Fast updates, yo! I feel like this was cheating because I do tend to write ideas as they come to me so most of this chapter was written well in advance. It's a bit of a filler chapter, one of my "boring" ones, but I had to get them to say some of this stuff.

Also, the angst makes a reappearance really quickly here. Just FYI.

Somebody, crowd me with love,
Somebody, force me to care,
Somebody, make me come through,
I'll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive

Again, it starts with that damn cough syrup bottle.

Or rather, another that shows up in their cabinet.

And the time Alexander uncharacteristically wakes up in the middle of the night and hears it.

Life is amazing for weeks after they get back.

Well, not amazing, but like he said, he is learning to be grateful for small things.

He tries to get Angelica back to school but they speak to the rehab program, learn that she's still in treatment, and refuse. Some days it seems she's even getting worse.

After a particularly bad day, he takes her out, buys her a few slices of watermelon, her favorite.

Then he Google's and finds an aviary nearby. He takes her to look at the parakeets. She loves birds, she always has.

It works.

Well, it works for a day.

Then she has her worst breakdown so far.

He knows without anyone telling him that if they keep going like this, they will have to switch her to inpatient therapy, and he can't let that happen. Illness will not take his daughter and his wife.

At least she is being taken care of. He can't help the way his mind flips like a ping-pong ball between all the crises in his life nowadays.

The fact that his daughter having a mental breakdown is not the most pressing thing in his life is rather a sad statement, he realizes.

No, the most pressing thing in his life right now is a bottle of cough syrup. And waking up in the middle of the night to hear it.

His wife is in the bathroom.

He's not awake, not fully, until he hears it.

He hears her cough until she retches.

He hears the gasps for air, the tap running as she frantically tries to soothe her lungs enough to take in a full breath.

And then the very clear feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach.

She comes back to bed a few moments later, and he pretends to be asleep. He's not. He doesn't sleep for days after that.

He watches her the next few days, and for the first time he sees all the times she excused herself, all the stained tissues she has hidden. How she always seems to have a glass of water with her.

And that oh-so familiar feeling that has made itself scarce for so long creeps back in. That numbing edge of fear.

When she comes to bed three days after he heard her, he is already waiting, turning something over in his hands.

Eliza slips off her robe and goes to snuggle into him, but he turns away, his face set. She looks at him quizzically and he reveals the now half-empty bottle of that goddamned liquid.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" he whispers.

She tries a placating smile.

"Alexander, people do get coughs."

"Really?" and he is powerless to stop the anger that creeps into his voice. He doesn't even know who he's angry at.

Maybe Eliza, or maybe the doctors or maybe that vindictive son of a bitch who calls himself God.

"Do most people have coughs that last almost a full bottle of cough syrup after lung cancer? Do they conveniently forget to tell their husbands?"

She sighs, turns away from him. Her back is hunched, making her body as small as possible.

"You were so happy, Alexander. I couldn't take that away from you. And it may be just a cough. Really."

The childlike hope in her voice knocks the wind out of him.

"Have you thrown up? Even thrown up blood?"

Her lack of response is all the answer he needs.

His whole body feels ten times heavier, his mind racing, even the happy memories carry a black tint now.

He pulls her into his arms, surprised when she comes willingly. He lays her on top of his chest, strokes the hair that had just started to get long again.

"We'll go see the doctor tomorrow," he whispers, hating the words as they come out.

His only response is a cough.

It's back.

The doctor's face says it all.

This time, they don't cry.

That's worse. Alexander almost wishes for tears.

The doctor tells them that relapses are often harder to cure, that the cancer is no longer localized.

And again, they go into the fray of chemo. Only this time, the chemo is stronger, the doctors admit. And it will hit her hard. They give few details. They skirt around the big questions. They demur and tell Alexander and Eliza that they just don't know how her body will react.

They go home.

They don't tell the children.

Not yet.

The next day, she sends her husband to work.

Rather, she insists he go to work, knowing full well he'll be too distracted to do anything. She needs him out of the house for a little bit. She needs to talk to someone but she cannot talk to him.

She pulls out her phone when he'd been gone close to an hour and find the contact folder marked "cancer buddies".

In her last days at the oncology center, Eliza had been thankful to be done with treatment, but sad to say goodbye to someone who had become one of her closest friends.

And now she was going back.

And it's not like Eliza doesn't know what relapses and different courses of treatment mean. She'd heard the doctors, she used Google, she knew.

But it was all so clinical, so impersonal.

Tia's number is the first on the list.

She knew her friend had finished up her course of treatment last week, so she was likely at home.

Eliza's polite nature warred against the need to call her, to talk to her, to ask her for advice.

She hit the contact number before she could talk herself out of it.

"Hello?" the voice was strong and confident, even on the phone. Eliza could hear the sounds of children playing in the background.

"Tia?" she manages to force out.

"Eliza? Oh, honey it's been so long! How are you?"

"I…" Suddenly the words seem to escape her. She stammers for a moment.

"Eliza? Are you okay?

If she tells Tia, she admits it to herself. She doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Maybe it's neither. Maybe both.

"It's back." It comes on an exhale, two words but she knows Tia will know what it means.

There's silence on the phone for long moments, and then the words "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Nineteen minutes later, Eliza is greeted with a long hug, and a face filled with pity. But pity is a different expression when it comes from someone like Tia, someone who knows exactly what this means.

She is led through her own house, to the couch where her friend sits and takes both of Eliza's hands in hers.

"What do you need? Tell me what I can do."

Eliza swallows the lump in her throat. She needs this and can't hear it at the same time.

The words force themselves out.

"I need you to tell me. I know you've….I don't know….and Alex doesn't know either, and he's so scared, he won't tell me but…."

She sighs, weary from head to toe.

"This is a relapse. I need you to tell me what I'm in for with this new treatment."

Tia sighs. Eliza can see that she doesn't want to say this as much as Eliza doesn't want to hear it.

But people like them, they aren't given the luxury of deciding what they want.

"This is tough stuff, sweetie. They'll give you meds, but it won't really help. Feels the same going in but…the old chemo, it would just knock you down for a bit. This stuff will blast you to the ground and keep you there. Alex will have to help you with everything. You'll be bedridden mostly. You will be at home sometimes, but this stuff will keep you in the hospital more. Expect mouth sores. Severe nausea. Cramps."

A cold knot of fear winds itself into Eliza's stomach, furls through her intestines, clenches around her heart.

"Will it….will it work?"

"I don't know, love. They don't know either. It's just better than the alternative. But it won't feel like that during."

"I don't know how to tell the kids," she whispers. "How to tell Alex. He'll worry, he'll make himself sick with worry. Alex Jr., he's too much like his father, he'll take on too much…"

She feels the woman squeeze her hands.

"One step at a time. Do you want me to tell Alex for you?"

She nods. Yes. She's not sure she could get through telling him.

She's there when Alex gets back. He kept himself away through the morning, but he can only stare at a blank screen so long.

Eliza's face as she heard the doctors is seared into his mind.

Why?

He's finding that anger is his predominant emotion these days.

Sometimes, it's all he can feel.

He's learning it's normal, but it makes it no easier. Nor does it abate the overwhelming feeling of guilt.

He refuses to break in front of her.

But he was supposed to protect her.

And he failed.

He adds that to his pile, mountain of failures.

Tia leads him from his wife as soon as he gets home. She leads him into his study, sits him down, talks to him in a way that feels oddly familiar for someone he barely knows.

"Alex," she gives him a sad smile.

Remember how he only feels anger? Anger doesn't leave room for niceties.

"Eliza's cancer is back. It's bad."

"I heard," she murmurs, her hand finding its way to his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Tell that to her. Isn't me who has to go through this," he huffs. Anger is all he has right now.

She regards him with kind, knowing eyes.

"No, it's not you who has to go through the chemo. But it's you who has to watch. It's you who has to explain it to your children. Sometimes that's worse."

His head shakes vigorously. "It's not. It can't be. I don't deserve.I don't deserve to complain."

"That's not true."

"It is. I have no idea what she's going through. And she'll barely talk to me. Won't even look at me."

Tia hums. "She's angry. You're angry."

It's not an accusation. More of an observation, said in such a mild tone that it only stokes Alexander's anger more.

"But she's allowed to be angry."

"So are you, Alexander, no matter how much you think you're not."

He shakes his head like a six year old.

"No. Go talk her through this. I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm dealing."

She scoffs. He has to admire her direct approach.

"You're not fine. None of you are fine. And you're sure as shit not dealing."

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what I am?" he hisses.

Anger also kills polite, apparently.

"You don't know me. You have no idea how I feel."

"I have a rough idea."

"Bullshit," he spits. "Don't come in her and tell me how to react. You have no idea what's going on in my head."

"Maybe not," she admits. "But I know what your next few months are going to be like. And you need to know too."

He shakes his head again.

"She's going to get really sick, Alex. She's not going to be the Eliza you know. And you should be prepared for that. She'll be bedridden, mostly. Throw up constantly. She'll be tired. Probably have mood swings. She may be in pain."

His head shakes. "Stop it."

"You need to hear this, Alex. You need to face it. You need to face it together."

Tia stands in front of him, laying one hand on each shoulder.

"Eliza has cancer, Alexander. She's going through a relapse. It's tough stuff, definitely. But she's not the only one going through something. Going through chemo is awful, and I speak from experience, but watching the person you love go through it is awful too. And you are allowed to feel like that. You are allowed to feel anger. You're allowed to feel sadness. You're allowed to feel an entire mix of emotions. And most importantly, you're allowed to talk about what you're feeling."

She hooks a finger under his chin and lifts his face to meet hers.

"You're even allowed to cry," she whispers. He wonders how she knows exactly what his biggest fears are.

"No, I can't."

His voice is very small, like a child's.

"Why not?"

"Because," he feels the moisture gather around his eyes and frantically blinks it back.

"Because if I start crying, I don't think I'll ever stop. And I need to be strong for her."

She gazes at him kindly for a moment.

"Okay then. But you need to cry. You can't keep this inside, Alex. It'll eat you alive. So right now, right here, you need to let it out. And you're allowed to be angry and sad and confused and a hundred other emotions. But you need to let it out."

His mind is screaming at him to stop, to control himself, to get himself together and press forward, like always. But that beast of fear and dread that has always been festering in his stomach, it won't let him go.

So for once, he allows his mind to wander to the worst scenario he can imagine. He allows himself to see it.

He allows himself to picture his Eliza, his better angel, sick. Sicker than she's ever been.

He pictures her lying in bed all day, shaking with pain.

Or at the hospital, hooked up to a ventilator.

Or vomiting until she passed out.

There is even a fuzzy image of the two of them in a wheelchair, her seated on his lap, his hand slowly turning the wheel while her emaciated form lies limply against him.

All of which is better than the horrible image of her not being there at all. Which is something that he pictures.

The bed, one side empty.

Never to be filled again.

And really, that's all it takes.

His shoulders shake.

He failed.

She's sick.

He's supposed to protect her.

It's back.

It's bad.

He failed.

Tia pulls him into her arms, lets him sob it out on her shoulder. His sobs are great, heaving cries that he has no control over.

He really can't remember if he says anything but he hears his wife's name uttered, gasps of "my Eliza, not my Eliza, no" muffled against Tia's expensive dress.

Her hands run soothing circles down his back, but he cannot be soothed. He cannot be controlled.

No, he cannot control this.

I've never been this bare

I've never felt so scared

I know people may be disappointed that Alex can't fall apart in front of Eliza, but I do think that would be who he was. He had to carry the weight so he wouldn't put more on her. Luckily, Tia's not buying it.

I love Tia, tbh. I didn't technically create her, but I love her.

Also, fun fact: after Angelica's breakdown, Alexander tried everything to help her get better. He showered her with attention and everything he could think of that might help, including, yes, watermelon and birds because "she was fond of birds". Sadly, it didn't work and she only got worse.

Another fun fact! Alexander Hamilton did refer to Eliza as his better angel. Gross sobs.