I groan as consciousness creeps in, the ache in my head glorious, my body weak and damp from a cold sweat. It doesn't take long to realize that I am alone. Shit. It also tastes like something died in my mouth, and I gag a little. As I sit up, hand to my aching head, I notice the cup of water on the bedside table. Hm… maybe there is a chance that my wife still loves me.

I belch and slowly recall yesterday; I hope it was yesterday… The parlor, walking with Alexander in the garden, talking about building a family, the cobbler, Philip Schuyler, the whiskey, oh God the whiskey. My stomach lurches and groans, roiling but apparently empty. Shit…

At the sound of the bedroom door opening I turn too quickly, the world tilts a little as my wife enters, a hand on her hips. Hmmm… This might not be good.

"Time is it?" I ask, my voice raspy, so much whiskey.

I reach for the cup, aware enough to know anything more than short, slow sips will be a bad idea, and put the cup back on the table.

"Early afternoon," she says evenly.

I nod and wince, too fast, I have to be careful, slow movements.

"So, um, yesterday? Um… did we eat? What did we eat?" I ask, trying to work out what has contributed to the lingering taste in my mouth.

"Yes, we stayed for dinner, roasted chicken and potatoes."

"Oh that sounds nice," I reply.

She snorts and rolls her eyes. "It was, and then you went shot for shot in a drinking contest with my father. Alexander had enough sense to determine a limit and stopped long before the two of you."

I wince. "Who won?"

"I can't with you right now," she says shaking her head. "It ended with my father losing his dinner first, and then Alexander helped me get you into the carriage and then helped me get you inside before returning to Eliza. Not long after being home you lost your dinner, several times I might add. I've had to empty and clean the chamber pot four times over the course of the night."

"So, he lost it first?" I ask, just to clarify.

"Yes," she snaps. "Why does that even matter?"

I chuckle, the ache surges in my head, but I give her the biggest grin as I say, "Well, I won."

She rolls her dark eyes so hard it makes me dizzier than I already am. "When you can manage to get dressed you can find me at the tavern, I promised to bring Hercules some bread and stew for lunch today, thinking that you would be joining me to visit your friend, he mentioned a special room in the back of the shop."

By the time I catch up to her we are approaching the tavern. "Need I even warn you against drinking while we wait for the stew?"

I carefully shake my head. We wait for the stew, a barmaid ladles it into a large jar that Angelica adds to her basket. I then obediently follow my wife to the back of the tailor shop. She gives a special knock and Hercules sneaks us into the hidden room in the back of the shop.

Once settled in the back, Angelica retrieves the bowls and bread from her basket, and then pours the stew. I decline the stew, decide that bread would be the safest thing to attempt to eat. Hercules brings us water in three beat up tankards.

I can feel his fatherly gaze on me and sigh, waiting.

"So, long night?" he asks, and I just cross my arms on the table and rest my head on them.

"Oh, this damn fool decided to go shot for shot with my father in a drinking game last night. Even Hamilton had the sense to bow out!"

Mulligan chuckles, and nudges me, eliciting a groan from me. "Well, who won?"

"I did," I grumble.

"Well done, Laurens, trained you well to handle your drink."

"You cannot be serious right now," Angelica says and I can practically hear her eyes rolling.

"It's a point of pride, my dear, compassionate Angelica," I moan.

"Oh, don't you dear, compassionate Angelica me. You made a damn fool out of yourself and my father has probably died from alcohol poisoning."

"Not that lucky," I grumble, and I wince at the smack to my shoulder, she does not hold back in the least.

Mulligan gets a good laugh at my expense.

I regain my senses, the pain lessens, and I enjoy the company of my wife and my friend. The subject of Burr is brought up and Mulligan tells Angelica what I've already heard from Alex.

She snorts with a laugh and says, "Well, leave it to Aaron Burr to outdo our little scandal."

She sends me a smirk and grasps my hand. I perk up at this, a hopeful smile on my face. "So, am I forgiven?"

"Getting there my dearest consternation," she replies sweetly.

"Sounds like you owe her forgiveness, might need to get on your knees and beg," Mulligan says, a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows earns him a swat to his shoulder from my wife, and I smirk as he jumps and rubs his shoulder.

"Hey, I was doing you a favor," he says, looking at her dejectedly.

"Excuse me," she says, her eyes narrowed down, and he looks at me for help.

I shake my head. "Nope, I want harmony in my home tonight, and I'm toeing a fine line seeing as how I bested her daddy by out drinking him. She doesn't hold back, and I'm working on getting on her good side."

"Might be a good idea, with an arm like that, her good side sounds like the best side you can be on," he says sullenly, still rubbing his arm.

We depart and head home, her arm in mine, and I take the basket from her. She leans her head against my shoulder and I can't help myself as I say, "I like sharing friends with you."

"I like being treated as an equal among them. They talk to me, not over me, and listen to me," she says.

"You wouldn't have it any other way, they recognize that, and they respect you for far more than just being my wife," I reply.

She seems far off in thought and so I ask, "What are you thinking about?"

Her mouth pulls into a smirk, and I begin to worry as she responds, "Maybe Hercules had a point about your begging for my forgiveness."

"Oh?" I reply, the fire coiling in my belly and I will admit my pace speeds up and I am impressed that she keeps up. I aim to please, and if a little begging is the trick, who am I to deny her such satisfaction?

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