A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for not letting this fanfic go unnoticed (and a big thank-you to steelmagnolia247, 4444doodlemaru4444, and TTluv19 for reviewing as well as reading the story).

I haven't even started writing Chapter 4 yet, so I probably won't update this for a little while after I post this chapter (plus, school will likely eat up most of my time this week anyway). Until then, here's Chapter 3.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Realization (Eliza)

My breath caught in my throat as I waited for an answer.

No.

No.

No.

This couldn't be right, this couldn't be the case, this couldn't be as it so clearly appeared—but from the look of the situation, it was. What was easily one of the worst tragedies in this family's history, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be repeating itself, with Alexander in the place of our firstborn son.

Alexander did not respond, except to break eye contact. For once, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Is it?!" I could hear myself raising my voice, but at that point in time, I did not care; I was far too terrified—dumbfounded—furious—however it was I felt about the situation at hand—to worry about my tone.

"Don't worry about me, Betsey. I will be alright," my husband eventually responded in a voice obviously meant to reassure.

Needless to say, his words had no impact on my current state. "You cannot promise that, though, can you?"

Of course he could not. He knew this just as well as I—just as well as most anyone. Even half a lifetime ago, after he had been given a field command in the final year of this nation's war for independence, he had said much the same to me when he gave me that news. We both knew, even despite his words, that there was no way to promise this.

Breathe, Eliza.

After a moment, I stated in as calm a voice as I could muster at the time, "The minute I woke up alone, I knew there was something wrong, and this certainty only intensified when the meeting time was revealed to me. I knew that was no overreaction or product of an overactive imagination."

More to myself than anyone else, though evidently still loud enough to be heard, I continued, "And concerning what occurred in my dream tonight, and now this..."

"What did you dream of?" Alexander's voice, calm and steady and collected, interrupted my thought process and transported me back to where I was at that moment: standing next to my husband in his study at a time when both of us should be fast asleep, the candle I was holding almost about to slip from my grasp.

Willing my shaking hand to stay still as I hurriedly set the candle down on the corner of his desk, I began to formulate a response: "It was..."

Try as I might, I could not say another word beyond that; anything I would have said was suddenly trapped in my throat, unable to move any farther.

Alexander stood up from his desk and turned to me, his blue eyes meeting mine again. "You dreamed of Philip again, did you not?"

Still unable to speak, I merely nodded in reply.

Alexander could have already left by now, I abruptly thought, noting the initials at the end of the letter he had been writing—which he more than likely had no desire for me to ever see—that indicated its completion, that his graying hair was already brushed and tied back with a ribbon, that—save for a topcoat and cloak—he was fully dressed and ready to leave the house. Had I not awakened and come down to see what the matter was, he might have already left.

Without a word, Alexander wrapped his arms around me and held me close for a little while. In some events, at some points in time, there are no words to be spoken—nothing to say that will make any sort of impact—and this, as we had both discovered rather quickly after the dream began recurring, was one of them.

We had stayed like this for some time when my voice returned to me. "The dream..." I began, "ended differently than in the other times it came to me."

Alexander let go of me as I took a small step backward, breaking the embrace. "How did it change?" he asked, his brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly to one side.

"It was as if...an entirely different scene had been attached to the end of it."

"The addition was a pleasant one, I hope."

"I'm afraid not."

A pause. "If you wish to stop there, I won't ask you to continue."

"I'll be alright, Alexander.

"The new scene was in a different time—and likely in a different place—than the rest of the dream. You and my older sister and Dr. Hosack and I were all involved in the final scene, but the former two were in different locations than before.

"Angelica was near where you had been in the main part of the dream, and you..." I paused as the words began to stick in my throat again. Thinking about the dream had been one thing; speaking to someone else—anyone else—about it was quite another.

Breathe.

After I did so for a bit and the words began to flow again, I continued, "You had taken Philip's place, both in location and...and in final condition."

Alexander's eyes widened slightly. "That's...very strange, is it not?"

"Yes, it is," I agreed, "and I don't believe the timing was any sort of coincidence."

Almost without thinking, I changed the subject somewhat. "What action do you plan to take in the interview?"

Until the words had been spoken, I had been unaware that that was something I wondered about. That likely shouldn't be any of my concern; after all, I am not the person about to risk his own life over an insult. Some small part of me, however, apparently felt the need to know exactly what my husband had decided to do.

Alexander replied, "I have already chosen to throw away my first shot."