearest Elizabeth,
If it hasn't been accepted by myself, this shall be considered as my final piece of writing in my lifetime. What it has come to hopefully would not cause you to reach another dead end of despair for you. I have come to accept everything that has led me up to this point and I am ready to explain it as well. As you can tell, I have...recently given up my own mortal life. Th exponential price for the beautiful young human that should be standing by your side right now.
Yes, my Betsey. I am aware that Philip has been given the utmost permission to return into your breathing arms. It was my intention. To see you smile. It broke my heart when I have shared and held my end of the affair with Mrs. Reynolds. I asked Philip to throw his shot away when he came to me for advice for that duel against Mr. Eacker. I never wanted him home as a murderer, and I am sure you never wanted to as well. But it costed the two of us his life. But after our first interaction since his passing, I have encountered a young man who have managed to find me once he met our son. 'A life for a life', he said...I foolishly accepted, so he would run into your arms once more.
I understand that you might be livid right now, darling. But this is something I wanted. With all my heart. If it means that you will be forever happy that Philip lives the life he deserves. But before we meet in another universe, I have one last thing to claim. Thank you. I have been treated as though I were nothing my entire life, not to mention my poor family statistics. But once I met you that enchanting winter's ball, my love for you has never once again been a doubt. I may not have ever shown it, but I have and always will love you. You made my life worth living. I will see you again, love. I promise. Take your time.
Love, A. Hamilton
No. No, no, no. Eliza dropped the note, her hand vibrating as her eyes flooded themselves with tears. Philip was right. Her husband finally did it. He's gone. He's dead. For her. For their family. It didn't seem that he would bother to mention to keep his legacy secure, but that must've been the least of his worries, once meeting the "mystery man" that took Alexander's life away.
Her fingers clutch the fabric of his clothing, shoulders shaking, strands of hair falling limply towards her face. Her sobs were loud enough to wake up every house up to Monticello. Her pleas can be heard among everyone inside, who woke up the hear what the commotion was about. The children were all overjoyed and shocked to see Philip again, but their expressions turn grim and puzzled once faced with their crying mother and dead father in the garden. The children, including Philip, all stand against the side of the garden entrance, giving the two former lovers their needed privacy.
"Alexander! No, no, please! Not him! No, please, God, not him!", she tearfully shouted. Up the the sky, the rooftops, she wanted the Lord to give her mercy. She never stopped screaming until they finally ceased into silent cries and careful whispers.
Eliza shook the body, refusing to believe his soul is gone. "Darling, I'm so sorry...you were suffering too. I wanted you to burn...but please...you were alive. And I still love you. I love you too. I never stopped. Please, don't leave me. Don't leave your family again. We need you. We always needed you.", she croaked due to a raw throat. No response.
"Please...call me Betsey one more time. I beg of you..."
The sun finally made it to the horizon. But by the time its large circle was in the sky, the shadow on the side of the house steadily grew ever the larger as the Hamilton family shortly celebrated the return of one, but the grave and sacrificial loss of another.
Hey! So...yeah. That's my attempt at an angsty story. I was listen (and sobbing. T_T) to "It's Quiet Uptown" (AGAIN) when the 'trade his life' thing came on. I was curious and this oneshot came into my head, so I decided to write it. I can't promise any tears, but I tried to make it interesting. And due to the fact that I deleted my first story- Greaser Superheroes- to the lack of descriptiveness, I wanted to make this my official first story. ;3
I will remaster it. I m going to add it a little more...well, more. It could take a while, though. I have a few other fandom scenarios in my mind and I would like to make them reality. Plus, I've been at a family event and I have school stuff, so it'll be a while until I update something. But I haven't forgotten you! Based on how popular this might be, I could keep writing Hamilton. Reviews are for criticism. (But nothing too destructive. I want to keep writing.) Kindest regards to all of you! ;D
-Deximon