Chapter Text
Burr watched the man in front of him devour his meal like a man that'd been starving for the past seven years.
In a way, Hamilton could argue that he had been.
“What?” he asked, looking up at Burr like he was the crazy one. One hand gripped his soda, the other a greasy McDonald’s burger.
“We’re in public!” Burr hissed.
“I’ve been in prison for the last seven years! This is a shitty Brooklyn McDonald’s!” Hamilton said. “Don’t you DARE try to say you like prison food.” He hadn’t, neither of them had, prison food sucked. “Hey, I see you finally gained some weight back, by the way. You look so much better now,” he added.
And, it was true. Prison had done things physical, emotional, and psychological to them both, including weight loss. He wasn’t sure if the withdrawal had anything to do with it, not that that had been fun either. Hell, he hated withdrawal.
Burr looked to himself and remembered the differences between then and now. A couple pounds, as Hamilton had mentioned, his cut and properly twisted hair, his warm clothes, and more of a general hope that things weren’t going to garbage.
Hamilton, on the other hand, still looked like he had crawled out of a sewer, stuffing burger into his mouth. In all fairness, he had just gotten into the city 30 minutes ago and was still in the clothes the prison had given him on the way out. A green T-shirt, jeans that were too long, shoes that didn’t fit, his hair tied back and tangled. Green, Burr thought, thank God. He’d throw up if he were forced in bright orange again.
“Thanks,” Burr muttered, “but if we wanna go back to our old lives, we’re gonna have to start acting normal again,” he pointed out. He’d been dreading this for some time now. They were back in New York, where else to go? And when they reintroduced themselves to everyone else? Ugh, he didn’t wanna think about it.
“You’re not saying we acted bad, right? We got out three years early for good behavior!” Hamilton exclaimed, then taking a huge drink of his Coke. Oh, American food, how’d he’d missed you.
“I—” Burr corrected, “got us out three years early for good behavior—I was the one to make sure neither of us got thrown into solitary or addicted to drugs. Again—”
”Hey, I let you use that use that weed—and the heroin—even when I figured out you were using it—”
”WHICH IS WHY—” Burr slammed a binder on the table Hamilton hadn’t realized he’d been carrying “—I’ve broken our lives down into pieces. I had a guy save some stuff while we were in prison—clothes, money, things we couldn’t take to prison—and I got us an apartment. It’s only one bed, so one of us has to sleep on the couch.”
He looked back up at Hamilton.
“It’s me?”
“It’s you.”
“Yeah, that’s only fair.”
“Yeah, because you got us addicted to weed and heroin,—“
“Listen, I know—“
“And disbarred,”
“I know, look—“
“And because I’m doing this not only for me, but also for you.”
Hamilton sighed. As much as he didn’t want those first two to be true, they were.
“Yes, I know. Thank you.”
Burr nodded and opened his binder.
“But it should be okay if we both have incomes. And I got us both jobs. We’re paralegals now until we get reinstated to the bar, which we’ve already completed the waiting process of in jail time,” he explained, looking over things in a page.
Seven years, Alex thought. Seven years since he had last touched a case, a joint, a shot. Hopefully he still had it. He’d have to touch up, of course, but he was Alexander Hamilton, surely he remembered? He could do it in his sleep, or high, for that matter.
And, some times, he had.
He shuddered at the thought. No, not again. Those things had gotten him sick, disbarred, divorced, imprisoned, destroyed. Hell, he had dragged the sensible Aaron Burr into this horrible, horrible experience with him. Even getting away from it was a pain (again, dumb withdrawal).
He… didn’t wanna think about it.
”Alexander? You okay?” Burr asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
”Hm? Oh, yeah, fine. Just thoughts. I’m okay,” he said.
Besides, if he avoided his old life and just started a new one, what much was there to lose?
”But yeah, holy shit, that’s great, Burr!” He grinned when he actually processed that information, leaning forward, both arms on the table now. “What firm? Where is it?”
The other man’s eyes avoided him, hugging his binder to his chest.
Uh oh. Hamilton knew that look. All these years of living beside each other and the two could practically tell what the other was thinking. He had something Hamilton, or maybe both of them, wouldn’t like.
“Well, the office is in Manhattan, and our apartment is in Brooklyn. We might be able to see what there is up there later, but this was what I got in a week and sleeping at an old friend’s for a day or two.”
Hamilton waited for another moment. Burr wouldn’t go on for a second and Hamilton assumed that was it.
”Manhattan? Burr, that’s fine!” Hamilton almost laughed. It was almost cute, the other man’s worry. “I mean, we got a place to stay and two jobs a few days after getting out of prison, what’s some walking distance? That’s great!”
”The firm’s Washington & Adams.”
”Absolutely not.”
“Listen—”
“Are you crazy!? Go back!?” he repeated, “Burr, that’s our old firm!! Never in a million years can we go back there,” Hamilton seethed, “maybe if we were actual lawyers by then and good at it, sure, actually, but you have GOT to be kidding me.”
“I don’t want it either, it’s humiliating, I know—” Burr shared his pain, Alex could see it written on his face. If he didn’t, he really was crazy, going back there? “—but we just got out of prison, Hamilton! We’re ex-convicts, technically low-class felons with a seven year gap in employment history. They offered to take us and take us fast, and we need jobs.”
“Haven’t you found anyone else?” Alex asked.
“Have you found one other law firm you haven’t dragged through the mud in your now former law career? Tore their lawyers apart in court who are all probably much higher ranking than you?” Burr started.
“Well—” Hamilton tried before freezing at the implication. The great Alexander Hamilton, fallen from grace, back after seven years in prison, as…
As…
As one of their paralegals.
Panic.
“No, absolutely not, we’re not going anywhere NEAR other firms,” he decided. The thought was demeaning.
”Great, our old one it is.”
“That’s not much better! What if there’s people we know still there? There probably is!”
God, the thought of going back there. Maybe better than others, but still not great. He thought of Laurens, of Lafayette, of Hercules. They’d probably all got promoted, or should’ve by now. Madison, Jefferson, probably still dicks, maybe they’d gotten married by now? A. Schuyler, P. Schuyler. He was surprised Angelica wasn’t name partner, wouldn’t be if it was because of fucking Adams, the bitch, and Peggy must’ve been promoted too. And—
And that would leave…
Would leave…
“I know, I know, but what choice do we have? And this is all our own faults, remember?” Burr’s voice snapped Alex back to here and now, but the words only poured salt in the wound.
”Right, right. This is thanks to us,” he muttered, diverting his gaze away from Burr. He rubbed fingers between his ring finger on the table. He had spent seven years with that knowledge now.
Now it was Burr’s turn. He knew that look, that quiet frown, the silent melancholy anyone else would assume was just random sadness. It could be. It could be completely unprompted, and the man would just go quiet, sometimes not doing anything but lying on his bed and staring at his ring. Hamilton hadn’t worn it since she did, but he still brought it to prison.
Other times he wouldn’t, maybe couldn’t, and placed it on the small shelf they had and would act like the thing would blind him dare he look at it.
“Hamilton?”
“Hm?”
“…you good?” Burr asked again.
“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Alex waved and shook his head, trying to eliminate the thought from his head. “I’m okay now. Continue.”
Burr hesitated, but did.
“Well, I actually talked with Washington—”
“Washington!” Hamilton interrupted again through gritted teeth. Drowning sadness turned into a sharp knife. Burr looked away at the name, not bothering to address the interruption.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just…” Hamilton trailed off. Neither would look each other in the eye.
They shared this feeling, especially when it came to Washington. Ever since the first day he’d stepped into that firm, both had wanted his approval. And damn it, a few times, he’d got it (Hamilton, at least. Maybe on occasion for Burr). But then came what came and that was practically throwing it all away.
“Hey, but, we’re back now, right?” Burr looked back to him after a moment, trying for hope for the both of them. “We’ll get through this together.”
Hamilton looked back up too. “Yeah, yeah… we’ll be okay.”
He took a breath and continued with what he was saying. “I talked with Washington, that’s how we got the job that fast and for you, without an interview. We start Monday.”
”Monday… yeah,” Hamilton said, mostly to himself. “Alright, we can do this. Monday.”