Work Text:
Who am I? The revolution, I was born inside your head.
One letter. It was only a piece of paper, neatly folded and sealed away in an envelope. Now, it was held carefully by soft fingers, read aloud by a kind voice. They didn't even call.
“To Mr. Hamilton,
On Tuesday, the 27th Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens was killed in battle against troops while serving overseas. John will be buried here, in South Carolina. A memorial service will be held upon John’s return to the country. We are aware of your friendship with John, and know that he would like for you and your wife to be there. Our condolences to you.
Thank you,
Henry Laurens”
For a moment, after Eliza was done reading the letter, there was a nasty silence. Alexander’s head hurt from fighting back tears, even though he was fully aware that he could cry in front of his wife. Eliza knew that he was struggling, he could feel it, but she knew him even better than he knew himself. She'd keep her distance until he imploded, and couldn't clean it up.
“Alexander, are you alright?” She asked, remaining where she was in front of his desk. They were in his office, where Alexander spent his days. He hadn't been selected for the war yet, and hadn't planned on enlisting in a battle that wasn't theirs to fight.
If he'd have just gone, instead of waiting for his turn, maybe he could have replaced John. Or maybe they could have fought side by side, and both of them could have returned home safe and sound? Alexander wiped his hand through his hair, still styled from work that morning. He swallowed, still refusing to look at his wife, patiently waiting before him.
“I have so much work to do.” He said, staring at the wood of his desk as Eliza gently folded the letter back up and placed it with the rest of his mail. She then left, certainly to check on their son.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Alexander's body began to heave with his cries. His head found its way into his hands, and he sat there and cried until no more tears rolled down his cheeks. Finally, with his fingers wet from tears, Alexander picked up the letter to read it for himself. Maybe Eliza had misunderstood somehow, and John's dad was informing them of the death of someone else in the family. Only, John’s name was typed unmistakably, meaning he had truly died over a week ago.
Alexander had been living blissfully unaware the entire time, while John took his last breath, thought his final thought. Alexander's best friend, his…the love of his life, was gone, just like that. And Alexander couldn't even say goodbye? Was he scared? Did he feel it, or was it immediate? Did anyone try to save him?
Holding on to the tiny bit of composure that he could muster, Alexander folded the letter and put it back into the envelope, trying his hardest to ignore horrible feelings throughout his entire body. He used the backs of his hands to rid his cheeks of any lingering tears, and willed himself to take a shower and head to bed. Eliza was already asleep, which was only fair. Alexander had wallowed for hours.
Without the embrace of his wife, Alexander felt cold and especially alone. Despite the fact that Eliza was beside him, he couldn't bring himself to move closer to her, and just tried his best to sleep without anyone there to distract his mind for even a second. Of course, he struggles.
The heavy emotions in his mind caused his dreams to be plagued with horrible images, a mixture of his childhood traumas and the death of his favorite person in the entire world. Images of John screaming for help in one terror, then someone begging Alexander to save them, until finally Alexander had enough.
He eased himself out of bed, careful not to wake Eliza, and tiptoed back to his office. This time, though, he wasn't going to be looking at the letter. He had seen enough of that horrible piece of paper. Instead, he went into the closet that held mostly old files, and pulled out a small trunk from the back. It hasn't been touched in ages, not since the last time Alexander and John had spent significant time together, but now it was all he had.
Inside, there were letters and photographs from way back when the two had only just met. Back when they were in school, before they could go to war. Even before they knew each other the way they did now.
As Alexander carefully looked through the last remaining pieces of John that he had left, the tears began to well in his eyes once again. This time, he was not sobbing. Instead, he sat there on the floor, crying softly in his pajamas until he came across a note that he had never seen before. It was short, and looked strangely new, despite Alexander having not touched the trunk in months.
Call out my name in the middle of the night when you are afraid.
- J.
It was John's handwriting without a doubt. Alexander must've missed whenever it was that John left this for him, and the fact that he had something new to hold brought him into a quiet sob. He held that note to his chest as he cried, right until he fell asleep there on the wooden floor of his office.
···
Alexander and Eliza traveled down to South Carolina to attend John’s funeral about a week later. Philip stayed with Eliza’s parents in Albany, which only added stress to go so far out of the way just for a sitter. Couldn't they have ridden the train down and stayed in their apartment with Philip? It would have made Alexander's life so much easier. He needed to be with John, he needed to say goodbye.
At the funeral, Alexander reunited with his and John’s two other closest friends, Hercules Mulligan and Lafayette. The two stood beside Alex as they lowered John's casket into the ground, expertly offering condolences to John's family. Alexander could hardly bring himself to speak, knowing that if he tried, he'd surely break down and make a fool of himself. What kind of respectable man would wail so much at the death of a friend he hadn't even seen in ages? It just wouldn't be a good look.
Eventually, everyone had cleared out, leaving Alexander there to stare at the polished wood that held his beautiful John. A beautiful person inside and out, and now he was going to be surrounded in wood and covered with dirt for the rest of eternity. Alexander wished that it was him.
“Alex,” said a voice beside him. It was Lafayette, coming up beside him. “Hercules and I are going to get a drink, to honor our dear friend. You should join us.”
Alexander took a deep breath, trying not to make it too much like a sniffle, before nodding. “Okay, let me just tell Eiza.”
“I already did. She's going to go catch up with Adrienne and Beth while we're out.” Lafayette said, gently leading Alexander away from the grave and towards the gravel path of the cemetery where a black car waited.
Alexander watched as his wife walked with Lafayette's and Hercules’, surely discussing what a tragedy it is. They were probably planning on putting something together for Martha, John's wife, to keep her going until she could move on. Alexander couldn't even wish for something like that...he had Eliza.
Hercules drove, and Lafayette sat in the passenger seat, leaving Alexander alone in the backseat on the way to the bar. Alexander hadn't been here, to Charleston, since an impromptu trip when the four of them still had time for another. John had jokingly suggested that they all head down there, and it actually happened. Alexander would give literally anything to go back to those days…if only they had done the same when Lafayette jokingly suggested that they all move to Paris together.
Of course, Alexander didn't recognize the bar. It was called ‘The Last Saint’ and looked very old. Inside, there weren't very many people, just other men wearing suits. They probably were on their way home from work, though, instead of just leaving a funeral. How Alexander envied them.
“It's been too long.” Hercules said as they sat down in a booth together. He and Lafayette beside one another once again, Alexander on his own side. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”
Lafayette said something in agreement, but Alexander couldn't listen. He stared at the table, probably contributing to the conversation without fully realizing that he was, unable to go through the motions of loss when his felt like it was so much bigger. Of course Alex knew that Hercules and Lafayette were close with John, too, but they'd never know him in the same way. And it would forever be that way, whether John had died or not.
At some point, Hercules excused himself to use the restroom, leaving Alexander and Lafayette sitting across from one another with only the sounds of the bar keeping them from silence.
“Alex, are you doing alright?” He asked, looking directly at Alexander's face. “I mean, I know that you aren't. But are you allowing yourself to grieve?”
Alexander sighed, shrugging. “It's kind of tough, you know. There's no reason for someone like me to be this distraught. Not even his wife is as big a mess as I've been.”
Lafayette frowned, or maybe it was closer to a scowl. “She is barely his wife, you and I both know that. Any man should be allowed to miss his best friend, no one should think twice about that.”
Alexander gave Lafayette a pointed look, because in this societal climate there was no telling what would be assumed of a man shedding a tear for another. “Even so, that doesn't mean it is accepted by the masses.”
There was nothing more to be said, and both of them knew that. Lafayette was the only person that knew about Alexander and John, that they weren't only best friends. That would be the case forever, apparently.
···
Upon returning back to New York, Alexander found himself completely submerged in his work. It was rare for him to leave his office other than to go to bed, and even then, he occasionally slept at his desk after working well into the night. He sometimes even worked into the following morning, and didn't sleep until the next night. It was unhealthy, and he knew it, but giving Alexander's mind even a second to still would only be a mistake given his emotional state.
Eventually, however, Alexander's grief did catch up with him again. In the middle of the night, Alexander's sleep was disrupted by violent imagery of what John's death could have looked like, preventing him from finally getting a proper night's rest.
Determined not to cry, Alexander carefully slipped out of bed, being mindful not to wake Eliza like always. Rather than rotting in his office this time, though, Alex decided to go for a walk to get some fresh air. Even though he was in his pajamas, it didn't matter. No one was going to be out anyways.
As he walked, Alexander breathed in the cool nighttime air, letting it fill his lungs. His hands were in his jacket pockets, and the streets of his neighborhood were quiet. Eventually, he found his way to the shops, where there was absolutely no one. On the ground sat a newspaper, and on the front page was a story about the war. And that was Alexander’s tipping point that night.
Alexander picked up the newspaper and tore it up, suddenly angrier than he'd ever felt before. Once the paper was discarded around him, Alex lowered himself to the ground and sat on his knees. Staring at the night sky as he caught his breath, he began to shout.
“John!” He called out, despite the fact that he sounded crazy. “John!” He repeated, even if someone might come kill him for causing a raucous. Finally, one last time, Alexander repeated the name of his beloved.
He was ready to lie down right here, and let some criminal kill him while he sulked. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and surely would turn around to see a police officer asking him how much he's had to drink.
Only, when he turned around, he wasn't met with the face of a police officer. Stood before him was John, smiling softly and sweet like he always did. Startled, Alexander leaned back, still on his knees. How had he let it get so bad that he was hallucinating now?
Who am I? Would you believe it? Oh, I’m a fallen angel and I said…
John reached forward, gently lifting Alexander to his feet. “Oh Alex,” he said gently, reaching up and wiping Alexander's tears off with rough thumbs. “Take a deep breath. It'll be alright.”
Alexander’s breath grew heavy, with some painful mixture of fear, relief, and of course the lingering grief. How could this be? John, who had died at least a month prior, was standing before him with his hands on Alexander's cheeks. He didn't even look dead.
“John?” He asked, practically whispering. “How is this possible? You look…you look amazing.” Alex looked over John’s entire body, searching for any sign of injury. There wasn't any. “What happened? Did you fake your death or something?”
John brushed his hands over Alexander's shoulders, down his arms, and then took gentle hold of his hands. “It's late, let's get you home. Someone will see you out here in your pajamas and call the police.” He then turned, still holding one of Alexander's hands, and began to lead him home.
Alexander was still extremely confused, as anyone would be. “Are you okay?” He asked, because clearly John wasn't going to explain how he could possibly be there.
“Of course I am.” John replied calmly, much to Alexander’s suspicion. John was dead, he had gone to the funeral and watched the pallbearers carry the casket. So how was he supposed to accept that now John walked alongside him, seemingly unscathed?
Despite his wariness and skepticism, Alexander couldn’t bring himself to let this go. John was his best friend…and his love. There was no way that Alex would do anything to ruin one last moment with him, so he let John walk him all the way back to his apartment that he shared with his wife. With his dear Eliza.
At the door, John stopped, holding onto Alexander’s arms the same way he had when they were out on the street. “Alex, I need you to listen to me, okay?” He said quietly. Alexander braced to be told that he was dreaming, and John was only a figment of his grieving imagination. He looked to the floor, trying to will himself not to wallow in the crushing disappointment.
“You need to take care of yourself, okay?” John said, not at all indicating what Alexander had feared. “You can’t overwork yourself so much, it only hurts you.” Alexander looked back up at him, and all he could do was nod. If John told him to do something, he would, as long as it kept him there and not buried in the dirt.
“Remember the note I left you.” John said, and then he opened the door to tell Alexander to go to bed. Alexander did, and when he turned around again, John was already gone.
—
It was a few weeks later when Alexander’s sleep was once again interrupted by a night terror, depicting the awful things from his own past mixed in with images of John dying in battle. It jolted him out of his sleep, and he was scared to wake Eliza, so he left the bedroom and went to his office to calm down. Remembering John’s words from that night, and the note he had been referring to, he gave it a go once again and called out for John with his voice barely above a whisper.
There was nothing, so he waited a few moments before he called out again. When nothing happened, he lost hope, finally beginning to come to terms with what he’d imagined weeks ago. But then, just like on the street that night, he felt a hand on his shoulder. And when he turned to see who it was, his heart sank to his feet.
“John,” he breathed in relief. “I’m sorry, I just–I remembered your note.”
John nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “That’s what I told you to do, don’t worry, Alex. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Alexander shook his head. “But Eliza is sleeping, I don’t want to wake her up if they come back.”
“I’ll lay with you until you fall asleep. She won’t even know I’m there. I promise.” John said, looking Alexander right in the eyes. He had no choice but to believe it, so he nodded and got to his feet, allowing John to lead him back to bed. When he got under the covers, John remained above them, just close enough that Alexander could feel his presence.
When there’s monsters on your ceiling, I’ll keep you safe and I will keep you dreaming.
When Alexander awoke in the morning, it was only him and Eliza in bed once again. On the bedside table, there sat another note from John. He must have left it before he left again.
Trust me, I’m not a delusion. I am everything you want to be.
- J.
ajlinparker (Guest) Sat 10 May 2025 04:53PM UTC
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