A/N Low- key filler chapter, sorry. The underline in my last couple of chapters wasn't working, so now italics will be memory's AND sardonic thoughts. Trigger warnings; time period typical homophobia and I think that's it in this one. Enjoy!

Alexander's POV

I hate pity. I hate it when people look at me with pity, when they favor me out of pity, or when they pity me, etc. I hate pity, but that's all I've been getting for the past two weeks. Lafayette acts the most different around me because only him, and probably Washington he's a smart guy, know the truth of how close we were. Laf also thinks I'm going to off myself because of one hungover conversation.

I blink awake and try to shake my head to get rid of the pounding at the back of my skull. Looking around I see Lafayette staring at me, concerned.

"Yes?" I ask impatiently. He jumps slightly like he didn't know I was awake.

"Sorry, just waiting for you to wake up, we need to talk about last night." I groan.

"What did I say?"

"Let's wait till your fully awake to have this-"

"I probably won't tell you anything while alert, so spit it out." He hesitates a moment, as if he can't decide what to start with.

"Were you and John sodomites?" My eyes widen and I freeze up. John's already dead so it doesn't really matter…. But I could get kicked out… but Washington needs me… will Laf even care he's French… why the hell does drunk me get so talkative… shit.

"Uh… no." he raises an eyebrow. I decide to play it safe. "I will not admit or deny any of your claims."

"Oh ok" His face pensive for a moment before continuing, "Were you both happy?" I look up at that and smile slightly. Only Lafayette.

"Yes."

"Ok… I'll admit it's a bit strange to think about" Then he grins, "But it's not my time in hell." I'd be offended, if his face wasn't so teasing.

"So, are we ok?"

"Yes. Just don't ever describe it to me. Ever."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He then gets up and starts heading towards the flap, before stopping and turning around.

"Oh, and Alexander."

"Ya."

"You have so much to live for-"

"Laf I'm not going to-"

"Don't end yourself too soon." He continues walking out the tent.

"I wasn't going to-" But he's already gone.

That was too weeks ago. He still thinks I'm going to take a musket to my head. As if I'd waste our precious resources like that. Shaking my head, I get back to translating the French messages, a job that used to be much faster with… Work, don't think. This worked for about 15 minutes until General Schuyler came into our tent.

"Men." All our heads snap up, postures becoming rigid. He continues, "At ease. I just came to inform you there will be a ball at my estate this Friday and your presence is highly recommended. Thank you, continue your work." A ball. At Schuyler's. Highly recommended, I mentally snort. You mean required. I don't want to go to a ball, especially when I need to be on my game. As much as I hate to admit it, I need a wealthy wife, but I can't woo any ladies when I'm so… off. It's not that I don't appreciate a lady, because I do. I definitely do. But it's so soon after… God I can't even say it in my own brain. Pathetic Ham, pathetic.

It's hours later, and I'm finally done with all my work. With a last nod to Washington, I head out of the tent and walk towards Lafayette's tent. He's said earlier that there was word from Mulligan and that we would read it together. It'll be nice to hear from another friend. I stride to the flap, push it open, and flop on his bed.

"Hello to you too." He greets for me.

"Letter?"

"Direct, to the point, got it. No time for pleasantries with your old friend Marie- Joseph-"

"We don't have time for your whole fucking name. Letter." Before, I might've made a joke or recited his name with him, but I just wasn't in the mood. I hate this version of me.

"Ok, ok." he pulls out a letter from his pocket and starts to read.

Dearest friends,

I don't have much time to write this letter because of my undisclosed mission, but I felt I had to reassure you of my condition. I am alive and well and, while this mission is risky, I'm not in any emanate danger. I apologize for this brief letter, and I plead you not to reply. Where I am, a letter from you would not go well.

I bid you adieu,

H. Mulligan

"That's…" He seemed to be struggling for a word to use.

"Unsatisfying."

"Yes, but at least we know he's alive."

"I guess so." There's a comfortable silence that hangs between us. Well, comfortable for him at least, for I know it's just the lull before the storm. He's going to bring it up, I just know it…

"So, have you heard about the ball at the-"

"Schuyler's. Yes, I have. Almost everybody has, what about it?"

"Are you going." I hesitate. Honest answer would look a lot like, I don't really want to go at all because my MALE lover is dead and I'm still grieving, but I feel that reply would be unappreciated by Laf.

"I have to." I say instead.

"Do you want to?"

"Does it matter, I'm going anyway." He sighs.

'Alright then Ham, I'll see you tomorrow. It's late, go to sleep." I get off his bed and head towards the exit, saying goodbye over my shoulder. I don't stick around and mention how I can't sleep. I don't tell him how hard it is to be in a tent with so much John, but not enough. I don't mention how I've been sleeping in his cot for comfort. I just leave, taking my burdens with me.

I arrive at my tent and slip inside. Home sweet home. If He were here I would probably have another hour of extra writing to do, but he's not. I haven't been able to bring myself to continue the essays without him. Weak. Neither of our beds are made neatly, he was always better at it. He never got the chance to teach me. Your fault. His letter box is still in the corner. I haven't gotten around to cleaning it. Pathetic. I walk over to where his mail is and pick up the letter on top. Martha Laurens. My heart stings a little bit at the name. I still remember the day I found out about her, it was one of our only big fights. Ever. But I would give anything to have those feelings of betrayal and hurt if it meant I got John back. If I could trade his life for mine, if I could break into the afterlife and steal him, if I could resurrect him with my bare hand. If I could do anything but kill everyone around me. I drift asleep with the mantra still ringing in my head, your fault, your fault, your fault.

Ahhhh I'm sorry this really short, but midterms has given me less time to write. Sorry about this obvious filler chapter, but hey, it tells you our good ole' Eliza is coming to town. Stay tuned!