Hamilton spent the next few days sinking further into a state of internal unbridled panic. Jefferson said no more, he hadn't called him in days. Laurens was oblivious to what was going on in his mind, but Hamilton was pretty good at keeping it well under wraps. They stayed in Laurens' apartment, occasionally going out to Bridge to get coffee and change about what they were working on, or to get food. But Hamilton felt like he was a ghost of himself, resigned into what he knew Laurens mistook as being a state of concentration. In reality, he wasn't applying himself half as much as he regularly did, and he feared that the looming deadline for his collaboration with Laurens was approaching too quickly.

Lafayette published Hamilton's article in the midst of all this panic, and it took only a day for Burr's reply to come. Laf sent him a copy of the paper, with a note attached that read "You need to respond to this, destroy him, Hamilton." He didn't even have the energy to read the article, let alone formulate a response. Where has he'd fight gone, now in the time when he needed it the most and when his situation, the fact that he had friends who believed in him, a boyfriend that loved him, he was supported enough to be able to overcome all of this. In theory. Something inside Hamilton had shattered the moment he fully understood the power Jefferson held over his life. Writing on Laurens' kitchen worktop, he found his hands trembling off their own accord. His normally perfect notations became messy scribbles scarring his notebook pages, ugly reminders of he state his mind had fallen into, how jumbled up his thoughts had become.

Laurens read Burr's response before Hamilton, something that struck him as odd. When Laurens approached him on the subject, he knew that he was starting to realise that all wasn't as well as he'd been trying to allude him into thinking.

"Hamilton. Alex, listen. Is it Jefferson? How have you let him get under your skin so much? What's the worst that he could do, you have so many credentials, you're first real book is being published tomorrow, you have that top-notch brain. If he fires you so what?"

"He could ruin my reputation. Or us. Laurens I've so much to lose. I have everything..."

"I know, you've said," Laurens sighed, slightly exasperated. "I can't help you if you don't let me inside your head, you know.."

"He could call me any moment. Ruin my life with a number of words." Hamilton lay down the pen he'd been holding. He hadn't noticed until that moment that he'd been grasping it so tight his knuckles had paled, and it was on the verge of snapping in two. His gaze didn't move from the pen for what seemed an eternity. There wasn't enough heart in him to hold Laurens' gaze and tell him the present inner workings of his mind. Not when he couldn't even fully decipher them himself.

"I'm calling the guys, we need to pull you out of this rut. What about a celebratory book launch partway?"

Hamilton could think of nothing he cared less about right then, than celebrating a book that was probably effectively going to ruin him, if that was what Jefferson's line of attack happened to entail.

But for Laurens' sake, he tiredly agreed.

It had been nice, he admitted to himself, watching Laurens work himself up into a nervous panic over the specifics of the party he was organising. The short notice (just a few hours) and the task of talking with Jefferson to get advance final copies of the book to be sold and displayed at the party, was enough to overwhelm Hamilton, just in thought. In practise, Laurens was a great event organiser, less critical and precise than Hamilton thought himself to be, but where he lacked meticulous detail, he made up for in efficiency. The difference between them, the major one that Hamilton was noticing, was that Laurens was able to survey the task at hand and prioritise. Hamilton could never do that. He had to make sure everything was absolutely perfect, everything that he would eventually attribute his name to, that was.

So he was glad that he could sit back and watch Laurens shoulder all the work for once. Listening in to the phone call between his boyfriend and Jefferson, as they discussed the amount of copies that would be needed at the launch, stressed Hamilton out into almost a serious panic, until Laurens got off the call and could reassure him that all was good. Jefferson was still behaving himself. Right now. Hamilton was sure that that was the end of his stress for the evening, and was actually starting to warm to the idea of a launch party, when he got a text from Burr. Typical. Of course this would come just as his mind had started to quiet the fuck down.

Burr: U haven't read what I wrote yet?

Hamilton: I have better things to be doing with my time, Burr, than to be reading the writings of such a person.

Burr: And I thought we were friends

Burr: That's okay, Alexander

Burr: I knew already that you were only ever willing to face me while intoxicated

Hamilton: what

Hamilton: the fuck

Hamilton: We are friends, Burr I don't see what I said that convinced you otherwise, it's true that I have no time to read writings of such a man, that is merely factual

Burr: Whatever, Alex

Burr: I'll see you at the party tonight?

Burr: Can't wait to read your first book!

Burr: Jefferson has told me so much about it

Hamilton: wtf are you talking about?

Hamilton: Burr, what the fuck?

Hamilton: Leaving me on read just makes you petty

Hamilton: fuck

Fuck.

"Fuck."

Laurens, who had just answered the door to the delivery of books from Jefferson, glanced over. "Babe. You okay?"

"Fuuuuuuck."

Laurens stopped unpacking the books and pulled himself off the floor where he'd been sitting, cross-legged, by the large box they'd arrived in. He was at Hamilton's side in a second. Without saying a thing, Hamilton showed Laurens his phone screen.

"I haven't even told Laff or Mulligan - or anyone - about the party. The only person I told was Jefferson. And even that was just an hour ago..."

"Laurens..."

"That doesn't make any sense, how could he know?"

"Laurens."

There was a prolonged pause and a quizzical stare from John Laurens before Hamilton finally saw the pieces of the puzzle slip into place inside his head. Again, his face paled as realisation dawned on him.

"Oh. Fuck."