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Burr’s shaking. He knows he’s shaking, can see the way his hands practically vibrate as he places them against his steering wheel. He can’t drive like this. It’d be quite bad if he shook himself into a pileup. His stomach rolls and rebels against him, threatening to send his light breakfast all over his dashboard. The clock on his chipped phone screen reads 2:04. Like clockwork, Theodosia would pick up their daughter, Theo, from school at 3:04 pm, and Burr would arrive home at 5 pm, every day, without fail. Today, though, he’d agreed to come home early, to surprise them with a day out.
But instead of doing something nice, Burr was given a surprise of his own. One he can’t enjoy. He can’t shake the memory of finding her naked body in bed, of long raven hair pressed into her chest. Can’t shake the memory of clothes not belonging to either of them thrown about the floor carelessly, as if removed in a heist. Can’t shake the memory of thick heat and the scent of sex filling the air.
So instead of spending time with his love and child today, making memories to tell years from now, Burr sat in his car in the driveway, glaring at the navy minivan that didn’t belong parked in front of his house. He wants to vomit. The clock now reads 2:20, and he knows he’s been here far too long. He can’t stay here any longer, can’t bear the thought of facing them.
Burr pulls out onto the street, desperate to get away, to escape. He has nowhere to go, he has no one he feels he can turn to, and not for the first time he longs for a friend. A support system. He drives in a daze for god knows how long until he’s back at work, rushing into his office with his head down and eyes dull. No one pays him any attention, and for once he’s grateful. As he drops heavily into his chair, he can’t help but notice the barely shaking of his hands, the tight twist of his gut.
How could she do this to him? To their darling daughter and marriage. Had she grown bored with him, tired of his hesitance? Was he not good enough for her? Burr swears he’d done everything he could to make her happy. Everything to make her smile, a smile of hers could light up a room and lift him from the worst of moods.
When was the last time she smiled at him like that? When's the last time she’s sat down beside him to inquire about his messy mind and silent mouth, to kiss all over his face till her lipstick smeared, and he smiled once more? When did he fail her, and their relationship? His phone now reads 2:56, and Theodosia should be on her way to get their beautiful daughter from school, and he nearly loses his lunch at the idea of her kissing someone else as they rush out of the door. It’s not fair to anyone, least of all their children who’ve been caught inside this.
He doesn’t want to go home tonight, to kiss her cheek and play pretend with someone who’s lost love for him (and really he’d rather stay here and wither away), but he isn’t sure how to operate without his love. This is until he remembers the woman who bedded her, and his ideas fall. He sends a shaky text out, thankful for his level of breathing. For a second, he has to remember to even breathe, and not choke himself on his panic attack.
Minutes later, Hamilton slid into his office with a frown on his face and judgment in his eyes. He’s scowling as per usual, and for some reason the sight alone makes his throat constrict. While his voice doesn’t portray how emotionally fuck he is, something about him surely gives it away.
“What exactly have you called me for, so urgently at that,” he sneers, though it lacks the usual amount of scorn reserved just for him. Some part of him mourns for the friendship lost, but never dwells on the feeling. Alexander leans against the door, arms crossed.
“You may wish to sit down,” he hums, thankful he sounds so unaffected. He wished he would have taken the news sitting down, as he nearly crumbled to his knees upon opening the door.
“Oh? Please take all the time you need, it's not like some of us have actual work to do," he huffs, stubborn as always. Thankfully, he plops into the chair across from him. Burr ignores the jab, too tired to entertain the childish bickering.
"Hamilton, please, this is very serious," blunt and direct are never his style, but he has no way to beat around the bush. Doesn't have the energy to play keep away with the man. "Your wife has been unfaithful,"
"Excuse me?" In an instance, Alexander is on his feet, rage burning in his coffee eyes. His mouth remains shut as Alexander continues to shout. "How dare you accuse my dear Betsy of infidelity? She is a sweetheart, and would never cheat on me! You pull me from my work and spout these baseless lies about my wife,"
"I'm being serious, Hamilton,"
"You're a snake, I know it. You'd do anything to get a leg up,"
"What do I possibly get from this, Alex?" The use of his first name is unintentional, his desperation starting to seep through. "I know what I saw,”
“You’re lying, she loves me,” Alexander is desperate now as he speaks, and it’s less anger and more denial. Is trying to convince himself at this point, but burr can’t blame him.
“I saw her, naked in bed, after the act. I could smell it in the air,” he hums, voice low and gravely. Alex shakes his head desperately, though the reality and truthfulness slowly falls onto him.
“Who,” he croaks, words weak and desperate, verging on tears. “Who was she with? C-could you tell?”
“Theodosia,” the words fall from his lips in that same empty tone he’d adopted over the course of several years. “I’m sorry Alexander, I'm so-” his voice cracks with unwanted emotion, a single tear rolling down his face. It's over. Their entire marriage, everything they’ve built together, it’s all gone. Alexander whimpers, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling it from its already messy ponytail.
“No, no she can’t,” he paced the length of his floor, half-mumbled denials, eyes roaring with a storm of emotions. He pauses for half a second, if only to process, and it’s a second long enough for his emotions to rush out in the form of a strangled sob. His knees give out, and he crumbles before his desk, tears flowing without pause. Although Burr isn’t one for comfort on the best of days, he circles his desk to pull the shaking man into his chest. “Why? Why’d she do this to me, burr?” Burr doesn’t have an answer for him and can do nothing but hold onto him, his own eyes uncomfortably dry. Running fingers through oily hair, he lets Alex pour out all the grief into his dress shirt.
“What are we going to do? What am I-” he gasps, nails digging through his shirt enough to leave marks. “My kids, my everything!” Alex whimpered the questions Aaron couldn’t even begin to wonder, too much of a coward. He can’t stop to think of a life without his Theodosia, without his baby girl and happy family. He can’t imagine it at all. In place of the overwhelming grief Alexander displayed, Burr’s chest is muddled with a stinging numbness. He wishes he could cry, could feel anything even if it hurts.
But he can’t.
It's well after 3 when the tears finally stop, and by now the women are likely in their rightful homes with their children. Alexander sits back, eyes red-rimmed and filled with cold rage, among other things. His bones groan and ache as they stand up. In all the years that he’s known him, he’s never quite seen Alexander so quiet with his anger, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him.
“Will you be ok?” he asks, knowing it’s a stupid question the second it leaves his mouth. Of course, he isn’t ok.
“I… I have a lot of work to do, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Burr,” he says coldly, icy brown eyes piercing his soul. He then offers a small comforting smile before he leaves. Burr doesn’t know if he can go home today, step into that bedroom knowing what he saw, can’t be sure he can sleep in that bed knowing what happened. Through the numbness, his chest begins to constrict.
The tears never come.