Chapter Text
“Eliza won’t speak to me.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Angelica replied from where she sat at the foot of his bed, her voice flat. Alexander shot her a glare that might have been intimidating if he hadn’t been laid up with his arm bandaged from shoulder to fingertips.
The wound in his bicep from Burr’s bullet was healing nicely after only a week, but Hamilton found that the excruciating pain and the limited range of motion in his arm as a whole was frustratingly debilitating. The accompanying blood loss and mild risk of infection from such a wound kept him bedridden, until further notice.
“If you weren’t so stubborn,” Angelica added, casually looking over her hands as though examining her manicure, “You might even consider apologizing.”
“I will not equivocate on my opinion, or apologize for my words,” he insisted, vexed by Angelica’s blasé take on the matter, “I stand by what I said about Burr.”
Her eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, and he was almost taken aback by the familiar fire he saw alight in them.
“I’m not asking you to apologize to Burr, Alexander. I’m asking you to apologize to your wife.” He stared at her, bewildered, as though he couldn’t possibly fathom what he would need to apologize for.
“For getting shot?” he asked, blankly, and it took everything Angelica had in herself not to roll her eyes.
“For threatening to make her a widow.”
“Now that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Angelica resisted the urge to huff out a frustrated breath. She was sure that if he was physically capable, his arms would be folded stubbornly across his chest. She decided to change her approach.
“She read your letter, Alexander.”
He blinked at her, still not following along. “My letter?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“‘Best of wives and best of women?’”
“What was wrong with my letter?” he asked, his voice dripping with wounded pride.
“You wrote 51 essays defending the constitution, but couldn’t write your wife more than 3 paragraphs of a goodbye?”
“It was a formality, Angelica, I knew before I left for Weehawken that I wasn’t going to die-”
“But you almost did!” she shrilled, cutting him off and effectively silencing him. He gaped at her, as if suddenly realizing the gravity of the whole ordeal.
“You did almost die,” she repeated quietly, “And for three days Eliza did little else but sit by your side, while the doctors dug out the bullet and dosed you with enough laudanum to kill a horse.” She paused to take a shuddering breath, composing herself before continuing.
“And then, when we were finally sure that you were going to pull through, she went into your study and…”
“And found my letter,” Hamilton finished quietly.
This time, Angelica refused to meet his gaze.
“For a few moments, she was sure you died. That her mind was hallucinating your recovery upstairs to protect her from the reality of actually losing you. It was nearly impossible to convince her otherwise…”
Helplessly, he reached toward her with his good hand, but abandoned the attempt once he realized that the distance between them couldn’t be bridged from where he sat, propped up against the headboard.
“It was like watching her mourn Philip all over again,” Angelica admitted, and from the corner of her eye she saw Alexander’s physical reaction as the words hit. “She was so brave those first few days, seeing that the children and the household were tended to, and watching over you,” Angelica swallowed thickly, “But after she read your letter, she was… inconsolable.”
The days after the duel were nothing more than a hazy series of memories… but Alexander did distinctly remember his wife’s smiling face, a gentle hand smoothing his hair back, soft lips pressing a kiss to his forehead… And then, by the time he was fully coherent, she was cold and closed off. He wondered if the former had been nothing more than a fever dream.
“Angelica?”
She glanced up at the sound of her name, her eyes wet.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.
“Good practice,” she teased, offering his the smallest ghost of a smile in spite of herself. She patted his shin where it rested near her, under the covers. “Now try again with Eliza.”
“No - I mean, I will, but…” his brow was furrowed in frustration as he struggled to get his point across. It wasn’t often that Hamilton was at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry for how this ordeal has affected you, too.”
Angelica pursed her lips, desperately trying to hide any further emotion, and Hamilton could feel tears threatening to cloud his own vision.
“Come here,” he pleaded around the lump in his throat, his voice hardly above a hoarse whisper.
Swinging her legs up onto the bed, Angelica crawled up to rest her back against the headboard next to Alexander. She leaned against his left side — his good side — and he snaked an arm around her waist to tug her closer. Turning his head, her pressed a kiss into her hair and she relaxed against him.
“Tell me of the children,” Alexander asked, “Are they behaving or are they driving you and Church mad?”
Angelica let out a watery laugh and tugged a handkerchief from the breast pocket of her dress to dab at her eyes.
“A bit of both,” she admitted, “They miss their papa.”
“And… how’s Anne?” Hamilton asked hesitantly. His eldest daughter, named after her Aunt Angelica and nicknamed Anne, had been going through an increasing number of struggles since Philip’s death. He could only imagine his own brush with death did little to aid her mental health.
“She cries for you,” Angelica admitted, grateful that she was unable to make eye contact from her position at Hamilton’s side. “We’ve told her that you’re okay, that you’re recovering, and that she can see you soon… but I don’t think she believes us.” After a beat of silence, she added, “She told Church that she thinks you’ve gone to be with Philip.”
“Can’t you bring her home to see me?” Hamilton asked, his voice gone tight, “Won’t that help?”
Angelica shrugged against him.
“The doctor’s not sure. He wants you to be further healed before seeing her.”
Hamilton took a quavering breath but didn’t say any more. He retracted his arm from around her and put some distance between them so that he could swipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
“Do me a favor?” Angelica asked, finally turning to face him. She reached forward and dabbed his eyes with her handkerchief, earning a watery smile in return.
“What might that be?”
“For now, just focus on getting better. And please apologize to your wife.”