AN: Hoo boy, it has been a minute. But these last two weeks have been nuts, with setting up my new classroom and my new house and the school year starting….yeah.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I should add this disclaimer: if you are particularly religious, please know that my intention in this chapter was not to insult you or your religion. This is just a scenario that I can see playing out.
Also this chapter features some angsty Lams because I love me some angsty pining John Laurens, you poor muffin.
He told me Jesus loves me
But I'm not sure I deserve it
'Cause the faithful man that you loved
Is nowhere to be found
Since they took all that he believed
And laid it in the ground
Three Months Later:
He said, what feels like forever ago, that he wasn't sure how much longer he could take this.
Well, that hadn't changed.
Tia's death provided them with a brief reprieve, so to speak, where Eliza's symptoms and treatment took a backseat to the grief of the Burr family (or what was left of it).
They are a family again, for the first time in so long, they are a family.
Invariably one or more of their children sleep in their bed every night.
Alexander's gait with the children's routine smooths, so that their household runs more calmly.
Angelica is checked into an inpatient facility.
(That one was a necessity. One day Alexander brought in James and William after a treatment session and found the room ripped apart, the therapist in a corner with their daughter, and his child who didn't recognize him or her brothers).
Eliza cries. He holds her. They know this is right, and they know they'll get through it.
Because they are a family.
But cancer has never been known to make itself scarce for long, and before he knows it, Eliza is throwing up again. And shaking, and staying in bed all day.
And coughing up blood.
She has had a peace about her since Tia's death; found it comforting in an odd way. Like she's accepted her fate, whatever it may be.
Which is why she only allows him to bring her to the doctor when she literally cannot get out of bed.
Even then, she carries a serenity to her, a grace he wishes so desperately he had.
He has no such grace.
He leaves the room when the doctor shows them the latest scans, showing the cancer's progression, everywhere.
Where he says they are moving into the territory of the T-word.
Terminal.
Eliza is calm grace.
Alexander is a raging fire.
An experimental surgery is planned.
See what they can cut out, they say. See how far along it is up close.
It's for naught and they all know it.
She does it for him and they both know it.
He stays with her in the hospital.
The nurses call him supportive and he calls them ridiculous. Not like he's four seconds away from keeling over.
Not like she's the one supporting him.
He sings to her while they put her under.
She smiles serenely at him, strokes his cheek with one thin hand.
He loves her so much and he can't let her go.
During the surgery, he can't stand to be in the waiting room. He wanders around the hospital, until he finds himself in front of an intricately carved wooden door.
The chapel.
His wife has always found comfort in her faith.
Alexander so needs that comfort now, so he slips into the hospital chapel, sits down at a pew, bows his head.
He's not even sure what to say, what to do.
He looks around. In the front, there is a cross, and a small statue of what the world knows as "God". His arms reach out; his face is soft and loving. He looks down, as a person or two kneels at the altar, by the statue's feet.
Like he expects worship.
Alexander grabs a bible from the rack in front of him and flips through it.
How does Eliza do this? How does she glean comfort from something that seems so arbitrary?
He thumbs over passages, but instead of comfort, he feels rage rising inside him.
Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.
Let the name of the LORD be praised, both now and forevermore.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.
"Surely, God will not act wickedly, And the Almighty will not pervert justice.
He looks up at the cross as the last people slip out.
Alexander Hamilton has never been shy with words. He has also never been good at handling rage, and that is all he feels right now.
"So this is justice?" he hisses at nobody. "You take my son, you break my family, and we're supposed to be grateful? We're supposed to praise you?"
He whips the book to the floor with a crash and stands.
"I cheated on my wife. Yes. I slept with a 23 year old groupie. And hey, more than once! I left my wife at home with my children and ran off with a girl who only wanted power. I sullied my married bed. I was never home."
He reaches the altar and gives a long, sarcastic bow.
"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. Actually, sinned isn't even the right word. I ripped my family apart. I rained hell down on my family. Yes, I said hell. And now, when we are finally putting ourselves back together, this is how you choose to pay me back? By making my wife pay for my sins?"
He stomps onto the altar, all semblance of control lost.
"'Good and upright is the Lord', who the fuck were they kidding? Is this supposed to be good? Is this supposed to be upright, you sick son of a bitch?"
He can't stop himself now, won't stop himself.
"She is nearly on a ventilator now. I get to tell my children that their mother is…." he can't even complete the sentence.
"And you call that justice? My wife suffers in pain, and what? Is that supposed to be penance?"
"I told you! I told you from the very start! If you need someone, you pick me! If you need your pound of flesh, take it from me, you self-righteous asshole!"
The tears flow freely, and he barely notices them, but the glob of spit he aims at the cross is very deliberate.
As is the slamming of the door as he leaves.
Eliza POV.
It was non-stop. The chemo, the surgery, the medicine, the pain.
She has been home for two and a half weeks now, the longest since this whole nightmare started.
She pretends she doesn't see the doctor's faces recently. She pretends she doesn't notice how somber their expressions are, how much more palliative the care.
She does notice how tired Alexander is, how fragile. How he clings to her as if she is literally keeping him anchored to this world.
And she can't anymore.
She doesn't care for her children anymore, she can't, but she still curls up in the rocking chair, set up in the living room, and watches her babies. Sometimes Elizabeth joins and she gently takes her little one into sleep.
But she can't anymore.
Alex needs to rock them now.
She needs to be less important to them now.
Alex needs to take that role.
Because she can say it, where he can't.
This cancer could very possibly kill her. She could die, and it will be Alex's job to be everything to their children.
She needs to know he can do this, but he won't talk to her. He cares for her, mechanically, robotically, then runs like a skittish rabbit when she tries to start a conversation. Like he's afraid of her.
She needs him, but the children need him more.
And if this is the end, Eliza needs to know they'll be okay.
He needs to tell her that.
And their time is running out.
POV Alexander:
"James, James, slow down. No son, I can't leave work now. I've only got about another two hours of paperwork. No, I'm sorry, son, it can't wait. Well, just give her some Emetrol and put a cold cloth over her forehead and I'll…James, I know but I will be home soon, I've missed so much work and I can't….yes. Okay. I'm sorry, I wish I could get away. I'll be home as soon as I can."
He hangs up the phone with a sigh.
This day was shitting on him, and it was only 10:43.
But then, that had been life in the last few months.
He had only gone back to work for a few hours, to escape the mortuary feel of the house. The nurse was there, the maid was there, he couldn't be there.
He couldn't watch this.
He lives his life now with his heart cleaved in half, and half of it in his throat, blocking all speech and just waiting for the next bomb to drop on their lives.
So of course, this would be the day Madison gives him the speech he had clearly been working on for a long time.
His boss stands in front of him, giving Alexander no choice but to look at him.
He runs through the usual song and dance, how being a US Senator requires a great deal of commitment, how he understands how Alexander is having issues at home, but there were a great many people in line for his position. Then moves into the old refrains of how much time he had spent grooming Alex for this position, how he's not unsympathetic but he has a state to look after, how if he needs an example of devotion, to look at Jefferson.
At that, Alexander loses all semblance of decorum.
He sees Jefferson stand but he feels rooted to his chair.
"Hamilton," Madison says, his voice carrying what he probably thinks is a stern tone. "I know you have issues at home, but you are neglecting your work here. If being a US senator is too much for you –"
It's important, for the record, to note that in the last few months, Alexander Hamilton has taken aim at God, his wife's beloved God. Why, then, would he hesitate to take aim at his boss, particularly with the all-encompassing anger he feels every minute of every day?
"How long you been with your wife, Madison?" Hamilton interrupts, not looking at him.
"What?"
"Ever have anyone in your family with cancer?"
"I – "
"Yesterday I finished two different proposals and looked at three new bills. While I held my wife's hair back as she vomited, started her on two new medications, and explained to my four year old why Mommy stays in bed all day."
"My wife has lung cancer, Madison. Not a year after we lost our son. Now her days consist of vomiting and gasping for breath and being in an out of a hospital while still trying to care for our remaining six."
"I understand that, Hamilton, but if you –"
"No," Hamilton stresses. "No, don't give me that bullshit, Madison, because you really fucking don't understand. You actually have no idea what it feels like to watch the center of your world fade away. You have no fucking clue what it feels like to rush your wife of over 20 years to the hospital in the middle of the night because she's turning blue and can't breathe."
"Alexander Hamilton, I am your superior. I understand you are going through something at home, but I cannot allow you to – "
"Shut up!" Hamilton shouts, careening out of his seat and around his desk. "You think I care that my paperwork is in late? My children are in crisis, and my wife is dying –"
And with that, something hits Hamilton, something that never has before. Or perhaps it has, but he has always pushed it to the side. It's there now, and he can practically feel Tia telling him to let it out.
"My wife," he whispers. "My Eliza. She's dying. She's going to die."
He sits down and he's barely aware of his infrequently used tear ducts suddenly working overtime in front of his greatest enemy and his boss.
So he's not really paying attention when Thomas Jefferson tells Madison to leave and not come back for long while.
Nor really, when Jefferson sidles up to his desk and points to his paperwork, along with his usual eye roll.
He sits at his desk with tears pouring down his face, and a tissue box that suddenly appears in front of him.
Jefferson stands a good few lengths away. His posture is as upright and dominating as ever, but there is an odd expression on his face.
On anyone else, it would be called pity, but Hamilton isn't sure Jefferson can even emulate that emotion, much less know what it looks like on him.
"Listen…" Jefferson hesitates. "My ride isn't coming for another two hours. And y'know, I am just so goddamn bored. You wouldn't happen to want to let me finish that paperwork?"
"What?"
"Just give me something to fucking do. Such a boring day here. Besides," Jefferson grins. "It's not like I wouldn't do a better job of it anyway."
"Jefferson…"
"Go home, Hamilton. Don't worry, I'll make the handwriting suitably messy. Throw in a misspelled word or two. They'll think it's you."
Hesitantly, the man offers a hand to Hamilton. It takes a full moment of a pregnant silence before Hamilton realizes what is happening.
Jefferson is helping him up. He's helping support him.
Jefferson didn't report it when Hamilton hit him.
Jefferson pulled Madison away from him.
Jefferson was the second donation for their wedding.
His greatest enemies are trying to support him and Hamilton finds nothing familiar about the world he's in, that horribly unjust universe where his Eliza is being slowly ripped from him and his longtime rival is pitying him.
But he leaves.
He doesn't know how to fight anymore.
So of course, on what may qualify to be the worst time of his life, he's not paying attention and he bumps into a young woman.
They both fall, and he stutters apologies, picking up her dropped purse. That's when she raises her head to look at him, and the day gets worse.
"Ms. Reynolds," he groans. Her face flushes.
"Ale….Mr. Hamilton."
Yep. The day got worse.
Don't mistake, he vividly remembers why he slept with Maria Reynolds.
As odd as it sounds, it was easy and uncomplicated.
It was sex, with someone who admired him, while he was pretending that he wasn't actively ignoring his family. It was a release with no emotional attachments. It was exactly what people should have expected from the bastard orphan immigrant.
Why would he deserve someone like Eliza?
Why wouldn't he ruin his life with a meaningless fling?
Things are different now, he knows. So very different, his wife needs him now and she has never needed him before.
And Maria has heard of what's happening with his family, as she awkwardly makes small talk. She asks how Eliza is doing. That, in itself, is almost laughable.
Together, they had nearly destroyed his wife's life.
He thinks back to that Alexander Hamilton, and while he feels utter disgust at him, those longings for something easy? They never really left.
The longing to feel something, he supposes. He feels just nothingness now.
Except, however, her hand stroke his arm and her breath as she leans in close to him.
He yanks away so fast he's surprised they both don't topple over again.
"What are you doing?" he hisses.
She looks surprised, but at what, he couldn't guess.
Nonetheless, she presses on, bringing herself incrementally nearer to him.
"Look, I'm sorry. Sorry for the shit your family is going through. But sometimes….everyone needs a release, Alexander. A person can't carry that much stress."
Laughably, he recalls Tia saying nearly the same thing, though he's fairly certain she didn't mean this.
Maria leans a bit further in, and this time, he doesn't pull away as her hand moves back to his arm. The other hand slips a card with a phone number into his pocket.
"You're wound up way too tight, anyone can see it. It doesn't have to mean anything. If you ever want something….uncomplicated, just give me a call."
That piece of paper stays in his pocket for two days. It's there when he wakes up with Elizabeth in the middle of the night. It's there when he takes Eliza to treatment. It's there when he hugs his sons after school.
And it's there until he finally cracks and calls John Laurens, begging him to come over right away.
He's pacing when John arrives, and despite his friend's best efforts, he cannot be corralled to he couch.
Alexander mumbles under his breath, and John catches only bits. He's stressed out; he knows John assumes it's because of Eliza.
Her condition is stressing all of them.
So when John finally stands and places a hand on either of Alexander's shoulders, he allows himself to finally stop.
"Alex," his friend says softly. "Are you okay?"
That simple question takes an eternity to answer.
He finds the first words in his mind.
"I'm a shitty person, John."
John immediately protests.
"No, you're not, Alex. You can't think like that. You're a good person, a good father, a good husband…"
And that's when that little white card makes its reappearance, on a shout of "no!"
He shoves the crumpled piece of white card out of his pocket and thrusts it at his best friend.
"Don't tell me I'm a good husband. Don't give me that bullshit."
John reads the card, and Alex sees recognition (and a bit of shame) on his face.
"Alex, you didn't – "
"No." It's an immediate reply.
Laurens shakes his head in confusion.
"You didn't do it? Didn't call her?"
"No."
"Then why do you…"
"Because I wanted to! Goddamn, I knew what it did to my family last time, and I fucking almost did it again! And while my wife has fucking cancer Laurens. So don't tell me I'm anything less than a shitty excuse for a person."
"Alex," his friend breathes, and draws him into a hug.
"How do you justify that, John?" Alex sighs into his shoulder.
"Love, I suppose," John replies.
Alexander lets out a scoff and pulls back.
"How the fuck is that love? How the fuck is wanting to cheat on my wife love?"
"You love her, Alex. Love her so much that it's killing you. Love her enough to want to take all the away, so you're trying to carry it yourself, but you can't. Love comes in a lot of ways, man. Sometimes it's good and sometimes it's screwed up."
The mood has taken a decidedly more serious turn.
"How do you love someone and do that to them?" Alex asks, and it's been haunting him for years. "How does love make you so screwed up that you are willing do these ridiculous things, to and for people?"
The long pause that follows is full of secrets neither of them will ever tell.
"Don't know. I guess we want it so bad that we take what we can get," John says softly. "And sometimes it fucking sucks. Sometimes you are forced to be in someone's life, but not in the capacity you want to be. Sometimes you have to watch them love someone else. And you love them so much, and it hurts, but they are happy with who they're with."
Alexander is stunned, John's words finally making sense.
"Sometimes, Alexander, you can love someone but not get to be with them. And it's the worst thing, but it's better than not having them in your life at all."
"John…"
"Don't." His friend holds his hand up, as if to push Alexander away. "I'm just saying, there is also an argument to be made for holding it inside. It's better for everyone."
And that was what it was, Alex realized. The thing that John had always held back. It astounds him that John was able to carry this love inside him for over two decades, whereas all this love Alexander feels for his wife always seems to be on the brink of exploding out of him, almost pushing him to do things he knew he'd regret.
And now John Laurens is looking at him with such a light in his eyes that it almost blinds him.
"John, I…" he is truly lost for what to say. The great Alexander Hamilton, orator extraordinaire, does not know how to respond.
"John, you're my best friend, but…"
He sees the reaction immediately. The man's eyes fill with tears and a hurt so deep he can barely stand it.
"Don't, Alex." John cuts him off, shifts positions on the couch to be further away. "Don't try to explain. This was exactly what I expected, anyway."
"John, this isn't going to.."
"No, Alex. We'll be fine. I'll still be here."
The words are a relief to him, but the silence is uncomfortable as they sit beside each other, time moving slower than Alex thought it could.
"I love you," Alexander whispers. "Maybe not in that way, maybe it's not enough, but I do."
"I know." The reply is quiet. "That's been enough for years."
You're still mine
But I can't go along
Don't be sad, though I'm far away
I'll be watching you
This is the hour I swore I'd see
I alone can tell what the end will be