Written By my friend, AteIsa

A/N: Ayoyoyo! I know it's not Christmas, but I really liked this idea.

I see a lot different renditions of Charles Dickens' story, "A Christmas Carol" and thought, "Hey, why not I make a Hamilton version?"

Christmas time was nearing. People in the streets were frolicking in the snow happily, excitedly embracing the magic within the air. It was a beautiful thing, to see children playing, and parents watching them with a strict, yet loving eye; or otherwise joining in on the fun. Couples who had yet to marry gave each other sickeningly lovesick looks, while the older ones attempted to give some of the unluckily caught ones advice.

But, inside a quite large house, Alexander Hamilton sat at his office, where he usually sat most of the day. He was writing again, ignoring the ticking clock that was trying to tell him it was about dinner time. He paused on the word, "Indifferent", then held his numb fingers over the candle, which soothed the numbness greatly and brought the feel in them back. He shook them with a sigh through his nose, then picked up the quill again and resumed writing.

The door to his study opened, and Hamilton, in the irritated voice he was used to using whenever someone disrupted his work, groaned, "How many times must I-?"

But in the doorway was not, like he had assumed, any of his children. It was, in fact, his housekeeper. She was a quite elderly woman, who had no husband nor children. She seemed to straighten herself boldy as she stepped inside to say, "Sir, I apologize for interrupting your work, but I have a.. A bit of a request."

Hamilton rolled his eyes at the ceiling, turning away from her. "I'm assuming you want to have a day off tomorrow and tonight so you can celebrate Christmas with your relatives. Am I correct?"

The housekeeper adjusted her dress nervously. "I—yes, sir." She nodded, sounding for all the world that she was negotiating the terms of surrender.

Hamilton sighed and turned back to his work.

The housekeeper stepped forward into the room, gathering her determination and will and setting it clear in front of him. "It's almost Christmas, sir, and I would like to celebrate it with my sister and brother, who live across the city, just at the end of it. I would like to make the travel tonight, so I can save time-"

"Ugh, very well." Hamilton snapped. He wrote another word and turned to the housekeeper, who was barely containing her glee and triumph.

"But the day after tomorrow, you have to come here immediately, and earlier than usual. My wife is planning a party, and I do not want to have to have a messy house for more than a night."

The housekeeper nodded vigorously, already tightening her grip on the bag Hamilton hadn't noticed she was holding. She really must have not been planning to take no for an answer.

Thanking him heartily, she walked out of the room, pulling the door with her, but not enough for it to actually click closed. The door swung open again, and Hamilton had to stand to properly shut it again.

Finally, he returned to his work. Barely a minute later, he was interrupted again. He opened his mouth to tell off whichever of his children decided to disturb his writing, but it was, once again, not any of his children: it was his wife, Eliza.

She was giving him a reproachful look. "It's dinner time, Alexander."

Hamilton sighed at his letter, then turned to his wife, who was crossing her arms. "I just need to finish up my work, Eliza, I'm going to be down soon."

Eliza was silent for a moment. She stared into the fire with a sadness in her eyes. "It's Christmas Eve, Alexander." She sighed. "Are you not going to stop working to celebrate it with us? With your family?"

Hamilton grumbled. "Its a waste of time." Was all he muttered, glaring at the fireplace as well now.

Eliza took in a sharp intake of breath. Hamilton turned sharply towards her in time to see her hurt expression, right before she smoothed it out to one of indifference.

She took a deep breath again, then scowled, "Everyone's going through hard times, Alexander. It's our first Christmas without Philip! And you're not making it any easier." She hissed between tightly grit teeth.

Hamilton licked his lips, realizing now that he had gone much too far, but before he could say anything, Eliza tossed her hair and turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you," Eliza called back to him, her back still turned. "I invited Burr, Jefferson, and Madison to the party as well."

Hamilton's jaw dropped. She what?

He stared at her, taken completely aback, but before he could protest, Eliza slammed the door closed with a loud slam. The wood at the edges of the doorframe splintered slightly.

Hamilton slumped, letting his head fall into his hands.

Later that night, when Hamilton went down to finally have some dinner, he found, to his shock, that everyone was gone. His plate wasn't even left on the table. He sighed to himself tiredly, then went back up to his and Eliza's bedroom, no longer feeling hungry.

Suddenly, he remembered that he had accidentally left his quill out of his ink pot. He felt that it wasn't really important to put it in right now, because he felt much too exhausted to go through the trouble, but a sudden, overwhelming urge made him, against his will, turn around and go back to his office.

Once he closed the door behind him, he found that he finally regained control of his body. He felt alarm pickle at the back of his neck, and he glanced around him warily to try to figure out the source of his sudden impulse.

Shrugging it off, he placed the quill back where it belonged, and the moment the quill hit the bottom of the pot, a voice behind him spoke.

"I thought I'd never get you back in here, son."

Hamilton froze. The prickling alarm heightened at an alarming rate, and Hamilton slowly spun on his heel. What he saw made him gasp in horror, causing him to tumble down onto his bottom in shock.

George Washington was standing right before him.

Hamilton stared with his mouth wide open as this remnant of Washington smiled at him, stepping closer.

Hamilton scrambled backwards in alarm, only stopping when he felt the top of his desk come into contact with his head violently.

A slightly see-through arm offered him a hand, and Hamilton stared at it, then up at the former president of the United States.

"M-Mr. Washington, sir." Hamilton whispered, staring at his face. "You- how-"

Washington shushed him, reaching out and pulling Hamilton to his feet.

Hamilton felt himself flushing terribly, and it seemed to make Washington chuckle. He seemed quite amused to see his former secretary's reaction to seeing a literal ghost. He ceased his chuckling enough to say, "It's alright, son, you may drop the formalities. I honestly don't see why it would be necessary, anyhow, seeing as I'm, well, dead."

Hamilton worked his mouth furiously. "B-but, how-?"

Washington looked him in the eyes, his expression contorting to seriousness. "Alexander, I think you should be asking 'Why'."

Hamilton gaped dumbly, then echoed, "Why—?"

He shook himself, gaining control of his emotions and feelings. He repeated what he just said, "Why?" Much more coherently. "Why are you here?"

Washington nodded, then sighed a sigh that sounded eerily familiar. He looked disappointed. "Alexander, you have been wasting too much time."

Hamilton stopped, then stared at him in bewildered irritation.

"How so, sir?" Hamilton asked, his lips turning downwards in a frown. "I have been working hard ever since you.. Passed. I don't see how I have been wasting time."

Washington rose an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes!" Hamilton said, flinging his arms up into the air. "All I'm trying to do is finish my work for the good of my country! Yet, others just insist on stopping for the sake of Christmas!"

Hamilton seemed furious. Washington's eyebrows furrowed into a familiar, disappointed grimace, but Hamilton continued ranting, "I could barely even come home without various different people telling me "Merry Christmas", or getting nearly hit by a dozen snowballs! Do they not see how important my work is? Besides, they should be working, too, when death could come at any minute!"

Hamilton heaved in frustration, pounding his fist onto his desk.

Hamilton glared down at his fist, until he suddenly felt something cold go straight through his shoulder. Hamilton stiffened, and he felt himself being turned around.

Washington looked at his hand, puzzled, then gave him an apologetic look, pulling his arm out of Hamilton's shoulder. "Sorry. I have no control over this." He then turned serious. "Alexander, you've been wasting the time you have with your family. Its incredible, actually, that you haven't realized it."

Hamilton stared at him as if he had been slapped across the face.

"Listen to me. You have been making poor choices concerning your family. I don't care about this country anymore; I only care for the people within it. You are the one we are focusing on."

Hamilton was silent, processing this information. Then he blinked, "We?"

Washington solemnly nodded. "The spirits. They have seen you acting in a way that would surely lead to your doom."

Washington suddenly became paler, and he stared down at himself. In a rush, he said, "I haven't much time. Prepare yourself, Alexander. They're coming."

Hamilton reached for his hand. "Sir, don't leave me!"

Washington's legs had begun to fade. He smiled at Hamilton sadly, and said, "It'll all come together soon, son, just.. I really hope you learn your lesson."

Hamilton's hand went straight through Washington's, and he stared at him. "Sir.." He hesitated, then mumbled, "I'm sorry, for everything."

Washington smiled. "I forgive you, Hamilton."

As he faded away, he said, "It was nice to see you again, son, one last time."

Then, like a gush of wind, he was gone.

Hamilton stared for a long moment at where he had just seen the man who, for some reason, considered him a son. And in return, Hamilton had yelled at him on more than one occasion. He felt guilt tear away at his heart, and he looked down at his feet sadly. He saluted to where his former General and President had stood. He felt it was high time he went to bed now, so he exited his study, glancing warily behind him, and journeyed to his sleeping quarters.

Eliza was already asleep, or perhaps just pretending to be. Quickly changing into a more comfortable set of clothes, Hamilton slid into bed beside his wife. He had an overwhelming urge to wake her up and talk to her about what just happened, but decided against it. He was too exhausted to argue.

He lay down and slid under the soft covers, wiggling his toes into the bed. The moment his head came into contact with his down pillow, he fell asleep.