John hadn't said a word to Alex since the New Year began. It was now three days into 2018 and Alex was sitting on the sofa moving his wheelchair back and forth with his hand. He was bored with nothing to do. Eliza was out with her sister Angelica, walking their dog-also Angelica-and John wouldn't talk to him. What else was he going to do?

Alex sighed and turned his chair around before he let go. He leaned down to put the brakes on and pushed himself up off the sofa, and into his chair. He looked over at John, who was still sitting on the other side of the sofa, watching the TV-some documentary about Hitler on the History Channel.

Alex pulled his growing hair into a scruffy man bun. "I'm going out." He said.

John grunted in response.

Alex huffed and shook his head. He pulled his unresponsive legs onto the footplate of his wheelchair and secured his seatbelt. "Bye then."

Another grunt from John.

"You mean 'bye, Alex, don't freeze out there, I love you?', right?" Alex asked.

"Whatever." John mumbled. It was a better response than John had given him over the last few days, so Alex took it as a small victory.

He pulled the brakes off and wheeled over to the coat pegs and took his coat. He draped it over his knee and turned around. "John." Alex sighed. What was he even going to say? "Look, it's not the end of the world. You thought the world ended when I got paralysed. It didn't. We carried on. So what if you've got a daughter? It's not like I care." No response. "Call me if you need me." He took his key, opened the door and left.

Down the hall, Alex went to the elevator and pressed the call button.

Kitty came from her apartment looking like hell. Or at least hungover. She was wearing sweatpants, a hoodie and sneakers and her hair looked like she hadn't combed it in a month.

"Hello Kitty." Alex said, with a slight snigger.

"That one never gets old for you, does it, Alex?" Kitty asked, even sounding hungover.

"I haven't seen you since you hit on my boyfriend." Alex said. "Have you just been partying this whole time?"

"Uh... yeah." Kitty rubbed her eye. That's how Alex noticed the dark circles. "Sorry for hitting on your boyfriend, by the way."

"Apology accepted." Alex said.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

"You first. You're in a wheelchair." Kitty said.

"Yeah. But you're completely hungover and I'm about eighty percent sure that you're still wasted." Alex said. "So you should go first."

Kitty stepped into the elevator, while Alex rolled in and pressed the button for the ground floor.

He took his coat from his lap and put it on.

"How do you do that?" Kitty asked.

"Do what?" Alex zipped up his coat.

"Put clothes on. You're in a wheelchair." Kitty said.

"Needing to use a wheelchair, Kitty, isn't the end of the world." Alex explained. "You survive. You adapt. If you can't, you find a way. You have to."

The elevator pinged again and the door slid open.

Kitty put her arm out, gesturing for Alex to leave first and he did so, with Kitty following.

"Why doesn't your wheelchair have handles?" She asked.

"I don't need them." Alex replied. "I use my chair full time."

"And why do you call it a 'chair'?" She asked, doing air quotes.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Because it is a chair?" He said. "It's a chair. And it's got wheels on it. That's why the person who invented it stepped back to look at it and was like 'hey, this thing's a chair with wheels on it, so imma call this thing a wheelchair'."

"Yeah, but office chairs have wheels on them. Sometimes."

"Office chairs aren't wheelchairs because they're called office chairs, Kitty." Alex said. "Go sleep off your hangover."

"Will do." Kitty said as she went over to her mailbox.

Alex rolled his eyes and wheeled himself down the hall to the front door. Someone else was coming in and he held the door open for Alex. Alex, however, put a hand on the door and wheeled himself out, looking up to glare at the man for giving him unwanted help.

To Alex, he was fiercely independent both before and after the shooting. Sure, he was depressed for a while, but with the help from his friends and his new family, he pulled himself together. He accepted his disability and threw himself into it.

And though the guy probably didn't hold the door because Alex had a wheelchair, Alex didn't know that. He didn't want pity. He didn't want to be called brave. He didn't want to be called inspirational. He was none of those things. He was just a guy getting on with his life and why the hell couldn't everyone else see this-aaugh! So frustrating! Alex knew they meant well, but it didn't feel that way to him.

Outside, Alex could feel the chill. Still a thin layer of snow on the ground. That was okay, he could move around in this. It wasn't until the snow really piled up that he couldn't move around. But where to go? Coffee. Had to be coffee.

Alex swivelled to the left and followed the path. It would be stupid for him to shortcut over the grass in this weather, just like it would be in the rain. His wheelchair's suspension was great, the gel wheels were awesome. But neither would be really appropriate for cutting across the grass. Because wasn't going to risk getting either stuck in the mud or ruining his suspension going over clumps of ice.

It was times like these Alex was glad everyone convinced him to get rid of his clunky former manual chair. Even more glad that he listened. Because quite honestly, he loved this chair. He couldn't imagine-or even remember-his life without it. It was absolutely perfect; beautiful and dark green-his favourite colour. Small. Light. Really responsive-like can spin on a dime responsive. It had a low back and no handles so nobody could be 'helpful' and push him without asking or him needing. No armrests to get in the way of him reaching the handrims. A footplate that didn't take up needless legroom-why would he need legroom? He couldn't even use them and could barely feel them! And by far the best feature of it, it had a little cup holder for his coffee. He needed that cup holder. And loved that cup holder.

It was easy-ish for him to manoeuvre through the snow, even if he had to touch the cold metal handrims of his chair every second or so. In hindsight, he should have worn gloves. But that was John's fault. Why wouldn't he just talk?


Martha paced the floor. She was in Hercules and Sally's apartment and didn't know what she was going to say, but Sally was sitting on the sofa with her arms folded, looking impatient.

"Look, if there's something you want to say, just say it now. Hercules will be back soon."

Martha grunted.

Sally picked up on Martha's agitation. "Martha? Are you okay?"

"Look, you know I had a feud with my father on Christmas Day." Martha began.

"Yeah." Sally nodded. "You said he did something unforgivable and said nothing else."

"He..." Martha bit her lip. "Sally..."

"Oh my god, Martha, did he kill a guy?" Sally asked.

"Worse." Martha squeaked out.

"Hey, hey." Sally stood up and put her arm around Martha reassuringly.

"Sally... we're sisters." Martha said.

Sally pulled her hand away. "H-h-how?"

"Dad had an affair with your mom. Well... he was seeing your mom. Then he met my mom. And married her." It was all coming out-there was no controlling it. "They were together, married for years and then mom got pregnant on me and your mom got pregnant on you. My mom died in childbirth-having me. And afterwards, he didn't acknowledge you or your family, but the relationship they had-my mom and your dad-it went on for twelve years, Sally, twelve years! And all your siblings-they're my siblings too! They're Dad's and he didn't tell me and he didn't tell you and your mom didn't tell you and-" Martha began to cry.

"Sweet Jesus." Sally sat back down on the sofa numbly.

Martha sat down on the nearby armchair and began sobbing.

Hercules opened the door. "Hello, my beautiful-" He stopped mid sentence when he heard and saw the crying. "Who died?" He asked solemnly.

Martha looked up at Hercules though her blurry tears and wiped her eyes on her coat sleeve. "Nobody, Herc." She said. "I was just... leaving." She hiccuped.

"No, Martha." Hercules closed the door after him. "It's okay. Is it your dad?"

Martha nodded, trying to hold in the tears.

"Okay. It's okay. Look, we won't judge-"

"What?" Martha asked.

"We lived with Lafayette and they're non binary and pansexual." Hercules continued. "Peggy was agender and pansexual, Maria's a lesbian, Angelica and Alex are bi, John is gay, Aaron and James are demisexual-"

"I'm not... I'm not a lesbian, Hercules." Martha rubbed her eye.

"Oh. You're trans-"

Martha shook her head.

"Hercules..." Sally interrupted.

Hercules and Martha both turned to look at her.

"Her father had a secret relationship with my mother." Sally said.

Hercules frowned. "Wha-?"

"Martha's my half-sister." Sally finished.


A/N: What up! Welcome to the newest entry to the Seasons of Hamilsquad! This one, though, will follow the story continuous. No breaking for new months. Just a transition into the next one.

Who's going to die this month? And when?

Note time!

On New Year's Eve, John learned about his daughter Frances, that Martha, the one girl he slept with, had without him knowing. His reaction was to close himself off to other people.

I've been meaning to write about another relationship of Alex's that's gone nneglected until now-the relationship he has with his wheelchair. For that, I had to describe it. I don't know what it's like using a wheelchair, I've never even so much as sat in one. But I do know wheelchair users. Several. When you're special needs, you get lumped with other special needs people. Even as an adult. Check out my other story 'It Won't Be Long Now' if you need an example.

Anyway, because I know wheelchair users and have done for years, I've been able to see up close and personal how they work. And more importantly, ask the users themselves. Since I know lots of different wheelchair users, I've seen what different types of wheelchairs look like-from manual chairs to power chairs, to ECVs to sports chairs-chairs with handles, chairs without. Chairs with footrests, chairs with foot plates. Standard wheelchairs-which is people's usual first thought, but nobody really uses those for long periods. Maybe if they broke their leg or something, but not a paraplegic.

Because of this, I knew immediately which type Alex would use. He would use the above described; small, low back, footplate, no handles, no armrests, lightweight aluminium-oh and in green (referencing Hamilton's costume after the war and before his son's duel). He was a stylish guy. Why wouldn't he choose a stylish wheelchair?

Martha's told Sally that they're sisters. They were friends. So what will happen now?

And aaaah supportive papa Hercules! He says it in My Shot that he's the dad friend. Why not actually let him be the dad friend!