Hamilton sat up suddenly, as if he had been shocked by lighting, or doused by a cold bucket of ice.

He glanced around him in confusion and rubbed his eyes, which were covered with the remnants of sleep. When he re-opened them, he found an almost blindingly beautiful woman standing at the foot of his bed.

Hamilton blanched, then yelped loudly, scrambling backwards noisily. Somehow, Eliza did not stir, but that was not what he was worried about at the moment.

Hamilton rubbed his eyes again, blinking them closed hard and deliberately, then opened them again.

But the strange woman remained.

Hamilton felt paralyzed with fear as he stared into the eyes of this.. This ghost.

The ghost was staring straight back at him, her face expressionless. But then, quite suddenly and to the horror of Hamilton, she broke into a smile. A smile of pure.. Love?

"Alexander.." The ghost whispered. Her voice sounded like it was echoing over herself repeatedly, giving it a melancholy effect.

Hamilton couldn't move. Was this a curse? Were the dead out to get him now? On Christmas?

Then he remembered Washington's words. His voice spoke in his mind again: "Prepare yourself, Alexander. They are coming." He had said.

He could see the woman reaching her hand out towards his face, and yet, even with the knowledge of the warning, he still he couldn't move. He took in a shuddering breath, then closed his eyes tightly so he could avoid seeing what would happen.

But all he felt was a gentle, soft hand on his cheek, as the woman carrassed it gently.

Hamilton opened his eyes again. She was still there, of course, and now she was touching him. He held his hand up to her hand, the strange texture almost making him recoil. Somehow, Washington had felt.. Different.

He stared at the woman's eyes. "Who.. Who are you?" He finally choked out, afraid of the answer. A memory was at the back of his head, screaming to be heard.

He saw the woman swallow. She looked a little hurt. "It's me, Alexander." She whispered, floating through the bed to get closer to him. He leaned backwards as she came even closer to him, then she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

Suddenly, Hamilton realized who this was, and he gasped, his fear melting away immediately. Slowly, tentatively, he put his trembling arms around the ghostly form of—

"Mother.." Hamilton sobbed, pulling her closer to himself.

He felt his mother tighten her grip on him in reply, and felt as if he could float. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, like he would never let go, and he could feel himself floating up higher, until they collided with the ceiling of the room.

His mother then pulled away and held him up for her too see. Somehow, she could lift him quite easily as she observed him from all angles.

"You've grown well." She smiled in satisfaction, until her expression turned serious. "Although yet you still seem to have a problem."

Hamilton looked down at the far away floor and squirmed in his mother's grip. "What do you mean?"

She seemed to notice how uncomfortable he was in the air. She set him down, then sighed. "I have been sent to be your Christmas spirit of the past." She sighed, straightening his clothes. "It's.. Not a job I'd usually take, but it was for you."

"What do you mean?" A puzzled Hamilton repeated, following her to the window. He stared down at the cold, snowy ground with apprehension.

She sighed again, turning to him. "The spirits have seen you acting in a way that would surely lead you to your doom." She said sadly, pulling a loose strand of Hamilton's long hair behind his ear. Hamilton remembered Washington had said the same thing, and he nodded slowly.

"They knew if you continued this way, you would for sure..." Then she stopped.

"For sure what?" Hamilton asked, sounding suddenly anxious.

"I can't say. It's not my place. You will find out yourself soon enough, though." She shook her head. "But it's time you made a change, Alexander."

"A change?" Hamilton asked, unintentionally snorting in disbelief. "Why does everyone always think there's something wrong with me?"

His mother gave him a look. "Do you honestly think catching beef with every man and woman you meet, then pushing your family away, is right?"

Hamilton stopped, then frowned. "How did you know about that?"

His mother sighed through her nose patiently. "I would have thought you already knew, with Washington knowing as well, and all. We've been watching you, Alexander, and I admit I have been disappointed on a few occasions." She stared down at her hands. "You were so different when you were a child."

Hamilton grit his teeth and turned away, crossing his arms. He shivered against the cold gust of as the cold wind swirled in.

His mother perked up when it came. "It is time." She whispered, her eyes sparkling.

"Time for what?" Hamilton asked, gripping the window anxiously. He wondered for a moment if he was dreaming, but he couldn't recall a dream that felt so real.

"Come with me." She commanded gently, ignoring his question and instead taking his hand.

Hamilton stared at his alive, fleshy hand sitting in her pale, ghostly one. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." She smiled, then jumped out the window.

Hamilton yelled in shock as he saw the ground come closer with every second, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the impact.

When it didn't come, he slowly peeked through his eyelids to see that he and his mother were flying. Flying over the streets of New York. Over all the buildings and houses; the gardens and the shops. The Christmas candles all shone brightly, making the ground look like a white, starry sky. The cold wind blew behind them, urging them forward. Hamilton (who felt that all the logic in the world had all inadvertently turned against him), expected the cold to seep into his skin immediately, but his mother's touch seemed to be keeping him inexplicably warm.

Then, almost as sudden as it had began, the flight was over. They touched down on a poorly cared for lawn. They were now standing in front of a house that seemed quite familiar.

Hamilton looked around them, a little disoriented by the alarmingly sudden change of scenery. There was no longer any snow, and it seemed that they were no longer in New York, either.

Hamilton vaguely registered his mother attempting to wave him over to the house, but Hamilton had suddenly gone stock-still as he realized where he was.

This was in Nevis, in the Caribbean. This was where he was born. This was where he grew up.

This was his home.

Hamilton gasped involuntarily as he saw a small child dancing near the window. Was that James Jr? His brother?

His mother waved him over again, and Hamilton, in a daze, stumbled forward to where she was standing.

They stared into the small house through one of the windows. Everything was so familiar; That wine stained carpet, the old, sooty fireplace, the worn out couches...

Hamilton's attention then shifted to his brother, who must have been at least nine at this time. He was yelling and jumping and dancing around like a madman. His mother was trying to get him to stop and stay still.

Hamilton's mother chuckled, and even Hamilton managed a small smile.

Then suddenly, an even smaller boy dashed out of a room, being pursued by a man who was trying to catch him. They were laughing, and Hamilton's mother (From the past) clicked her tongue disapprovingly, albeit with a small smile on her face.

Hamilton blanched at seeing himself playing with.. His father; James Hamilton Sr.

Hamilton took a step backwards and, in a shuddering voice, breathed, "Father.."

He felt a sob stick itself at the back of his throat as he watched his father sweep him up into the air, pulling his shirt up to blow a loud raspberry on his stomach. Eight year old Hamilton burst out laughing and desperately tried to get away.

The grown up Hamilton gripped the windoframe and stared at the scene unfolding. He blinked back tears.

His ghostly mother put her hand on his shoulder. "My dear Alexander; my son, you were so happy before. What happened?"

Hamilton couldn't look at her. He took a deep breath and stared inside the house again, where he saw his younger counterpart pick up a fallen ornament from a small, makeshift tree. His father handed him a star, then carried him onto his shoulders. Young Hamilton placed the star on the top, and his brother and mother clapped for him.

His father put him down, and Hamilton hugged him tightly. Then he ran off to play with his brother.

"We couldn't afford presents that year." Hamilton's mother whispered beside him, slipping her hand into his again. "But it was the best Christmas we ever had."

Hamilton looked down at their hands and smiled, tightening his grip. "It was."

He looked up again, and saw his father and mother come in from the kitchen holding a small platter of chicken and some fruits, with a basket of bread and cups of cocoa.

Mother and son watched through the window as the Hamilton family sat around the fireplace and ate, laughing and teasing each other boisterously. Hamilton's father and mother kissed each other, and James Jr. made a face, while Hamilton snickered. Their parents then pulled away and tackled their children. The two brothers cried out and tried to scramble away, but their parents were too quick, and they pulled them both into a group hug.

Hamilton felt the tears that he had desperately been attempting to restrain come out. He felt his mother embrace him, and, slowly, as if in a daze, he embraced her back. He felt himself begin to cry harder, and he heard his mother say, in the midst of all the tears, "Remember."