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John tried to think back on what happened only twenty minutes ago. Alexander was shot in the side, but before that, it was just normal. Just another person who wanted their book signed. But then the more he thought about it, it wasn't just normal, because for the man who shot Alexander, he must've had the plan, and he was sure he didn't go shooting people all the time. Trying to kill Alexander couldn't have been a normal thing for Aaron Burr.
John didn't want to think about the fact that he made Hercules go with Alexander in the ambulance, while he sat on a bench in the book store, trying to keep himself away from the chaos, just trying to think and not break down until Lafayette got there.
Well, not break down more than he already had. He had screamed when Alexander was shot, sobbed when he got no response from the man, but was relieved when someone pointed out he was still breathing, calmed down when he was taken into the ambulance. He should've gone with him, he knew that. But Hercules was better at staying calm, and John just needed Lafayette before he could face Alexander.
The thought came to John that there was a chance Alexander wouldn't make it, but he tried to push it away, tried to focus on anything but it. He tried to think back to earlier that morning. When he was getting ready to come here in their apartment. He had slipped the small box into his pocket and worked so hard to make the box hidden, so Alexander wouldn't know it was there. And Alexander hadn't questioned him at all. And so his plan was going perfectly, John would propose to him at the very end of the signing.
John would've proposed to him at the very end of the signing. Instead Alexander got shot. Instead John was left here in his thoughts, waiting for his friend to get there.
He had thought about grabbing a random book, trying to get himself to focus on that, but he knew that wouldn't work. He knew very well that he couldn't distract himself. He could only replay what happened, and wish he would've saw.
Then he felt a hand on his back, and looked up, seeing Lafayette. He had a small smile, but John couldn't find it in himself to return it, instead, he waited until Lafayette had sat down, then leaned into him, closing his eyes.
“How are you?”
“I… I don't even know…” John whispers, one hand going to his pocket and taking out the box, just to fiddle with it.
“Well, let's play the elimination game, okay?” Lafayette asks softly, waited till John nodded before continuing. “I assume you're not happy.”
“How could I be?”
“And I assume you're a bit angry?”
“I guess so…”
“And sad.”
“Definitely.”
“Scared?” There was a nod. “Confused?” John shook his head. “Whys that?”
“I don't know, Alexander makes a lot of enemies…”
“Why didn't you go to the hospital with him?”
“I… I don't think I would be able to handle it… Hercules can…”
“Do you want to go now?”
“N-no… no… I just… I don't know…” John mumbles, opening and closing the box only slightly. His eyes were still closed.
“What's in the box?”
“A ring, I was gonna give it to him…” John opened the box all the way now, opened his eyes slightly as he watched Lafayette take it out of his hand.
“And you will, he'll be alright.”
“You can't guarantee that…”
“No, but you know Alex best, he never stops fighting, and he's not going to stop when it's most important.” Lafayette says, closing the box now and handing it back to John, who took it, put it back in his pocket and closed his eyes again.
They sat there in silence for a while, John didn't want to talk anyway. He didn't want to talk about what happened, and he was glad Lafayette didn't ask him. Although soon, Lafayette broke the silence.
“Can you tell me your top five favorite things about Alexander?”
John nods, but didn't answer right away.
“The first thing is probably… how passionate he is about everything he does, like, he's always a hundred percent in and willing to do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” John says softly, opening his eyes and looking up at Lafayette. “And I love that he'll listen, he will listen just as much as he talks.”
“So that's two, what are three more?”
“He's not… I don't know… he's not like just my boyfriend, like if we didn't have that, we'd still be really good friends, just like before.”
“Two more things.”
“I love that he's patient for me. That he knows if he waits, I'll be okay. That he learned it so quickly.” John bit his lip softly, then smiled slightly, “and I love how it feels when I kiss him, I don't know if that counts… but every time it feels just like the first, the same energy, same butterflies, same need for more.”
“What'd you think his top five favorite things about you are?”
“I got no idea, I guess I'll have to ask him later…”
“You definitely should.”
“But not before I… I ask him… I ask him to marry me…”
“Of course.”
“And he’ll say yes, right? I mean, he has to, right?”
“Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't asked him yet, or that he hasn't asked you.”
“We've talked about just running away and getting married, come back a year later, hope that people forgot who we were and we could just start new, start together.”
“And what about Hercules and I?”
“We’d tell you we're happy and we're safe, and hope you two would be content with just that.” John says shrugging, looking up at Lafayette again.
“Where were you two planning on going?”
“We talked about a lot of places, go to see where Alexander grew up in the Caribbean, go to South Carolina, Virginia to visit George, then we talked about going to Europe, or just outside the city. We didn't have any real plans, just lots of ideas. But we decided instead to work on the book, and put the idea of marriage to the side, that's why I thought today would be a perfect day, we finish the book store, start something new, like planning a wedding. I wanted to make it seem official, so I got him the ring, even though I know he wouldn't wear it, he's never liked any sort of jewelry.”
“You don't think he's wear it even if it's from you?”
“I don't think so, he's complained in the past that rings mess up his writing, and nothing gets between him and his writing.”
“That's very true.” Lafayette says with a small laugh.
John nods just slightly, and was thinking for a moment till he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he pulled it out, answering immediately after he realized who it was.
“Herc, how is he?”
“Well he's up.”
“Really?”
“And in stable condition.”
John didn't reply, just thinking for a moment, smiling brightly.
“You there?”
“Yeah, and I'll be at the hospital soon.”
And then John hung up, he heard Hercules begin to say something else, but whatever it was could wait till he was at the hospital. It couldn't matter that much. Nothing mattered, besides the fact that Alexander was okay, Alexander was going to be okay.
John was quiet during the car ride to the hospital, he also was smiling the whole time.
And thirty minutes later they finally got there, having gotten caught in traffic halfway there. John was quick to get out of the car and to get to the desk at the emergency room, quickly asking to see Alexander.
And five minutes later, John and Lafayette were being lead to the room that Alexander was in. Outside the room, Hercules sat in a chair, but stood as soon as he saw the two approaching.
“Wait, before you go in.” Hercules says, stepping half in front of the door, which was cracked open.
“Does it really matter?”
“Yeah, it does.” Although he didn't say anything else.
“Okay, great, then tell me, or just let me go see him.”
“Well, he's up, and he's in stable cond-”
“Then what the fuck is there to tell me.”
“Well he's… there's something else, wrong, well it's not bad, but it is also really bad.”
“Just fucking tell me.”
Hercules opened his mouth to speak again, but then John sighed, shook his head and pushed Hercules to the side, going into the room. He smiled brightly at Alexander, going over beside him.
“Hey, love.”
“You have to be John, then.”
“I… of course I'm John.”
Alexander nods, offering a small smile as John's fell. “Hercules told me, and I assume he told you?”
“Why would Hercules need to tell you? I've known you longer than you've known him. Why would what he says matter?”
“So he didn't tell you.”
“I tried to.” Hercules says simply, John looked back at him, he was standing in the doorway, holding Lafayette's hand.
“One of you better fucking tell me.”
“He lost his memory.” Hercules says, “he doesn't remember anything really, as far as I've figured out.”
John shook his head for a moment, “no, that can't… can't be true… you didn't hit your head, you didn't, so you can't have… you can't have lost your fucking memory!”
“I did.”
“So what, do you don't remember me at all? Don't remember Laf? Nothing?!”
“I have a very vague idea about you two, but that's mostly from what Hercules has told me.”
“You can't just… you can't have forgotten! You have to know!”
And John knew he shouldn't have yelled, he knew he should be more calm. But instead he turned around, pushed past Lafayette and Hercules, and all but ran to the exit.And once outside, he slowed down, but only so he could make sure he knew where he was going. He hadn't realized, but he was crying, probably since he was first told.
John knew in the back of his mind that he shouldn't be angry with Alexander, that it wasn't his fault. But John needed someone to blame, and blaming Burr was the right thing, but also felt wrong and he didn't know why.
John had made up his mind on what he'd do when he got home, and he thought that once he did that, he'd feel better. That everything would be better once he did it.
John half expected Lafayette to follow him, catch up, stop him from going home, but as John was only a block from his apartment now, and seemed to be completely alone, he was slowly letting go of that thought.
And as he entered his building and began his way to the stairs, he started focusing on what he'd do once he got to his apartment. He had a good idea, a plan he always had in the back of his mind, a plan Alexander knew. Or at least, he did know. Now he hardly felt like Alexander would care if he did it.
He was only angrier when he walked into his apartment on the second floor, the place how they had left it that morning. A half finished canvas on the easel by the window in the living room, on the floor beside it, other canvases, both used and unused. On the nearby coffee table were papers laid out, half sorted, all belonging to Alexander.
John hardly was two steps into the apartment when he grabbed a painting off the wall, then went and sat on the ground betweeen the coffee table and the easel. He looked at the large canvas in his hands for a few moment. Then he leaned it against the coffee table, glared at it, raised his right hand in a fist and punched a hole through it.
It wasn't till a few seconds later that he fully registered exactly what the painting was. A pond in a park at sunrise. The first painting he had given Alexander the night the started dating.
He stared at the hole for a moment before he stood up, kicked it, splintering the wood. Then he turned, punched the canvas on the easel before kicking the easel down. Watched it fall and knock open paint containers onto the floor, watched the paint spill, watched it cover a few other canvases.
He didn't care that much, it wouldn't matter in twenty minutes, when he'd do exactly what he needed to do to make things better.
But right now, he sat down, in front of the first canvas he punched, the splintered one. He picked it up, began tearing the cloth off the broken frame. Just to give him something to do. And as he didn't it, the splintered wood cut his forearm.
And he looked at the cut for a moment, it stung, of course it did. But that didn't stop him from picking a piece of splintered wood off, and he was about to run the piece over the scratch, till he saw it was already bleeding, so he thought to scratch a different spot.
But before he could, he felt a hand on his own, and he looked up to see that Lafayette was sitting beside him. He looked around, the door was open, and he probably left it that way.
“Let go.” John whispers softly, trying to pull his hand away, but Lafayette only held on tighter.
“What are you doing?”
John couldn't really answer, because he didn't really know. He just shook his head, dropped the piece of wood, and weakly tried to pull his hand away.
“Do you know why you broke the paintings?”
“I… I don't…”
“Is it because of Alexander…?”
“What the fuck else would it be about? Why the fuck couldn't Hercules had told me sooner!?”
“Hey, calm down, take a breath.”
And John did, took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly.
“What happened?”
“I don't know… I just… I got upset… I am upset… I just… I just want him… I'm sorry… I shouldn't’ve…”
“It's alright, start with your arm, what happened?”
“It was an accident! I swear!” John replies frantically.
“Shh, it's okay. Are you sure?”
John nods quickly, “I promise, I was… I was ripping the canvas… and I scratched myself… but then I thought… thought I could do it more…”
“And do you know why you were ripping the canvas?”
“I was upset… I wanted it to be gone… it's gone… he's practically gone…”
“Alexander isn't gone.”
“He is. My Alexander is. He'd be better off dead. I wish he had died. It'd be easier.”
“I know you don't mean that.”
“I do! I wish Alexander died! I wish I didn't have to deal with him not remembering me! Not remembering any of this! I wish he was dead!”
And after John said that, he started crying all over again. And Lafayette slowly pulled him into a hug and held him close.
“I know that's not true, I know that's the last thing you want.” He kept whispering the same thing, till John finally looked up at him, for the moment he had stopped crying.
“I… I don't know… what am I… what am I supposed to do…? It'd be so much easier if he was dead… I would know what to do if he was dead… but he's not… he just doesn't remember me… us… any of this… doesn't remember our dinner plans for tomorrow night… doesn't remember this morning… doesn't remember any of it… what am I supposed to do?”
“Help remind him until he does remember.”
John shakes his head quickly, “I… I can't… he's not… he's not him… I can't do that…”
“He's the same Alexander as always, John.”
“No he's not! My Alexander knows who I am!”
“And he does know who you are.”
“He knows my name, that's it.”
“That's a start.”
“He doesn't know shit!”
“And you can help him.”
“I can't, I told you that, I can't.”
“There's nothing stopping you.”
“How many times do I gotta tell you? He's not himself! He's not the same Alexander! He's not my Alexander! I can't!”
“What're you going to do with the ring?”
“I don't know, throw it out for all I care, it's for my Alexander, not him.”
Lafayette sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Don't throw it out, keep it, just in case.”
“I won't need it. Because I can promise you I'll never love someone as much as I love my Alexander.”
“Humor me, please? Keep the ring, just in case.”
“Fine…”
“Now, do you want my help cleaning this up?”
“I don't give a fuck if it gets cleaned up or not.”
“Okay well I'm going to clean it up, I don't want you hurting yourself on accident again.”
And Lafayette let go of John and stood up. For a few moments, John sat there, and then he got up as well, quickly going to sit on the couch, sitting with his knees to his chest.
While Lafayette started picking up the things John had broken, and John just watched. John watched as he cleaned up the paint. As he straightened the canvases that hadn't been broken.
And then Lafayette went and got a wet washcloth and sat beside John, gently taking his arm that was scratched. John flinched at the first contact with the cool cloth, but then relaxed and let Lafayette do what he needed to.
“I'm going to go back to the hospital in a little bit, do you want to come with?”
“No.”
“John, you really should.”
“I don't want to. I don't want to see him.”
“John,”
“I'm not going to the hospital. End of discussion.”
“You'll have to at some point.”
“Why? There's no one I know that's there.”
“You're being unreasonable.”
“It's true! That's not the he Alexander I know.”
“You'll have to see him at some point.”
“When he's back to his normal self, I will. Until then, I don't give a fuck.”
After a month, Alexander left the hospital, going to stay in the guest room at Lafayette and Hercules’ apartment. During the month, he had surgery, countless therapy sessions, and John never went back to the hospital. Lafayette had tried to get John to go, but he refused. And he refused to talk to Hercules too.
Today, a week after Alexander was released, he sat in his office, reading over things he had written. While in the living room Hercules and Lafayette talked, and John sat, glaring at the sketchbook in his lap, not even paying attention to the conversation.
And then John out the sketchbook on the coffee table and stood up.
“I'm going to go talk to Alex.” He whispers softly, looking at the two, looking mostly at Lafayette.
And Lafayette smiled, nodding slightly. “Sounds good.”
John forced a small smile back, and then he went to the office, standing in the doorway and watching Alexander for a few moments.
He held a paper in his hands, his reading glasses were slipping down his nose but he didn't seem to care(he never seemed to care about that), and he looked just like his Alexander.
And then John reminded himself it wasn't his Alexander.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He snapped, watching Alexander flinch and look up.
“Hercules recommended I look over my old things, see if it helps at all.”
“I don't see why the hell that'd help. I don't think anything can help.”
“Of course you don't, you avoid me every chance you get.”
“Because you're not Alexander.”
“Hercules told me that you and I were like some cheesy movie couple.”
“My Alexander and I were, yeah. You are not my Alexander.”
“I'm sorry I don't remember you, but you remember me, and that could help me.”
“I don't want to help you. I don't even want you in my apartment.”
“The lease says both our names, it's our apartment. I just had the lease, it's somewhere in this pile of papers.”
“I know what the fucking lease says, shit head.”
“But it doesn't count just because I lost my father memory.”
“Pretty fucking much.”
“I hope you know how irrational you're being.”
“I don't think it matters.”
“How long were we dating?”
“Six years.”
“And are we dating now.”
“No fucking way.”
“Six years is a long time.”
“I'm aware.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Great.”
“But if you've always been this much of an asshole, I don't know how we lasted six hours.”
“I don't know, the old you liked it, but whatever.”
“Oh so it's an old version now, not a whole other entity.”
“It's both, asswipe.”
“Could you explain the logic to that?”
“No, fuck off.”
“Hey, I was happily reading till you came in.”
“You don't even deserve to read his things.”
“He and I are the same person, moron.”
“Not to me. One of you loved me, I loved one of you.”
“And who's to say I don't love you now?”
“Have fun looking through a dead guy’s shit.”
And then John turned and went back to the living room, sitting back beside Lafayette and picking up his sketchbook again, just glaring at it again.
Four and a half hours later, Hercules and Alexander left, while Lafayette decided to stay with John.
John who had hardly moved since he talked to Alexander. John who just continued to glare at his sketchbook.
Until Lafayette reached over and slowly took it out of his lap, and then waited for John to look at him before talking.
“From how you're acting I take talking to Alexander didn't work out?”
“It… I don't know… I mean I do… it was bad… but it… he's not him! I'm telling you he's not him! I know it's Alexander, but it's not my Alexander! He's a new Alexander, like… like Alexander two point O… wait, that means improvement… so… so Alexander two point no… he's just… he's not my Alexander! My Alexander is dead!”
Lafayette sighed, but John could tell he was really trying to hide a laugh. “You know he's trying, that's why it wouldn't hurt for you to give him a bit of room to get better.”
“He can get better, I don't care, but he can leave me the fuck alone.”
“He still cares about you.”
“He doesn't fucking know me.”
“Hercules and I have told him quite a lot, actually. And I've told him about high school, and he really likes listening to it all. But Hercules and I can only tell him so much.”
“And so you think I should start telling him shit? I ain't gonna do that. Whatever he wants to know he can read it or be told from you and Hercules. But I'm not telling him shit.”
“And what if he wants to know what you're like?”
“Then you tell him.”
“It's going to be rather hard to convince him that you really are sweet and kind when all you do is attack him.”
“I'm sure it'll work eventually.”
“It'd be easier if you got your head out of your ass.”
“Whatever.”
“It's not whatever, John.”
“Whatever is a lot easier.”
“And so you will keep being lazy and take the easy route, instead of taking just a moment to help him, or at least help yourself.”
“How would I help myself?”
“I do not know, but I am sure you can figure that out.”
John didn't answer, instead he reached and grabbed his sketchbook back, opened it again to a blank page, staring at it once again.
“You can't ignore me, John.”
“I'm not ignoring you, I'm simply thinking.”
“And you need to space out with your sketchbook to do so?”
“No, but it helps.”
And then the room went silent, and it stayed silent for twenty minutes before Lafayette stood up.
“I'm going to go home, but you can call me if you need me.”
“Alright, bye.”
John didn't know how much time passed when he stood up and put the sketchbook on the coffee table, but it couldn't be that much later.
And he went to his bedroom, going to his closet and taking a box down, setting it on his bed. He opened it, looking at the many old sketchbooks from over the years were there. He began gently taking them out, laying them all out on the bed. He was looking for one in particular, although it hardly looked different than the other’s.
Soon enough he did find it, and he put it on his bedside table before beginning to put the rest away.
And then he put the box back up in the closet.
And he picked up the sketchbook he kept out, sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened it to the first page, it was simply all the dates he drew in it. All dates six years ago.
John began flipping through it, he didn't want to really look at the art, that wasn't what he was looking for. Every few pages he'd find pieces of paper stuck between them, and he'd unfold them, read them over, most of the time they were little notes to himself, but the more he went through it, some of them were from Alexander. And that's what he was looking for, a specific paper written by Alexander. His Alexander.
He found what he was looking for near the middle of the book, a piece of printer paper covered in green ink. Not just green, but one of John's glittery green gel pens, he'd always kept bunches of them. It was a green gel pen he used to sign books when they had the signings.
But this note, more like a letter, Alexander had written it three weeks after they started dating. Alexander had spent the night at John's, and John had fallen asleep pretty early. And Alexander had somewhere to be the next morning. Instead of waking John when he left, he just wrote the long note, and it explained more than his absence.
John unfolded the paper, taking a breath, and he began reading it. At first, it was an apology for him leaving so early, not saying goodbye. But then it soon turned to something much different. Alexander began to list just little things about John that he loved, some of the things seemed dumb, like how he was very particular on saying how he loved how John held his pencil. That was the one that always stuck out to John, that he thought of almost every time he picked up a pen or pencil.
There had been one time John decided to hold his pencil just slightly differently, just to test something, and sure it was uncomfortable, but it worked. Alexander had noticed and wouldn't stop bitching about how John shouldn't change at all. He ended up going on for an hour.
John decided not to test that sort of thing anymore.
There was also a point made in the letter about how Alexander loved when John had his hair down, so a few days later John decided to leave it down when they went out. What came was Alexander saying that he loved when he had his hair down because he rarely did outside of the house, so it was a rare thing, and something to be treasured. John left his hair in a bun for the next week.
At the end of the letter, Alexander wrote “I don't know how long I've really known you anymore, I just know I've loved you even longer than that.”
And that was John's Alexander, stupidly sweet, paying attention to both the big picture and little details, and still so very gracious.
And then John was folding the paper, carefully putting it over a drawing he didn't even want to acknowledge, and then he closed the book.
He stood up and grabbed the box from the closet, putting it on his bed and then opening it. He carefully took out a few other sketchbooks before returning the one he was looking through, then he put the rest away. Then he closed the box and put it back on the shelf, back to be forgotten until needed.
It was two days later, and John was going through Alexander's work email. The genius thought that would be a great idea. He hardly was paying attention to the many, many emails, until he said one that was from Theodosia Burr. Which he immediately opened.
And in it, she asked Alexander if he would like to meet her for lunch, to bring John along if he liked. She said she wanted to talk to them, as if it was a totally normal thing.
John immediately forwarded the email to Lafayette, calling him two seconds later.
“Check your email.”
“What am I looking for exactly?”
“An email I forwarded you from Theodosia Burr.”
“Good or bad?”
“I… I don't even know.”
Lafayette was quiet for a moment, John assumed he found the email and was reading it over.
“You should go.” He says about three minutes later.
“Not with him!”
“John, just this one thing, she wants to meet with you next week, do that, and then go from there.”
“”I can't, he-”
“He's not your Alexander, I know, but still, do this one thing. You do know who she is, right?”
“She's the wife of the bastard who shot him.”
“Exactly.”
John sighed, “fine. Whatever.” He mumbles, then he hung up.
And then he opened the email again, hitting the reply button and beginning to write back, sending it ten minutes later. It was nothing like what Alexander could write, just a quick thing, hardly worth anything. Alexander would've been able to write a gracious paragraph, at the very least.
John set his phone down on the coffee table now, picking up hi sketchbook and pencil. Although he didn't draw, instead his thoughts wandered to Alexander.
And he wondered if Alexander could still write so beautifully, and he wondered if Alexander could still capture all the details in something and the big picture. He wondered if Alexander still preferred to write by hand even though typing is quicker, and his reasoning for that still not being clear. He wondered if Alexander would ever publish something again.
And then he stopped himself, and he looked down at the sketchbook, beginning to draw what he always did when he needed some form of distraction. Just random plants, animals, simple thing that he could go into detail with if he really wanted to.
He was able to work for thirty minutes before he paused, and his thoughts yet again drifted to Alexander. But not this Alexander. To his Alexander. To his Alexander that knew exactly how to calm him down when he was stressed. Even though John knew he wasn't just stressed anymore, at the moment he was more edging on panic.
And his thoughts went from Alexander to Theodosia Burr, wondering what she could want with them. Her husband had done enough, and John definitely didn't want to meet with her. But Lafayette wanted him to. And he knew it was probably good for Alexander, and even now, he really did want the best for him.
A week later, Alexander was sitting beside John in a restaurant, across from them was a little girl and her mother. They had just been seated, and have yet to say anything past introductions.
“So how old is your daughter?” Alexander asks after a moment, his tone polite.
“I'm six!”
Alexander smiled at her, then looked at John, seeking some sort of reaction but John stared blankly at the table.
“So are you in kindergarten or first grade?”
“I just started first grade, my teacher is miss Williams.” She said proudly,
“Do you have loads of homework?”
“No, silly! I don't get homework! Just drawings I have to do.”
“Oh really? You know John is an artist.”
“I know, daddy told me.”
“I bet if you ask nicely he could draw you something and you could color it.”
“I don't wanna color, but mister John, may you please draw something for me?” She asks sweetly.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” John mumbles, he opened his bag, taking out a small notebook he had and a pencil.
“Thank you, she's been having a hard time since Aaron… well it's hard to explain to a six year old that her father, well you know.” Theodosia says with a smile.
“The police took daddy away.”
“Here.” John says, ripping the drawing out of the book, he looked at Alexander for a moment who looked curiously at it. It was a simple turtle, hardly any detail, the same thing he always drew when people asked for something. John handed the paper to the little girl who took it happily.
“We don't talk about what daddy did.” Theodosia says slowly.
“Why not?” John asks, looking up at the woman.
“It's not appropriate to discuss around her.”
“Does she know what happened.”
“She doesn't and she doesn't need to.”
“I'm so glad you're able to just ignore the fact that husband almost killed Alexander. It's a bit difficult for us to just forget.”
“I know, and I'm sorry, that's why I wanted to meet you guys, to apologize for what Aaron did, I know it doesn't fix everything, but I just want you to know I had nothing to do with my husband’s actions.”
“Yes, because I was definitely blaming you for it.” John says coldly,
Alexander gently took John's hand, “be nice.” He whispers to him, which John just shook him off.
“I'm really sorry,” Theodosia says simply, and John takes a deep breath.
“I don't know if you've been told, but due to being shot, I ended up losing a majority of my memory, so I don't remember what happened, although John does, perfectly.”
“Again, I'm very sorry.”
“Oh I'm sure you are, and I'm sure this is just a big inconvenience to you, and you just want to be able to have your psychopath husband back, and I'm sure you have the money to make that happen too.” John says bitterly.
“I'm working with my lawyers, yes.”
“Yeah, what the fuck ever.” John says, glaring at Theodosia.
“And my husband isn't a psychopath.”
“He fucking tried to kill someone!” John yells angrily, standing up now.
“And he's going to move past that.” Theodosia responds, her tone too calm for John's liking.
“HE TRIED TO KILL MY BOYFRIEND OVER A BOOK!” John screamed, and then he had punched her, standing there for only a moment, the little girl screamed, probably from fear.
Then John grabbed his bag and he was walking to the door before he could see what happened next.
Alexander watched John move, completely shocked. And when John was walking off, Alexander turned to Theodosia. “I'm really sorry,” he says simply, and then he noticed the woman's nose was bleeding, grabbing one of the napkins and handing it to her. “I would love to stick around, but I really need to get going.” He adds, quickly standing and walking out of the restaurant.
And outside, only a few feet from the door, John sat, crying softly.
“John, are you alright?”
John looked at him for a moment, and in that moment he thought it might be Alexander. His Alexander. But his Alexander wouldn't approach him so timidly. His Alexander's wouldn't sit next to him without pulling him into a hug too.
“Nope.” John answers stiffly.
“What can I do for you?” Alexander asks, John could hear his concern in his tone, dismissed it, looked passed it, this wasn't his Alexander.
“Call Laf.” He answers shortly.
Alexander nods, taking his phone out and quickly calling Lafayette.
And John shifted just slightly closer, hesitantly leaned his head on Alexander's shoulder, hardly listening to what he said on the phone, hardly listening after he hung up and started talking to him.
And he was like that until he saw Lafayette walking up the block, and he jumped, sitting up immediately. His crying had stopped .a few minutes ago, now his eyes were just slightly red, it was hardly noticeable.
John was spaced out a majority of the time it took them to get back to his apartment. He wasn't paying any attention to the conversation even though he knew very well that he should be.
And once they were there, John went to his room, slammed the door.
And John went to the closet, taking out the same box he had early, was about to open it when there was a knock on the door.
“John, would it be okay if we talked?” It was Alexander, but not his. His wouldn't ask, his would come in, talk, and he'd talk until John felt like talking too.
But John didn't feel like talking right now.
“No.” His tone was a lot more cold than he intended.
John heard the other walk away, listened until the footsteps stopped.
Then he was opening the box, gently taking out the sketchbook that was on top.
He was about to open the book, but there was another knock.
“Go away, Alexander.”
The door opened after that, and John looked up, it was Lafayette.
“So you punched the wife?”
“I… yeah… I did…” John mumbles, putting the sketchbook in the box now.
“Because of something she said, I would assume.”
“She just kept apologizing, and then was saying that he was ‘moving past it.’ What the fuck ever.” John says angrily, closing the box and standing up.
“She probably is sorry, and he probably is.”
“How the hell can he just move past what happened?!”
“Everyone else is trying to as well, you're the one stopping that.” Lafayette says, taking the box from John and putting it away.
“Becau-”
“Because he's not your Alexander, I have come to fully understand that, don't worry.”
“Well he's not.”
“He is, and if you spent more than five minutes with him you'd understand that.”
“Well that's not fucking happening.”
Lafayette left John alone after that, and then left the apartment an hour later, although he left Alexander there, which John was unaware of.
John got up to go to the kitchen, not noticing Alexander in the living room.
That is, until he spoke.
“Laf told me I'm supposed to stay until I get you to talk.”
John turned to look at him, but then turned back to the fridge, opening it and taking out a bottle.
“Why'd you punch that woman?” Alexander stood as he spoke, going into the kitchen.
John didn't answer, only set down the bottle while he opened a drawer, digging through it for something.
“Her daughter was rather sweet, before this all happened, did we ever talk about having kids?”
John found the bottle opener, shut the drawer and picked up his bottle, focusing on opening it.
“I don't understand why you punched her, she's just trying to cope with it all, same as you. Except for at least she's acknowledging it.”
John scoffed softly, taking the bottle cap and throwing it away.
“You really scared her daughter when you did that.”
No reply, just John putting away the bottle opener.
“Do you even care at all?”
John didn't say anything, started drinking the beer he had.
“For gods sakes just fucking say something!”
John looked at him for a moment, then opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head.
Alexander looked at him, but he didn't speak.
John set his bottle on the counter then opened a drawer, taking out a small notepad and a pen. He quickly drew the same small turtle he had drawn earlier. Ripped the page out, and handed it to Alexander, who looked at it in confusion.
“Do you even know what that is?” John asks, his tone cold.
“I, I mean yes? It's a turtle, you drew it for the little girl.”
John shook his head, taking the paper back and crumbling it.
“If I don't know the right answer, just tell me what it is.”
“It doesn't fucking matter anymore.”
“Why'd you punch that woman?”
And John was silent again, putting away the notepad and pen.
“John Laurens, answer me dammit.”
“Because her husband took me from you!”
“I'm still alive.”
“I know, but you're not… not the same! You're not…”
“Your Alexander?”
“Yes! I mean, yes and no, I… just fuck off!”
“That's all I hear you tell Laf, that I'm not your Alexander. And it's starting to feel like you want me dead more than anything.”
“Not at all… if you… I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you died…”
“I'm going to call Herc, have him pick me up, I don't care for hearing whatever you have to say.”
John nods, picking up his beer again and going to his room, slamming the door.
And as soon as it was shut he set the beer down, sat on his bed.
He listened to the front door open and close, Alexander probably going to wait for Hercules outside.
It was just Alexander. Not some new one, not some old one. Just Alexander. Alexander who didn't care to listen to him. His Alexander would listen intently, the new one he didn't know.
His Alexander would've recognized the drawing, would've laughed when he drew it for the little girl, would've loved it when he drew it again in the kitchen. His Alexander would've known why he was so angry. His Alexander wouldn't ask him why he punched the lady, his Alexander would've punched her if John hadn't.
John woke up to a wall of texts from Lafayette, he sleepily opened his phone, reading them over. The first simply read ‘happy birthday’ then a block of cake emojis, then a list of different things they could do for the day.
John sighed, typing out ‘I don't want to do anything today besides maybe paint.’ He read the message once and then sent it, putting his phone back on the bedside table.
Two minutes later, it buzzed again, John didn't bother to read it, instead got up, went to the living room and left his phone.
In the last three and a half months John had only sketched, hardly anything compared to what he used to do. And for the day he just wanted to try to do something. So he grabbed one of the few canvases he hadn't wrecked and put it on the easel, but that was as far as he got.
He heard the front door unlock and open, he turned to see who it was, and was surprised when he saw it was Alexander.
“What do you want?” John asks, his tone was ruder than he meant, they hadn't spoken since the day they met Theodosia.
“I have something for you.” Alexander says simply, he closed the door behind him as he asked into the apartment. He held an envelope in his hand and held it out to John once he got to him.
“Why’d you have a key?”
“Laf gave it to me, said you'd probably have the door locked.” He answered simply, shrugged.
John nods slightly, took the envelope. He contemplated going to his room to read it, kick Alexander out, but then decided against it, opened it there. The page was filled, crammed, the same rushed but beautiful handwriting as always.
And John took a breath as he began reading it.
‘My dearest, John.
I'll start with formalities.
Happy birthday.
Now that's out the way, I know you don't want to hear this from me, I know you'd much rather hear it from “your Alexander”, and I'm sorry that I'm here instead of him. I didn't exactly have much day in the matter, but sorry regardless.
Although I don't remember much about you at all, I am still Alexander, and I do still hold at least some of the same affections for you.
I've watched you whenever I can (in the least creepy way possible), and I'm kinda scared to say this, but I think I've fallen in love with you all over again. I love your drawings, sure, but more than that, I love the way you draw. I love the way you hold the pencil as if it could shatter if you move it wrong, but at the same time, move it so quickly and almost violently that you'd think that even if it was made of solid titanium, it would break into a billion pieces. I love how when you draw you look like you're just scribbling, but you're actually making one flawless sketch that looks like a screenshot straight from a nature documentary.
I haven't seen you in person as much as I'd like, but Hercules has showed me many old photos of us from many times between high school and just before I was shot, and every time I see them I feel my heart flutter. I love your hair, in the few pictures where it's down, I just love it more. I love that there's only one or two photos in which that's the case. I love how when you have it up, there's little bits on either side of your face that frame it perfectly. It looked like one of your gorgeous paintings of a night sky, with the way your freckles cover your face, and your eyes are like two gorgeous moons. I could talk about your eyes for pages, but I'm running out of space.
I'm sorry I don't remember anything. I'm sorry I'm like some out-of-character fanfiction of who I used to be, but I'm still the same person.
I miss you.
Sincerely,
A.Hamilton’
John didn't say anything when he finished reading, gently folded the letter, he felt like he might start crying but he tried his best to hide it. He put the letter back in the envelope as he started going back to his room, slamming the door behind him.
And then he sat on the edge of his bed, reading over the letter a few more times. The handwriting was the same, the style was the same, it was the same. He noticed the same things, loved the same things. He couldn't be the same Alexander, but the letter in John's hand said otherwise.
For a moment John thought maybe Alexander had seen drafts of the letter John was given six years ago, but then John reminded himself that that was written in a different apartment and in a rush. And the only copy was tucked away in his closet.
John stood up, fully aware that he was crying now, and put the letter back in the envelope. Went to his bedside table and put the envelope in the drawer, took out the small black box. He set it on the bedside table, then grabbed his sketchbook, opened to a random page and ripped a corner off of it. Put the book down and grabbed a pencil, writing simply ‘106 days late’. Then he opened the box, put the paper over the simple ring. Hoped it was enough. Held the box in his hand, secure and hidden in a tight fist.
He returned to the living room a minute later, stopped for a second, then went to Alexander.
Alexander was right where he was before, standing right beside John's easel.
“You're crying, are you alright?”
Alexander's voice was so worried, but John couldn't bring himself to answer, only grabbed one of Alexander's hand with his empty one.
“What are you doing?”
John shook his head slightly, just made Alexander hold his hand out, palm flat.
“Please explain what the hell you’re doing.”
John placed the small box in Alexander's hand, then let go of him, stepped back.
“What's this?”
“Open it.” John whispers softly, watching him carefully.
And Alexander opened the box, looked at the paper, then picked it up, held it for a moment before pocketing it. Then looked at the ring.
“I almost lost you once… I didn't want to lose you again…”
Alexander nods, taking the ring out of the box hesitantly, pocketing the box as well before putting on the ring. It was nothing special, a simple silver band, all that John could afford, but he knew Alexander would love it before, and just hoped he would love it now. John decided that Alexander putting it on was enough confirmation, and he didn't expect to be pulled into a hug.
But John hugged him back all the same, felt nice hugging him again.
“It took you a hundred and six days to come around.” Alexander whispers, he laughed softly, but from the sound of his voice, John could tell he started crying as well.
“I'm sorry… I… I don't know… but I'm sorry…”
“It's okay, don't worry.” Alexander whispers, pulling back from the hug just a bit. John looked at him for a moment, the same Alexander as always, same smile, and John was crazy for ever thinking he wasn't. The two were both crying, but it hardly mattered to John, and he was sure it hardly mattered to Alexander too.
John was going to say something, but instead Alexander was kissing him, and it was something soft, gentle, hesitant. But it was the same as always, John felt the same butterflies as he always did, Alexander had the same energy, and John had the same want for more.
But the kiss was over too soon, and they were both laughing softly, still crying.
Neither noticed that Lafayette and Hercules had come in.
Until they spoke, at least.
“And here I thought we were coming for backup.” Hercules says with a laugh,
“I told you it would not be necessary.”
“Well they are crying.”
“John made me.” Alexander says quickly, “he was crying and it made me cry.”
“I was only crying because of what you wrote.”
“Oh? And what did Alexander write?” Lafayette asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Doesn't matter.” The two of them spoke at once, started laughing immediately after.
But once they stopped, John let go of Alexander completely, looked at Hercules, who he had avoided since the hospital. “I'm really, really sorry.” He says simply, didn't know what else to say.
“Eh, doesn't matter, you're not being the world's biggest asshat now.” Hercules responds with a shrug.
John nods, then went over to Lafayette, hugged him for a moment before looking up at him. “Thank you.”
“I'm just glad you turned around because I was so very close to just leaving you to your own devices.” Lafayette says with a laugh.
Just like that, John and Alexander were nearly inseparable once again. The two spent a majority of their time just walking around, usually in circles, while John told Alexander random stories. With certain ones, Alexander was able to fill in little blanks, sometimes because he remembered and others because Hercules and Lafayette told him.
They had also come to the decision that they'd have a small courthouse wedding sometime in the winter, most likely closer to Alexander's birthday. Both agreeing that they wanted a bit more time together before they got married.
It took a few weeks for Alexander to move back in with John, but once he did, things started really falling back into place again. John started working more, already had a spot at gallery booked. While Alexander was writing again, although he was back to poetry, and planned to publish another collection of poems.
All too soon it was January, the last two months having gone by so quickly.
And then the eleventh came around. Before it was even noon, Alexander and John were married, spent the rest of the day with Lafayette and Hercules at home.