Hey. How did you enjoy the last chapter? This one's going to be a sad one. Eliza tells the story of the day Alex found out John Lauren's died, and how he reacted.
Enjoy!

My dearest Alexander,

The day your best friend died was the first time I saw you cry.
The maid had brought up the letters from the mailbox that morning, and my eyes landed upon an unusual letter for you. It was addressed to you in a messy handwriting, something we didn't receive often, seeing as all of your letters came from Congress or Washington. You seldom received letters that were of social matters. In the top left hand corner, it said that it was from a Henry Laurens. John's father. My heart stopped, and I knew without having to look what the letter would contain. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs to your study, trying to work out what I would say to you. I walked into your office and took a deep breath.

"Alexander? There's a letter for you." I started, my voice giving away that something wasn't right in its tremble. You looked up from your writing and took a quick glance at my concerned face, and then to the letter.

"It's from John Laurens. I'll read it later." You dismissed it, returning to your ever growing pile of work. I swallowed.

"No. It's from his father." I said in a low undertone, scared that if I said it loud enough, my voice would break. I watched helplessly as your back tensed up and your whole body froze.
"His father?" You asked. My silence told you what you already knew, and you turned around to look at me properly. "Will you read it?" You asked. For few others I would have read a letter that informed us of a death. But for you, my Alexander, I would do anything. I took a deep breath and began.

"On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him."

I looked up from the letter and saw your rigid posture, with a matching hard set to your eyes.

"Alexander, are you alright?" I asked you softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You turned away from me, shrugging my hand off of your shoulder, and began to write with renewed vigour. Your pen scratching the page so mercilessly and heavily that I feared you would either rip a hole in the page, or break the pen.

"I have so much work to do." You told me in a strained but firm voice. Dismissing me. I stood in your study for a minute, unsure of what to do, before I decided to leave you, and give you a while to work out what you were feeling.

It's probably one of my greatest regrets, leaving you in that small, dark room, alone with your desperate feelings for the rest of the day. You refused to take lunch that day, and ate dinner in your study, without me. I waited up for you that night, waiting for you to leave your study and come to bed. It got to midnight and you were still in there, I could hear your pen scratching away at more paper. That was when I got fed up.

"Will you ever stop writing?" I asked in frustration, as I stormed into your study at half past midnight. You turned around, your violet-blue eyes dark and cold in the light of the dim candle-light.

"You have no right to burst into here." You said coldly, playing the 'husband is in charge' card. I frowned in sadness at you, both of us acknowledging that that was beneath you.

"I have every right to be concerned about my husband. Do you know why?" I hissed. "Because on our wedding day we committed ourselves to each other. We promised to always care for and love each other. So when you receive news that your best friend has died, and then refuse to leave your study all day, and I don't see a notion of emotion from you. That is when I become concerned."

"What do you want me to do?" You shouted, some emotion finally leaving you. You stood up, your chair scratching the floor and making a noise that hurt my ears. "Do you want me to spend my whole day blubbering and crying around the house? Hmmm? You know that's not what Laurens would want."

I stepped forward and placed a hand on your chest, attempting to calm you down.

"John Laurens would want you to show that you cared. And spending your whole day writing about Government matters is not showing that you loved him." I whispered. My tender actions must have broken your emotionless facade, because I saw your eyes soften and your shoulders hunch in despair.

"It hurts so much." You admitted eventually, your voice showing that you were close to tears.

"I know." I replied, my voice a bare whisper.

"I thought that I wasn't going to lose anyone else." You whispered, in a moment of vulnerability. "I thought that my time of losing those that I love was over. I expected to fight many more battles with him."

"Some things we cannot change." I murmured, leaning myself against your chest, and letting you wrap your arms around me. After a couple of moments your body started to shake, and I recognised that you were crying. I pulled away from you and stroked your cheek. You pushed your face into my hand. I wiped your tears off of your cheekbone and began to lead you out of the study and into our room.

Together we lay on our bed, and I let you cry until you ran out of tears. You had lain your head on my stomach, letting me stroke your hair. It was an affectionate embrace, one reliant on a mutual trust and love. Until that moment, I had not realised how close you and John were. I wish now that I'd paid more attention to your friendship so that I could've reminded you of some of your and John's good times. Unfortunately I had few to offer.

We fell asleep in that position, and woke up like that. I remember you sat up, groggy-eyed and confused. Then it hit you, and you experienced everything that ran through you last night all over again. You didn't cry, but I watched as your shoulders hunched and your hands came up to cover your face. I wrapped my arms around you in a tight embrace, attempting vainly to comfort you. Instead you got up off the bed and went into the side room, where Philip was crying in his cot. You picked him up and sat down in the rocking chair with him. You calmed each other down. I left you two together and got dressed, half an hour later you were still in there, with Philip curled up against your shoulder. You looked at peace with him there, and I wondered how you could ever have doubted that you wouldn't be able to love your child.

That was the first time I saw you cry, surprisingly, nearly three years into our relationship. But it certainly wasn't the last.

Love your Eliza Hamilton

So? What did you think? I imagine that's how he reacted in real life, a soldier masking his tears behind endless words of different matters. Anyway, remember to give me as review! Look out for the next update on Sunday!