Hey! Thanks for like, six reviews on chapter 27 already before even an entire day had passed. Damn, I love you guys.
BritishSpyBegone: Yeah, even though I'm the author for this, sometimes it's a difficult story to write because it can be quite painful and a touchy kind of subject to approach.
Guest: don't apologise! Hey, if you ever get an account, hit me up if you wanna talk. I can probably understand some of what you've been through.
I keep making Hamilton mood boards, I've made one for John, Alexander, Lafayette, Hercules, George and Martha as well as a Lams themed one. I wanna show you guys but the is website pretty much allows no links anywhere on their site. It's annoying.
Incidentally, are there any French people/ speakers reading this and laughing at me butchering your language? Please, I try.
A quick question, do you guys see an improvement in my writing since chapter one? I hope I've gotten better, my earlier chapters are not amazing. Also, do you guys have a favourite chapter? I don't know, a line or scene you liked a lot?
Lafayette awoke pressed firmly into the sofa, his head lolling backward over the arm and his body curled to fit the shape of the cushions behind him. It wasn't an uncomfortable sofa by any means, the suede was soft and clean and it wasn't so old that the weight of many bodies and time had stiffened the cushions or hardened the stuffing. Nevertheless, his back hurt like shit.
He didn't know the exact time, but it just felt like the early morning. The blinds of the living room were pulled down and from his position, he couldn't see through the cracks between them. Though, from the way the light glowed softly at each gap, ambient and dark blue, it couldn't have been past six thirty.
John was still asleep on the far side of the sofa. His face was obscured by layers of blanket so that only the top of his dark curls were visible, wild and unruly from night-time tossing and turning.
Lafayette slowly shifted so that he was halfway out from under the duvet that Hercules had brought in for them. His phone was charging a few feet away from the sofa, sitting on the table where the Mulligans (and John in recent days, he supposed) ate dinner.
Quietly, so as not to wake his friend, he slid so that he was perched on the arm of the sofa and then gently swung his legs up and around until he was stood up, now cold feet curling into the soft carpet.
He unplugged his phone and turned down the notification sounds, cautiously tucking himself back under the blankets as he opened his phone contacts. He had no missed calls but a few texts. Some from school friends, which he disregarded and some from George, which he opened with a trembling finger.
GeorgeWashington (at 10:37 last night): No new developments, nurses aren't worried.
GeorgeWashington (at 11:56 last night): Had another seizure. Just happened. Will text later, when I can.
Lafayette gripped the side of his iPhone harder and read the next text, a sick feeling in his stomach.
GeorgeWashington (at 1:16 this morning): It seems okay. Nurse said it was disappointing but not unexpected. Set him back a few days of recovery, doesn't seem life-threatening.
Lafayette took a few minutes figuring out a response. His English, which had been less than adept these last few days, was always slower in morning's disoriented and sleep-deprived haze.
Lafrançaise (just now): Is it too early to come now?
He closed the conversation while he waited for George to reply, opening Instagram and scrolling through his feed absentmindedly.
He hadn't posted in about a while now, the last photo being of Alex, John, Hercules and him at the park during the summer holidays.
It was a nice photo. John was on his back, asleep in the sunlight and Hercules lay on his front. He was propped up on his elbows, looking up at Lafayette taking the picture with a grin.
Alex was reading something in the far left of the photo. Well, he had a book open in front of him but his attention was focused on John, who, incidentally, was shirtless. There was a small smile on his face and he looked more peaceful than Lafayette had ever seen him.
That was before they'd started school again. Before 'the shit had hit the fan' as the Americans were so fond of saying.
De plus en plus merdique.
A notification dropped from the top of his screen and he hastily opened his father's contact again, reading the text he'd just been sent.
GeorgeWashington (just now): you could, but you'd just be sitting here. Try and catch up on sleep. Eat something.
Lafayette rubbed his brow and looked back at the blinds. There was no change in the light outside. It was still early and he didn't think Henry would like having to come and pick him up right now. Public transport in Virginia was inefficient and slow, though Lafayette supposed, given the size of the state, it was difficult to link larger towns and cities with anything but highways.
Lafrançaise (just now): when will you come home?
George responded almost instantly, the little ellipses loading on the screen for a few seconds before his text popped up.
GeorgeWashington (just now): Martha will come and pick you up and take you home. I'm staying here for the time being.
Lafayette bit his lip and read over the text a few times, thinking.
Lafrançaise (just now): Why do you stay? Is he awake?
GeorgeWashington (just now): No. He's a minor, I have to stay here if there's a danger something could happen.
Lafrançaise (just now): is there a danger?
GeorgeWashington (just now): I don't know. Hopefully not. Martha will be around at about nine or so. Sleep. It's early.
Lafrançaise (just now): Okay.
He turned off his phone and rested his head back against the arm of the sofa, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall asleep again. It wasn't so much that he was tired, or that he wanted to lessen his father's worries. In fact, he was actually rather dreading what would happen if he fell asleep.
Dreams (he refused to call them nightmares) of Alexander, of Paris and the boys at his old school, of the months between his parent's death and meeting George and Martha, would plague him.
He was too lazy, however, to stand up and work his way through the chaos that had burst through the metaphorical door of his life yesterday. He'd honestly rather just close his eyes and deal with dreams than have to confront anything that was actually happening to him.
Perhaps it was luck, or misfortune, that he did fall asleep. He didn't think he would sleep for long, and he didn't. It was probably less than an hour before he was awoken by John stirring opposite him. A sock-clad foot kicked him hard in the skin and he jolted awake, opening his eyes to a particularly scenic view of the ceiling.
"Laf? You awake?"
He rolled his eyes and turned onto his side, rubbing some sleep from his eyes.
"Yeah."
He heard John sit up and felt the soft weight of blanket falling on him. He looked up to see John standing unsteadily, pushing the curls out of his eyes and rolling his shoulders.
"Any news on Alex?"
Lafayette rolled onto his other side so that he was facing away from John. He didn't want to see his friend's expression when he told him about Alex's less than desirable, though admittedly not dire, condition.
"Il a eu une autre crise à... environ minuit."
He had another seizure at... around midnight.
He heard John's movements stop and there was a pause. The air around them crackled with unspoken words and John's sharp intake of breath came like a puncture to the silence.
"What?"
Lafayette focused on the way the suede changed colour if he brushed it different ways.
"Is he- Is he going to be okay?"
Lafayette rolled onto his back and surveyed his friend. John's face was pale. It struck him that all of them, as well as going through an extreme change in their everyday life and emotions, also looked different too. Paler, more tired and drawn.
"Papa said it was alright. Les infirmièrs pensent il sera bien, en temps voulu."
The nurses think he'll be okay, in time.
John sat back down on the sofa, crushing Lafayette's legs. He bit back an 'fais attention!' and shifted slightly, moving closer to John.
"Je suis- Je suis vraiment désolé."
I'm -I'm so sorry.
John shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. When he looked back up at Lafayette there was a terrible fear contained in his eyes, but also something that could be at least mistaken for hope.
"He'll be okay. He's got too much to do here to leave so soon. Anyway, he's made it this far. Been through worse."
Lafayette laughed quietly and put his arm around John's shoulder. He supposed his friend was right. Alexander had far too many plans and dreams left to abandon them all. The little lion would find his way back to make them happen.
Lafayette believed that.
Or at least, he had to make himself believe that.
The next few hours were quiet and lazy. Hercules awoke at around eight thirty and they made breakfast together in the kitchen. It wasn't like all the times they'd cooked together on sleepovers or for fun on the weekends. It was very quiet, almost eerie. They poured out cereal and Hercules insisted Lafayette have some honey and lemon tea. He loved Herc, he really did, but he could be the most 'mom' person sometimes.
"Herc, please, I'm not sick. I don't even like..." he clicked his fingers, aggravated that he couldn't find the word.
"L'infusion de citron..."
John opened his mouth to translate, but closed it again. He thought what Lafayette was saying was pretty self-explanatory. He was leant against the counter, nursing a cup of coffee and watching the two bicker.
"Come on, you sound like you've got a cold coming on and this stuff is relaxing."
John snorted into his coffee and both Hercules and Lafayette turned to glare at him.
"You just sound like an old married couple. You're such a mom, Herc."
Hercules rolled his eyes. Usually, this expression was done in humour, but now it just looked irritated. They were all snappy and short-tempered today. He dropped a tea bag into a mug, filling it up with boiling water and placing it carefully into Lafayette's hands.
"You're in my house, I'm in loco parentis."
John shook his head and took another sip of coffee.
"Two major flaws there, one, this is your parents' house- not yours. Two, I'm older than you so..."
Hercules shook his head, dismissing John's statement and sat down in one off the chairs at the kitchen table.
Martha arrived at five to nine in their car, tired and worn looking. She clearly hadn't gotten the chance to sleep much the previous night and seemingly didn't even have the energy to fake a smile.
Lafayette hadn't taken very much at all with him to Hercules' house. A jacket, the pajamas he'd worn to the hospital and his phone. He put all this in the back of the car, climbing into the passenger seat with a small wave to Hercules and John who stood in the doorway of the house.
"Anything new on Alexander?"
Martha dragged her top teeth over her lip and glanced out her side mirror.
"Well, the seizure wasn't out of the ordinary. They think he'll get through it, though it set his recovery time back a little."
Lafayette bit at his knuckle and winced. His gums were raw and sensitive from the extremely thorough brushing he'd given his teeth last night.
"When will we see him?"
Martha took a left and they passed the turn off onto John's street. They were nearly home.
"Maybe today, almost definitely tomorrow. He probably won't be awake until Wednesday though."
It struck Lafayette then that it was Monday. Everyone else would be at school. Had George or Martha called in for him and Alexander?
"Did you... did you call the school?"
Martha nodded and they turned onto their road, slowing down as they drew nearer and nearer to the place Lafayette had come to call home.
"They've given Alexander as long as it takes to recover and you about a week or so."
Lafayette sighed. The prospect of going back to school anytime soon made him feel ill. He knew Alexander would be the opposite. He'd want to be up and about as soon as he could, writing insatiably and proving he was okay, even if he wasn't.
They pulled up to the driveway and got out. Martha opened up and they stepped inside, she immediately moved to the living room to open some curtains.
Lafayette walked into the kitchen and put his things down on the table. He looked out across the garden, watching the way the leaves had progressed from auburn to russet brown, when a small shape crouched by the trees caught his eye.
He frowned and squinted at the figure, realising a second later that it was a cat. He furrowed his brows and thought for a moment. Did any of their neighbours have cats? He didn't think so.
"Maman! There's a cat in the backyard."
He heard the clink of Martha's keys being set down on the table and her footsteps drew nearer, crossing the floorboards of the hallway.
She stood next to him and he lifted his finger, pointing to where the cat was sat contentedly in the shadow of a large elm tree.
Martha smiled slightly and watched the cat for a moment or two. It licked its paws and stood up, prowling the garden slowly with a long, smooth slink.
"It looks like a... a... un chat errant."
Martha looked at him for a moment, considering this.
"A stray? Yeah. I think so too."
Lafayette turned to the fridge, considering its contents.
"Do you think it is hungry?"
Martha grinned softly and shrugged. She looked back at the cat who'd now sprawled across the patio. It was only a few feet from the glass door.
Lafayette opened the fridge and rummaged through it, eventually finding a pack of sandwich chicken that was still good for a few more days.
"This okay?"
Martha took the food from him and nodded, walking towards the cupboard where they kept the plates. She put a few strips of the meat on the plate and walked back towards the glass door.
Lafayette watched, intrigued, as she slowly pushed down the handle and gently opened the door. The cat was watching her now, it's dark eyes considering her with a suspicious, wary stare.
Martha inched forward and the cat stood up in an instant, poised to dart off and take cover under the trees. Martha stopped too and knelt down slowly, one hand holding the plate and the other open wide and held out to the cat. It was like she was showing it she had nothing to hide.
Martha placed the plate on the patio stones and stepped backward, moving back up the back step and standing beside Lafayette.
They watched in silence as the cat hunkered down next to the plate and sniffed the food tentatively. All at once, it began to eat the meat at a ravenous pace, it's small head bent low into the plate.
Martha grinned and Lafayette managed a smile, watching the cat who had actually just reminded him of someone.
"You know, it reminds me a little of-"
"Alex?"
Lafayette nodded, watching the cat chew on the chicken with large, snapping bites.
The cat did indeed bear a resemblance to the teenager, at least, it did to Martha and Lafayette. Maybe it was just that Alexander was running constantly through their minds at a break-neck pace those days.
It was small and scrappy with jutting bones and dark brown fur. Its belly was streaked with a coffee brown and it had mahogany coloured, large eyes. The way it moved, graceful but tentative and wary, mirrored Alexander too. The cat's instinct to run as soon as Martha had stepped too near it was achingly familiar to Lafayette; Alexander did the exact same thing.
The cat finished and miaowed contentedly, taking a few steps nearer the door of the kitchen.
Lafayette cautiously stepped down into the garden and moved towards the cat, his hand outstretched towards the tiny feline.
To his surprise and pleasure, the cat brushed its head firmly against his leg and purred affectionately. He crouched down and scratched the cat behind its ears, stroking along its dark coat gently.
"I think it likes you."
Lafayette glanced over his shoulder at Martha and grinned, letting his hand glide down the cat's back. He could feel all the knobs of its spine.
"Can we... I've always wanted a cat..."
Lafayette spoke hesitantly, internally crossing his fingers and praying to all the gods he could think of.
"Keep him? I don't know. George is more of a dog person and as cute as it is, it might not want to live with us."
Lafayette pouted angrily and rubbed the little cat's head gently.
"But... It might be hurt on the street. We're near a highway, what if it were to get hit by a car?"
Martha pursed her lips and considered the cat for a few moments, taking in its small purr and closed eyes.
"Bring it inside and we'll see what George thinks."
Lafayette grinned and gently slid his hands under the cat's belly, lifting it gently and holding it to his chest as he walked back towards the house.
Funnily enough, the cat didn't squirm or scratch at him. For a second, it froze up but soon after rubbed its head gently against Lafayette's chest.
He would have liked to think the cat was warming to him, or that he was a sort of comforting presence but he knew it was probably because he'd bought the cat's affections with food. He was no romanticist, he knew cats were likely to 'love' anyone that fed them.
He put the cat down on the kitchen floor and watched as it stretched, it's paws pushed out in front of it as it lowered its small body to the floor.
"Can we name it?"
Martha pursed her lips, considering this for a few moments. She didn't want Lafayette getting attached, in case they couldn't keep him. Then again, they couldn't keep calling it, 'it'.
"Okay. What do you think?
Lafayette grinned, watching as the cat rubbed itself against the chair leg.
Martha laughed as a thought struck her.
"How about Alexander?"
Lafayette's face crept into a grin and he knelt down in a crouch, tickling the cat under its chin.
"Yeah. It suits him."
So 'it' became 'him' and 'cat' became 'Alexander'. Lafayette knew it was a bit stupid, and if the worst events did transpire (he didn't want to dwell on that thought) the cat would only serve to remind him painfully of his brother.
Alexander hopped up onto the kitchen table and yawned, his mouth opening wide to show small, sharp teeth and a rough, porous pink tongue.
"He's cute, non."
Martha nodded and petted Alexander's head affectionately, watching the cat preen with the affection.
Then, a thought struck Lafayette and he closed his eyes, a laugh ripping from his throat and shaking his head slowly.
"Did we just name a feral tomcat after Alexander?"
Martha winced slightly, her eyes shut and her hand paused, hovering over Alexander's head.
"Perhaps not the best idea, considering the other connotations of the word 'tomcat'."
Lafayette chuckled and turned to the sink, filling a bowl halfway with water.
"Maybe it can be a... I'm not sure the word. A joke because two things are the opposite but called the same?"
Martha shrugged.
"I know what you mean, I don't think there's a word for it."
Lafayette put the bowl down in front of Alexander and they watched as he lapped up the water greedily, his whiskers dripping when he lifted his head up to watch them.
Lafayette tore his eyes away from the cat and looked at his watch.
He was then brought out of the momentary happiness and novelty of a new pet, tugged back into the reality that Alexander was in hospital. That Alexander had tried to kill himself. That Alexander still might not make it.
His face must have fallen noticeably because Martha nudged him with her elbow and brushed his cheek tenderly.
"Gil, you okay?"
He gave a small murmur, a non-answer and turned his face away to watch leaves flutter past the window.
"Will we see Alex today?"
Martha pulled out her phone and opened her husband's contact, pressing call and holding the phone to her ear.
It rang once, then twice, then he picked up.
"Hi, George. Everything okay over there?"
Lafayette could practically hear George's shrug and a sigh followed a few seconds later.
"As okay as things can be, I suppose."
His voice was haggard sounding, revealing a kind of vulnerability and uncertainty Lafayette didn't think he'd ever heard from him before. He wondered if George knew he was there, he wondered if George would talk that way if he knew he was there.
"Gil wanted to know if he would get to see Alexander today."
George responded a second later, there was the sound of his tongue clucking like he was thinking. Lafayette imagined the way his fingers would drum against the nearest surface, in the way they always did when he was considering something.
"I... I think so. The seizure last night set him back a bit, so he won't be conscious yet. Still, I think you could come this afternoon."
Lafayette leant against the fridge and closed his eyes, feeling a magnet digging into his back he shifted and watched Alexander hop off the table and stroll down the hallway, his tail stuck confidently in the air, its tip waving slightly.
"George... On a totally unrelated matter, do you like cats?"
Martha asked suddenly, watching Alexander turn to climb the stairs cautiously.
There was a pause on George's end and when he responded it was cautious, contained almost.
"They're...fine. Why?"
Martha watched Alexander's tail disappear around the banister and shrugged, her voice becoming slightly sheepish.
"There just so happens to be a stray one walking up our stairs right now. We might have fed it and named it too..."
George was quiet for a few seconds. Lafayette could tell he was thinking hard, at a loss for words.
"What did you name it?"
Martha smiled slightly and brushed a stay piece of fur off the kitchen table.
"Alexander."
There was more silence and Alexander miaowed again, there was the sound of him digging his nails and scratching the carpet on the stairs and the padding of paws ascending upwards.
"You... when? When did this happen?"
George's voice was slightly exasperated, but Lafayette knew his father well. He picked up on the edge of humour in his tone. Lafayette fancied that on the other end, George was trying not to laugh.
"Just now. He was in the garden, Gil wanted to feed him and one thing led to another."
George actually did laugh this time, it was short and soft but definitely real. Lafayette thought that, strangely, laughing felt better when you had such horrible things looming over you. You appreciated the things that you had more, because you had just realised how easily they could be taken away.
"You two are too sentimental. A cat... Martha..."
"I'm not saying he'll stay forever. He's here now but the next time he goes outside, he probably won't come back."
Lafayette furrowed his brows and pouted at his mother, who shrugged.
"I don't know, once you feed them they stick around."
George's voice was weary again, exhaustion and worry personified.
"Well... We haven't had a pet before. Might be nice," Martha reasoned, pulling again at her bracelet.
George let the subject drop, turning the conversation back to Alexander, the hospital and everything Lafayette had tried to avoid thinking about.
"The nurse said anytime after two is okay. They're taking blood and things at noon, so when that's over I suppose we can see him."
Lafayette turned out of the kitchen at this, having heard all he needed. He walked down the hallway with his hands deep in his pockets counting the steps as he followed Alexander up towards the landing.
Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze.
It felt so much like he was counting Alexander through a panic attack. Maybe that was what he was subconsciously doing, but for himself.
He reached the landing and obstinately refused to look anywhere near Alexander's bedroom. He actually reached up his hand and held it to one side of his face, like a horse's blinkers.
He walked into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. His bed was unmade and his curtains still drawn. Exactly how he'd left it when he'd woken up yesterday to the groans of pain on the landing.
Lafayette went to his bathroom and showered. He felt grimy, unclean almost. He just wanted to wash everything away and surround himself in steam and water rather than tense atmospheres and concerned whispers.
He washed his hair and closed his eyes against the spray. The pounding of the water around him drowned out his thoughts until all he could think about was the steady rhythm of the shower. It was just louder than the screaming voice inside his head, so he could silence that for at least a few minutes.
He made himself take deep breaths again, tapping against the shower tiles in an 'un, deux, trois, un, deux, trois' rhythm.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, changing into jeans and a fresh shirt. He felt no different. The shower had done nothing to erase the itching, crawling sensation across his skin.
He made his bed, wincing and flinching away when memories of waking up yesterday caught him.
Light pooled at the foot of his bed in grey puddles. Why was he awake? Surely it was very early in the morning? Then, a small groan of pain, unmistakably coming from the hallway outside. He swung his legs out of bed and walked to the door. A patch of dawn shone onto the hall floor. Alexander's hand was laying across the threshold of his bedroom.
Lafayette dropped the corner of the duvet he was holding and felt his shoulders shaking as he sank to his knees.
He wasn't aware of time passing, he could just feel himself on the floor, on his knees, staring blankly ahead at the wall.
Alexander's face came into view as he moved closer. He lay there, somewhat awkwardly, with one arm underneath his torso and his face pressed into the carpet. Lafayette vaguely thought that he couldn't be very comfortable, that he must be cold... a stupid thought, considering Alexander was lying seemingly lifeless on the floor.
His eyes were still fixed on the wall opposite him. Sun was filtering through the blinds so that a section of the wall was striped with dark grey shadows.
Everything was on its side now. Or... Hang on, was he on his side? He felt his shoulder pressed against the floor and his cheek on the cold wood. Had he fallen over?
He felt his legs give way but he caught himself against the wall before he fell, his eyes still locked on Alexander. Then, he burst through the door into Maman et Papa's room, a yell on his lips.
Then, he snapped out of it.
Lafayette suddenly became aware of his position. He looked down at himself, lain on the floor like a toppled bowling pin. What had just happened? How could he have been unaware he had fallen?
The French teenager sat up and used the side of his bed to get to his feet. A nagging, uncomfortable feeling persisted deep in his gut, telling him something was wrong.
He dismissed this. He was fine. He was aggressively fine. This was normal, of course remembering what had happened would make him feel funny.
Lafayette sat down on his bed and closed his eyes. He was fine. He just needed to focus on Alexander for the time being. It was him who had been hurting so bad that he'd tried to end it all. It would be selfish of him to think about anything other than his foster brother.
Martha was calling his name from downstairs so he quickly fumbled with his bedclothes, smoothing out the sheets and duvet so they were free of wrinkles.
"Oui, Maman?"
She called back a moment later, her voice slightly muffled from all the way downstairs.
"Come and eat something!"
He wriggled into a jumper on the back of his chair and made his way downstairs. Before he opened the door to his bedroom, however, he closed his eyes and led himself along the hallway and down the stairs using his familiarity of the house and the guidance of his hand along the walls.
Martha had set out some tea and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out for him, opposite her own mug of coffee and slice of toast.
He was momentarily knocked four years into the past, to a time when Martha would pick him up from school and they'd eat a snack together in the kitchen. She would talk to him in English, help him get a better grasp on the language.
He sat down at the table and took a bite of the sandwich, smiling at Martha as he did so.
"Gonna go through names of countries today? Learn the endings to some verbs?"
Martha laughed and looked at him for a long moment, her eyes soft and crinkled in a nostalgic smile.
"You still had short hair back then."
Lafayette groaned and touched his ponytail protectively, wincing at the memory. Not that short hair hadn't suited him, just that he'd never known what to do with it and... Well... His hairline had been awful.
Martha took a few sips of her coffee and watched Alexander slink through the doorway, his tail waving happily.
"My plan was to eat an early lunch," she motioned at her own plate, then at Lafayette's.
"Then we could collect some things Alexander might want while he's in hospital. He's going to be there for a while so I think we should try to stop him from getting bored."
Lafayette nodded, cursing under his breath as a large glob of jam dropped out of his sandwich and onto the floor. Alexander was at it in an instant, eating it up from the floor and miaowing contentedly, licking around his mouth with a self-satisfied purr.
Lafayette smiled and scratched Alexander's chin playfully, laughing as the cat batted his hand away with a tiny paw and flopped to the ground, rolling on his side and stretching.
Martha laughed and they both watched Alexander for a few moments. They were both cat people. Well, Martha definitely was. Lafayette maintained that he liked both dogs and cats equally.
They finished lunch and Lafayette washed up, smiling as Alexander brushed up against his leg.
"Do you mind grabbing some of Alex's things? Books, notebooks, whatever. Knowing him he'll want school work too."
Lafayette stiffened, his hands pausing halfway through washing his plate. He closed his eyes and nodded, trying to make his voice sound as collected and level as possible.
"Sure."
Martha didn't look around, she didn't seem to notice his odd behaviour.
He finished washing up and slowly walked down the hallway and up the stairs, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. He was going to have to sort through Alexander's room, he couldn't exactly do that with closed eyes.
He took a deep breath before stepping onto the landing. When he moved nearer towards Alexander's door he lowered his eyes, looking at his feet. It must have been an odd sight for someone to walk in on. Him stood there with his eyes lowered to the floor, tentatively moving closer and closer to a doorway on the landing.
He pushed open the door and looked up, taking in the neat piles of books, clothes and assorted objects around the room. A sort of horrible, sympathetic sadness gripped him. Even though Alexander thought he wouldn't be around to care, he'd wanted to make it easier for them to move his stuff out. Always trying not to make a nuisance of himself; typical Alexander.
He moved to the desk and ran his finger along the spines of the books. There were some textbooks there, Politics, English and History being the ones that Lafayette picked up. He knew Alex enjoyed those subjects the most.
There was a battered copy of the fourth Harry Potter book on his desk too, which Lafayette decided to take as well. He'd seen Alexander reading it before and by the way the pages were worn and yellowed with use, the teenager enjoyed it.
Lafayette picked up a notebook as well, and a pen off the desk. Alexander would want to write as much as he could, as soon as he could. He'd have to do his best accommodate that need.
As he was carrying this pile of objects past the doorway, something on the ground caught his eye. It was a small piece of paper, or at least it looked like one. Lafayette sank to his knees and carefully placed the pile of objects on the carpet, picking up the piece of paper and turning it over.
It was a photograph of a woman. She was standing on a beach somewhere he didn't recognise, wind whipping her hair and her sundress fluttering silkily.
He squinted closer at the photo and examined her face, taking in the dark eyes and tanned skin, the way her jawline cut sharply across her slender neck.
This was all hauntingly familiar to Lafayette, these were Alexander's features but... on a woman. It had to be his mother. It couldn't be anyone else, unless he had a sister he hadn't told them about.
Lafayette placed the photo gently on top of the pile and picked everything up once more. Before he opened the door out into the hallway, he closed his eyes and used one hand to feel his way back to his room.
He packed everything into an old gym bag he'd found in the bottom of his wardrobe and brought it downstairs. Right now, every part of the upstairs floor had some unwanted, unfathomable memory attached to it.
Walking around it was like walking through a desert riddled with rattlesnake nests. He never knew if he was going to step on something that would bite him.
The next few hours passed slowly, so Lafayette had a lot of time to think as he sat on the living room couch.
They were bringing Alex things from home because they'd presumed he would get better enough to use them. But... what if he didn't?
There was a very real possibility he'd never read another volume of Voltaire or Sartre, head hung low over the pages and his finger skimming the words lightly.
A very real possibility that he'd never write another unnecessarily long essay, brutally attacking his latest object of outrage for politics class.
It was all too real a thought to Lafayette that Alexander might not get to drink coffee with him, John and Hercules again or watch a show on Netflix one late evening, curled around John's shape.
He wondered if Martha was thinking similar thoughts. He thought these ideas had probably crossed everyone's mind at some point in the last day or so. It was hard not to imagine all the things someone would leave behind if they were to [ ].
He still didn't want to think about that word.
Two o'clock came around and they looked up at each other, almost identical expressions of nervous anticipation in their drawn faces.
"I suppose we should leave, did you pack some things?"
Lafayette nodded and they started to get ready, pulling on their coats and slipping on their shoes in suffocating silence. Lafayette grabbed the gym bag he'd left in the porch and they got into the car. Martha hummed nervously as the drove further into the town's centre towards the emergency room.
George was sat on the same sofa they'd been on yesterday, his long legs stretched out in front of him on the floor, his feet crossed and his chin tucked into his chest.
He'd fallen asleep. His coat was still on him so he'd either been too cold to take it off or he hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place. Lafayette thought it was most likely that the latter was true.
Martha woke George up gently, with a hand on his shoulder and a quiet word in his ear. He opened his eyes and blinked two or three times before straightening up and surveying Lafayette in front of him.
"It's two now, so we thought we'd come."
George nodded, silent and stoic as ever, and stood up. He brushed his coat off and briefly rolled his shoulders in small circles, his heavy brows furrowed.
"Let me speak to a nurse then."
They were led away from the main waiting room and through the hospital by an ER trainee. It wasn't a particularly long walk, the hospital wasn't a large one, but it was long enough to build the tension between the three of them significantly.
Eventually, they were shown into the children's wing of the hospital, and then down a corridor bearing a sign that read 'Childrens' psychiatric unit'.
Lafayette's hand had found Martha's and she gripped it tightly, steadying the trembling and rubbing her thumb gently along the back of his hand.
They stopped outside a door right at the end of the corridor and the ER trainee turned to them, looking down at his clipboard and reading furtively for a few seconds.
"What I have here says he's not conscious yet, and won't be for a time. From now on though, when you visit Mr. Hamilton, you'll be in this room here, rather than in the waiting room outside."
Martha nodded and the ER trainee paused for a second, pulling out a small card from his pocket. He peered at the card, then the combination lock on the door and put in a password.
He held the door open for them and Lafayette felt Martha give his hand another firm, comforting squeeze. They walked in, George standing to the side so he was no longer in front of Lafayette. Without his father's considerable height blocking his view, he could see the whole room.
It wasn't a very large room, just big enough to fit a bed, three hard looking, straight back chairs, a bedside table and Lafayette supposed, extra room for nurses or any other medical equipment necessary. There was a large window directly opposite from the door and white, autumnal light filtered through a patchy layer of clouds to create a cotton wool pattern of shadows on the floor.
In the bed, which was next to the window, lay Alexander.
He was asleep, well, unconscious. Was there a difference between those two states? Lafayette wasn't entirely sure, his knowledge of the English language rarely delved into such intricacies.
His hair was still tied up in its usual ponytail but it was far from neat. The baby hairs around his forehead were plastered to his skin with sweat and his face was partially obscured by a thin layer of dark, stray hairs. From what Lafayette could see of his face, he was pale and sickly looking. His lips were no longer blue but a very pale peach, matching the complexion of the rest of his face almost exactly.
From his nose a small tube connected to a machine by his bed. Lafayette thought it must have been an oxygen tank, for he remembered Martha mentioning something about that early this morning.
As well as this, he had a multitude of wires and tubes connected to various points along his body. What Lafayette guessed were EKG stickers on his chest and a thin tube ran from his forearm to an IV drip next to his bed.
He looked frail under the clean white bed covers. His shape under the blankets was small and only if Lafayette concentrated very hard, he could see the slight rising and falling of his chest.
On the top of the cabinet next to his bed were the clothes he'd been wearing when Lafayette had found him, but, strangely, neither his shoes nor belt. Lafayette didn't know why this detail bothered him so much. He guessed he didn't like the idea of Alexander's things being mistreated.
"Where are the rest of his things? He- he had..."
Lafayette's voice was small and his accent was strong again, halfway through his sentence he trailed off, losing confidence in himself.
A nurse had inched her way into the room behind him and Lafayette turned around, starting slightly. How long had she been there?
"The rest of his things are being kept in storage, you're welcome to take them home for him. Just, with suicide attempts, we can't let a patient have anything that could be used as a makeshift rope. A belt, shoelac-"
The nurse was cut off as Lafayette walked abruptly out the door, turning sharply and pushing himself across the threshold into the hallway. He stood there instead, away from Alexander and that nurse and everything that was reminding him of how much he'd failed his brother.
Lafayette leaned his head against the cold wall of the hospital wing and closed his eyes. He didn't want anyone near him right now. Not Martha, George or that insensitive, horrible nurse.
He could hear voices inside the room but could only pick out select words. He decided he'd stay there and calm down somewhat before going back into the room.
It took his maybe fifteen or twenty minutes to gather himself properly, in that time watching other teenagers and kids pass him by. Some looked like visitors with families and friends, some wore hospital gowns and were accompanied by nurses.
The nurse who he'd so abruptly walked out on left not long after he did. She walked straight past him down the corridor without so much as a glance and didn't look back, eventually turning the corridor about thirty feet away.
He rubbed his face with his hand and breathed deeply a few more times before walking back into the ward.
Martha and George sat on the chairs by the wall and looked up as he entered. He shut the door behind him and sat between his patents, resting his head against George's arm and taking Martha's hand once again.
"I'm so sorry Gil. This should- this should never have happened."
George's voice was soft and low, unusually for him, he stumbled slightly over his words and seemed quite overcome.
"Don't be sorry. We'll... We'll be okay."
Martha had taken to rubbing circles onto the back of his hand again with her thumb and he gripped tighter, watching a particularly strong gust of wind blow a leaf from a tree far below.
So they sat there, not talking, just thinking. If you could have listened to their thoughts in that room that day, you'd just hear a frantic, dizzying buzz of emotions. Not one of them knew what was going to happen next, neither did they know what was happening right then. When those kinds of things hit, you never do.
