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He was dangling, just by a string. Not even a strong string. No, just a fickle little thing. The string was probably some rusting brown, withering away, just like all the other ones before it.
The room was a dull gray, not really, it was a soft green, but everything looked gray. The ground, a soft carpet that felt like knives across his palms, looked a dark gray. The plaster wall the gray of a jail cell. The desk looked made out of metal, hard and rugged despite it all.
On his birthday, this was his home. A dusty hotel room, his stuff packed in boxes, a few notebooks and papers scattering the floor. His bed had little items on it, an orange bottle, his shaving kit, and a smattering of pens all across it.
There was one of those pens in his hand, the only color in the room, a bright blue ballpoint that slid across the paper without his record. Paper. Unlined paper bound tightly to a leather shell. It wasn't gray, but it was dark. That rusting brown from before.
It made his hands shake.
There was a chill running down his spine, making him feel frozen to the bone. A normal thing, he's heard. It's not that the room around him his frigid. No, it's suffocating. Hot stuffy air that makes it hard to breathe and hard to think and hard to even-
'Legacy. Legacy. A story- tell me a story.'
His pen came to a quick stop, the notebook sliding off his lap as he leaned back against his bed. What story did he have? What legacy could he keep?
Who...who even cared? No one was here. No one knew who he was. What does it matter, in the end? What legacy will carry on? Only the biggest, the boldest.
He doesn't want to be of his time, he wants to send echoes into a time far, far from now.
The white light of his lamp slowly turned yellow.
It wasn't the end. Not yet. It wasn't even the beginning.
His fingers reached for a blade from his shaving kit, fingertips dancing along the edges. Now hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to know that it's sharp. Very, very sharp.
Alexander dropped the blade by his side.
When Alexander Hamilton was seventeen, he was prepared to die. His father had left him, his mother had died, his cousin committed suicide, he was separated from his brother, and he even survived a hurricane that had killed the majority of his town.
He had anxiety, he had depression, and he had PTSD. But he had George Washington, Martha Washington, he had John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan- he had Lafayette. He had the forensics team, the debate team, he had- he had Thomas Jefferson.
He was cold, oftentimes shaking, shivering, even in 70 degree weather. Always wore jackets, long-sleeves, and hats.
Now he was shaking, looking over his piece for his monologue. Alex's jacket was in the van, a baseball tee from this year's musical the only thing on his shoulders. The room was giving him odd looks, George Washington out of the room, checking the scores from last round.
He was surrounded by people, but he felt alone.
An arm slid around Alex's waist, pulling him to someone's chest. Coconuts, sunflowers, and that stupid deodorant- Thomas.
He snaked his arms around Thomas' back as the taller man held him, swaying softly back and forth. It was quiet now, the roar of the room now faded to the background, actors and poets pieces however loud, quiet as mice. Alex's breathing was shaky, he had no reason to panic. He's done this time and time again. A king at debate, a king at forensics, a lawyer in training, a poet.
"Hold on, my dear, your time will come, my dear, just stay with me," sang Thomas softly, one arm wrapped around Alex's waist, the other softly running though the shorter boy's hair. "I love you so, just lay with me..."
"Laf," said John, his arms crossed. "You know that they...they are like that."
"I know, my brother and my best friend! But they won't tell me anything," growled Lafayette, their hands running through their hair. "Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson won't tell me anything! They won't say anything! They don't shut up and they won't say anything! You know how weird that is?!"
Hercules rubbed Laf's shoulder with his free hand. "Maybe it's just for them, you know how Thomas was before this, we don't know how Alex was before this. They've helped...us, a lot, you know, they deserve their privacy."
Alexander Hamilton helped Hercules come to terms and start his transition.
Thomas helped John Laurens report his father and work his case so he could oversee his siblings till Laurens' grandmother moved in.
They both helped Lafayette, with their anxiety.
Lafayette fell silent, leaning on Hercules, resting their head on his shoulder. The boy had a good point.
George smiled at Thomas and Alexander, the...how do the kids say...power couple of the forensics team. They were always at arm's length, touching. It was hard for them during school, always sitting too close during class, too far when their schedules diverged. But at home or during meets they rarely parted.
(George had taken in the child genius known as Alexander Hamilton, and therefore had taken in Thomas Jefferson, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Lafayette too.)
(Where Thomas went, Laf went, where Laf went, Hercules went, and where those two went, John was sure to follow.)
"You two are competing in finals," states George, interrupting the two. He waited a moment so that they could turn to face him, Alex still shivering and tucked under Thomas' arm. "IDA for both of you, Alex, your poetry and oration, Thomas, your prose, one point away from your monologue, you need more pauses."
The two smile at him, not quite in sync, but equally as bright. "Thank you," whispered Alex, a distant echo from what George is used to during Government class.
George turns to go deliver the information to the Schuylers, Peggy and Eliza broke at duet, Angelica at monologue. Oh, then he has to tell the next trio. Every one of his kids broke at this meet, which was fantastic!
"I can't stand to hate you anymore," said Thomas quietly, his back pressed against the wall. "I don't love you. Not yet. But I don't hate you, I can't." His voice was gravely from his cold, his fingers rubbed over scars lining his arms, most by accident, some intentional, he was sick, but he would get better.
Alex doesn't feel better, he may not ever, but he'll try. He owes that to his friends, to his family that has perished before him.
He was shaking, his hands trembling so much that he cannot even rest them on his knees that were pressed to his chest. "I- I never have. Can we lay a line? A lifeline?"
"Yes," Thomas turned to face Alex, though it was dark in the forensics van. George can't hear them, everyone else is out like a light. They're alone, but alone together. "I'll be your lifeline, will you be mine?"
"Yes."
James Madison's best friend is Thomas Jefferson. He loves Thomas, he does, and his best friend deserves to be happy. So when Alexander Hamilton and Thomas started...doing whatever they did, he was happy for them.
He was often sick, so sick that he was no help to Thomas when he needed help most. Dolly tried to watch over Thomas at school while he were out sick, but Thomas evaded her, not on purpose, James was sure of it, still, Thomas would have his low months. And James could not help.
"Alex," beckoned James, who sat by himself next to the neighboring team. "Can we speak for a moment?"
Alex nodded, and then turned to Thomas, whispering something in his ear before sliding out of his arms. Thomas' hand subconsciously lingers on Alex's waist. So sweet it would make James sick if he weren't already.
"Yeah?" Alex sat in front of him, shivering as always. James coughed. "You okay?"
"As well as I ever am," rasped James, pulling out a tissue. "Did you break today?"
"IDA, oration, poetry." Alex puts the back of his hand to James' forehead. "You're feverish."
Writing it down on the paper, he said, "I always am." There was a pause, James could feel Alex's palpable worry, but gave him a smile to ease it. "Thomas has never been so calm with this many people before."
Alex startles, turning to look at the boy in question. Thomas spoke with his sibling, a teasing smile on his lips. James was right, he looked calmer than Alex had ever seen him in this situation. And they've been sticking together since towards the end of February, it's now nearing the end of the forensics season of their junior year. That's...a pretty good track record, thus far. He wonders if he played a hand in it, or if it was simply...a good day. He hopes it's both.
"I'm happy he's happy," comments James, drawing the attention back to the smaller boy. Alex gave James a smile as he wrung his hands, knowing where this was going. "Keep him happy, will you? I...You know, I may not always be there."
Not where Alex thought this was going, he thought as his eyes grew to the size of saucers. "What- why?"
James placating smile held, "Next practice, I'll tell."
Thomas and Alex took first at finals, securing them a spot at state. But Alex shook and shook and shook and shook and-
Thomas held Alex close all the way home, sitting in the back with the far too large seatbelts to hold them in place while everyone sat upfront. He messed around the tips of Alex's hair, rubbed circles on his sides, and stood still over his back so Thomas could feel the rise and fall of Alex's chest.
"Dark nights grow, summer's close, but I'll still hold you in my arms." Thomas sang Alex to sleep, little Alex all bundled up in his jacket, Lafayette's sweater, and head covered by Hercules' beanie. "For you, my love, I only wish you to see the stars."
Thomas took a deep breath, looking over the boy in his arms. He was low, they both were, but they found solace in one another, they found love. Maybe not love. But it was something. They called it love.
Thomas was in love, at least, not with every part of Alexander, but in love with every part that mattered.
He kissed the top of Alex's head, holding him tight. "And we're a long, long way from the stars..."
James leaned on Eliza, falling asleep to the sound of Thomas' singing. That singing used to be for him alone, he reminisced. He didn't mind it being shared. He wasn't jealous, or anything of the sort. He just...He loves Thomas, and he knows he can love Thomas, he's just scared that anyone else will break his heart.
But he knows that's hypocritical. He's going to break Thomas' heart.
He'll break poor Dolly's too.
And he loves them both so much.
"Thomas," whispered Alex, who was cuddled up next to Thomas in bed. A sleepover, a sleepover with no hidden agenda, just the house to themselves. Where they debated over everything with a glass of milk in hand, laughed over dumb stories while sharing a bowl of popcorn, and simply slept in bed. "Are you okay?"
Thomas ran his hand along Alex's back. "No, not entirely. But you make it more bearable."
"Do you dissociate?" Asked Alex, not shivering under Thomas' touch, but leaning into it. "Or are you just here and..."
"I dissociate," he said, softly, as if someone else could hear them, but no one else was in the house at the moment. "And I get distant, and I don't talk as much, and I...I think of things I have no right to think, but I do."
"You have a right to think of them, as long as you don't act on them." Alex brought Thomas' right arm between them, so he could glide his fingers over the scars. "I don't have any scars, but I've thought of making them. To show my struggle, but they don't help me. Pain doesn't help with more pain, not for me. I always have something though, somewhere, to show that it's in my power. To show I have control."
"You talk too much." Thomas curled his right hand around Alex's, intertwining their fingers. "I'm glad you don't have scars, they'll haunt you on your good days, make you wonder why they weren't good on that day. And the cycle loops. And I love you too much for that to happen."
"Love doesn't stop people from getting hurt," whispered Alex as he started to cry softly.
"But I hope love will stop you from hurting yourself." Thomas kissed Alex's forehead, trying not to cry himself.
"I love you too, I love you so much, and I can't explain why it's happened so fast." Alex sobbed as he spoke, curling into a tighter ball. "I want you to be safe and I want you by my side and I want you to be- be happy. I'm so sorry I can't make you happy."
Thomas untwined their fingers so he could wrap both of his arms around Alex. "You make me much happier than I was before, Alex. Even when we hated one another in class, you gave me a reason to live, even if it was to correct your dumb ideas in economics."
"You're the one with dumb ideas in economics," muttered Alex into Thomas' nightshirt.
"But now I want to wake up every day to see you, Alexander." Thomas didn't mention James. Alex knew that James was his reason for living before. He wasn't dumb. But the sentiment stood.
"I love you, Thomas Jefferson."
"And I you, Alexander Hamilton."
Thomas looked at the paper in his hands, not seeing the words, not hearing the sounds around him, barely feeling Alex pressed into his side, barely feeling anything at all in fact. "You have cancer, Jemmy?"
The room around them was crying and still processing the information, but Alex, Thomas, and James sat down and looked as if it was just some odd morning news. "Stage two lung cancer. They're saying that with how sick I am, and how often, I probably won't live past next fall."
"It's lung cancer, isn't it?" Alex looks over the paper. "The kind that Hazel had in the Fault in Our Stars."
"Same thing I thought when I first heard it," James nodded, running a hand over his short curls. "The kind that makes you drown in air."
"I hope you can swim," said Thomas tersely, standing up. "Ready for practice, Alex, Jemmy?"
"I'll take notes, why don't you two practice your IDA?" Jemmy walked past a weeping Lafayette to grab his notebook.
Thomas and Alex drew from the piles and James took notes as the world dissolved around them.
"It's getting late, Alex," George reached out to touch the young man, who was hunched over his desk. "You've had a long day perhaps-" when he touched Alex's shoulder, Alex flinched away as if he had been burned. "Are you alright, son?"
He heard Alex take a shaky breath, still not turning to see his foster father. "No, dad, I'm really not. I can't- Thomas- and James and we're so used to death, now. We shouldn't be. We speak of death as if it is simply a shortcut down the street. I've never been happy, but I've been much closer to it now than ever before. And it's tumbling down around me."
Alex raised a trembling hand. "My meds are supposed to stop this. The shaking. The shivering. The unbearable cold, but it doesn't stop it. It would stop if I died, you know? But I can't die. I couldn't seem to die then," he lowered his hand, "I don't know why I'm expecting God to be merciful now. And Thomas needs me. I'm his lifeline, you know. I'm Hercules' dysphoria confident. I'm John's mid-night call when he doubts that he'll be able to keep it together.
"I can't die, but I wish I could. And it would be so easy too. So, so stupidly easy..." Alex picked up a pen despite his shaking. "God, what I'd give to have died in that hurricane."
George took a deep breath, going over to sit on Alex's bed. "I'm glad you didn't."
"I know, and I feel terrible about wishing I did."
"You shouldn't feel terrible for me," the man looked at the dumb, little boy he took in. "You should feel terrible for yourself. You can go far, you can create a name for yourself, Alexander." George closed his eyes. This dumb, little boy called him dad a few short minutes ago. His son was suffering and he had no idea what to do. This kid had faced more in his short life than most people will face in their lifetimes. "Do you want me to call Thomas?"
Alex paused, and finally looked up, facing his foster-dad with red eyes. "Could you? I-I'm cold. I'm...I'm really cold."
George didn't know what that meant exactly, as the boy was already bundled up in Thomas' football sweatshirt, but he picked up an extra blanket and draped it over Alex before stepping out of the room to call Thomas. Then to tell Martha to keep a close eye on things, especially anything sharp, and on the medicine. He trusts Alex, he does- he just- he-
He doesn't want to lose his son so quickly after he got him.
Lafayette picked up Thomas' phone while their brother was in the shower. "Hello, this is Lafayette on Thomas' phone, who am I speaking to?"
"Mr. Washington," Washington's voice was softer than they would have expected over the phone. "Where's Thomas?"
"In the shower, is everything alright?" The man sounded worried. They looked over at the clock from their spot on the bed. It was nearing midnight. Something isn't right. Maybe this will help them figure out what's going- oh, it's probably about James. The thought of James almost brought tears to their eyes.
"No, not- not quite, can you tell him to come over as soon as he can," the sound of Washington shifting on his feet. "Alex needs him...badly. I'm sorry Gilbert, if I'm calling too late, I'm just...very worried. I think he's the only one who can help him right now."
Laf nodded, despite knowing Washington couldn't see it. "Uh, if...if Alex gets really bad, you know how Thomas will hold him without really moving? Maybe you could try that, but I'll send my brother over as soon as possible. Just...keep an eye on them, okay? They...won't do anything sexual, you and I both know that but...they, well, the way Alex is now is probably how Thomas is. They're weirdly in sync."
"So are you, Hercules, and John," comments Washington before exhaling sharply, probably doing that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Gilbert. And, I'm always here if you guys need me, any of you kids, alright?"
"Yessir," they stand up to walk into the hall to yell at Thomas to get his ass in gear. "I'll go get him now, best of luck."
Lafayette ended the call before bounding down the hall past their parents room to get to the bathroom, knocking on the door rapidly. "Thomas, hurry up, you need to get to Alex's. Washington's worried."
There was something of a crash before Thomas groaned, a beat, "I'll be out in two, can you grab some clothes for me?"
"They'll be setting on your bed." Thank god the twins share a room (separated at birth twins, typical).
Thomas knew it was raining, consciously, didn't really seem to mind as he ran through it for five blocks without a thought in mind other than 'oh god Alex, don't end up like me.' His cuts seemed to burn, despite the fact that all of them have healed into scars, not a new one marring his flesh for months. His hair was wet and dragging down past his shoulders, clothes soaked, but he still ran and ran and ran until he came to the Washington's door and nearly burst inside. But he collected himself a bit, knocking at the door.
Washington opened it with a worried look on his face, "He's up in his room...watch out for him okay? I'm just...the foster dad, I get that, but..." George shook his head. "Help him."
Thomas didn't need any more pressuring before he nodded and shot upstairs to go check on Alexander. His dumb, beautiful Alexander.
"I am damaged, truly damaged." Alex was pressed up against the wall on his bed, curled into a ball.
"I am damaged, far too damaged," sang Thomas quietly as he walked in. "But you're not beyond repair."
Alex looked up at Thomas, tears streaming down his face, a trembling- shaking arm reaching out. Thomas sat next to him, bringing Alex into a tight embrace as he sang, "Stick around here, make things better."
"You beat me, fair and square." Alex choked out, pulling away from Thomas slightly. "Please stand back now."
Thomas' eyes widened, what happened that Alex-
"Little further."
The taller boy slid a little further back.
"I don't know what this thing will do," Alex put a hand over his stomach, with a little laugh.
Thomas wanted to cry Alex was just nauseous.
"Hope you miss me," sang Alex quietly, as if he didn't want Thomas to hear.
Thomas heard.
"Wish you'd kiss me," Thomas started crying after he sang, Alex was teetering so close to the edge you could see it in his eyes and he just wanted to hold-
Thomas didn't care if he got puked on, honestly, he just wanted to hold Alex and never let go. He surged forward to hold onto Alex, who shook violently and was cold to the touch. Only then did Thomas notice that Alex was only wearing short sleeves and shorts. Oh- oh no.
"Then you'd know I worship you," sang Thomas, reaching behind Alex with one hand to pull a blanket around the Caribbean boy.
They weren't pretty in the moment, all covered in snot and tears and red as tomatoes, but they were so perfectly in love for that moment that it didn't matter. It didn't matter that Thomas was going to face hell with his best friend fighting cancer, it didn't matter that it was the next day was the anniversary of Alex's mother's death, and it didn't matter that Alex may have been moments away from doing something terrible.
In that moment they kissed. It was soft, it was beautiful, and it warmed Alex to the core.
And after that moment it was over.
"Our love is god," whispered Alex as his lips still hovered over Thomas'.
"Our love is god," echoed Thomas, meeting Alex's eyes.
"Our love is god." They sang together as they held each other tighter. They collapsed fully on the bed in a mess of limbs and blankets and Thomas was still soaking wet but-
Thomas moved a strand of hair out of Alex's eyes. "Don't say hi to God. Not yet. Not without me."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
George gave a sigh of relief when he went to check on the two of them a little over a half an hour later, curled up next to one another on Alex's bed. They're ying and yang, George supposed, apposing ideas, apposing mindsets, but they need one another.
And if he writes a couple letters of recommendation to his alma matter of Colombia, and a couple more to some old friends to get these two roomed together, well, no one needs to know why.
Alex and Thomas weren't perfect for each other, there is no set plot for their lives, the story isn't over, just the moment. They'll live on, become lawyers, get married some day, maybe have kids. But they'll never forget their moments.
They still have their bad days. Days where they don't think they can live on, but they push through it. They're each other's lifelines, after all.