Oh guys. Oh, damn guys. See, usually these chapters flow pretty easily, and my muse is fairly cooperative. This one though. My muse and I fought at every step. I don't have a huge amount of confidence in this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Also, storytime! I live in Thailand, and the typical way to get around here is via motorcycle taxis (you literally sit on the back of a motorcycle and the driver takes you where you want to go). They are not safe at all, and motorcycle drivers have no fear about darting in and out of traffic (but they're cheap, fast and convenient). So one day, a motorcycle I was on thought he could beat a truck. Long story short, he couldn't, he crashed and I got some pretty bad roadburns on my leg and foot. I had to keep it wrapped for weeks, and every day I would go into my school's nurse, god bless her, to unbandage, clean and rewrap my foot. Let me tell you something about taking bandages off wounds: it takes skin with it. And it freaking hurts. Now, I get that Eliza's wound is a surgical incision, so I am certainly taking creative liberties with it, and am definitely aware that this may not happen, but suspension of disbelief please.
Also I can sum up my inspiration for this chapter in me saying to myself, "self, you haven't quite put the Hamiltons through enough. Torture them more."
Yeah, we both carry baggage
We picked up on our way
So if you love me, do it gently
And I will do the same
Alexander makes a vow to be there when Eliza wakes up, but that doesn't mean work stops.
He fields at least six calls from various people at his office, until he eventually turns his phone on silent and resolves to ignore it.
Various nurses come in and out all day, checking vitals, temp, and the chest tube.
They wean her off the ventilator, and she wakes the next day, when the children are visiting.
He knows because the shouts of "Mom!" are immediate. Whatever children were not on the bed quickly piled on, covering their mother with careful hugs and kisses.
He gives her hand a squeeze and she smiles at him.
"Hey beautiful. Have a good nap?" he asks.
"Bit uncomfortable," she rasps, which is the first sign he gets that she may still be in pain.
Much as their children want to sleep at the hospital with their mother, she sends them home, and Alex sends the children to school the next day. As it happens, they are gone when the nurse comes in, announcing that it's time to change Eliza's dressings. The doctor had already given her medication for pain (and much to her mortification, an anti-constipation med, as that was listed as one of the painkiller's main side effects).
Still, the nurse warns her that it may sting a bit, and then carefully pulls the first bandage off.
The sudden scream of pain she lets out raises the hairs on his neck.
"What the hell did you do?!" he yells at the nurse, seizing her hand.
"Sir," she says in an infuriatingly calm voice. "This is not uncommon. Seepage from the wound and surrounding skin often binds with the bandages, creating some pain when the bandage is removed. The best way to get through it is quickly."
Alexander takes in his wife's eyes, wide with pain, the bandage that is only beginning to be removed, and the nurse's expression.
"Find another way," he says resolutely. "Give her some morphine. But you will not do that again."
"No," Eliza says. "No morphine. The children are coming, I don't want to be asleep."
As it ends, the bandage has to come off, and they have to find a way to get through it. So in the end, Alexander's hand is clutched to Eliza's chest as the bandage is removed little by little.
Intellectually, he knows that they have to do it slowly to disturb the incision as little as possible.
However, with every whimper and shout of pain, he wishes they would rip it off.
This is torture for her, he knows. He tries every measure of comfort he can think of. He strokes her hair, he squeezes her hand, he sings to her.
She clutches his hand close, whimpers. Sweat breaks out on her forehead as he sweeps his hand across it.
When he tries to pull away to urge the nurse on, she clutches at him and refuses to let go.
This is torture for her, yes. But it is for him as well. Seeing her like this is his own personal hell.
She falls asleep quickly after, her strength sapped, but Alex sits in a chair beside her bed, with her scream running through his head over and over. His phone rings again, and it's all he can do to ignore it, because the temptation to answer it and vent his anger by telling the person on the other end to fuck off is nearly unbearable.
The next day, the children are visiting again. The nurses were getting to know the gaggle of Hamilton children well by this point. One slipped William some candy as he passed and he gave her a hug with all the pure heartedness of a seven year old.
John had just told some stupid joke he had heard at school, and Eliza was laughing, her oldest sons sitting by her bed while her youngest lay on her chest (opposite the chest tube), when the nurse walks in. Alex takes note of the bandages and wipes she carries and sees Eliza tense instantly. James and Alexander Jr. are still laughing as she pats their hand.
"Alex, go take your sister and brothers and get something to eat."
His laugh ends and he looks at his mother in puzzlement.
"Mom, we just ate."
"Then go take them downstairs, have them run around for a bit. Let your father and I have a minute."
"But Mom, we just got here…"
"Go, Alex. James, take your sister. Elizabeth, you can go get a candy from the machine."
Elizabeth squeals in excitement and grabs her brother by the hand (she had taken not being offered candy as a personal offence), dragging him out.
Most of the children follow compliantly, but Alex Jr. hangs back.
His son is too much like his namesake, Alex knows. When there's something wrong, he knows and he has to know what it is.
But his son takes his siblings and reluctantly leads them out and Alex grabs Eliza's hand.
"Do it quick," he commands the nurse.
Realistically, they probably do. The wound is healing and Alex is pretty sure Eliza only screams a few times, but she still cries and it still cuts into him. Seeing her like this is terrifying and the fact that it will only be a preview to what they're about to experience makes his stomach turn.
Although not quite so much as when the nurse finishes and opens the door to reveal their white-faced oldest son in the doorway.
He had heard, Alex knew. He heard everything.
He grabs at the nurse's arm, just like his father.
"What did you do to my mom?" he breathes quietly.
The kind nurse places a soothing hand on his arm.
"Honey…"
"What did you do!"
Eliza reaches out to him. "Sweetheart, it's okay. They were just changing the bandage."
Alex Jr. comes to her side, slowly and still white as a sheet. Eliza brushes strands of the long dark curls out of his face.
"They hurt you," her son gasps. "You were screaming."
"I'm fine, baby," she soothes, bringing him down to sit down on the bed with her.
"They hurt you," he repeats.
Alex can see the wheels turning in his son's head, and he sees the reality of the situation settling in for him.
His mother is sick. His mother is in the hospital. His mother is hurt.
Alexander sees that settle in his fifteen-year-old son, and thinks, not for the first time, that their children do not deserve this. They are too young for this. Alexander Jr. has never looked more like a child than when his mother pulls him onto the bed and lays his head against her chest, the boy's expression never changing from white-faced and frozen.
He refuses to leave again after that, not even to go home. Every doctor that comes in the room is met with a look of suspicion. Every instrument they bring in is scrutinized carefully. Alexander takes the other children home when Alex Jr. eventually falls asleep in his mother's bed with his arms around her, looking years younger than the teenager he is.
Two days later, the bandage comes off without pain, the wound is healing nicely, Eliza can take short walks around the room, and they are allowed to go home briefly, before the chemo starts.
And when that happens, Alex comes to a realization.
It's something he's always known, but never really thought about: their household, his life, their children's lives run because of Eliza. She is the lynchpin at the center of their lives.
Not only that, she thrived in that role.
She knew about every appointment with Angie's therapists. She knew about all of John's baseball games. She was on the parent committee at Elizabeth's school.
She somehow managed to keep everyone fed, clothed and alive, and still get them everywhere they needed to go, and know about every facet of their lives.
But when she comes home, she can't. Much as it pains her, she can only lie on the bed with pillows surrounding her. She can't help James with his homework. She can't pick up Elizabeth. The driver must take Angie to her appointments.
Their entire house had been thrown off-kilter. Alex struggles to keep up, and counts it as one more thing this disease has already taken.
The entire house is unsettled.
The children are sometimes sent to school without lunches, though Alex has been up until 2am the night before, trying to make sure everything got done.
Eliza is healing, so she is tired and a bit cranky.
She doesn't want Alex to help her out of bed, but she can't do it herself.
She certainly doesn't want him to help her in and out of the bathroom, but her mobility is limited.
She doesn't want to burden the children, but she can't be the mother they are used to right now.
She abhors the oxygen mask they sent home with her, but she sometimes needs it, after a part of her lung was cut out.
The frenetic, tense energy in the house winds up like a spring. Alex dreads the day it all boils over.
And then, on the worst day since Eliza has been home, the doorbell rings.
Alex goes to answer it, swearing if it is one more neighbor with one more "pity pie", he actually will throw it in their faces.
Instead, like angels from heaven, Lafayette, Laurens and Hercules Mulligan descend on their house, bearing food and gifts for the children.
Alex couldn't have been happier to see Jesus himself.
The children shout and jump on them.
Elizabeth attaches herself to Herc and doesn't let go.
(Eventually, he takes her to see her mother and offers to care for her this evening).
John, James and Alex Jr. immediately rope Laf into a game of soccer (football, he insists. You know you Americans are the only ones in the world who call it soccer.)
William, his quietest son, is content to sit down with Laurens and read him the latest book from school. William is their reader, would sit for hours with a book. Alexander knows John Laurens as much like himself, unable to sit still for too long, but he patiently helps the boy sound out all the unfamiliar words and reads with him as long as William wants.
They make sure the children have clean clothes, feed them, pack leftovers into the fridge for lunches tomorrow.
For the first time in a long time, Alex breathes a sigh of relief.
He goes and checks on Eliza, and finds her already in pajamas, settled in bed with a hot meal in front of her (hopefully she'll eat some of it), and Herc surfing through pictures on his phone, showing her all the people on twitter who are sending thoughts her way, while Elizabeth plays with his hair, adorning it with ribbons and bows (the fact there is limited hair there to work with doesn't seem to bother her).
He reminds himself that he has the greatest friends in the world.
When all the children settle into an exhausted sleep, his friends crack open a few beers and sit with him. They don't force him to talk and he is grateful for that, but the silence is comfortable.
They leave around midnight, promising to come more often.
Alexander slides into bed, propping more pillows around Eliza. She gives him a sleepy smile, and both slide into a fitful rest.
Next week brings the unfamiliar beast of chemo, but for the first time, Alexander feels their village of friends and family rallying behind them.
I am never to know what history hides
I can cut through the stone but I won't see inside
The evidence fades but the legend lives on
What came from the heart can never be wrong
How does one finish?
Very sorry for the lack of Lams in this fic. Luckily, AO3 is very well stocked with such fics!
So I got a little bit of writing done on my trip, and once this boring monstrosity of a chapter is out of the way, I'm hoping I'll be over the hump. I've planned forward a bit, and this is looking to be about 12 chapters. Wish me luck on finishing it.
Anyhoo, it's rainy season here in Thailand, and I am heading to bed to the sound of the rain.
Night!