Chapter 6: The Resurrection

Alexander knew everyone was right. This was dangerous and there was a high chance of him being captured again. He acknowledged it, somewhere deep down inside himself, but he'd never tell them or anyone else.

The Schuyler family put a lot of money into his grave. They decided to have him buried in Trinity Church Cemetery in New York City. Eliza said that she wanted him to be laid to rest in the city he loved so much. She knew him so well. Getting there was surprisingly easy, all things considered. With a certain type of help from above, he was making excellent time to his pseudo grave.

He made it to the cemetery slightly past two, a little worried that he was too late and very worried he'd be attacked. Walking thru people's final resting places, knowing one of them had your name on it, wasn't something he'd recommend doing at this time of night. To say it was unsettling, with or without the threat of being killed, would be an understatement. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for anyone lurking around for trespassers or anyone standing at a grave; making absolutely sure that his hood hid his face. Connor emerged from the shadows briefly, said that he spotted someone, and pointed him towards the further left side of the cemetery. He looked that way and saw nothing but darkness and tombstones. He had no clue how Connor or Able were able to see anything in the darkness; an assassin skill, if he wanted to hazard a guess. He would have asked, but when he turned back to where the assassin was, he was gone. He concluded, then and there, that Connor was a man he would want to keep on his side.

There actually was a person standing in front of a grave. They weren't hiding at all; Alexander spotted them almost immediately upon walking over. He hid behind the grave marker directly behind him, to get a better look and the other luckily didn't notice; though, he should have, Alexander was terrible at hiding. The man in question was in a long black coat and a wide-brimmed hat; presumably to hide his identity, like he was doing. He definitely wasn't Hercules; his build was too small and his shoulders were too narrow; but he did seem oddly familiar, though. He seemed to be having a silent prayer for and/or to whoever was buried under the headstone. Peaking around the stranger, he made out part of his name and gave himself chills. There was something about seeing his own grave that made his blood freeze in his veins. The man finished his prayer and started speaking.

"... I'd never thought this day would come, Alexander..."

Without even seeing his face, he knew that voice at once. He took a small step out from behind his almost completely useless hiding place, "... ... Well. If it isn't, Arron Burr. Sir."

Burr's head shot up from looking at the tombstone, but he didn't move from his spot. The young Colonel chuckled weakly, "Even on the other side, are you still using that joke, Alexander?"

There was something about the way he spoke made Alexander uncomfortable. It wasn't normal for his friend to sound so... upset. It was very unusual for the typically calm and collected Arron Burr to sound as distraught as he did.

"... John's devastated, I hope you know that. We all are..."

Wait, John? How did Burr know-?

"You should have spoken to him and your friends while they were here. They need it more than I do."

"... What?..."

John and his friends were here? Did he mean Lafayette and Hercules?

"Burr, where are they? I need to know."

Burr's shoulders hunched as Alexander spoke, like he couldn't bear to hear it, "Why, Alex? Why did you go and get yourself killed? Always the damn hero, huh?"

He wasn't sure why the other was acting this way, but he could only guess it was related to his death, "Burr. Turn around. Please."

"Do you know how everyone looked when we found out from Hercules what happened? Why did you have to-?"

"Turn around, Arron!"

Burr jumped at his yelling and whirled around. He froze where he stood when their eyes meet.

Alexander sighed and looked away, "You didn't have to say all that. I had a pretty good idea already."

He looked back up at his first friend and smiled softly. He took a small step forward and Burr almost immediately backed into his tombstone, "... ... A-alexander?... ..."

His small smile wavered at the tone in Burr's voice, "In the flesh. I'll be honest, out of everyone I expected to see when I came to visit my grave, I wasn't expecting you, all by yourself... And, let's get one thing clear; you're my friend too, Arron."

The darker man stared at him, looking absolutely shocked. He took a few more steps forward and touched his forearm; causing the other to flinch, "Arron? Are you al-?"

Burr stepped away from him, grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the cemetery.

"What? B-burr, what are you-?"

"You owe everyone a proper apology and you are not going anywhere until you give them one. You hear me, Alex?!"

He blinked up at Burr in surprise. Did his supposed death affect him that much? He was dragged all the way to a small inn near the port. Burr hauled him upstairs and knocked on the door at the end of the hall. Burr refused to let go of his arm and his death grip was starting to hurt. A voice from inside told them to enter and Burr pulled him inside.

Sitting on the single bed was Hercules and Lafayette to the left and right, respectively, of a distressed looking John. Near the covered window was, very surprisingly, George Washington. That meant the rumors were true. He briefly wondered if he was here to see his pseudo grave too. The four men looked wracked with grief, with John and Lafayette looking near tears.

Washington glanced at Burr, "... Burr. Who is that?"

Burr gripped his shoulder and shoved him forward, "Someone that owes us an explanation."

Alexander turned and glared at Burr, before turning towards his dearest friends. He took a tentative step forward, "... John. Lafayette. Hercules. You all really came?"

The three stilled at his voice. John's head shot up immediately, "... ... A... Alex?... ..."

He smiled softly and stepped closer, "The one and only. I... I didn't expect to see yo-"

A sharp slap to his right cheek shut him up. He staggered back and glared at a furious looking Lafayette, "What the hell?!"

The Frenchman went into a nearly unintelligible rant in some anger fueled amalgamation of French and English. Alexander couldn't make out much, but he could tell that the overall theme was him being an idiot and getting himself killed. He sighed, gripped him by the shoulders, and violently shook him.

"Get ahold of yourself and yell clearly!"

Lafayette shook him off and ran a hand through his ponytail in frustration, "You want me to speak clearly? Fine. You should have sent a message to us! I could have helped! We could have helped! Instead, you had to go get yourself hanged! And now you have the gall to show up?! After all this?!"

"It was a set up from the start, Laf!"

"Oh, don't you pull that old tr-!"

"They wanted me to sell out the revolution, damn it!"

The other went deathly quiet at his outburst. A soft hand touched his shoulder and he was met with bloodshot sea green eyes, "... Alex... What happened?"

The young revolutionary sighed, "... I was captured by the redcoats. They offered to let me go if I sold out the army. I refused and was sentenced to hang. Before I did, though I was rescued. I stayed in hiding until I knew it was safe to return. I just came here from Schuyler manor because I was told Hercules would be here. I certainly never expected you to be here, John. It's good to see you."

John chuckled weakly and brushed a few rebellious tears away, "Likewise, Alex."

It took a lot more willpower than he was willing to admit to not help John wipe his tears away. Instead, he settled for slinging an arm over his friend's shoulder and gently rubbing his upper arm. A heavy hand patted his shoulder and Alexander looked up at a very tired Hercules, "You had us all worried for a while. I actually thought you were up and gone this time."

"It'll take more than a few lengths of rope to do me in."

Lafayette sighed and gently grabbed his forearm, "... Alexander, just... don't pull this again... Alright, mon ami?"

The brunette chuckled and laid his hand over Lafayette's, "I'll tell you the same thing I told Angelica. I make no promises, but I'll do my best."

John huffed and ruffled his hair, "That sounds about right."

"Alexander."

The young man jumped and turned to his former general. For someone so large, Washington was very good at staying silent.

"Y-yes sir?"

"... It's good to have you back, son."

"... It's good to be back, sir."

The comforting feeling of being surrounded by his friends didn't last as nearly as long as he would have liked it too. Gunshots from the street below shattered any sort of calmness in the room. With quickly barked orders from Washington, hurried goodbyes, and rushed exits through absurd places; he swore on his fake grave he saw Lafayette jump from the window; it was as if no one had been in the room at all. Alexander wasn't able to avoid all the Templar, but with assassins above him, they didn't last long. He wondered about his friends' safety most of the way to Schuyler manor.

By some strange miracle, it was only slightly past dawn when Alexander arrived back in Albany. He silently crept into the upstairs room he and his wife were staying in. He slowly opened the door and looked inside to see Eliza quietly sleeping. He smiled as he walked to her side and gently kissed her forehead. He stood and turned to sit at the lone desk in the room. He prepared a piece of parchment and an ink pot before he left the previous night, he made his wife a promise after all. Taking up his quill, he started writing. The words always came so naturally to the young revolutionary, so naturally that he usually lost himself in them. Every now and then, he would glance back at the sleeping person in his bed and smile before turning back to his work. After everything that had happened in the past month, he, in that one moment, was happy to do nothing more than to write and wait for his beloved wife to wake up.