Work Text:
Alexander walks the length of his office, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the ends in frustration. He has never felt this before. All his life, words came as easily to him as breathing. At times it came easier than breathing.
Yet now when he needs his words the most, they have failed him. There is work to be done, but every time his picks up his quill, it is no more than a drawn out torture. He is staring into blankness, thinking in emptiness, and he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
"Alex, is everything alright?" Eliza asks, opening the door with a gentle creak. "Your footfalls can be heard around the house. What is the matter?"
"What is the matter?" Alexander parrots her words back at her. He stops his pacing and slams his fist onto the empty papers on his desk. "There is so much that needs to be done, and I am wasting away. Words escape me and I am without a cure."
Eliza to her credit does not flinch or shy away from her husband. She knows him, knows his habits, his temper, his flaws, and loves him anyway. Her tenderness in a way hurts worse than anything he could possibly imagine. Maybe it's because her tenderness reminds him of someone else's. Someone who is gone.
Alexander shakes himself out of this train of thought. It is a dangerous path to go down, and there is so much to get done. He doesn't have time for it.
"My love, you will figure a solution yet. I have faith in your abilities, but for now perhaps it would be wise to step away. You can always return to it later," Eliza suggests, coming to stand next to him.
He avoids her eyes and shakes his head. "I must have these letters written by the end of the week."
"It will do you no good shut up in here. Let's go for a walk, Alexander," she says, opening the curtains. "It's a beautiful day."
"I appreciate the gesture, but I have no time to waste." He returns to his desk, determined to write something, anything at all.
"Is that what you think this is?" Eliza demands, her hands on her hips. He grits his teeth against the hollow ache behind his rib cage.
"What are you talking about, Betsey? You're not making any sense," Alexander says once he's sure he can keep his voice in control.
"Do you find grief to be a waste of time?" Eliza steps in closer.
Alexander refuses to look up at her because facing his Eliza now would break him, and he can't afford to lose himself at such a critical time.
"I'm not sure I understand the question," Alexander says, swallowing thickly.
"Henry Laurens' letter came in a week ago, and you have been acting strange since. You have to let yourself grieve him," Elizabeth pleads.
She runs her hands through his hair, smoothing down the unruly curls that have sprung up during his ministrations. He has to clench his jaw to not lash out at her. What does Eliza know about grief that Alexander hasn't already lived through? Everyone that loves him leaves in the end. He just never thought he would have to add John to that list.
"I am grieving," Alexander lies. If he doesn't mourn John, then he can pretend that John's only away on business in South Carolina instead of six feet under in a summer soil sweetened by the fall of over-ripe fruit.
Eliza shakes her head as she takes his hand, leading him to a chaise by the window. She sits down and gestures for him to do the same.
"I had never met Colonel Laurens, but I know you loved him and he loved you. I am certain he would want you to move on as well."
Alexander almost laughs. He stares at Eliza's hands in his own and wills himself not to cry. John was always half-wishing that Alexander would move on, convinced that would save them both from a life of lies and sin.
"Please, it might help you to talk about him. I am willing to listen." Eliza laces their fingers together and Alexander tightens his grip desperately, afraid that she would disappear, too.
Could he really tell Eliza about John? Would she even want to hear about him if she knew how it was that Alexander loved him?
Alexander knew that what they had would be hard pressed to survive past the environment of war, but part of him was convinced that they'd find a way to make it work. Alexander is selfish by nature. He didn't want to think about choosing between John and Eliza. He couldn't if he tried. He loves both of them too much. He didn't think that the choice would be taken out of his hands.
Eliza is smiling at him reassuringly. Her eyes are bright and beautiful. What could Alexander possibly tell her about John?
He always beat Alexander at chess. He didn't like talking about his father. He held himself to such impossible expectations. He grinned and smirked all over the place, bravado and courage and honor, but when he was alone with his trusted friends, his smile was soft and loving, and his laugh. Dear God, John's laugh. To this day, Alexander has yet to hear a music so sweet. The only thing that has ever come close is Eliza's singing and Philip's voice when he calls him Papa.
Now he will never hear that sound again.
John used to say, his blue eyes alight with happiness and love, "My dear boy, you are always ten steps ahead. I doubt there is a possibility for this nation that you have not entertained at some point."
But Alexander never imagined this. They both dreamed like martyrs on a battlefield, but somehow through all of that Alexander never thought John would die. Alexander is an illegitimate orphan. The world would not mourn a death like his, but John was different. He always seemed so much more.
Deep down Alexander had been certain that if John had met his death during the war then Alexander would've followed him like a shovel into a grave. But that is a nonsensical solution, a pipe dream. Alexander has a family to think of now.
What could Alexander tell Eliza about John? Nothing.
"I cannot," Alexander chokes out. He can feel the tears that have betrayed him flowing down his face.
"That's alright, my dear," Eliza whispers, wiping the moisture from his cheeks.
Alexander lets her hold him until he stops crying. This is the first time he's cried since receiving the letter. After he's calmed, he doesn't know whether he feels weaker or stronger or simply different. A little emptier like he's missing a vital part of his heart. He lets her soft arms envelop him in their warmth, and he thinks that if he were to lose Eliza as well, then he would certainly break. The mere notion of it terrifies him.
How could he tell Eliza anything about John if it runs the risk of pushing her away?
"I understand your concern, Betsey, and I thank you," Alexander says, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "You are so good to me."
Eliza smiles, the tops of her cheeks flushing pink. She is radiant. "How about that walk then?"
Alexander stares at all the blank papers and empty correspondences on his desk, but unlike before his mind is opened once again to ideas. It's not as good as it can be, but it's something. Already he is muttering under his breath, formulating his response.
"Alex," Eliza says, shaking him out of his reverie.
"I'm sorry, but I have far too much work to do," he says, and he is at his desk before she can even respond.
He doesn't notice when Eliza stands, but he catches her back as his office door swings shut. Somehow the slope of her shoulders seems sad and disappointed. Alexander swallows the shame and keeps writing.
Everyone who loves him leaves in the end, and there is still work to be done.