What a lovely reception for the first chapter. Gotta tell ya, this story just keeps coming to me. My usual MO is I post because inspiration struck all at once and then my muse packs up and leaves to Florida and never comes back.
But I keep getting good material for this thing. In that vein, I have no idea how long this will be or how long the average chapter will be. Just writing as I go.
Anyhow, enjoy! Hopefully this chapter sets up the stage a little bit.
(~)
I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep
The days were calm and the winds were prosy
I said "Twill keep"
(~)
They don't have a long wait in the ER. Alexander's status as a senator means that they never do, but they do have a few minutes. Alexander had taken Eliza here right away, knowing she would back out if he waited too long.
Eliza slips to the bathroom, and Alex pulls out his phone and read a few texts.
Herc Mulligan: Dude, where are you? Not like you to be gone during the day.
AHam: At the hospital. Wife's not well. Doc wants a chest x-ray. Says her fingers are swollen. Whatever that means.
Hercules doesn't reply.
One of Hercules Mulligan's quirks is the man normally texts back extremely quickly. To a fault, sometimes he barely reads the texts before he replies. Alexander remembers once telling him that he was going to fight someone for the last loaf of tiger bread, and getting a call ten seconds later from Herc, asking if he needs backup or press coverage (he had only read until "fight"). So the long wait for a reply is a bit odd, Alex notes.
AHam: Herc?
Herc Mulligan: Has she lost weight? Ever coughed up blood?
AHam: Yeah? Probably bronchitis.
Another long pause. Alex's heart rate starts to pick up again.
Herc Mulligan: Dude, when you're in with the doc, call me. Wanna talk to him.
AHam: You trying to put the moves on my wife, man?
Herc Mulligan: Just do it. Wanna talk to him.
His attempt at levity gone unnoticed, Alex bites his lip, a tiny bit of fear gnawing at his stomach. He knows Hercules Mulligan well. He is large and intimidating, but an absolute teddy bear on the inside. He is little Elizabeth's favorite person. He is also a former doctor.
And he's worried.
(~)
He calls and checks on the children. Alex Jr. tells him Angelica has started acting strange all of a sudden but the maid was there to help in a pinch. He also says William and Elizabeth are pretending to be zombies, that he's fifteen years old and not a twelve-year-old babysitter, and that Alex should be paying him for this torture, so it's business as usual.
Eliza slides back into their seat just as her name is called. The technicians change her into a shapeless gown and lie her down, still coughing, for the x-ray. They allow him to sit beside her and wipe her mouth and try to keep her still.
He is grateful for that.
Eliza has been by his side for everything. He is painfully aware of the many times he could have been a much better husband to her, and recently had made a vow to try harder, after…Philip.
The doctor was right, the process is painless as long as Eliza keeps still (which is difficult amongst the coughs). They are led into a private room to wait for results. Eliza looks a bit nervous, and Alexander hates seeing that look on her face, so he pulls out his phone and shows her videos of cat antics. She laughs, probably more to do with the fact that her husband, a US senator, is using his phone to Google "cat farts" more than actual content, but it works and that's all he cares about.
They sit for close to fifteen minutes before the doctor returns to the room, and Alex tries hard to read his face, but it is carefully schooled into a neutral expression.
He calls Herc and hands the phone off to the doctor. Eliza calls home to check on the children, and he subtly tries to hear Herc's conversation with the doctor. He only catches snatches of words, but there are a few he hears, and his blood turns to ice.
Biopsy. Carcinoma.
Alexander Hamilton is not a doctor, he is a politician. But he knows what those words mean.
Cancer. They think his wife has cancer.
When they tell Eliza, she does not react. He suspects she knew something was wrong when he grabbed onto her as soon as he heard those chilling words. Maybe even before that.
He takes her hand and squeezes. She doesn't squeeze back. He leads her out and she follows without any trace of an expression.
The biopsy is scheduled for tomorrow, and they are sent home for tonight.
(~)
By the time they get home, Eliza is wearing her calm mask that he knows so well. She tells the children she is fine, tucks little Elizabeth into bed, helps Alex Jr., James and John with their homework.
She comes to bed and curls up without a word to him, but he knows she isn't sleeping.
They have shared this same bed for twenty years, with the exception of the Reynolds affair. The mattress holds two divets, one on the right and one on the left. A side for each of them.
The middle is becoming suitably worn as well, for all the times recently that he has held her against him, unable to believe that the grace of forgiveness was actually real.
The room is littered with children's artwork, with photos of their family, with evidence of a life spent together.
And the love of his life breathes softly not a foot away.
He allows his mind to picture, for one terrible moment, his life without Eliza.
As a senator and father, as one of the most trusted men in the country. The person so many rely on.
The picture is a blur. No matter how he tries, he cannot bring it into focus. He is literally unable to fathom his life without Eliza's presence. A chill rockets up his spine and the room is suddenly very, very cold.
He knows he is getting ahead of himself. Knows that nothing is confirmed yet, and worrying about it does no good.
Still, that doesn't stop him from climbing into bed beside his wife of twenty years, pressing her against him and raking his hands through her soft hair.
Cancer will not take her, he vows. He will not let his family break again.
(~)
Some people don't feel a thing
Some kind of blissful dream
Wish I could live that now
(~)