[Heal All Wounds] Prologue

[youaregonecas]

Heal All Wounds || prologue



words; 5.584 words

“How big this love is.

How terrifying.

The weight of all these oceans,

roaring inside of me,

commanded by those hands.

Just yours.

How you touch me,

and oh, how I burn with it.”

- Azra T. "God's Hands"



Alexander Hamilton’s mind wasn’t supplying him with the words he needed to write down. He didn’t know what was wrong with these ones in particular, what made it so difficult to write them down, but each word felt wrong. He had been writing for years, ever since he had gotten the opportunity to rise up, to make his parents proud. Not once had he been without words.

Yet here he was, staring at the page in front of him. Staring at the page filled with splotches of ink and crossed out sentences. He’d been trying for what felt like hours now to make them make sense. Alexander had watched from his window and seen the sun decent in the sky, far enough for him to light a candle so he could continue to work.

He’d written this letter so often, but it wasn’t working. If he was honest, he didn’t know what to do with that information. Alexander had always prided himself on his ability to write, had always been aware that his words could get him out of every situation.

Every situation except when John was sick, it seemed. He’d chosen so many different words, but each time he had read them out loud and they felt wrong. He kept scratching out words and ruining pages. As the day progressed, his cheek was progressively more ink-stained and the stack of wasted papers had grown taller and taller. Eliza had had their dinner brought upstairs to his study so he would eat. She'd sat with him in silence and just watched him until he had finished, so she was sure he'd eat it all.

“John so much has happened in the past few months and I’m scared.” He ran the words again. How overdone and stuck up could he sound? It wasn’t right. “No, it’s not it.” Alexander wished that he didn’t have to scratch them out, but he did so anyway. “John…” He let his quill hover above the page. This wasn’t working at all.

It was the exact moment his wife decided to knock on the study door. He looked up as it creaked open and she entered. Each time, it took him by surprise how different Eliza looked now, how much more she seemed to glow. The pregnancy was weighing on her, but if anything, she looked gorgeous. It still took his breath away each time he saw her.

“Is everything okay, Eliza?” There was a small smile on her lips as she looked at him, a note of affection in those beautiful eyes. Alexander was still amazed at how much he loved her. Eliza had changed him in a way, helped him settle down a little bit. She had helped him accept parts of his personality he’d been struggling with. Like John and their relationship. Without Eliza, he didn’t know how it had all ended.

“No, everything is alright, don’t worry.” She’d walked up to him while he was lost in thought. Her laying one of her hands on his shoulder pulled him back to the present. “It’s getting late, Alexander. Are you coming to bed soon?”

The wood of his chair dug into his back. He hadn’t realized how much he’d leaned into her touch, how comforted he felt by even the slightest reassurance. “I wish I could. I need to finish this letter first.” He looked at her over her shoulders, at the dark circles ringing her eyes. “You can go already, you need the sleep.”

“Are you writing to John again?” she asked. “Is he still ill?” One of her hands was resting on the swell of her belly, something Alexander had noticed her doing more often these days. He’d asked her why she did it, even if he perhaps knew. It was stressing her back and ribs, carrying their child. Alexander just nodded before lifting up his quill again. He really ought to finish his letter, tell John how much he wants him to be better and how he’s missed him the past few weeks. “Tell him I hope he’ll feel better soon. You should go see him. Maybe it would help cheer him up.” Her hand was still on his shoulder; she squeezed it lightly. Alexander quite honestly didn’t know what he had done to deserve her.

“I can’t,” Alexander sighed, rubbing his free hand over his face. He wished that he could, but he would never forgive himself if he’d miss the birth of their child. “It would be cutting this very close.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” Eliza sighed, running her fingers over his shoulder. They went up and down, up and down. “I know you love him as much as you love me.” Alexander couldn’t be sure, but he thought the small smile was still on her lips. “Being away when he’s ill must hurt you. If you want to go, go.”

He threaded his fingers through hers. He didn’t think that what they had going on between them could get a lot more comfortable than this. This wouldn’t never stop being them. Or at least, he hoped that. He would miss this if it went away.

“Martha is taking good care of him,” he pressed. “John’s a strong guy, he will be fine.” Alexander didn’t know who he was reassuring; his wife, himself or perhaps the both of them. If Eliza noticed that his smile wasn’t quite heartfelt, she didn’t comment on it and he was thankful. “Do you want me to help you to bed, love?”

He’d noticed just how much harder walking around had gotten for her, how much she struggled going up the stairs these days. Just a few days earlier, he’d come back from a morning walk and had seen her heave herself out of her rocking chair outside. It was almost hurt to see his wife under so much stress, even if he knew it was quite certainly a good thing.

“If you’re sure.” Her hand had moved from his shoulder to the back of his chair resting on it lightly. “I’m not helpless, Alex.”

“I know, but you struggle up the chairs when Angelica or Peggy isn’t here to help you out.” Alexander turned in his chair, to face her. “Please, let me help you.”

She was beautiful, even when she was barely lit by the candle. Eliza may be tired and worn, but pregnancy suited her. He’s always thought so, but especially now, now he was sleep deprived and tired, now he couldn't think straight.

Alexander sometimes wished that instead of a writer, he was a painter. Instead of being skilled with the quill, he wished he knew how to work paints. Eliza would make a stunning portrait. Maybe, possibly, he’d commission one for her these days, as a present.

“Alright, thank you.” Alexander rested his hand at the base of her spine, thumb gently turning circles in the fabric. She’d been complaining about her back the last couple of weeks and God if there was anything he wished he could do to help. He was no Angelica nor did he have magic hands. He had tried his hardest, but Eliza had just grimaced and said that it was fine. Perhaps his hands weren’t made for the gentleness it required.

“The child is kicking,” she said, a small smile on her lips. Eliza moved her hand over his, took his free one and put it on the swell of her belly. The child shifted under his fingertips. He could only imagine it was a hand or perhaps toes pushing against the womb. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes.” Alexander couldn’t help but grin as he crouched down. “Hello, daughter or son. I think your mother would greatly appreciate it if you could leave her to sleep. No tiny feet kicking her bladder or ribs. How do you feel about that, little one?”

Eliza laughed, warm and comforting. “He just kicked, I think that’s a no.”

“He?”

“A feeling,” she added, “a little Alexander.”

“Let us just hope that, whatever the baby is, they’ll grant you some sleep tonight. Come on love, off to bed.”

“I hope so too. Grant both of us some sleep tonight. Thank you again.”

“For you, always.” Alexander couldn’t help but smile as he closed the door behind them.



Alexander started cleaning up his desk hours later when the sun had already begun to rise. Finally, the letter was done; there were no more scratched out sentences, no more doubt, nothing was overdone. His fingers were heavily stained with ink and he was sure his cheeks would be sporting marks of his nightly writing battle, but it was a prize he was willing to pay.

Alexander had promised Eliza he would come to bed soon, but that was hours ago now. He hoped she hadn’t waited up for him. If she had, Alexander didn’t know if he would stop feeling guilty about it in the next couple of months.

“I’m sorry, Eliza,” he murmured under his breath before blowing out the candle. “I promise I’m coming now.”

He woke up what felt like minutes after falling asleep. The sun was shining through the curtains relentlessly, taking away all illusions it wasn't morning yet. For a moment, he’d thought it had been just him who’d woken up, but then Eliza had turned around on the bed and looked at him. Like she was doing now, with a small smile on her lips.

“You were talking in your sleep again.” Oh Lord, no, not again. His tongue was a traitor when it came to this. Whenever he was sleepy or sleeping, whenever he was drunk the words left his mouth without passing through his usual filter. Not that he had much of one, but it still counted.

In a way, Alexander had spilled his guts to his wife while drunk, in a very similar mind state as he had been in his sleep. If Alexander hadn’t, he would have never admitted to the feelings he had for his best friend. He would have never told her about what both Laurens and he felt yet never gave in on.

Neither of them had allowed themselves to indulge or give in after their one night, when he and John had locked eyes for the very first time and gotten, admittedly, very drunk. It had been nothing but kisses and hands combing through hair, but both parties had known it was nothing they could allow. Until that night. Until Alexander had gotten sleepy and a bit tipsy and he’d told her that while he really loved her, he perhaps loved John too.

Perhaps, the fact they'd never gone further than that first night was why she was so calm about it at first. Because Alexander had only dreamt about kissing those lips and combing his fingers through the mess of curls. He had never had the pleasure of slipping fingers down the buttons of John's shirt and popping them one by one, sliding the fabric off his shoulders and indulge; let his mouth explore the skin.

“Nothing disastrous I hope?” he asked, bringing his mind back to the present. Now was not a time for fantasies of what had not happened.

“You whispered about loving us.” She spoke with affection in her tone and it made something in his chest warm. “About your worry for John and his fever, about our little Hamilton.” Little Hamilton.

“Good.”

“You also didn’t fail to mention your love for coffee,” she said with a small smile on her lips. Oh, there it was. There was always something. “Don’t worry, it can be our secret.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you, Eliza?”

“You came back,” she said. “You came back to us as you promised. That’s enough.” It wasn't.

“I had something to fight for,” Alexander said, a small smile on his lips. “One extra life to make the world safe for.” He let his gaze wander around the room, to the sun shining through the sheets and the birds passing. “Have I told you that I love you lately?”

“Plenty,” she reassured him, threading her fingers through his.

“Just once more than. I love you, love you both.”

“I love you too Alexander.”



Alexander’s footsteps sounded hollow on the stairway up to John and Martha’s room. He’d been reluctant to follow her at first, but she’d pressed time after time it was fine. Her expression and the thin line of her lips had told Alexander otherwise, but pressing that he’d come back would only make things worse. He knew that. She'd left him at the top of the stairs after pointing to the door.

The door was already opened to a crack and what he could see wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to see. John looked like a mess; face red from fever and hair sticking in all kinds of directions. Even if he mustered up a smile for him, it was almost painful to see. It was painful to see his lover like this.

“Ham.” No matter how sick John might be, he still tried to sit up and smooth his hair down. “I’ve missed you.” John reached out one hand, the small smile still on his lips. “Sit down?”

Alexander was careful as he sat down on the edge of the mattress, making sure not to move it too much. Martha had told him he’d been having headaches, that even walking sometimes felt like bricks were being dropped on the top of his head. He wouldn’t be the one to do that.

“I missed you too,” he murmured. “We’ve all been worried about you and this mystery illness. Eliza asked me to wish you well. Are you still getting the headaches?” John’s hand was warm in his, too warm to still be healthy.

“I am.” John clearly wasn’t happy with it. “They’re lasting longer now. I wish they would just let me sleep.”

“Perhaps it’s the reason you have them.” Alexander ran his thumb across John’s knuckles. What he wanted to do was feel his head, see if it actually was a fever or if his hands were just warm from being under the blankets. “Lack of sleep does things to a brain that are beyond our comprehension. What did the doctor say?”

John scoffed at that. “There’s nothing they can really do. They actually told me to drink strong coffee or tea.” A glance at the nightstand told Alexander that it wasn’t working. It was littered with cups, some still half full. After all, he had always been the one of them to love both drinks. “There’s been a few other things he's suggested. Nothing is helping.”

“Are you at least trying?”

“It gives me more headaches," he muttered, glaring at the cups pointedly, "the others are just, wrong. I don’t like it. I'm not letting them drain blood. I don't trust it. Some days, the pain in itself is bad enough to have me disassociate and fade off. That helps.” Alex thought he could see pain flicker across his face. “Just the other night, Frances came to wish me good night and I didn’t even notice or felt her lips against my cheek. Martha is getting worried.”

“Isn’t there anything they can do?” Alexander was worried, felt it stir in his stomach. He had hoped that seeing John would settle his worries, but this visit was doing quite the opposite. “Something else you can ask the doctor to do?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” Alex didn’t even know he was still holding John’s hand until he pulled it away to rub at his temples. He wanted to say something but knew it would only make things worse. He was no Eliza or what he could only imagine Martha was to him. His touches couldn't reassure. “Everything is so loud, so incredibly loud, the lights bright. I wish I could read, do something other than just lie here in this bed and do nothing.” John sighed, averting his gaze from him. “I don’t have any energy anymore. If this is what it feels like to grow old, I do not think I want to.”

Oh if anything had ever made his heart ache more than that remark. Alexander looked around the room, at the coffee cup on the bedside table and the book next to it. Curiously, he picked it up. The title was unfamiliar, but then again, Alexander didn’t seem to have the time to read anymore. In between writing and fighting, there was only so little free time.

“Do you want me to read to you?” He opened the book to where a dried flower marked the place he had stopped reading. It was the last thing he’d expected in one of John’s books, but then again, he did love nature. Perhaps it wasn’t as out of character as he thought.

“Frances picked the flower for me on one of our walks. She’s a real sweetheart, I wish I’d told you about them earlier.” John was smiling, eyes closed. “But, I’d love that, Alexander. I just wish I knew where I’d left off. The story is vague.”

Even if Alexander knew that John wouldn’t be able to see, he threw him a warm smile anyway. “I can start from the first page. The story is as unfamiliar to me as it is to you. Would you want me to?” John just nodded.

“I’m sorry.” John sighed before blinking his eyes open. “Sit with me, please? The house is cold; at least sit under the covers with me. I could use a person to keep me warm.”

“Won’t your wife mind?” Alexander couldn’t help but frown. The house was more than warm enough, perhaps warmer than was good. “It’s her spot. She’s so new to it.” And Martha was, had been in the loop for what was going on between them for such a short time. The last thing he wanted was to go wrong now.

John opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when the door creaked open. Alexander barely had enough time to look around and see who had entered before he heard Frances running and saw the girl step between him and John.

“I don’t mind,” Martha said. “If it makes you feel a bit better, John.” Alexander knew the small smile she threw him was forced, that she still didn’t entirely agree with the idea. If he was honest, he’d been glad that she had accepted it in the first place. “I told them to send up some soup for you in a bit, love. You need to eat.” John’s expression fell at the mention of food, but he nodded anyway. “Alexander, are you staying for lunch? I can ask them to bring up a second bowl.”

“If you’ll let me.” Alexander threw her a smile before turning back to John, only to see him reach his hand out to Frances. She reached up on the tips of her toes, but could barely reach above the edge of the mattress. “Do you want me to help you up, Frances?”

“Yes please, sir.” It was as he looked down at her and lifted her up under her arms that he realized just how much of John there was in the child; the eyes and small smile, if he picked up on it earlier also her love for nature. She was so gentle as she crawled up to her father and pressed a kiss to the side of his face. “Get better soon, papa.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. Can I get a hug too?” Frances didn’t even hesitate before throwing her arms around her father, resting her head on his chest. Alexander couldn’t help but smile at the display of affection, at the way that John had tears in the corner of his eyes and carded his fingers through her hair.

“It’s already late Alexander, you should probably stay," Martha said from where she was still standing in the door way. Alex caught the small smile that was still on her lips. “How is your wife doing?”

“She’s doing well, thank you.” He turned his head back to Frances when she tugged on his sleeve and put her back on the floor. She was such a shy little thing. “The pregnancy is weighing on her now she’s nearing the end, but she’s doing well enough.”

“Maybe you should pay her a visit with Frances, love?” John asked, turning his head away to cough. Even the noise of his own coughing seemed to be enough to bring the pain back if the flinching was any sign of it. “It could do the both of you good.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea, indeed. I’ve wanted to talk to her for a little while now,” she said. “Come on Frances, time for a nap. Say goodbye to your papa and uncle Alexander.”

“Good night Papa! Good night uncle Alexander.” She wrapped her arms around him quickly before running back to her mother. Martha took her daughter by the hand and lead her out the door. “Alexander, if you want to stay for tonight or perhaps a little longer tomorrow, stay. You're welcome to. Your wife won't be alone.”

John smiled at them and watched until the door closed before letting his expression fall again. He dropped back into the pillows, head turned away from Alexander. If only, there was something he could do to make a difference.

“Let’s start.” Alexander smiled as he sat down on Martha’s side of the bed after taking off his shoes. John leaned into him, eyes closed. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”



Eliza rarely had moments like these, in which the house was quiet and she could just sit down. With Alexander around, there was always something going on, a paper being written or a text to listen to. Whenever her sisters came by, there was laughter and talking, it was never quiet. Now, it was and Eliza enjoyed it more than she had thought. She loved her husband, with all of her heart, but sometimes the days she went without him were the ones she cherished most. He was gone so often on quests that could get him killed but now he wasn’t. For once, she felt comfortable knowing he’d be home soon, that he was safe.

So she sat in the sun with her hands folded on her belly and enjoyed it. The child had been kicking ever since she sat down, the rocking motion of her pacing no longer rocking it to sleep. Along the past few months, she’d picked up many tricks to get sleep, to have some calm. If she was still, it meant that the child was active, if she was active, the child seemed to be sleeping.

"You already have your father’s temperament,” she sighed as she felt a kick in her ribs. “He never sits still and neither do you. Can’t your poor mother have a moment to herself?” It was there again, what she could only imagine was a foot or hand. “I see how it is. You’re one lucky child, you know that? Cherished by a father and a mother.” She looked off, into where the dogs were running. “By John, his lover, if you are even a little bit the charmer he is. I hope you have his smile, little one.”

Eliza fell silent as she heard footsteps approaching. She waited as long as she could before getting up, dreading the moment she had to heave herself from her comfortable chair. The bigger her belly grew, the harder it was to move around. The more she dreaded it.

It was only when the figure was close enough that she recognized the vaguely familiar forms of Martha and Frances. The child was walking beside her, their hands clasped. Eliza couldn’t tell until she was already heaving herself out of the chair, but Martha was actually smiling. What a contrast to their last conversation.

“Don’t get up, we’ll come to you!” she called once they were close enough and the truth was, Eliza was nothing but relieved.

“Thank you. I’m afraid it’s getting harder to get up. Take a seat, if you want.” She padded the chair next to her and waited until they were seated. Frances sat down on Martha’s lap, but neither Eliza or Martha failed to notice that she was looking at her bump.

“We’ve all been there,” Martha said with a smile, “I remember being pregnant with this one.” She smiled as she ran her fingers through Frances’s hair. “I was so glad that I had friends and family to help me through when John was out fighting.”

“Baby?” Frances asked when silence fell between the two women.

“Yeah, there’s a baby in there,” Martha said with a small smile. The child kicked as a reaction to the noise. Just a moment ago, she’d been sure the child did a full flip.

“The child is moving,” she said, a small smile on her lips. “Do you want to feel?” However uncomfortable it still might be, they were a family in a way. They’d meet later in life, they’d see each other again.

Frances looked at her mother for approval before walking over, fingers gentle as she put her hand to Eliza’s belly. It was almost with wonder that she pulled it away and poked it again, turning back to her mother and poking her belly before drawing her attention back to Eliza.

“It’s hard,” she said, with wonder in her voice. “Mommy’s belly soft, yours hard!” The child moved again and from Frances’s little giggle, she could feel it. “Baby?”

“Yes, that was the baby kicking,” she said with a small smile on her lips before taking her hand and moving it up a little bit, so she could feel it a little bit better as the child kicked again. “Already more like Alexander than I’ll ever be able to handle.”

“Frances was so calm when I carried her,” Martha said before picking Frances up again and letting her settle back on her lap. Whatever it was about seeing them interact had seemed to take some of the worries away. Eliza was happy to see it. “In fact, she was so calm when she was just born that John’s mother didn’t believe she was an actual relative of hers.”

Martha laughed and Eliza couldn’t help but laugh with her. Would Alexander’s mother be able to laugh with her? Alexander himself had no stories of his childhood or very vague ones, didn’t like opening up. With both of her parents gone, they had no way to tell if the child would take after her or Alexander.

“Thank you, for letting Alexander come over now John’s ill,” Martha said, expression souring as she spoke. “John got out of bed for him. It’s the first time in a couple of days I’ve seen him do more than sit up.”

Eliza knew the feeling. She knew that it had to hurt, seeing John do so much for another when he didn’t try as hard for her.

“From one wife to another, Martha, how are you?” Eliza knew that the implication of her question had to be clear at the way her gaze shifted. Martha just stared for a while, at the sun still rising in the background.

As odd as it may be, the silence was comfortable. It didn’t seem to weigh like it usually did.

“What choice do I have?” Martha shook her head and looked down at her daughter. “I can’t tear a family apart.”

“You know the choices. John loves you.” Eliza had heard John talk over dinner, about how proud he was of Frances, about how he loved Martha. ‘I am glad she puts up with me. She’s been a great help, since coming home’ “If you insist, he will quit Alexander.”

Alexander would be heartbroken. He would lose a part of him that had grown incredibly important in just a few weeks. Seeing that would hurt Eliza, but it was a choice Martha had. Something she had to consider.

“And yet he loves your husband too, doesn’t he?” She sighed. “Wouldn’t it be wrong to take it away from him?” The conversation is almost too private to take place on the porch, where anyone could overhear them if the wind were right.

“I never claimed otherwise.” She tore her gaze away from Martha and back to the sun. How could she word this? “When I first realized the nature of the relationship between our husbands, I felt wronged too. It’s that feeling, isn’t it? Of feeling like you lose part of what you love?”

Martha just nods, fingers still running through Frances’s hair. She’s fast asleep against her chest, not even faced by the wind catching the ribbons in her hair. Soon, she could have that too. Eliza would have a little boy or girl as well.

“Have you seen them be together, actually together? When they think, you can’t see them?” Eliza smiled at the memory of seeing John steal a tender kiss when she was out fetching coffee or the way that sometimes Alexander would fix John’s collar. It was sweet to watch; Eliza had never been able to deny that. “You’ll understand when you do. They care for each other, more than I ever allowed myself to see. I didn’t understand at first, how Alexander could split his love, but I can now.”

She brought her gaze down to her belly, where her hands had moved back to her belly again. It was instinctive now, to protect the child.

“Can men? Can they truly love more than one?”

“I cannot speak for John, Martha, but I know my husband.” She tried to smile reassuringly, but it soon pulled into a grimace as the child kicked her ribs again. “Be calm. Please.” Just a few more weeks.

“Children never do, whether they’re in or out.” Now it was Martha who tried to reassure her. What a situation. “I thought I knew my husband. It seems I don’t. The world’s not right for this.”

“I can tell you what my husband would say. We’ll have to make this world right for it. But Martha, look in your heart. Doesn’t John love you and Frances?”

”He does, he’s just so quiet when it comes to this, won’t even talk to me. I’ve tried to talk to him. He shuts down, murmurs, can’t look me in the eye.” Martha sighed again. “Especially when Fran is around.”

“Give him some time. He needs to get used to the idea that every party knows now. Alexander did need his time. Eventually, he’ll talk.” Eliza remembered the nights of going to bed in silence, backs turned to each other, the awkward conversations. How careful John had been when he was at their house. She hadn’t once seen them be affectionate with each other. Until she confronted him, made him talk. “I promise. Alexander, who always writes and speaks like he is running out of time, was quiet. I can count on one hand how often that has happened.” Eliza hoisted herself up out of the chair. “Did my husband ask you to come keep an eye on me, just in case?”

“They both look out for you, I think. It was John who suggested it. Said it would do me good to be out of the house for a time while Alexander is there.” She threw her a smile, carefully repositioned her still sleeping daughter so she could get up as well. “I think your husband is looking out for you and he picked up on it. Thank you, for letting him make the trip down.”

“He was worried.” Eliza had seen the stack of papers that fueled the fires, had known when he left the bedroom before the sun was even up because he couldn’t fall asleep. “ It’s the only thing I could do. Even if I were to have this child now, I don’t think I’d want my husband to be here from the starting point. I love him, but he freaks out easily.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m fond of the carpets as they are. He doesn’t need to wear them down with his pacing.”

”John was entirely unhelpful,” Martha said before getting up. “The midwife asked if he could go fetch something to wrap Frances in. He just stood there, frozen. “I could have him distract Alexander for you, should you want to have him out of your hair. John wouldn’t mind.”

That, Eliza could imagine.

“That would be kind of you, but I think he’ll manage. Peggy can be persuasive in getting people out of the room.” Her sisters would both be there. Alexander Hamilton could be out of the house within seconds if they glared. She really would be safe.

“The offer stands.”

“Thank you, again. Do you want to come inside, drink some tea with me? I’ll give you a blanket for Frances. You can put her to bed for a little bit.”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Eliza just smiled and nodded before leading the way, leaving the door to fall shut behind Martha.