Hi! A three shot this time, because i cannot commit, but it is something! Also, almost everything in italics are song lyrics, to which i take no credit, it all belongs Lin Manuel Miranda, whose genius is amazing! Anyway, here it is!

George Eaker did not wait for the count of ten. He didn't know why, but he did know that he regretted the decision the moment his traitorous fingers pulled the trigger. It seemed that time slowed down as Philip whipped around, hair flying in his eyes, which widened in poorly concealed terror as he registered the deadly metal orb flying towards him at breakneck speeds. Still, the bullet took enough time, time that Eaker took to properly realise the damage he had created. He noticed Philip's wide eyes, his youthful features. That boy had had a whole life ahead of him, he was running for Mayor of New York*, he had just graduated King's College. The boy had such a bright future. With just a simple movement of his fingers, Eaker had ended that future, and was seeing the lonely, scattered fragments of a once dream slipping through a broken mind. In that split second it took for the bullet to reach Philip's stomach, the tangible shards of a broken life hit him with the force of crushing reality. He knew the memory of his murdering a boy not yet out of his teen years would haunt him for the rest of his years; he knew he would never be able to escape the endless taunts the ghost of a once bright boy, full of hope and joy, would bring with him.

Philip Hamilton was a clever boy, but he never thought things out, never remembered that his actions had consequences. The only thought that had been going through his mind for the past week was george Eacker insulted my father. He will pay. He wasn't afraid to say that he hadn't been in his right head as he had challenged the experienced duellist to just that. Still, not even in his darkest of minds had he expected what he viewed as simply a petty squabble to escalate so much. He had never expected to face death in his teen years, in the form of a bullet flying towards his torso on a near abandoned island on the coast of New York. He still had so much to live for.

When he first heard the gunshot strike through silent air, he had thought he had been hallucinating. Nevertheless, he had turned around, to be faced with his imminent death. Time seemed to stop as the bullet flew towards him, getting slower with every metre. Strangely enough, despite the initial shock, he was calm enough to think straight. Not that he was happy about it. Thinking straight meant that he knew about the grief his parents and siblings would feel with his death, he knew about the opportunities he would miss dying so early; he knew he would never get to create his own legacy like his father before him. Still, he was a Hamilton, a calm in the face of any adversary, including death. So, than anything else, he felt an overwhelming sense of tranquility wash over him, trying to get to terms with his own death. Then the bullet hit. The last thing he remembered was unimaginable pain, and the sound of his gun shooting towards the sky. Like he promised his father.

Theodosia Prevost Burr and Philip Hamilton's lives had been intertwined from the start. Both children of the revolution, born after the Battle of Yorktown with only a matter of months separating their ages. They had grown up together, with their mothers close friends and fathers almost nonexistent in their family life. From babies who grew up together, from learning how to walk and talk to beginning tutorage. To rivals who didn't know when to stop, over competitive in everything they participated together in. To friends, who shared everything with each other, and did everything together. To lovers, to soulmates. Nobody had expected the brave, chivalrous Hamilton boy to begin courting the quiet, studious, but undeniably intelligent young Burr. He had proposed, they were set to wed the next winter, both preferring the icy blues and snowflakes that came with a new york winter. Then it had all disappeared.

She had gotten the news by letter, so she really hadn't been worried when she broke the common post office seal, gazing at the usually thick sheaf of papers, the unfamiliar handwriting which sent a pang of worry through her bones. It had been near dusk, so when she had read the letter, which she had then realised was from Mr Alexander Hamilton, she had been going to the library to read it there. The warm, oak panelled floor had barely creaked as she had entered the deserted room. For once, the shelves over shelves of books failed to calm her mind, to sooth her frayed nerves. A candle glowed over the bare desk, sending warm rays over mahogany wood.

To miss theodosia Burr…

Suddenly the bright, exciting future that had once laid ahead for them disappeared; the only thing she saw ahead was the lifeless existence she knew she would be forced to endure as a common housewife. Suddenly, her world went dark as the presence that made all the colours shine faded away, leaving her with barely a husk of the world once was. When Philip Hamilton left the world, a part of her died with him.

Still, time made all the difference. Slowly, her heart hardened, taking with it the last vestiges of the lively, carefree young girl she had once been. Slowly, her smile glazed over, her eyes never changing from the apathetic orbs they had become; looking but never seeing. Slowly, her spirit died off, leaving nothing but the smiling shell of a girl who went through the motions life demanded of her without question. Theodosia never changed.

Angelica Hamilton was, to put it simply, distraught. When the doctor had sent for Elizabeth and Alexander Hamilton, she hadn't thought much of it; one of her siblings was always getting injured here or there, never anything too serious. When they didn't come back with a banged up Alexander jr or John that night, she started to worry. The next day, she woke up to a letter on her bedside table.

My dearest, eldest child,

That was when Angelica knew something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Philip hadn't come home either, she had simply assumed he was off dallying with some girl. She wasn't the oldest. Philip was. Her parents still weren't home.

Your mother and I are terribly sorry to inform you in such an impersonal manner, but Philip was shot during a duel with a George Eaker, and he might not make it to see the next sunrise. Both Eliza and I will not be home for the next two days, I expect you to take care of the children.

Your loving parents, Alexander and Elizabeth Hamilton.

She wasn't ashamed to say it took her over ten minutes to read the short letter, her eyes blurring with tears before she had gotten to the second line. Philip had been - he had been the one thing she could always count on. He had been the brightness in her lightless day. He had been her older brother, the one who would protect her through thick and thin. He had been her best friend. He had been her everything.

When her siblings eventually found her, curious as to where their parents and older brother were, she was at the piano, staring numble into space as her fingers played on muscle memory alone.

'Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six sept, huit neuf,

Sept, huit…'

They hadn't really found her, and they never would. She was gone, staring off into space and withering away from the loss of the one person that encompassed her will to live.

When Eliza hamilton had been rushed to her sister's house, she still hadn't all the facts. All she had known was that her eldest son had been shot in a duel with George Eaker, and that he was bleeding out in her older sister's bed. That was more than enough. The carriage ride was too long, and too alone. Alexander was yet to contact her, and she could only hope that at least he was at Philip's bedside.

'Is he breathing, is he going to survive this?'

She managed to gasp out as she stumbled into the mansion, acting like a madwoman but not really caring. Angelica was there, when she needed her, and simply gave her a shoulder to lean on as she led Eliza to where Philip was resting. Teartracks marred her cheeks. Her husband was leaning over the plush pillows, his entire body spasming eratically. For once, he seemed utterly shaken, all his defences failing him.

Philip's eyes were blurred with pain, but he managed to register Eliza's entrance.

'Mum, I'm so sorry,

for forgetting,

what you taught me,'

He said, his voice surprisingly clear, even as she saw the life fading from his usually warm brown eyes.

'I taught you piano,'

Eliza smiled, clinging to the small bit of warmth the memory provided. The doctor came in, but did nothing.

'I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, you have maybe five more minutes to say goodbye,' the doctor said gravely before leaving the room once and for all. Angelica left also, after pressing one last kiss to her nephew's forehead. The Hamilton family was distraught, both Alexander and Eliza were weeping, clinging onto each other, and in their moment of weakness, unwittingly, Eliza forgave him. Family is so fragile, and it all go away so, so, quickly.

'Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,'

'Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,'

Together, the mother and child sang as the last moments of Philip's life slipped by.

'Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh,'

Alexander Hamilton was to blame. He was the one who told Philip to shoot for the sky. He was the one who said that duels were simply matters of honour. He was the one who said there was nothing to worry about. He was the one who sent his eldest son to his death without a second thought. If he hadn't been so very sensitive, so very paranoid of the slightest dent to his legacy, he could have saved a life, saved his son's life. If he hadn't been obsessed with being a man of honour, a family of honour, he could have saved his son's life.

Alexander had been working for his Report on Finances* when Philip burst through the maple door, his hair tousled and his manner frantic.

'Pops, you should have heard what he said,'

Philip had yelled in a manner most unlike him. Alexander was understandably worried, though not nearly as much as he should have been, he realised afterword.

'slow down,'

'I came to ask you for your advice, this is my very first duel, they don't exactly cover this subject in boarding school!'

At least that should have rung off the warning bells in his head, ones that usually went off with the very slightest touch. Instead, he did something that would create a memory that would haunt him to his grave.

'alright, son, what happened,'

'he disparaged your legacy in front of a crowd, I just tried to do what you would have done had you been there.'

Alexander sighed, he had to have had a son with the same hot-headed temperament as he had, didn't he?

'alright, duels are simply a matter of honour and most of the time, no one shoots. Remember, put your words to good use, tell him why he is in the wrong and you'll most likely be safe, but if it comes to blows, fire your weapon in the air. This will put an end to the whole affair.'

Philip was nineteen. He was a well-educated young man, and by the time he was nineteen, Alexander was on a ship to New York. Philip could handle the duel…couldn't he? Alexander wishes he had had the guts to tell his son no. he couldn't help but wonder, had Eliza been there, she would have been able to be the brave one (she always was, he understood that now) nothing would have happened, and he wouldn't have been in this mess.

Still, Philip had simply nodded gravely, accepting his father's gun and heading from his office with a new, purposeful spring to his step.

I'm afraid your son Philip has been fatally shot during his duel with George Eacker, he isn't expected to live to see the next day break.

The words rung around in Alexander's unusually empty mind with an almost tangible echo. His body was on auto-pilot during his long carriage ride to Angelica's place, where Philip was currently resting. His mind was empty, but it didn't seem to hinder his ability to gaze unseeingly at the scenery passing before him. The spell only broke when he saw his son, looking small, weak, wounded, but braver than he had ever seen Philip.

'the second, Price, brought him in half an hour ago, but he has lost a lot of blood as the bullet lodged between his hip and stomach and we can't remove it without destroying vital organs,' the doctor said as he recognised the Hamilton trademark flaming red hair and burning determination.

'can I see him,'

The doctor stepped sideways silently, letting the father and son talk privately. The door closed and alexander immediately felt the weight of his actions press against his slumped shoulders. Still, it was Philip who spoke first.

'I did exactly as you said pops, I held my gun up high,'

His voice was weak, but it didn't change the fact that Philip was staring death in the face with an unwavering voice. By then, tears were streaking his cheeks in torrents, blurring his vision as he st on the bedside, he hadn't felt so….so helpless since he was sitting in exactly the same spot in the meagre house he shared with his mother and brother in St Croix, watching as the life slipped from his mother's eyes. He was witnessing the same thing happening to his dear boy.

'I'm sure you did everything just right, Philip, you could never, never disappoint me. I am so, so proud of you, my son.' For once, words seemed to evade Alexander as he stared intently at one of the few people who seemed to light up his days simply by being in the same room as him.

That was when Eliza burst in, almost in hysterics as she burst in, sobbing at Philip's bedside.

'who did this, Alexander did you know?'

He didn't have the heart to respond, but he knew those words would haunt him for the rest of his days. He simply sat there, clutching his son's clammy hand as the doctor tried in vain to at least alleviate the agonising pain he knew his son was fighting through.

'un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,'

'…sept, huit, neuf,' Philip released his dying breath.

The scream Eliza let out was one that reverberated through the walls, one that the neighbours, the road heard. One that struck fear and pity into the hearts of the most hardened soldier. One that shook everyone who heard it to the core. One that scraped he throat raw and made her voice hoarse for days. One that encompassed all the pain, the fear, the anger, the regret, she had been feeling ever since that dreaded pamphlet that had ravaged the political country for months. One that Alexander Hamilton had caused in the one he held the most precious in the world.

He actually was, irl.

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