And still, I am grateful

by spotsofviolet

Laurens lives through the war, but since Hamilton has built a family and a respectable life he doesn't want to interfere with, he stays away from New York for years. But when unexpected circumstances bring him there, he finds himself knocking on Hamilton's door - only to meet Eliza Hamilton. [AU, Hamilton/Laurens, eventual Hamilton/Laurens/Eliza]

9. Chapter 9

Her father's house is not the one Eliza grew up in, but she considers it home nonetheless. One of the reasons for that is that it is decorated with many pieces of furniture she remembers from earliest childhood - all of them made from the kind of sturdy, dignified oak wood that promises to survive its owner several lifetimes. The familiar smell of food and candle wax in the air that greets them upon stepping into the large entrance hall immediately serves to calm her.

She needs it because her nerves still are frayed from the coach ride here, spent in uncomfortable silence between John and her in almost its entirety.

When seeing his face after telling him about her pregnancy, her first instinct had been that she had terribly overstepped the invisible line between them. Inexplicable dread had crept up inside of her immediately in response to this, only to be replaced by utter confusion when he had reached out to take her hand, speaking to her in the most heartfelt voice she has ever heard him use.

She doesn't feel thankful for it - only confused. His behavior has felt like the last straw for her to arrive at the conclusion that she'll truly never manage to make sense of him - and that all that's left for her to do from now on is to try to make peace with this fact. Therefore, she's embarrassingly relieved when Peggy, who has agreed to take on the duty of welcoming guests for the evening, steps out of the door of the noisy parlor to their right and approaches them with a smile on her face.

Dressed in a gown in as bright a fuchsia as is possible to transfer to fabric, her sister has completely foregone wearing jewelry tonight and has instead opted for weaving flowers - white lilies, no less - into her hair. Add to that the sparkle that the prospect of festivities always seems to light in her eyes, and it doesn't take much more for her to look like a cheeky summer nymph from that one of Mr. Shakespeare's plays.

"Mister Laurens, such a pleasure to see you again," she says with a smile when she stands in front of them and, despite Eliza's nervousness at the remembrance of their first meeting, simply receives John's kiss to her hand with perfect grace before she turns towards her sister.

"Thank god you're finally here, Liza," she says, quickly leaning forward to give her a peck on the cheek. "Mother has been asking for you this past hour – something's gone wrong with the dinner. She ordered me to send you to the kitchens at once when you arrive."

Eliza doesn't bother to inquire for specifics - this would by far not be the first time their mother has worked herself into a fit over the logistics of a reception - but she cannot help throwing a helpless glance towards Laurens. As much as she would be relieved to be able to give both of them a moment apart to steady themselves, it's not like she can just leave a guest completely unfamiliar with her circle by himself on their doorstep.

"Has Alexander already arrived?" she asks Peggy with a faint glimmer of hope.

Her sister shakes her head in the most exasperated fashion, conveying a sufficiently vibrant impression of the state of their mother.

"Just go to her," she urges. "I'll introduce Mr. Laurens in the meantime and not stray an inch from his side until you're back, I swear." She underlines her words with a pleading glance in Laurens' direction.

"That would be alright with you, wouldn't it?"

"Of course it would," he responds, and Eliza isn't completely sure, but she could swear that she can make out a hint of amusement buried under his polite tone. "I can recall surviving more dire situations."

"Alright, then." She breathes a sigh and throws another apologetic glance at him. "I'll be back with you as soon as I can."

When she hurries towards the staircase, she sees out of the corner of her eye how John offers Peggy his arm with a smile that almost makes her stop in her tracks. At this point, it feels quite impossible for her to believe that he should even be able to smile like that - charming and open and conveying an honest delight at the prospect of spending time with someone. But he doubtlessly is, and this leaves her not only with more confusion but also with a nagging feeling of resentment. What has she ever done to him that would justify looking so pleased to escape her company?

The thought stays with her all the way to the kitchens. Of course, when she finds her mother there, she cannot remember having sent for her - everything is completely fine with the dinner, why would Peggy say otherwise? Subsequently, Eliza has to force herself to wait for twenty whole minutes before going downstairs again - any earlier and she might run the risk to expose her sister's stunt. And while that would probably be what Peggy deserves, Eliza has had a long time to come to terms with the fact that sometimes, the most impossible woman in the world just happens to be live in the same body as your beloved sister.

God, this shameless girl.

"I have the pleasure of introducing Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens," Peggy says with an affectionate smile to the old man standing in front of them. "Mr. Laurens, this is my father, General Philip Schuyler."

Parties are always a flurry of new faces, but Laurens will have no difficulty remembering this particular one. So, this is the man who has welcomed Alexander into his family with open arms, in spite of a dubious past and the lack of a proper family name. This one action says more about the man's character than a hundred others possibly could, and there's no way for Laurens to not feel deep-seated respect in response to it. He doubts his own father would have been similarly open-minded.

Philip Schuyler is a tall, impressive man with grey hair who carries himself every inch like a former military officer. His demeanor in shaking Laurens' hand is stern and benevolent at the same time, reminding Laurens immediately of General Nathaniel Greene, another man he has always liked for his straight-forwardness and honesty. It's clearly not the demeanor of a man ready to step to the sidelines yet to leave the future of the country to the next generation.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Laurens," he says, and while it's apparent that he's not too much of a smiler, the warm tone of his voice more than makes up for it. "I met your father quite a few times during the war. We did not agree on many issues, but he was an upstanding, principled man whose death has left our country poorer. If only half of what my son-in-law has told me about you is true, he can pride himself on a formidable son to carry on his legacy."

It's nice to meet at least one man who will not waste his time with meaningless condolences.

"The pleasure is very thoroughly on my side, General," Laurens therefore responds, and doesn't have to exaggerate one bit for it. "And I can only hope to merit such a flattering description of my character by a man of your reputation."

General Schuyler passes over the compliment with easy grace.

"Your family hails from South Carolina, if I remember correctly," he remarks. "Have you ever spent time in New York before?"

"Never more than two days. And unfortunately, it won't be much longer this time as well, as I will be departing for England the day after tomorrow."

The old man acknowledges this information with a simple nod.

"In case you want to return for a longer time at some point, I hope you'll feel at liberty to move among my family's circle," he then says in a measured voice.

There's no way to interpret this unconditional invitation to make use of his connections to a man he doesn't know as anything but a testament to the trust and affection General Schuyler feels for his son-in-law. Laurens would have to be dead inside not to feel a surge of affection for the old man in return.

"I hope any member of your family whose ways lead them to Charles Towne will feel free to do the same," he responds with genuine warmth and sees the slightest smile appear in the corners of General Schuyler's mouth in return.

"I see that my daughter has already taken it on herself to introduce you?" he inquires.

"We have almost finished our round." Peggy joins the conversation as if just having waited for her cue. "Only Mother's missing, but since she'll most certainly ask Mr. Laurens what he thinks of her gardens, I'm afraid we'll have to take a detour there first."

General Schuyler nods before his eyes quickly skitter over their shoulder where another newly arrived couple has just taken position, waiting to be able to greet their host.

"We'll certainly have the opportunity for a more thorough conversation later in the evening," he politely releases Peggy and Laurens from the conversation. "Until then, I hope you have a pleasant evening at my house."

He extends his hand again for Laurens to shake it before they step to the side and walk away.

Resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder, Laurens wonders whether it is even possible for him to imagine what it must mean for Alexander to have gained such a father-in-law. In the world they live in, a family is the root to the earth required for a man to grow into the sky; hardly anyone manages to become all he is able to be without it. What Alexander has gained is so much more than fancy dinners and candlelight; it's something Laurens himself could have never given him.

"Your father is a gracious man," he tells Peggy out of an impulse, and she chuckles in response.

"You should see how he reacts to daughters eloping before you make such a judgment. I swear, he wouldn't speak to Angelica for three months after she married John Church without his permission. He's gracious to you because Alex is the one son-in-law he can stand."

He has to smile at this, partly due to seeing his suspicions so thoroughly confirmed and partly because in spite of Peggy's words, her tone clearly betrays that she loves her father dearly.

"So," she continues with a good amount of cheek in her voice, "Were your words to my father meant to imply that I would be invited to seek shelter with you if I ever felt the desire to visit South Carolina?"

"You wouldn't have needed an invitation for that, and you know it," he responds, unable to conceal his amusement at her audacity, and Peggy laughs.

She has stayed true to her promise and has not left his side the whole time, introducing him to people until his head has been spinning with names and faces. All of it, she has done with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes, radiating charm like it doesn't take effort. The whole time he's been supremely thankful for her dedication, and not only because he likes looking at her undoubtedly pretty face. Her presence gives him a respite he has desperately needed after a carriage ride with Eliza spent in tense, nervous silence, leaving him completely alone with the guilty conscience burning on his mind. If, for the first time in days, he is able to feel anything like himself, then Peggy's the sole reason for that.

"So, the gardens?" he proposes, and she winks at him before taking the arm he offers her.

After taking another glass of wine from one of the servant's trays, she leads him through the terrace door and stops at the garden table a good distance away from the glass doors. There, they stand quietly on the lawn for a few moments, looking into the darkness next to each other. The air is filled with the scents of grass and flowers, and the only thing he can think for a while is that it is so, so calming to finally experience a silence that is not laden to the brim with tension.

"It's a beautiful garden," he says when he feels like it again. "Didn't you want to show me around?"

Peggy responds by looking at him with a clement smile.

"It's dark, in case you haven't noticed," she simply says. "I just thought you needed a breather after all these new faces. Besides, I have hardly ever met a man who could even tell one flower from another, and you don't strike me as the exception to that."

Again, he cannot help but smile.

"And there I was about to say that white lilies suit you extraordinarily well."

Peggy playfully raises an eyebrow in response to this and a siamese smile appears on her face while she raises her glass of wine to her lips to take another sip. She's a tease if he's ever met one, there's no doubt about it - but since they both are equally aware of that fact, just for tonight he feels no qualms about taking what she's offering. If she wants to flirt, he'll more than happily provide that in exchange for levity and an easy smile.

Because when has that ever not worked out for him?

"So, how is it seeing Alexander again after all these years?" Peggy inquires lightly after putting her glass down again.

It's astounding how much less nervous the question makes him when it is put forward like this, casual and without the weight of the world behind it.

"Delightful."

"Delightful," she repeats, affectionately mocking his tone of voice, and turns her head to look at him. "Have you always had the habit to be polite to a point where you say absolutely nothing?"

Without the presence of her sister to shut him up, he's much too old to be rattled as easily as she obviously thinks he is.

"I'll answer that right after you've told me whether you've always had the habit to be much more blunt than the rest of your sex."

"Nah, don't deflect," Peggy immediately pushes back with aplomb, and he can tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she's only starting to fully enjoy herself. "Every respectable family needs a member that's just a little less averse to scandal than the others. It's what keeps its name from only being uttered with respectful ennui."

She leans slightly towards him, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial register.

"Considering what I heard about you, I'd have guessed we might share this position."

Laurens really has to keep himself from laughing now.

"What did Alexander tell you about me to come to this conclusion?" he responds, discarding every effort to not let his amusement show. "For starters, you should stop believing him when he tells you that I have ever dragged him off a battlefield."

There's no misunderstanding the challenge in her eyes in response to that.

"I'll tell you everything he ever said about you as long as you answer me one question first", she says in a dramatically hushed voice.

"That sounds like a bargain I can hardly refuse."

He regrets the spontaneity of his answer immediately when he sees Peggy's face growing more serious.

"Do you like my sister?" he hears her asking. "She told me yesterday that she doubts it."

There it is again, the problem that has chased him for days now, and brought up so unexpectedly that he hasn't even been able to build up his defenses. If women know anything about warfare than it is how to disarm their opponent.

"I'm sorry if I gave cause for that," he responds in the most measured voice he's capable of. "Because the answer to your question is that I rather like your sister."

Peggy looks back at him with a doubtful expression.

"In that case, you're hiding thoughts very closely," she bluntly voices her opinion. "To a point where you give off the opposite impression."

It's evident that Eliza has not detailed her sister all of their strained exchanges through the last days. As a result, Peggy doesn't seem to have a thorough grasp of what exactly is at odds between them - not that he truly has. But he's absolutely not in the mood for this conversation, so he turns away from her to take his glass off the table and hopes she will catch the silent message.

She does.

"Did I overstep?" she says with a sheepish look on her face when turns back towards her, the cat clawing her paws at him having disappeared for the moment.

"No, not really", he responds, uninterested in irreparably dampening the mood between them. "I didn't expect the question, that is all."

"You didn't expect a question about your impression of your friend's wife? From her sister?" Peggy immediately asks back with subtle tease in her voice. "Has anyone ever told you that you're really strange?"

Not until he has come here, no. Since then, the number has gone up alarmingly.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're strange?" he responds and takes care to keep his voice light and easy-going. He's absolutely ready to direct that conversation back into more shallow waters.

Thankfully, Peggy seems to agree.

"Mr. Laurens!" she gasps and puts a hand on her heart in a valiant attempt to look scandalized. "Calling a lady strange! My shock knows no bounds."

"I'm sure of that. Please accept my sincerest apology at having offended your most delicate sensibilities, Miss Schuyler."

He has meant the sentence as good-natured teasing, but instead, it causes Peggy's ever-present smile to suddenly falter. For a few moments, she just looks at him with a somewhat embarrassed expression that he's unable to make sense of.

"Mrs. van Rensselaer," she then corrects him hesitantly. "That's the right address - at least if you do not want to call me Peggy. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

Her eyes follow him taking a step backwards the moment he understands the meaning of her words.

"You're married?" he asks just to be sure, and she nods.

He looks at her somewhat speechless in response, and all he can think of is how awfully lucky she is not to be living in the South. An eligible man talking to a single woman - there's some leeway in that, little as it is. After all, there must be some way for a girl to acquire a husband. And while even under these circumstances Peggy's flirtatiousness would be considered very forward where he's from - for a married woman it would mean certain social ruin. Not necessarily just because of the men, but also because of the other women, who would rip her to parts for it. He knows the North is less strict in these matters, but he really doubts it's that different.

From the way Peggy looks at him, all of these thoughts are easily readable on his face.

"What?" she immediately says in a defensive voice. "You're married, as is Alexander, but no one will ever consider your reputation sullied because of a conversation. Why should mine be, then?"

That's not how it works, he thinks. You do not get to be angry at me for this. I'm not responsible for making the rules, but you are responsible for making me break them without my knowledge. I'm a stranger at this place, and you just let me act in a way that would be viewed as utterly inappropriate by your family.

Just as he's about to excuse himself in a chilly voice, Peggy's facial expression changes. It's obviously taken her until this moment to understand that he will not consider what she's done a negligible bending of the rules, and a hint of sadness creeps into her features as she realizes it.

"I know what you're thinking," she says after a few moments of heavy silence. "Enough people have said it to my face before. But I'm not a loose woman, I really am not. I love my husband dearly and with all my heart."

Then why would you act like this? Laurens thinks and only barely manages to keep himself from saying it. Aren't you aware of the fact that you're embarrassing him to everyone?

"I only do it when I feel like it wouldn't harm anyone," she quietly responds as if having read his thoughts. "Among my family, and our closest friends. When no one else is listening or watching - like now."

She nods in the direction of the closed terrace door. She's right, no one will have heard them, and even though they do not stand completely out of view of the people inside, it's doubtful if anyone would have cared to watch them in the dark.

"My family would never blame you anyway," she closes weakly. "I'm the black sheep, and they will never doubt that I'm the one at fault."

When Laurens looks back at her, it is with something like curiosity. He cannot deny that he has categorized her as flighty and shallow from the moment he has met her, a vain girl with the kind superficial charm that will keep you entertained for a few hours and then quickly start to bore you. Reassessing her now feels much more intriguing than just flirting with her.

"Why do you do it, then?" he asks. "Wouldn't it be easier not to?"

In response, Peggy looks at him with a surprising amount of defiance in her eyes.

"It's a freedom I do not want to give up," she says forcefully. "Men do it all the time - succumbing to the urge to play at what they're not. If I also sometimes want to pretend to be one thing while in truth, I'm thoroughly the other, I cannot help to wonder what should be so terrible about that."

He raises an eyebrow in a silent question and the intensity leaves her face again.

"As long as I do really not hurt anyone, of course. Believe me, I'm sincerely sorry for not making sure you knew. It's just - you're Alexander's friend, so..."

"... you thought I wouldn't care?" he finishes, and her face takes on an expression of surprise at the unexpected hint of amusement in his voice. Of course, this is Alexander's fault – what else could it be?

"Monsieur Lafayette never did as well," Peggy responds, biting on her lip.

"Has it escaped 0your notice that Gilbert is French?"

He really shouldn't tease her in such a moment - it's so wildly contrary to the lines he has just drawn in the sand between that it must be confusing her. But he simply cannot help to do it, not with such a perfect take-off point.

"You've been to France, haven't you?" Peggy very hesitantly responds, and it's evident how unsure she is about being allowed to take on this tone with him again. He doesn't like her face with this expression of bashfulness; she has looked so much more happy and radiant before he has insisted on convention.

"Yes, and I've hated every minute of it. Let me tell you, Versailles smells beyond belief."

Peggy's face doesn't change, still looking at him cautiously.

"So," she says, evidently searching very hard for the right words. "Are we ... good, then?"

Even before this moment, Laurens has been self-aware enough to understand how hypocritical it would be for him to insist on punishing her for a desire he himself feels every day of his life. But seeing her like this, vulnerable and unsure for his sake, genuine affection for her suddenly washes over him. As misguided as she might be, there's an undeniable resilience and will in her character, and he's never been able to not be impressed by courage.

"Yes, we are good," he says and then bows and reaches for her hand, drawing it to his lips.

When he looks up again and sees her watching him with barely concealed relief, he feels downright smitten with this strange girl - only for a moment, but long enough.

"I would have loved to make your acquaintance ten years ago," he says, and means these words. They will be misunderstood, of course, but he's pretty sure that Peggy is one of the few women in the world with whom this will not matter. Right now, he's just glad to see her visibly relax in response to them, as if she hadn't been quite sure about truly being forgiven until this moment.

"But you would have already been married then, wouldn't you?" she inquires, a shy smile gradually lighting up her face again. "And I do not think I would have played the part of the Southern Lady too well."

"To be honest, you would have played it terribly," Laurens responds with conviction. "If I cared anything for my neighbor's opinions, I probably would have had to cast you out thrice before you had turned 25."

A loud laugh escapes her, and the sound of it gladdens him.

"From your nonchalance towards your neighbor's attitudes I can tell you've grown up rich enough to not have to care too much about them yourself," Peggy then observes with mocking seriousness. "If we had lived next to each other back then, we could have been black sheep together, and commit all kinds of mischief."

It's just too hard to resist.

"I do not doubt it," he responds, his suggestive tone of voice a completely conscious decision. He's allowed her to play her game with him for all of an hour now but at some point, it just becomes too alluring to administer a little payback.

"Don't look at me like that," Peggy immediately chides him with a quizzical raise of her eyebrow. "I meant the likes of climbing trees we were not allowed to climb."

"As did I," he doubles down with badly feigned innocence, almost tempted to bite his lips to hide his grin. "What else would I have implied?"

"Nothing, of course," she shoots back, and there it is again, that cheeky smile on her face that grows brighter by the moment. "I'm sure Southern boys love climbing trees they are not allowed to climb."

"They tend to be more tempting, that's for sure."

In response to this piece of impudence, Peggy immediately tries to administer a playful slap against his arm, but Laurens has no trouble to prevent it by catching her hand before it can make contact. Peggy looks very surprised by this, and Laurens cannot help to respond by giving her a smile which immediately transforms her expression into one of her own. For a moment, they simply stay like this, watching each other in shared amusement and maybe a little surprise at the sparks flying between them.

"Will you please release my hand?" she finally says after a few moments. "People might honestly start to talk otherwise."

Laurens heeds her command, and she immediately takes her glass of wine from the table to take a sip.

"I seem to recognize this brand of forthright innuendo," are her first words after she has put it down again and turns to look at him, her expression more frank than any woman should have a right to be. "Tell me, have you picked it up from my dear brother-in-law, or was it the other way round?"

It's sometimes so easy to underestimate women and the fact that they spend their whole lives beholden to the good graces of men. They can occasionally be perceptive in ways that are frightful, and god save all of them if they ever decided to turn it into a proper weapon.

For Peggy, though, nothing seems to be farther from her mind. Seeing his face, she simply breaks into wholehearted laughter.

"I cannot believe I finally managed to make you blush", she manages to say through her giggles. "I guess that's my answer right there."

Spending a woman's life in the company of men hell-bent on altering the course of history comes with a lot of challenges. Firstly, you have to come to terms with standing two steps behind someone else for the entirety of your life - never quite out of his field of vision but also never fully in it. Then there's the fact that whatever thoughts the world will hear from you will inevitably be filtered through someone else's voice.

What you learn, though, is not only to watch closely but also to see things that the men surrounding you might never notice. They so rarely bother to stop and consider their own actions that they often seem strangely incapable to understand what others might see when looking at them - and through that, in some way you get to know them better than they are able to know themselves. Eliza, for example, is pretty sure that Alexander would deny being a very different man inside and outside his home - that doesn't keep it from being true.

She has not expected anything else than the same when it comes to John Laurens. What she has not expected, though, is the sheer starkness of the contrast.

Once she has come up from the kitchens again, intent on finding her sister and snatching Mr. Laurens away from her before she says something truly inexcusable, she peruses the room two times before realizing that both are nowhere to be found. She does a third round to be completely sure, but it's made exceedingly difficult by the fact that the room has filled with about thirty people by now, all sitting on couches or standing together in groups while drinking and talking loudly in the light of the chandeliers. More than once, a greeting and an invitation to join a conversation are extended in her direction and she has to decline or delay all of them with the most apologetic smile she's capable of.

When she finally realizes where her sister and Mr. Laurens have taken shelter, it's by accident.

Out of instinct, she wants to take two empty glasses that have been abandoned on the chaise longue next to the terrace door to safety - she can already foresee them shattering on the ground later in the evening otherwise. But before she can lean forward, she sees through her own reflection in the window that Peggy and Mr. Laurens are standing outside next to the garden suite, half-enveloped in darkness but still visible from her spot in front of the glass door. She stops to watch them talk for a moment, ready to step outside and interrupt should she notice any signs of discomfort from their guest.

There are none, but the longer she watches the more she wishes that there were.

It's more or less impossible to misinterpret the body language and facial expressions between her sister and Mr. Laurens. They are so unambiguous that Eliza cannot help but to wonder briefly if, were the circumstances different, her sister might look at the prospect of a very advantageous marriage. There's chemistry between them, she can tell even without listening in - the way Mr. Laurens laughs before saying something to her sister; the way she pouts in response and then smiles at him a moment later. Watching them feels like watching a theater play, only that it is not intended to play for an audience.

She also learns a lot about John Laurens during these few minutes - firstly that, whatever impression he might have given her over the last days, he has absolutely no problems holding a conversation. There's a more important second observation, though, and it starts to weigh heavier and heavier on her mind the longer she watches.

He looks as if he has shed a weight stepping outside her house. And this is not just rooted in the desire to put on a face for the outside world; looking at him now, she sees an entirely different man than before. A man who possesses a smile that actually lights up his eyes, gestures just as expressive as her husband's, and a lightness of being that makes him a very pleasant sight to behold.

Who would have thought that from what he has shown her so far?

What she sees also tells her that she's been gravely mistaken about the assumption that he's oblivious to the fact that many women would consider him handsome: He absolutely knows. There's a certain self-assuredness in demeanor that a man who's truly self-conscious about his attractiveness will never reach, and from what she can now see, John Laurens seems to possess plenty of it. She hasn't understood it until now that she sees him flirt unashamedly with her sister, that some part of her has assumed that the inhibition she has felt in him towards her might be about women in general. Seeing him like this - it is clearly not.

It is about her.

She's still watching them, same parts disbelieving and confused, when she suddenly feels an arm wrapping tenderly around her waist from behind.

"Good evening," Alexander says into her ear, and she turns her head to look into his face.

The first thing she notices is that his hair is freshly done, but his face still looks exhausted. Even the candlelight cannot hide the shadows under his eyes and the restless air surrounding him like a cloud.

"Where were you all day?" she asks while he releases her to let her fully turn around, silently wondering Have you slept at all last night?

"Sat with Jay and Pendleton until noon," he responds, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I went to the office afterward to pick up my correspondence and found a note by Pendleton that the Lauderton trial has been rescheduled from next week to this Thursday, so I had to sit down to prepare. I came as soon as I was finished."

"Couldn't you have done that tomorrow?" she says. "You told me you'd be back in the afternoon."

He responds by looking at her with that subtly indulgent smile he knows full well will make her mad. She hates when he forces her to do this - to play the nagging wife who insists on her husband keeping his domestic promises, oblivious to how much more important things there are in the world.

"You have a guest." She stands her ground. She has yielded time and time again on this issue when they had still been newlyweds and she hadn't yet realized that Alexander foregoing his social duties would go on to be a regular occurrence in their marriage. After eight years, she takes for herself every right to be miffed when he once again doesn't distinguish between things that can wait and things that can't.

"Alright, alright," he responds, with an inflection that's tired enough to keep her from going madder at him. He stretches his neck to look around the room. "Where's John, anyway?"

"In the garden, with Peggy," she responds with a sigh, pointing towards the terrace door. His eyes follow her lead and he furrows his brows with something she can only describe as bafflement.

Her sister and Mr. Laurens are still talking, and just now, Peggy starts laughing about something he has said, throwing her head back in a positively unseemly way, before trying to slap his shoulder with her hand - a gesture he answers by catching it with a smile.

"Can you save him from my sister, please?" is the only thing Eliza manages to say in a wave of helplessness at the sight.

"Doesn't look as if he needs saving," Alexander responds, a weak smile on his face.

"Then save her," she urges, trying to keep her tone as unassuming as possible. "She's two steps from ruining her reputation."

"As always," he placates her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She never gets any closer to it, you know that."

"Please," Eliza insists with growing desperation. "All of father's friends are here. I'm sure John doesn't even know she's married." She shortly details him the story of Peggy's stunt upon their arrival.

"Jesus, Betsy," Alexander answers forcefully when she's finished, a patchwork of exhaustion and nervous energy radiating off of him. "I worked the whole day and can really imagine numerous more joyful activities for my spare time than to lecture another man on how to conduct himself around women. You know Steven doesn't mind."

"As well as you know that he just pretends not to!" she immediately pushes back. "He loves her, that's the only reason for it! Would you honestly not mind if I behaved this way?"

He looks at her as if this is honestly the first time he has ever posed this question to himself. But then, it probably is - if only for the fact that embarrassing him like this is something that'd never even occur to her.

After a moment, Alexander sighs in defeat.

"Good, I'll go."

He takes a step towards the terrace door but stops when she catches his hand and looks back at her, a question on his face.

"Is everything alright with you?" she asks. "You seem terribly tense."

"Do I?" he replies dismissively. "I didn't notice."

Then he withdraws his hand and leaves her behind, probably as usual blissfully unaware of the fact that she knows him well enough to tell when he's evading her.

She watches him walk away, and a wave of helplessness slowly washes over her at the sight. Without even being able to tell why, she suddenly feels close to drowning.

Laurens only notices Alexander walking towards them when Peggy turns her head to look in the direction of the terrace door.

"There's someone I assume wants to chide me," she says to him under her breath and then turns towards Alexander, extending both hands in his direction and beaming from one ear to the next when Alexander takes them as soon as he's close enough.

"My dearest sister-in-law," he says with a smile, leaning forward to give Peggy a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't lie," she playfully chides him as soon as he has done that. "We all know who your dearest sister-in-law really is, and that I've only temporarily been promoted for as long as she lives on a different continent."

"My most exciting sister-in-law," Alexander immediately corrects himself, without missing a beat. "I'm tremendously sorry to have to break up your conversation, but I'm sure Eliza would be very happy if you could assist your mother with the servants for a moment. Rumor has it that something's gone terribly wrong with the dinner."

"That sounds dreadful," Peggy replies, admirably straight-forward and not even batting an eye at the very clear subtext of Alexander's words. "Of course I'll see how I can help, then."

She turns towards Laurens with the same cheeky smile she's gifted him with all evening.

"Mr. Laurens, may I overstep propriety in quite a shocking manner one last time and ask you to ask me for a dance later in the evening?"

"As long as you do it so charmingly," he responds, not trying very hard to hide his enchantment with her anymore. He has grown so accustomed to her smile that he's sure he'll miss it when she's gone. "Mrs. van Rensselaer, would you care for a dance later in the evening?"

"I'm usually not much for dancing, but I'll make an exception for you," she replies, graciously as a queen. "Now please excuse me, gentlemen."

They watch her float away towards the terrace door and step inside, leaving behind her such a scent of flowers and levity that Laurens has to smile inwardly. What an impossible, audacious, fun girl.

When he turns towards Alexander after that, he is surprised by the tense expression on his face. And while a certain honest excitement has made it possible to ignore the rings under his eyes when discussing the constitution in the morning, there's nothing left of it a good fourteen hours later. Even with the forgiving darkness surrounding them, Alexander looks frighteningly tired out. Laurens is on the verge to inquire about his day, but gets cuts off before he has a chance to do it.

"Look, it's fine if you like her," Alexander says in an incredibly strained voice. "But would you please not toy with her like that? She has an open heart - easily won by attention and easily broken by neglect."

Laurens honestly doesn't know what to make of that. If Alexander knows Peggy at all, there's no way for him to be oblivious about which of them has set the tone of their conversation.

"I'm sure you are aware that your sister-in-law is married," he defends himself, and cannot help but to frown at the way Alexander raises an eyebrow in response. "And I do not toy with people, you know that."

"I know that you do not do it consciously."

Has he just had a whole hour of respite? It might as well have not existed, because the feeling of levity Peggy has left him with evaporates immediately at these words.

"You've got to be kidding me," he says, straining to keep his voice subdued. "Even if I had any mind for it - which you know full well I don't - I would never think to take such liberties with a member of your family!"

From the way Alexander looks at him it's clear he doesn't believe a word but is not yet at the point where he would outright say so.

"Then what were you doing here?" he asks in a demonstratively neutral voice.

"Enjoying a conversation with a pretty girl," Laurens replies, unable to hold back his sarcasm. "You have done that once or twice in your life yourself, if memory serves."

Watching Alexander's face change in response to these words, he notices something in it that causes an absolutely ridiculous suspicion to rise up inside of him.

"Alexander, you are not jealous, right?"

There's a pretty universal expression among humans for the feeling of getting caught, and there's no mistaking it on his friend's face. But while most people would just shrink away at such a realization, Alexander has never in his life mastered the art of the graceful retreat.

"Was that not what you wanted to accomplish?" he responds sharply.

Disbelief is the only word that can describe Laurens' feelings towards this question.

"Of course not - even though I've obviously succeeded in spades," he says the first words that come to his mind. "You're not serious about this, are you?"

Even when thinking about it twice, the accusation is so out of left field that it just leaves him baffled. The thought of trying to make Alexander jealous has never seriously crossed his mind once through their relationship, mostly because out of the two of them, it's Alexander who has never even blinked twice at the presence of other people in their life.

I met Kinloch in Philadelphia two weeks ago was the only thing he'd written after running into Francis for the first time. He didn't stand out by his competence, but I'm sure you had your reasons.

Even when finding out about Martha, Alexander's anger had stemmed much less from jealousy than the fact that Laurens had neglected to disclose the fact of her existence. Alexander giving him a hard time about a conversation with a woman is something that has never happened once, and is so completely unlike him - not to mention utterly hypocritical considering who's talking - that Laurens can feel his patience running out very quickly. And it's not that as if he has ever had a particularly long tether in that area to begin with.

He wants this issue to be resolved now, and since that is nothing he can or should do in view of a room of people, he simply reaches out, grabs Alexander's wrist, and pulls him towards the corner of the house. He's always been the stronger of them both, a simple matter of body mass and leverage, and Alexander is used to it enough that he doesn't even try to struggle. The fact that that would make for a pretty unseemly picture probably plays a role as well.

Laurens only releases his grip on Alexander's wrist once they have turned around the corner of the house and he has checked that the lit window on the first floor doesn't stand open.

"I've told you numerous times, and I'll tell you again," he then says sharply. "If you feel the need to vent your anger, do it on someone else. And now tell me what the hell is wrong with you."

For a moment, he gets the impression that Alexander will respond in his previous fashion - sarcastic and biting, deflecting every accusation of wrongdoing. But he catches himself just in time, maybe because even in this state he's able to realize that a shouting match in his in-laws' garden will never be the answer to any problem.

"I don't know," he responds after a long moment of silence, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if to protect himself. He immediately seems to realize the hostility of the gesture, though, since only a moment later he unfolds them again and evades his eyes by looking to the side.

"It's not completely true," he then says slowly. "Since last night, I keep entertaining the thought that this is one of the times where it is hard to fully trust myself."

He doesn't need to elaborate; they both know what he's talking about. And looking at his friend, Laurens immediately wonders how, with all the violent emotion and fickleness he's been confronted with over the last days, he has not yet managed to arrive at this conclusion himself.

One thing to know about Alexander Hamilton is that he is a very disciplined man when it comes to keeping his mind and body functional. With naturally frail health and a workload that would keep three people busy, he really doesn't have another option. He forces himself to eat regularly even when stress kills every bit of his desire for it; he gets up with the sun and tries to catch sleep whenever it is possible. As someone who knows that his worth rests entirely on his ability to perform his duties, Alexander is usually way too smart to act self-destructive.

Except for the times they refer to as his moods between them.

During them, Alexander simply seems to cease caring for anything - his health, the sanity of his mind, and the consequences of his actions. It's deeply uncomfortable to behold, like watching a friend skittering down the flank of a mountain, and Laurens has had to do it thrice during their time together. It usually starts with him simply noticing that Alexander feels more excitable and talkative than usual; then, that his nights grow shorter and shorter. After a week of barely sleeping, he will start looking worn out and exhausted and his high spirits will turn into a strange, jumpy impulsiveness – and after that, it will only take him a few more days to finally collapse into bed and fall ill.

Alexander has never been able to give a coherent explanation of what is happening to him in such periods. Only one thing is clear: Whenever this strange, self-destructive side of him surfaces, it tends to go along with a chilling indifference towards reckless behavior.

Behavior like sending John a letter in which every other sentence had consisted of easily decipherable sexual innuendo.

Behavior like undressing him in the dining room of his own house without even checking if the other inhabitants are truly asleep.

Laurens would laugh if it wasn't so unfunny.

"Are you sure?" he inquires.

"I'm never sure," Alexander responds in a voice that makes clear how unbelievably stupid he finds this question. "You know I can hardly tell the difference."

Laurens cannot help to tip his head back and sigh deeply into the night air. This is just what he has needed.

At the same time, he doesn't find it in himself to blame Alexander for any of it. He knows that his friend doesn't ask for these strange shifts in mood - while he has once confessed that they can be inspiring and even fun in the beginning, for the most part, they are simply exhausting and - more importantly - a threat to everything his friend values most about himself.

"We'll leave early," he decides after a moment of contemplation, looking back down from the sky to meet Alexander's eyes. "Get you to bed and to rest. You have no time for this, not with a constitution at stake."

Alexander smiles faintly in response to his decisive tone but doesn't try to argue.

"Did you read it?" he instead asks.

"About thirty times."

Silence settles between them, as if Alexander expects him to follow up on this sentence without further prompting. Very much expectedly, though, he's not patient enough to let it linger for long.

"So, what do you think?"

And for a moment, Laurens truly wonders. If he refused to back this document that Alexander has chosen to devote himself to - would this cause a serious rift between them? Politically, they have always differed on many more points than they have agreed on. But when they have fought and argued about them before, it had been under the safety blanket of a common goal which had caused singular points of contention to look much more secondary than they might have otherwise. Whether that has changed - to be completely honest, Laurens isn't sure he wants to find out.

Luckily, he won't have to.

"I think it's a solid piece of work," he says instead. "If time permits it in any way, I am willing to join in into its defense."

He's not quite sure if the relief he can feel from Alexander's side in response to these words is a projection, but a lump forms in his throat as a consequence of it. They will clash at some point, it's pretty much inevitable, and the thought makes it harder to breathe. The whole evening he has already occasionally regretted wrapping his cravat so quickly once Eliza had given him back his mended coat - his thoughts had been occupied elsewhere. But the consequences of such negligence can occasionally be breathtaking, and they very much are when fighting against a lump in your throat.

Partly because of this uncomfortable feeling and partly to not have to delve deeper into the topic at hand, Laurens lifts his hands up to his neck and starts trying to untangle the ends of the cravat knotted in the back of it.

It doesn't work. As he has suspected, the ends have pulled into a knot that gets tighter the more he tries to dissolve it blindly.

"You finishing with that anytime soon?" Alexander comments, after having observed his useless efforts with crossed arms for a while. There's no way to tell what he's thinking about the sudden abortion of their previous topic.

Laurens lets his hands sink down.

""I can't untie it by myself," he says, defeated. "The ends pulled into a knot."

His words are met with a sigh.

"Turn around and let me try," Alexander then says and steps closer.

Following the command, Laurens turns around, only to feel Alexander reach out and brush his hair over his shoulder to prevent it from getting in the way. As soon as he starts carefully working on the knot, Laurens realizes how unprepared he is for the way Alexander's fingertips brush over the skin of his neck during it - light and flighty as the touch of butterfly wings, involuntarily enticing the nerve endings under his skin and causing a shudder to go down his spine.

He knows it is not meant as a caress, but it feels like one, and while he cannot help wanting to lean back into the touch and its familiarity, he would rather die than voice this feeling - so he simply stands still.

"Got it!" he hears Alexander saying triumphantly after a minute of fumbling and directly after it, the noose around his neck suddenly loosens. After he has finished dissolving the knot, Alexander untangles the end of the cravat and tugs the layers of fabric slightly down to make more space between them and the skin of the neck. But instead of proceeding by retying the knot, Laurens can feel Alexander's hands completely stilling from one moment to the other.

"John, what is that?" he says in a strange voice.

"What is what?" Laurens responds confused, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder.

Instead of getting a verbal response, he feels Alexander's fingers graze the nape of his neck. It takes him a moment to understand, but when he does, his body suddenly freezes. What an idiot he is. How could he forget about the scar, clearly visible on his neck when not covered by his hair and his cravat?

"You got shot," he hears Alexander say after a moment of silence, as if he's having trouble processing the information. "In the neck."

As much as Laurens wants to deny it instinctively, he knows that there would be no use in trying. Alexander knows what a bullet wound looks like. He's seen more of them than he has ever wanted to.

"Yes," he manages to say, taking pains to sound measured.

"When?" Alexander asks, the unsure note in his voice gradually getting replaced with utter disbelief. "How?"

"In South Carolina, after the peace talks," Laurens responds. He refrains from turning around for the simple reason that he's not sure he'll be able to look Alexander in the eyes. "Some skirmish with dispersed British troops."

Silence falls, and it seems to last an eternity.

"You got shot... six years ago?" he then hears Alexander say, now sounding positively out of it. "When were you going to tell me?"

His tone makes it obvious to Laurens that he cannot put off looking at him any longer. When he turns around, the first thing he sees is Alexander's face, turned white as chalk.

"I didn't plan to tell you", he says, carefully keeping his voice free of emotions. "You couldn't have done anything when it happened. What does it matter now?"

He regrets these words when one moment later, Alexander's hands have grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him towards his body so suddenly and forcefully that he almost loses his balance.

"You almost deserted me in this world," Alexander spits, the shocked expression on his face having changed into utter fury at a moment's notice. "And it didn't even occur to you to tell me?"

He tries to hold Alexander's gaze, but he cannot help answering the question in his mind with words he will never speak.

Alexander, when I came back from Yorktown, I felt as good as dead. No war to fight, no finish line to run toward, no more you and me. Just me and the dark flood of my thoughts, forever. When I woke up, it was the first time in years and years I could picture a future for myself beyond the war. And I feared seeing you would rip it away from me again. I felt a duty to use the chance I'd been given instead of repeating the same mistakes, and so I didn't call for you. It's that easy, and that hard.

When Alexander finally releases the grip on his coat, Laurens's eyes inadvertently follow his hands. Noticing it, Alexander immediately crosses his arms in front of his chest, but it's too late - Laurens has already seen what he wants to hide, and astonishment rises up inside of him in response. Alexander's hands are shaking. He has never seen that happening before, no matter whether he holds a musket or undresses a lover.

Ten years, my love, and we still don't truly know each other.

"I can see no exit wound," Alexander finally says, breaking the silence between them in a tense voice. "Is the bullet still inside?"

It takes these words for Laurens to start feeling shame rise up inside of him. For him, that day in Combahee has taken place years in the past - a distant memory, lived through and cataloged away. For Alexander, it has happened only moments ago.

"Yes. It missed the artery and didn't fracture like they first thought it did."

"And you got no infection?" his friend immediately replies in a disbelieving tone. "How the hell are you so lucky?"

Laurens has to smile faintly.

"I wasn't truly - the doctor gave me up for dead and therefore, the battalion broke camp," he answers. "But Shrewsberry never left my side for three weeks. He made sure I drank and stayed clean, and probably saved my life by that."

The expression in Alexander's eyes needs no translation into words. Three weeks, he thinks. I could have been there if I had known. And while that's technically true, Laurens has never felt better about his decision not to inform Alexander about his condition than in this moment. Knowing his friend, it would have probably resulted in the ruin of four good horses as well as his own health.

"Is that why your father left you the plantation to do with as you please?" Alexander suddenly says. "Because Shrewsberry saved your life?"

Hearing Alexander say the name, he has to remember the few times his friend has foregone his decision to not interfere with his affairs in order to scold him as subtly as possible about his treatment of his father's slave. Even then, he had never outright called him a hypocrite, only alluded to it in delicate wordings - wordings that Laurens today wishes would have been much more descisive. Because there's no denying that he had been a terrible master during the war - completely and utterly oblivious to the responsibility of owning another man. There's no doubt that Shrewsberry had not saved him because he had liked him or had thought him particularly deserving of it. He had done it for the cause he has championed all through the war, and had all but said so to him after Henry Laurens had given him his freedom.

It's a burden Laurens will always carry.

"Father did not discuss his reasons with me," he answers Alexander's question. "I admit, he didn't seem as opposed to the idea of abolition after it, but I doubt I'll ever truly know."

"I was wondering what made him change his mind so drastically when you told me," Alexander says, and then falls silent. After a moment of watching Laurens, he raises both hands and slowly drags them over his face, a gesture that could communicate exhaustion just as well as relief.

When he has done that, Alexander simply looks at him with an expression that masks his internal emotions too well to be in any way readable.

"Honestly, John," he says with a strangely neutral inflection. "Do you still love me?"

Laurens closes his eyes. Not that, not now. It's too much for both of them.

"You know I do."

"You have the strangest ways of showing it," he hears Alexander respond. "After all these years, why do you still find it so hard to tell me the truth?"

Opening his eyes again to look at Alexander, Laurens stays silent. He wishes he knew, for his own sake as much as Alexander's. Is it fear to not be seen in the way he would prefer? The honest belief that it's for Alexander's own good not to know everything?

He doesn't know. Some questions just don't have answers.

A sad streak appears on Alexander's face when he understands the meaning of the silence.

"Since yesterday..." he begins hesitantly, obviously searching for the right words. "I have barely been able to think straight. I feel like a drunkard who has abstained for years - until that one day in a bar where he suddenly finds out that all that was needed to reawaken his desire was a single drink."

He exhales deeply.

"I feel doomed, John. Doomed to do something inexcusable, or inexcusably stupid, and lose everything I have for something that's never even been in my reach. I do not trust myself with you a single bit as it is. If I cannot trust you, what's left for me?"

This desire to connect and to be able to lean on someone will be the lost part of Alexander Hamilton, the one thing about him the afterworld will in all likelihood never know about. When Laurens instinctively steps forward to embrace him, Alexander doesn't fight it; he simply rests his head on his shoulder.

A moment later, Laurens feels the soft pressure of a hand against his chest, directly on the spot where his heart is beating under layers of flesh and bone.

"I almost lost you," he hears Alexander say. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Laurens cannot help himself. He leans forward to press a kiss onto Alexander's hair and lets it linger, taking in the scent of his hair powder. For a few long moments, they simply stay like that – lost to time and space, and utterly content with it.

When Laurens finally releases Alexander and turns around to reach for his wineglass on the windowsill, he immediately feels Alexander's hand on his shoulder, wordlessly urging him to turn around again. There is a moment of confusion as he does so and meets his friend's eyes, just before Alexander takes a step forward, both of his hands cupping his cheeks and their lips land clumsily on each other.

Laurens is taken completely by surprise. For a moment, all he feels is irritation - about Alexander's impulsivity, the suddenness of his action, and what it is meant to convey to him. Then, cold shock runs through his body as he remembers where they are.

He rips himself away, staring at Alexander with all the disbelief he feels.

"That was so utterly idiotic, I can't even begin to..." Another chill goes down his spine and causes him to hastily look up to check the window on the first floor. It's gone dark in the meantime, thank all possible gods. No one's seen them.

When he looks back at Alexander, it's with seething anger. He's always hated this part of him, the part that seems to crave discovery and subsequent ruin, to prove to the whole world that he's as corrupted and devoid of morals as it whispers. The part that causes him to write his letters as if there was no risk of interception and kisses him in front of a window without bothering to put out the candles first. The part that seems to enjoy risking both of them without even bothering to ask.

You fucking mannerless bastard - the words lie on his tongue. They stay there only for the blink of an eye, but it is long enough that he can fully feel the seduction of destruction himself. He could just say them now, throw the demons his friend has entrusted him with back into his face, and leave this burning house behind. Alexander would never be able to forgive him.

But then, neither would he. Turning their intimacy into a weapon is such a despicable thing that it would haunt him for the rest of his life. And Alexander will never know that he sometimes thinks them, even if they both should live a hundred years.

But that doesn't change anything about his anger.

"You're insufferable," he says with the most disdain his voice is capable of.

"And that makes you what - very good at suffering?" Alexander immediately shoots back. "You're sure you're not late for an urgent cross-shouldering somewhere?"

How are you this impossible, and why do I love you in spite of it?

"We both need to go inside", Laurens finally forces himself to say. "I need at least three more drinks before I can stomach you like this."

Then, he turns around and walks towards the corner of the house without waiting for Alexander to catch up.

If you cannot find internal calm no matter how hard you try then an external source will have to do, and the quiet in her mother's room is as good as any. Sitting down on the bed in the light of the single candle she's brought into the room, Eliza closes her eyes and tries to breathe steadily. Internally, she cannot help but chide herself for feeling so exhausted without a good reason to show for it; it's not as if she has had all that much more to do today than she'd usually have. Being married to the man she's married to, she tends to feel slightly ridiculous when getting tired from her duties as a wife and mother as it is. She probably shouldn't, but it's just so hard not to compare working hours, and feelings tend to rarely care for rationality.

Still, her guilty conscience does nothing to excavate the desire to lie down on the bed, pull the covers over her head and simply close her eyes. She only withstands it because she knows it wouldn't truly help anything; it's not her body that is tired from the last days. Somehow, seeing Alexander's head once again occupied somewhere he will not let her follow has simply pushed her over the brink she's been standing at for days now. John Laurens' ever-changing moods and unpredictability have put her on edge ever since he has stepped into their house, and Alexander's presence has done nothing but to worsen it. She cannot find a feasible explanation why he would leave her alone for the whole day with the same friend he claims to have missed dearly for years, and his wholehearted refusal to give her a single reason for it has made her realize that they might have plenty of problems of their own to deal with. She shouldn't want John Laurens to just leave them alone, but at this point, she simply cannot help it.

After a few minutes spent alone in the dark, trying without success to put her thoughts in order, a slight knock on wood causes Eliza to lift her head and look over her shoulder. There, she sees Peggy standing in the doorframe, a glass of wine in her hand, and obviously unsure about whether to come in.

"Mother told me you were here," her sister says hesitantly. "She said you needed a bit of peace and quiet?"

All through the evening, Eliza's mind has been set on straightening Peggy out the first chance she gets - but now that the opportunity arises, she doesn't find it in herself to do so. Peggy is impossible and will always be impossible, but she's also one of the few persons who she would want to talk to in such a dark moment. It's such a calming feeling to know that there's someone in your life who'll always jump to your side when you truly need them to, no matter whether that would be the right thing for them to do. And if such an assurance of loyalty couldn't outweigh a knack for impudence in someone, what else could?

So, Eliza simply nods and Peggy walks over to the bed, putting her glass on the table before letting herself sink down on the mattress next to her.

They sit next to each other silently for a moment.

"You are shameless," Eliza then says into the quiet of the room, her voice lacking any of the sting she has planned for.

"Maybe," Peggy responds, serious and at the same time notably unoffended. "Or maybe I'm just very curious."

Again, silence falls between them. When Eliza chooses to speak again, she does it without looking at her sister.

"Do you like him?" she asks. "Mr. Laurens, I mean."

She can feel Peggy chewing on her lip for a moment, her fingers tapping on the bedsheets irresolutely.

"Yes," she then responds. "Quite a lot, actually."

Turning her head to examine her sister's face, Eliza again wonders what she's missing that everyone else is seeing.

"Why?"

"Liza, I've only spoken to him for all of an hour," Peggy responds with a hint of demonstrative despair. "All I can really say is that he strikes me as a good man, and that it commends him that he doubtlessly loves Alexander very much. Also," she continues, a healthy dose of her usual cheek returning to her face, "contrary to you, my marital bliss doesn't blind me to all other men's charms. Let me assure you, Mr. Laurens is very prepossessing."

"I don't see what you see," Eliza replies, not trying to keep the resigned tone from her voice.

"Well, someone else certainly does," Peggy immediately responds, suddenly grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Have you ever looked at your husband when he's talking to Mr. Laurens? Let me just say, I've never seen Alex more unfocused on the contents of a conversation."

Her sister's words touch on something inside of her. Trying to identify what it is, Eliza finds that she's still unable to put a finger on it - all she can tell is that it leaves stuck with a faint notion of unease.

"What do you mean?" she asks in hopes that hearing Peggy talk might help her to achieve more clarity.

Her sister responds by looking at her with a strange expression on her face.

"Have you really not noticed it?" she says. "It's as if Mr. Laurens is his north star. Alex seems to always pay attention to what he does, even when he's not looking at him."

Eliza can't help to look disbelievingly at her sister in response to this. It's not unusual for Peggy to be able to put words to a feeling Eliza has not yet managed to verbalize herself, but the fact that she has been able to do it after barely having the chance to observe the dynamic she's talking about - there is something so disquieting about it. Without knowing, Peggy has just validated every feeling that has crept up inside of her through the last days.

"What's wrong, Liza?" Peggy inquires with a frown on her face when the silence between them stretches and stretches.

And suddenly, the girl next to her is just her sister, and no trace is left of the impossible woman who embarrasses her in front of her visitors with her refusal to be anything like their mother has taught them to be. Now, she's only Peggy, the sister who will keep her confidence and embarrassing secrets no matter if that would be the wrong or the right thing to do.

"Alexander is so strange since Mr. Laurens has arrived."

The words just escape her, and finally saying them feels should feel like a relief but instead only serves to make them more hurtful.

"How?" Peggy inquires with a confused frown.

"I cannot explain it," Eliza replies on the verge of desperation. "He just feels ... so far away. And so tired and nervous. Not like himself at all."

The compassion on Peggy's face as she edges closer on the mattress and softly puts an arm around her almost causes her to lose her composure and start crying. She's so grateful for the sympathy and for the moment of respite she gets resting her head on her sister's shoulder.

"I wish Angelica was here," Peggy sighs after starting to slowly stroke her hand over Eliza's hair. "I mean, I always miss her, but never more than when Alex and you are at odds with each other."

Despite absolutely not feeling like it, Eliza has to chuckle slightly. A singular talent to put your husband on a leash, Peggy has called their sister's problem-solving abilities in that area more than just one time. Never to his face, of course.

"You still do not know why Mr. Laurens never came to visit before, do you?" she then hears her sister ask. "I'm sure the explanation is to be found there. I mean, we already knew there must've been some kind of falling out. If he's only been with you for three days, they might not have managed to completely resolve it yet."

Of course, this very likely the truth. But still - why wouldn't he tell her this exact thing if it were? Alexander has never been secretive about the state of his relationships to others with her, quite the opposite. She's the first one he comes to when he feels the need to vent about someone close to him, and until now, he has done it without exception and regret.

"Why don't you just ask him straightforwardly, and see what he has to say?" Peggy proposes when she doesn't receive an answer.

Because if I forced him to do that, he'd be lying to me.

The answer appears so decisively in Eliza's mind that she has no way to get it out of there before it can do its damage. She immediately tries to unthink it, desperate to keep it from settling and spreading its poison - but if anyone has ever found a way to pry a fully-formed thought from your brain, the secret has not been shared with her.

Feeling her neck grow cold, she tries to breathe and instead concentrate on what she knows to be true.

Alexander doesn't lie to her - he's never done that. He is a man who has thought it necessary to tell both her and her father about his illegitimacy before their engagement had been announced, and who has painstakingly detailed to her the trials of his upbringing despite the obvious pain these memories have caused him. Such a man might be many things, but a liar isn't one of them. The more likely option is that she's doing him terribly wrong to even consider it.

And still...

It's only a feeling, she again tells herself, and lifts her head from Peggy's shoulder.

"I think I need some time alone after all," she says without looking at her sister. "Would you leave me for a moment? I'll be back down in a few minutes, I promise."

She can tell that Peggy's face takes on a worrying expression in response to her sudden shift of tone. But after a few moments of silence in which Eliza doesn't supply an explanation, she seems to decide to comply with her wish, hugging her tightly before leaving the room.

Again, Eliza is alone with her thoughts, but she doesn't find them much more enlightening than before. As the minutes pass, she manages to come up with a couple of possible reasons aside from a lack of trust that could have caused Alexander not to confide in her as of yet. The most likely of them certainly is that he's promised to keep some aspect of John Laurens's life just between the two of them and therefore will not want to talk to her about it.

It's an explanation, but a flimsy one at best. There have been numerous times in the past at which Alexander has had absolutely no qualms about admitting that he doesn't feel at liberty to relay a piece of information to her. Even today, when he doesn't have to keep a bunch of military secrets to himself anymore, it's not all that rare an occurrence for him to tell her that he will have to tell part of a story without names attached to it. His complete silence in regards to John Laurens just doesn't fit that pattern.

At some point, all that's left for her to do is to sigh in frustration and get up from the bed. Even if she doesn't feel any more like being among other people than she has half an hour ago, she simply cannot keep sitting upstairs in the dark while downstairs, guests will doubtlessly be asking for her. The mystery will have to wait until after the party to be solved.

She steps towards the window and blows out the candle on the sill - no reason to waste it if no one's going to be in the room. After doing that, she's ready to turn around and leave the room when her eyes suddenly fall on two men standing on the lawn outside under the window in full view.

It takes her a moment to realize that she's looking at her husband and John Laurens, and that Alexander looks not only paler than she has ever seen him but also absolutely and frighteningly ready to jump at Laurens's throat.

Which is exactly what he does only a moment later, stepping forward and grabbing the lapels of Laurens' coat, pulling him towards himself with considerable force before barking something that's unmistakably an insult.

It's not that Eliza ever fools herself about the fact that a man who has fought in the field during a war is by definition capable of violence, and that Alexander cannot be an exception to that. But knowing this is different from seeing it, and her reaction to witnessing him so unmistakably losing his composure is instinctual fear for Laurens' safety. Her hand immediately flies up to the window handle, prying it down and she's already about to push the window open when Alexander suddenly releases John and takes a step back.

The fact that Laurens doesn't even look fazed by what has happened causes Eliza to freeze in her motion.

Is this really something you're used to? she wonders, a cold shiver going down her spine.

During the seven years of their marriage, Alexander has not tried to raise a hand to her once. He sometimes gets loud during fights, sure, but never so much as to make her doubt her own safety - and honestly, what man doesn't ever raise his voice during a marriage? But to have seen him like this, so far removed from what she believes him to be, makes her wonder how many things even the best men truly keep hidden from women.

She sees them talking to each other - more calmly than before, but still with an air of agitation around them. Even from the distance, she can see the way Alexander sneers at John when asking something.

If she opened the window, she would doubtlessly be able to hear what they're saying through the quiet of the garden.

As soon as the thought flashes through her head it makes her feel nauseous. It feels so dirty, so illicit to consider eavesdropping on one of her husband's private conversations that it causes her to unconsciously take a step back from the windowpane.

She has no idea what she has just seen, but in response to it, one thought surfaces in her mind clearly and without ambiguity.

This is not normal.

It is followed by the realization that she cannot keep this up any longer. There is something going on between her husband and John Laurens, something meaningful and laden with heavy emotions - something Alexander has chosen not to tell her about even though it very clearly impacts him deeply. Worst of all, she has no way to explain it to herself without his help. Instead, she is left outside in the cold, wondering and worrying and speculating, her trust in him gradually eroding.

One chance, she thinks. I'll give you one more chance to explain. Please, I don't need everything. I just want a piece of honesty to be sure again.

On this thought, she finally turns around and leaves the room.

Once she has walked down the stairs and stepped into the parlor, she immediately drowns in a cloud of heat and noise. There are so many people in there now, crowding the room in bigger and smaller groups, that it almost overwhelms her after the long time spent in the quiet of the upstairs floor. Of course, she doesn't manage to get far in her search for Alexander and Laurens before getting drawn into a conversation by two of Angelica's closest friends, who inquire for news about her sister as well as her smaller namesake. They only mean well, so Eliza dutifully spends ten minutes entertaining them with stories about both Angelicas before excusing herself.

After that, she again has to scan the room and the people in it for a while before she finally spots the two men she's looking for. They stand in a corner of the room together with John Jay, whom Alexander, judging from his demeanor, is in the process of introducing to Laurens. When he finishes, Laurens says something and extends a hand towards Jay, who heartily shakes it in response. Laurens then leans forward and inquires something with a smile on his face, his personable mask again so firmly in place that Eliza finds it impossible to believe that, only minutes ago, she has seen him turn white with anger. It's not as if she cannot feel a certain tension between him and Alexander, but they are hiding it concerningly well.

I will not do anything, she once again tells herself. If he at least tries to explain, I promise I won't.

She starts walking across the room towards them, occasionally responding to a greeting by one of her father's guests with a nod and a smile. When Alexander notices her approaching them, he extends a welcoming hand in her direction, wordlessly inviting her to join their conversation and thereby drawing the attention of the other two men.

"Good evening, Mr. Jay," she says upon stepping into their circle and taking the hand Alexander has offered to her. For once this evening, her smile is honest. She has always had a soft spot for John Jay, who is only twelve years older than her but has been a friend of her family for so long that, meeting him for the first time, she had still been a young girl. His wife, the same age as her and her distant cousin, is one of her close friends, and Eliza has not heard her complain or speak ill of her husband once. Jay has also been one of the first people to write to her in response to her engagement to one Alexander Hamilton, showing wholehearted approval where others had only mustered up careful reserve. She'd be hard-pressed not to like him.

He also likes her, she knows it, so she feels no hesitation about dropping in on the conversation to do what she has set out to.

"Mr. Jay, Mr. Laurens, would you allow me to abduct my husband from your conversation for the briefest moment? I'll give him back to you in an instant."

Her reply consists of two immediate assurances that, of course, no offense will be taken, and so, after a brief nod in their direction, Alexander lets her lead him a few feet away.

"Is everything alright, Betsy?" he asks, and the honest care in his voice almost churns her stomach.

He'll have an explanation. This will all be innocent.

"I was wondering where you've been," she says, trying to sound as casually as possible. "I was looking for you after I saw Peggy come back inside, but I couldn't find you anywhere."

The strain on his face immediately softens in response to her innocent question.

"Oh, I've just been around the corner of the house with John," he replies without hesitation and for a moment, she's desperately hopeful that he'll finally take this load off her mind.

He doesn't.

What he does instead is to laugh as if there was nothing in the world to care about and detail her how John had almost gotten strangled by his cravat and how long it had taken himself to finally untangle the mess he'd made of it.

While he talks, she feels a wave of desperation wash over her. Please don't do this, she thinks. Please don't lie to my face.

The more he talks, the more she can feel something bending between them - some unnamable thing that she knows would leave shards and sharp edges impossible not to step on if he pushed it past its breaking point. It's infuriating and saddening at the same time that Alexander seems to be so utterly unable to sense it as well. At the same time, there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. She can only nod and laugh, with the greatest effort she's ever made for it, and grapple with the question of how it can be possible for Alexander to not notice the desperation in her smile.

There it is, her answer. Not the one she has wanted, but the one she has gotten.

"I do not feel well," she says in a disaffected voice when he has finally finished his story. "I really want to go home."

Alexander looks surprised - she's usually not in the habit of making a big deal out of dubious, nondescript ailments - but he still nods his agreement after a moment of hesitation.

"I'll tell your father we're leaving, then."

"No, stay," she insists, desperately trying to keep her voice steady. "It is only a slight headache, and I do not want us all to leave - mother prepared so long for this evening. I'll just take father's carriage home and then send it back, if that is alright with you."

She can tell that Alexander finds her sudden desire to leave somewhat strange from the way he looks at her - but apparently not strange enough to justify scrutinizing her reasons. Instead, he simply excuses himself from Laurens and Jay and accompanies her to a chair before setting out to find her father.

She looks after him as he walks away, a surge of anger at his obliviousness suddenly overcoming her.

She's given him every chance to speak for himself. If his refusal to do so forces her to find her answers elsewhere, he has no one but himself to blame for it.

After the carriage has safely dropped her off at home, Eliza sits in the chair next to Philip's bed for a long time while trying to muster up the determination to do what she has to. Watching her son sleep peacefully in his bed, utterly lost to the world, she switches back and forth on her decision for a good hour, weighing risk and reward again and again. There's nothing harder than to find the courage to do something that you've never thought yourself capable of. It not only changes who you are; it changes who you've been all along.

Finally, she gets up from the armchair and takes the candle she has placed on the nightstand into her hand before once again standing still and listening to her own racing thoughts. There's one last moment where she could decide that she's not the person she's going to be - and then, it has passed, and she turns around to leave the room.

After she has finally managed to make the decision, every step down the hall feels a little less difficult than the previous one. When she steps into Alexander's study, leaving the door open to be able to hear when someone arrives at the house, she has resigned herself to the fact that feeling dirty is a price she will simply have to pay for this. The only thing she can do is trust that the stain is not so potent that it will mark her for the rest of her life.

After walking across the room and lighting the two candles on the desk, she puts down her own next to them. Then, she pulls out one of the heavy drawers that divide the middle of the massive cupboard on the right of the desk and starts flicking through the papers.

Contrary to what the superficial state of his office might lead visitors to believe, Alexander is almost obsessively orderly when it comes to finished letters and documents. Everything else would prove exceedingly difficult anyway, since the amount of paper he goes through could stack libraries. The middle drawers are where she knows him to store his correspondence, sorted meticulously by names and dates.

It doesn't take her long to arrive at the letter L, which contains a few short sections of letters from occasional correspondents, and then two longer ones under the name Laurens. The letters in the first carry the signature of the late president of congress, but the second one contains a multiple of their number, all penned by his son John Laurens.

After making enough space between the tightly stacked sheets of paper to be able to pull them out of the drawer without damage, Eliza drags the chair from behind the desk close to the cupboard and sits down. Then, she indiscriminately pulls out a letter from the middle of the section, opens it, and starts reading.

The letter dates from the 13th October 1782 and is completely innocuous, first detailing the state of affairs in Carolina after the departure of the last English soldiers and then going on a long tangent about some essay by John Locke. Apart from the closing address, which is comparatively warm, there's not a word in it that even alludes to a private relationship between the correspondents. After putting the letter back in its place in the drawer and going through three others from a more recent time - they turn out to be comparably uneventful - Eliza realizes that the answer she's searching for will in all likelihood not be found in any correspondence that's been exchanged after the war.

After figuring out where the letters from before 1781 start in the drawer, she's left with a considerably smaller number to sift through, so she simply pulls the whole stack out of the drawer and places them on the table in front of her. When flicking through them, she suddenly realizes that only a few of them even carry Laurens's handwriting; the older ones are all penned by Alexander's own hand. At some point during the war, they must have agreed to exchange them back - which is strange in itself. Even stranger is a letter that stands out by its shortness and must have been overlooked in this exchange because it has been folded between two other pages that are slightly sticking together. It's from Laurens' hand and reads more like a hastily written afterthought than it does a full letter.

"My Dear Hamilton,

You'll be glad to hear that I received your letter of April. In light of the fact that it must have gone through a dozen hands before it found its intended recipient, I must urge you to exhibit more restraint in your choice of subject, lest you force me to limit this correspondence to matters of war.

Concerning your exploits in the matter of matrimony, I recommend you find a more qualified envoy."

Curious what could have given such an unmistakable reason for offense on Laurens' part, she looks through Alexander's letters but finds none dated from April 1779. What she stumbles over, though, is a folded piece of paper that's slightly bigger and better preserved than the others, looking as if Alexander has taken pains to keep it from creasing too much during transports.

When she unfolds it, she looks at a pencil sketch that unmistakably shows her husband, lying on his side in bed in deep sleep. For a moment, Eliza cannot help but be in awe of the great precision and talent of the artist, marveling at the way Alexander's hair flows over the pillow in soft waves and how beautifully the shadows on his face create an impression of calm and symmetry. It's evident how much time and attention to detail has flowed into the sketch, and how affectionately the artist must have viewed his subject.

Eventually, her eyes are drawn to the words written in the right lower corner of the paper:

The only piece of your immortality in my power to give to you.

The sketch is signed J. Laurens.

She would have never taken him for an artist, much less such a proficient one. There's training and competence behind this sketch, hours and hours spent in front of a drawing board from a young age, and she absolutely understands why Alexander would treasure and preserve it. And still - it's in such stark contrast to the letter she's read before that she cannot help to wonder what the story behind it might be.

She resigns herself to the fact that she'll probably not find out without reading through all letters one by one - and so, that is what she does from that point on, starting with the earliest from October 1778.

Afterward, she will not be able to pinpoint when exactly she finally starts to understand. There's not one moment of realization, only the feeling of a dreadful suspicion very slowly creeping up inside of her, causing her body to gradually grow colder and colder. But she soon - very soon, much too soon - reaches the point from which she simply cannot refuse to admit that all of the small puzzle pieces she could dismiss as meaningless in singularity inevitably end up forming a rather coherent picture. A picture that will not cease to exist just because she doesn't want to look at it.

She holds out for as long as she can. Maybe this is not as bad as it sounds, even though the voice in her head tells her that she knows Alexander's style far too well to fool herself about the fact that it very likely is. But there's no proof that these could not also turn out just to be letters, and bawdy jokes, and a little too much sentiment between fellow soldiers.

She finds the final proof, the one she wishes wouldn't exist, between two of the two earliest letters from Alexander. It's not addressed to anyone, just a paper filled with words upon words, smudged and corrected and crossed out, and barely decipherable.

To her, it reads like a final damnation to hell.

She foregoes the last two letters and simply stacks the papers in front of her on top of each other with numb hands after that, not paying the slightest attention to order or appearance. It's not as if she will be able to pretend to have never been here anyway.

When she is finished, she lowers her head and closes her eyes.

You fool, she thinks, embarrassed and defeated. The words repeat in her head over and over again.

You goddamn fool.

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Notes:

This. damn. story.

I honestly find it hard to belief how long this chapter has grown, when my pitch for it initially has only been: "The trio goes to the party. There, Eliza for some reason gets suspicicous enough to go through Alex's letters and finds out." And then, along came Peggy, my glorious little bubblegum bitch. And for some reason I suddenly enjoyed myself very, very much at being able to portray Laurens not in a state of doubt and confusion, but as a grown man who tends to be pretty well in control of the situations he puts himself in.

We are now at the chapter where all characters have reached their breaking points and are behaving terribly as a consequence of it. I know it can be a turn off to see characters you like behave like their worst selves - but in this case, I think it is a necessary stepping stone for their growth, so please trust me with this. In any case, thank you so much for sticking with this story and being patient with me. I try to do my best with every chapter, and I'm sorry that took so long in this instance. I can sincerely promise now that the last chapters won't have such massive breaks between them.

Rainbows and unicorns for everyone who has taken the time to comment so far. Even if I am sometimes late with answering, I love you very much for it and cherish every bit of your feedback. Many extra-rainbows for theskylarshippers who has been an absolute champ for beta-ing this mess.

See you soon.