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“I’m still pissed at you.”
Hamilton groans for the umpteenth time, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back. The slight movement makes his ribs throb painfully, and he swallows thickly in an attempt to keep his meager breakfast down.
Lafayette shakes his head from where he is sat next to Hamilton’s cot in the infirmary, face a mixture of concern and exasperation.
“I didn’t know he was still alive,” Hamilton snaps, eyes still tightly closed. Lafayette crosses his arms and huffs out an annoyed breath.
“You’re reckless.”
“So I’ve been told.”
This time, Lafayette sighs softly and shakes his head again. “A soldier is never dead until the battle is over,” he quotes, “And you know that better than anyone else.” His voice is firm, but his eyes still carry that undeniable softness Lafayette only holds for a few certain people.
“I shot him in the chest!” Hamilton cries, finally opening his eyes. “Twice! Anyone would’ve thought he was dead.”
“But he wasn’t.” Hamilton sighs and looks away from Lafayette, ignoring the stab of fiery pain that shoots through his shoulder and runs all the way down the left side of his body.
Lafayette opens his mouth to say something more, but a groan emanates from behind him, and the duo immediately stops their arguing to focus on it.
From the cot behind Lafayette, John Laurens rolls over so that he is facing away from the two, mumbling a few incoherent words in his slumber.
Hamilton and Lafayette are dead silent for a moment, waiting to see if he will wake up. When he doesn’t, Lafayette turns his attention back to Alexander.
“You talk all of this… this foutaise about John and his recklessness, and yet you end up in the infirmary right along with him, with a bullet in your shoulder and your ribs threatening to pierce your lungs.” Lafayette scolds, eyebrows turned inwards.
“I didn’t get hurt on purpose,” Hamilton grumbles, a dramatic pout gracing his lips.
“Funny,” Lafayette says dryly, “John says the same thing.”
Hamilton rolls his eyes and wishes he weren’t so injured that he couldn’t even turn away from his friend in pettiness.
“What of your wife?” Lafayette demands, “What of the general? What of me?” His voice cracks at the end, and Hamilton’s stomach churns with guilt.
“I didn’t…” he tries, but he trails off. He didn’t what? He didn’t want to get hurt? He didn’t want to die? He didn’t want to leave his friends behind?
“I didn’t mean to,” he decides on after a few moments.
“You didn’t mean to what?” Lafayette demands. “You didn’t mean to almost get yourself killed? You didn’t mean to worry me? You didn’t mean to survive?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Then what am I supposed to say?” Lafayette’s voice is quieter now, hurt. Hamilton’s eyes soften as he turns his head to look at him properly.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Hamilton says, deciding to backtrack a bit. “I didn’t think that would happen. I thought that redcoat was dead.”
“But he wasn’t,” Lafayette stresses, face almost desperate. “He wasn’t, and you almost died, and I was watching, and John was watching - God if you’d have seen John’s face-” Lafayette rambles, lower lip trembling as his hands begin to shake.
“You think I turned my back because I knew?” Hamilton demands angrily. Lafayette’s mouth snaps shut and he only stares. There is something in his eyes - something hurt, and angry, and worried, and scared - terrified.
Hamilton’s heart drops and he pushes down the hurt in his chest.
“You thought I knew.” It isn’t quite a question, but it isn’t quite a statement, either. Lafayette lets out a shaky breath and wrings his hands together.
“You don’t care about yourself, Alex.”
“Yes I do!”
“No you don’t!” Lafayette shoots up now, fists clenched as his entire body trembles. “I know you knew that soldier was still alive. I know you knew you shouldn’t have turned your back.” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to sit back down. “You’re sorry because you aren’t dead. You’re sorry because we saw.”
Hamilton purses his lips and swallows around the lump forming in his throat.
“I thought he was dead.” And Lafayette reels back, because Hamilton is his best friend and he is telling the truth, and Lafayette can hear it in his voice.
“But you turned around.”
Hamilton huffs out a frustrated breath and refuses to meet eyes with Lafayette.
“I don’t…” he stops, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. “I don’t understand why it matters.”
Lafayette’s face falls in hurt.
“Why it matters?” he echoes. “It matters because I love you! And Washington loves you, and the aides love you, and John loves you!” he shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus, Alex. John fucking lives for you.”
“And here you are lecturing me about not caring about myself?” Hamilton retorts. Lafayette opens his mouth to speak but Hamilton raises his good hand to stop him, once again ignoring the pain in his chest.
“I don’t want to die.”
“Then why would you do that?!” Lafayette demands, voice growing louder. “What the fuck went through your head to make you think turning around was a good idea?”
“Because I don’t care!” Hamilton yells, and Lafayette flinches - actually flinches - at his tone. “Why the fuck does it matter? This is war, Laf! People die every day! The life of one bastard, orphan, immigrant doesn’t change jackshit.”
“Then what about John?” Lafayette presses. “Does the life of one random son of a congressman sent out here because he’s suicidal matter?”
“That’s different.”
“Explain it to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you won’t understand.”
“Help me,” Lafayette pleads, eyes wide and desperate. “Make me understand. I hear you.”
Hamilton purses his lips and lets out a shaky breath.
“There’s… I can’t live without John. But people can live without me.”
Lafayette looks almost offended.
“Are you kidding me?” he demands. Alexander reels back, hissing at the pain in his chest and shoulder, but Lafayette continues.
“You think John could live without you?”
Hamilton scowls.
“Why couldn’t he? It’s not like he cares about shit half of the time,” he grumbles. Lafayette shakes his head, face morphing into something protective.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Hamilton retorts. “He doesn’t have the fucking capacity to care for himself, what makes you think he gives a shit about anyone else?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Alexander?” Lafayette says; but his voice isn’t accusatory or aggressive - it’s concerned.
“Just the other day you were telling me how proud you are that you’ve given John something to live for.”
Hamilton huffs out an angry sigh and shakes his head.
“Opinions change, Laf. Not all of us can stay the same all the time.” He snaps. Lafayette's face morphs into one of understanding and Hamilton wants to hit him.
“That’s what this is,” he says. “This isn’t you.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Alexander snarls, eyes fierce. Lafayette doesn’t react to his harsh tone.
“This has happened before,” he says softly. “You go from manic to… to this.” At Hamilton's lack of response, he continues. “You know I’m right.”
“It’s not fair.” Hamilton's voice is quiet now. “I hate - I hate all this shit I feel.”
“Everyone feels shit, Alex,” Lafayette soothes.
“But my fucking brain doesn’t know how to control it!” Hamilton cries. “John is sad all the time. Washington is stressed all the time. Knox is angry all the time. But I can’t fucking pick a feeling.”
“That’s not your fault,” Lafayette says.
Hamilton shoots him a disbelieving look.
“Is it John’s fault that he is sad?” he presses. “Or George’s that he is stressed?”
Hamilton looks past Lafayette at Laurens, who is still passed out, paler than ever, the bandages wrapped tightly around his head a stark white compared to the rest of the dirt and grime on him.
“No,” he says after a long moment.
“Then why is it your fault you feel things the way you do?”
Hamilton shrugs with his good shoulder, refusing to meet Lafayette's eyes.
“Give me a few days and I’ll be fine,” he grumbles.
Lafayette is silent for a moment before he sighs softly.
“Think, Alex,” he says. “Think what you would do if I died.”
Hamilton scowls but his eyebrows shoot up in concern.
“You’re not going to die,” he snaps.
“What if I did? What if I went right back to the battlefield and waited for a bullet to hit me? Then what?”
Alexander shakes his head - he doesn’t even want to think about it. He doesn’t want to imagine life without his best friend - how the sky would fall. How the seas would rise. How the sun would explode. How the world would end.
“What if George died?” Lafayette continues, but Hamilton spots the pained look on his face as he speaks about Washington. “He is out there fighting as we speak. What if he were struck by a bullet? What if he bled out?”
“Stop,” Hamilton breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t.
“What if John’s wound got infected?” he demands. “What if he develops a fever? What if he slowly loses himself?”
“Stop,” Hamilton repeats, louder this time. He doesn’t.
“What if a few weeks down the road we are in another battle? What if John runs into the field with a death wish and an unloaded gun? What if you see him fall?”
“Stop!”
And Lafayette does, but he is breathing heavily, and his eyes are moist, and his fists are clenched tight.
“But it’s okay if it happens to you?”
Hamilton is silent for a minute. And then another. And then a few more. Lafayette sits at his side, mouth closed, eyes wet, and gaze glued to Alexander.
And then, through the thick silence of the tent, John shifts in his sleep and speaks, voice slurred and rough.
“Not without you.” It’s clear he is in the midst of a dream. It’s most likely not even about Alexander - it’s probably not even about the war. But it’s enough. And Alexander breaks.
Tears stream down his face and his entire body shakes with choked sobs. He lifts his good hand to cover his mouth, but it trembles so badly he can barely control it. Lafayette has him wrapped in a hug within seconds, and Hamilton finds he doesn’t care about the fire in his ribs or the dagger in his shoulder. He wraps an arm around Lafayette and grips onto his shirt like it’s a lifeline.
“I don’t want to die,” he chokes out. Lafayette lets out a sob of relief and his body seems to deflate of tension.
“Thank you,” he breathes, and Alexander holds him tighter.
It takes a few minutes for the pair to calm down, but when they do, Lafayette pulls back and wipes his face uselessly. Hamilton doesn’t bother.
“We love you,” Lafayette murmurs. It’s almost perfect as John shifts and wakes up with a groan. He blinks dazedly a few times as Lafayette laughs in relief. It takes John a moment for his eyes to land on Alexander, and when they do, they immediately lose their confusion to concern.
He pushes himself up with a grunt and attempts to swing his feet off the bed. He gasps at the pain in his foot and Lafayette rushes to his side to force him back into bed.
“Let me to his side,” John demands, narrowing his eyes.
“Neither of you can walk,” Lafayette scolds, a hand still on John’s chest to keep him from getting up again.
“Then get me a damn wheelchair!” John exclaims. Alexander laughs and John’s attention is drawn back to him, eyes once again narrowing with worry.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Your eyes - what happened? Are you in pain?” His eyes flick to Lafayette again. “Where is the doctor? And where is the laudanum? Alexander should not under any circumstances be in pain.”
Alexander only laughs again, ribs throbbing from the movement.
“God, I love you, John,” he says. “So fucking much.”
John looks confused, but he wastes no time in responding.
“I love you more, Alex,” he says, voice the gentlest it had been throughout the whole interaction. His gaze returns to Lafayette. “Now, you must fetch a doctor at once-“
Hamilton smiles softly.