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John laughed pulled them into the street, away from the crowds that were fighting to come out of the theatre. He stumbled, and grasped his hand, Alexander continuing to talk at him. “There was no one in that movie that was even remotely hot, none of them had any sex appeal.”
John smirked at him retorting, “Well, the main male character wasn’t bad, eh?” He glanced at him, wagging his eyebrows comedically.
Alex laughed and rolled his eyes, “He looked like a toad, John. I suppose he was still better than the rest, but come on.” He broke away from him, moving to stand back a few feet and gesturing grandly at himself. “I’m much better looking than any of those pricks,” he scoffed.
John walked up to him and cradled Alex’s face in his hands, pressing their bodies together so there was no space in between. His gaze flickered down over Alex’s lips, then back up to his eyes, saying softly, “You have no arguments from me there,” before he closed the rest of the distance and pulled them into a soft, meaningful kiss.
Alex was wholly immersed in John’s silky, plush lips when he heard someone whistling at them, shouting, “Get a room, you two!”
Alex’s stomach dropped, the sudden negative attention making him uncomfortable but he quickly recovered, griping back, “No way, this is much more fun,” smirking at the onlookers.
Alex suddenly felt the wind get knocked out of him, John hissing, “Alex, let’s just go.” Alex glared up at him, buckled over, knowing that John didn’t intend to hurt him, but also aware that John doesn’t realise his own strength. He straightened, grabbing his arm and strutting off, Hamilton keeping his mouth shut for once.
They kept walking, kept talking, Alex not really paying much attention the conversation, just letting his thoughts wander. He was only snapped back to reality when he noticed the quiet, the absence of someone talking. He glanced over at John who was staring at him, more like glaring, honestly. He felt the guilt well up inside of him and immediately opened his mouth to apologise, John cutting him off with a succinct, “Don’t.”
He flinched, stung, and spoke anyways, “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.
John exploded suddenly, “We’re getting married! And you still can’t find it inside you to listen to me, for once in your goddamn life!” He huffed at him, angry, and kept talking, “What was even important enough that it captured your attention now? What were you thinking about?”
Alex shrank back, not liking that John was mad at him but knowing that he deserved it. He had been thinking about work, but he couldn’t tell John that, that would just set him more on edge. He quickly thought up an excuse that would work, knowing that he had been intending to tell him this eventually, but now was as good a time as any. “I was thinking about how lucky I am.” John turned to him, confusion and surprise evident in the lines of his face. Alex continued before he lost his nerve, “You chose to put up with me, settle down and put up roots. As you said, we’re getting married. You chose to overlook all my quirks and imperfections and still love me. I never thought anyone would ever want to be with me for long periods of time because I have so many little things that irk people, but you’ve accepted them and still want to marry me. I can’t think of another person on the planet who has had such good fortune.” He finished in a rush, the cold night making little clouds out of their breath.
Alex waited, his anxiety threatening to overtake him, hesitantly glancing up at the other man’s eyes which were unbridled pools of emotion. Alex struggled not to fall into them, the weight of their conversation making him dizzy. John finally spoke, pulling him out of his reverie. He whispered, “Alex, I-”
He was interrupted by a sudden screeching of tires, a few shouts, and lots of glass breaking. A gruff voice shouted, “Get the goods! I can’t have Morello finding out about this, he’ll kill us all!”
Alex felt his stomach drop and his insides turn cold, realizing that they, in their fight, had wandered into a dingy alley in the bad part of the city. He quickly glanced at John, his eyes mirroring his own terror, then they widened, John seeing something behind him, and shouting, “Alex, get out of the way!” He shoved at him, pushing him onto the cold, icy ground. Alex stumbled and collapsed, hearing a loud CRACK and assuming it was his own head hitting the pavement. He heard another screeching of tires, then was coughing as the other people sped away, their tires spinning in the slick, kicking mud and sleet at him.
He sat up quickly, instantaneously regretting it and grabbing his head, moaning. He saw little blinking lights in front of his eyes and heard a rushing in his ears. He brought his hand away from his head and looked at it, the sticky red liquid hot and menacing, covering his hand. He felt it drip thickly down through his hair, and grimaced. He stock of his own injuries, pronouncing himself with only a concussion, before realising he wasn’t alone and quickly getting on his hands and knees. He crawled over to John, taking care not to move too quickly for fear of fainting, and immediately put his hand along his neck, checking for a pulse. He found one, albeit a weak one, but he still breathed a sigh of relief. He tried to wake him, John’s eyes eventually fluttering open. Alex beamed at him, just happy he was awake, before recognizing the pain in his lover’s eyes. “Baby, tell me, where does it hurt?” His stomach rolled, concerned that he missed something, then took to examining John’s body for injuries. One of John’s hands twitched, and Alex stilled, watching. He took the hint, grabbing John’s hand with his own, John’s other hand coming to rest near his side. Alex looked at him, then went to see what was wrong with his side.
He gently coaxed his hand away and when he saw the sticky red mess, he blanched. He froze, his thoughts racing. He hadn’t heard a gunshot, the only noise he heard had been his head hitting the pavement…. Shit. Maybe that wasn’t his head. He quickly went into his war mindset, allowing him to do everything he could for John. He immediately got on that side of his body for a better angle and leaned all of his weight on the wound. He needed to keep pressure on it, but there wasn’t much way for him to do that. He couldn’t apply a tourniquet, because the wound was in his torso. He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers and pulled out his phone, his other hand still pressuring the wound. He could barely type in the three easy numbers; his fingers were trembling so much and they were slick with blood.
“Hello? 911 Operator, what is your emergency?” The cool female voice on the other end of the line centered him, slowing his panicked mind down.
“I need an ambulance to-” he looked wildly around him, not seeing any street signs. “I don’t know, wherever the hell we are, can’t you just trace my signal or something?”
He heard typing on the other end of the line and the voice asked, “Can you give me a general area? Are you outside?”
“Yeah, and we’re in the bad part of town, the drugs and gangs and shit. My fiancé got shot, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion, please hurry.” His words were slurring and he was panicking, his mind clouding up and going foggy from the head injury, the worry making it worse. He vaguely registered the lady on the phone speaking to him, but he couldn’t understand it through the thick black fog that was engulfing his mind. He dropped his phone on the asphalt, it landed with a wet slosh. He turned his attention back to John, redoubling his efforts to staunch the blood flow from his chest cavity, stripping his jacket off and using that as a pad. His vision was going dark but he fought to remain conscious, wanting to help and not succumb to the dull, throbbing ache that pounded on his skull. In the distance, he heard sirens, the only comforting thought he had was that they were coming to save them. As soon as he saw the flashing red and blue lights, he allowed himself to sink into the blackness that he had been fighting with for control for so long. He drifted, his mind shut off and bringing him a fleeting amount of peace, for the time being.
…
He was roughly shaken, he managed to lift his heavy eyelids to glance sideways at the scene unfolding. It took a few seconds for his eyes to focus, and as soon as they did, it all came rushing back. He could hear and see everything clearly, his memories slamming him with force when he remembered the reason for all the sirens and flashing lights, the men hauling him up into the back of an ambulance, strapped to a gurney. One man saw that his eyes were open and immediately walked over, tilting his head upwards and obscuring his view. He shined a flashlight at his face, making him blink but succeeding in keeping him awake. The man spoke, “Hi, how are you doing?” He grinned toothily at Alex underneath him.
The idiotic question made Alex roll his eyes, and the other man beamed. “If you have enough consciousness to be annoyed at my questions, then you’re good. Can you speak?”
Alex felt around inside his mouth with his tongue, moving it and attempting to speak. He made a choked sound, unable to produce intelligent language because it felt as though his mouth and throat had been stuffed with cotton balls. He tried again, swallowing thickly beforehand, and was able to say, “Yes,” clearly, and the EMT smiled.
“Good, good. Stay there for just one second, I’ll be right back.” He moved away and Hamilton inwardly sighed at the competence of American Governmental facilities. Those thoughts quickly left his mind as he saw John being hauled into the ambulance and a few men following after him. They all converged on Alex and he was moved into the ambulance as well. He heard the doors slam shut and then a hand tapping on the back of the vehicle, signaling that it was alright to take off.
His mind sluggishly churned, not grasping the situation they were in. The EMT came back, and resumed questioning him, “Can you tell me you or your partner’s name? Neither of you are carrying identification.”
He spoke slowly, taking care to make sure that he was understood. “I am Alexander Hamilton.”
“Oh shit,” said the EMT, turning to get the attention of the others. “Guys, someone needs to inform the president.”
Alex heard another voice, this one older and gruffer. “Who the fuck are these people?”
The first EMT said, “This is Hamilton, the Secretary of the Treasury, which mean that this,” he gestured at John’s lifeless form, “Is most likely John Laurens.”
Someone grumbled, “The President’s not going to like being woken up in the middle of the night.”
Alex finally spoke after hearing enough of this exchange, “He’d like it even less than if you didn’t wake him up.’ Everyone glanced at each other apprehensively, not noticing before that he was awake. “The competence of you people. Is anyone tending to John?”
All movement resumed and Alex once again felt himself sinking off into the darkness of oblivion, allowing these men to care for their well-being, trusting that if either of them died, The President would have their heads.
…
Alex awoke in a brightly lit room, all alone. He shifted in his bed, trying to get a feel for where he was. He took note of the IV tube hooked into his arm, the cold, harshly cleaned floor, the stiff clinical bedsheets and the hard-backed chairs lining one wall. This, coupled with his memories of the night previous, lead him to believe that he was in a hospital. He glanced at the window, seeing it was still dark outside. He glanced at the clock, telling him it was 3 and some odd minutes in the morning. He glanced around, there was no one there. He carefully sat up, taking care not to damage his bandaged head, and pulled the IV out of his arm. He stood up, wincing as his feet touched the cold floor. He lightly stood up, he wobbled and fell back onto the bed. He sighed, impatient at his legs. He tried again, this time succeeding to stand for a few seconds. He tried walking, his legs lurching forward. He stumbled, and caught himself on the glass door frame. He left his room, searching for the man he came in with, only needing to check a few rooms to find him.
He saw John, sprawled out on the hospital bed, so much worse than he imagined. He was bandaged up and down his side where the bullet hit. One of his hands was covered in white gauze, Alex presumed it was from when he pushed him out of the way. When the full realisation hit him, he felt his eyes welling up with tears. John took a bullet for me. And he might not wake up. He stumbled to John’s bed, crawling up on top of him and curling up defensively. He grabbed his hand, holding it close and cried. He couldn’t lose John, especially not after a fight. He had found the one person in the world who was willing to put up with him, who loved him not out of familial obligation, and now he might lose him. Because he took a bullet for you a little voice in his conscious whispered to him. He lay there in sorrow, thinking about all the things he should’ve said, everything he missed out on.
Suddenly, someone burst into the room and exclaimed, “Oh, mon cher,” and walked over to them. Alex blinked blearily up through his tears at the man, registering that it was Lafayette, a friend, someone who would comfort him.
“Gilbert, I don’t know what to do!” He wailed miserably, a new wave of sobbing wracking his body. “I-I haven’t seen any doctors, so I don’t know anything!”
Lafayette walked over to him, a sad smile on his face and wrapped his arms around Alex, rocking him and comforting him. “The others are coming soon,” he said in his thick French accent. “People called Washington, he called Eliza, she called everyone else.”
Just as he said that, Eliza walked in, arm in arm with Angelica on one side and Maria on the other. “Oh honey,” Angelica said looking at his pathetic figure on the bed. “Do we know anything?”
Washington walked in, made eye contact with Lafayette and nodded, then sat down in the far corner of the room, waiting. Hercules followed him, glancing despondently at John’s peaceful face, taking up another chair.
Lafayette spoke again, the deep rumble of his voice comforting Hamilton, “No, not yet.”
A young brunette doctor walked in just as he said that, and Hamilton finally lifted his head. “Mr. Hamilton?” She asked sweetly. He nodded, then glanced at everyone around the room. She continued, “Would you like them to-”
“No. They stay.” His words rang with finality, they were much more confident than he felt.
The doctor nodded, “Very well. His prognosis isn’t good. He lost a lot of blood, and the fall misaligned his back and hips,” she said, sounding very professional. She drew herself up and sighed, throwing a pitying glance to Alex which made his insides curl, he knew this wasn’t going to be good. “The bullet that he got hit with was not sterile, it looked like it had been reshaped out of an old used bullet.” She paused, taking a breath. “We were able to get it out and stop the blood flow, but the bacteria had already started working, the infection had already set in.”
Alex’s blood had gone cold, and he was starting at her in horror. He thought he knew what she meant, but wasn’t exactly sure. He was grateful when someone else asked, “What does that mean?”
The doctor spoke, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Secretary. There is nothing else we can do.”
Alex gaped blankly at her, his brain and mouth not functioning. He finally gasped, “What do you mean there is nothing else you can do, you didn’t even try!” She flinched under his harsh words, looking apologetic.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly, then exited the room.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Alex was gasping, the weight of dread and panic and guilt all crushing down on him at once. “NO, NO, NO!” He was sobbing, broken and shattered, and Hercules walked over and put his arms around him, grounding him. He lifted him off the bed, Alex struggling wildly, then he suddenly gave up, going limp in his arms, surrendering himself to the tears, and melting into Hercules’s arms.
Hercules was rocking him, trying to quiet him down. Alex quieted his sobs, tears still flowing freely on his face, and nudged Hercules slightly, trying to get him to release him. He did, and Hamilton staggered over to the man in the bed, his best friend since he could remember, his lover, his John. He leaned down and wiped the tears from his face, softly pressing a final kiss to John’s lips, holding back the emotions that threatened to crush him, just another hurricane he had to live through.
He leaned up and looked at all the faces etched with sorrow surrounding him, the men and the women. He saw Eliza leaning heavily on Angelica, both of them crying. Angelica’s face was stony and emotionless, always keeping up with her façade as the older sister. The only thing that betrayed her was the silent tears pouring down her face. Eliza’s expression seemed cracked, red cheeks and a hand covering her mouth, silently sobbing. She made eye contact with him, then turned and buried her face in her sister. Maria had a loose hand on Eliza’s waist, her other hand clutching at her chest. She was watching Alexander, and seemed to be feeling a sympathetic pain to him, not for John. Alex turned to Hercules and Lafayette who were supporting each other. Both of them knew John intimately, this had to be hard for them as well. Both of their faces were lined with grief, their arms slung around each other, providing comfort. Alex looked at Washington, the one who had grown up similarly to him, and the man who had taken Alex under his wing at the very right time, just when he had needed that. This man had lived through so much more than any of them, yet his face was still lined with sorrow for the scene unfolding before him.
He weakly smiled at Alex, telling him, “Take off as much time as you need, you’re not needed at work for a while.” Alex nodded, acquiescing, and turned back to look at John. He was so peaceful, and still, so in contrast to his usually lively manner, and Alex felt the pain well up inside of him and threaten to spill over.
Angelica slowly walked up to him, still crying, and in her gravelly voice said, “Come on. Let’s get you home. It’s been a long day. We’ll take care of this, you get some sleep.” Alex fell into her embrace, allowing her to guide him to Eliza and Maria who stood on either side of him and held him upright.
They slowly walked him out of the room and he heard the rest of everyone quietly discussing a funeral and an announcement but he tuned it out. He wasn’t ready to listen to that, he needed time to dwell in his grief. The two women gently poured him into the back of a car and took him home, sharing worried and concerned looks the whole time. He paid them no mind, and let his grief rock him softly to sleep, abolishing the depressing thoughts which were sure to plague his mind for a long time to come.