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[youaregonecas]

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It was so right, it was so wrong

Almost at the same time

The pain and ache a heart can take

No one really knows

When the memories cling and keep you there

'Til you no longer care

And you can let go now

I can let go now // Nathan East



Things had moved quickly after dinner when Eliza had decided to call it a night earlier than she usually would, tired and worn from the day’s events. John had been surprised to even see her at the table and downstairs with all of them; he’d thought she’d stay upstairs so that she didn’t have to use the stairs and could give herself some rest. She had to know someone would bring her some food - probably Alexander, with how much he’d attempted to make sure his wife was comfortable.

She had made her way downstairs, still seeking support from Alexander and taking it one step at a time, but she’d come down regardless. John applauded her for that, he truly did. It was oddly pleasant, being surrounded by so many people. It reminded him of the earlier days in the Laurens household. The days when his mother had still been alive and they’d had sit down dinners with the entire family. He couldn't remember how often his father had been there, but none of the times he hadn't been around, were really mourned for, at least not by John. Henry Laurens was no  family man - while he loved his children, he'd always been hesitant always more focussed on schooling and making sure that one day, the could make him proud. He held his pride and appearances dear to him, focussed on knowledge and intelligence instead of family.

It was why this felt so different, sitting around a table with Peggy, Angelica, Alexander, Eliza and Frances. Their prayer was silent, their concluding amen oddly in sync for a room full of practical strangers.

Alexander ate eaten his entire meal with his son bundled in blankets laying in his arm. The boy had grown fussy and discontent with lying in his crib. From where he was cradled in his father’s arms, John knew he was more than entertained. Whenever the babe rose from sleep for a while, he played with the blanket, shifting it around in his fingers. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could spy one of Alexander’s hair ribbons in the child’s hands.



Even if they ate in mostly silence, it didn't last too long after they'd finished. They sat down in the living room with teas and coffees to catch up, to perhaps learn to know each other better. Eliza excused herself relatively quickly after dinner and went upstairs with Angelica, who had been up with her since her labour had started.

As the night progressed, Frances too had fallen asleep, curled up against Peggy's shoulder at first. John loved seeing his daughter with her, even if it was odd to see her so attached to her already. Eventually, Peggy had carried her over to him and let her settle against his shoulder, before bidding them both goodnight. She'd woken up for just a few minutes before falling fast asleep again, hand wrapped tightly in the fabric of his shirt.

He’d waited until she’d started waking up a little before bringing her to her room and tucking her in, telling her a story that his mother used to tell them when they went to bed. She’d smiled at him, hugged her blanket tighter and gone right back to sleep. Mumbling all the while about things that John couldn't understand.

Pathetic as it was, hearing Philip cry made him feel uneasy, uncomfortable almost. John didn’t mind the cries of children; he had heard the cries of plenty while he was growing up. His mother had been pregnant often, even if she'd only given birth to five children who lived past their cheery and playful toddler years. His mother had been through so much pain and hurt so much, only to see so many of her children slip through her fingers. Some of his siblings had never gotten the chance to learn how to smile, some to crawl and others never got to take their first steps on wobbly legs. They had never even reached Frances's age.

Because of this, he'd heard plenty of cries growing up. Both the ones that meant they were just unhappy or the ones that meant they were in pain. He'd heard the high-pitched crying of a child close to death more than once. Not once had the cries bothered him as much as Philips did.

Seeking his refuge in Frances’s room, watching her as Philip cried in the background helped, in a way. Seeing her steady breathing made him feel at ease. At least she was alright, at least she was thriving and doing well.

“You don’t know how much I wish I’d been there for these moments. I wish I’d been able to hold you and comfort you in the first few months,” he whispered, knowing his daughter wouldn’t hear them through her dreaming. The words needed to be said anyway. “Your mother had to go through so much when you were born, was in pain for so long and I was destined to travel back to America.” He hadn’t known what he’d been set to miss. He hadn’t known that his wife would be recovering for so long, that Frances’s health wouldn’t stable out for a few months.

He sighed before standing up and walking back to her bed. It creaked as he sat down on the edge, but it wasn’t enough for her to wake up again. John smiled at her before brushing some hair out of her face.

“I wish you would have gotten the chance to learn to know your mother better. You’d be surprised at how much she could teach you.” It was the truth. Especially in the music category, John wasn’t talented. He didn’t play the piano or sing, only had his gift for drawing. Martha could have taught her those. Even if what they had had hadn’t quite been love or romance, he’d admired her, admired her for the mornings he’d woken up to hear her soft singing in the kitchen or while hanging the laundry. To hear her hum as she tried to comfort their daughter. Perhaps, for the times she’d reached down to her belly and sang to Frances. “She was smart, so incredibly smart. My only hope is that you’ll turn out to be in the slightest like her.” He threw her a small smile. He’d always hoped she’d turn out more her than him, more like her mother. She had his blue eyes, but everything else was pretty much her mother.

“I’ll have to leave you again.” It was sooner rather than later, an appointment set before Martha had even fallen ill. John hadn’t had the heart to postpone it; he’d known that he had to go to France, set sail back and have a shot at securing more aid. He couldn’t give up now. “The war is still on; we still have battles to fight. I’ll be in France for a while, but you’ll be in good hands. Your aunt Patsy is going to be looking after you, at home. You’re going to be okay.”

He’d been happy to hear that his sister would oblige, that she was good with taking care of her while he was gone. It hadn’t been needed, at first. If Martha had survived, she could have stayed with her mother. Yet she hadn’t, and the other Martha in his life had asked if it was what he wanted. Of course it had been; Martha was the only stable haven he could have given her at the time, had been the only person he knew that would give her the best chances she could.

“Good night, sweetheart.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head before getting up. Perhaps it was time for him to go to bed as well. The day had been long and seemed to drag on, perhaps he’d deserved it.

Only when he turned around at the door, to give her one last look, did she turn around in her sheets and threw him a small smile.

“Good night papa.” He felt a small smile creep up his cheeks.



Alexander was restless. He’d gone up to his study after checking up on Eliza and their son. He’d found them asleep together, his son already having taken up the spot on the bed Alexander usually took. Eliza had rested her hand next to him, close enough for her to be able to react to every little whimper. For just a moment, he’d realized all over again that he was his son. Throughout the day, it had started dawning on him, he’d started realizing. It was almost odd how easily he could forget that he was a father now.

In the past couple of years, he’d always been on the way to something. He’d always been either studying and revising or going into battle, doing anything to further his case. Alexander had lost count of just how often, he’d been send out by Washington to ride to other companies, other generals. He remembered tiring the horses and on more than one occasion, having to hire new ones, because the ones he’d left with were too exhausted to carry on. And now, he wasn’t. There was little he could do now but be there for his wife and son, but study in the hours and weeks he had in between. It had grown too late to continue on, his mind too strung out.

He looked up when a knock sounded at the door, confused as to who would still be awake at such an hour. The sun had gone down a while ago and as far as Alexander knew, everyone had gone up to their beds, even Peggy and Angelica had done so.

“Are you busy?” John was standing in the door opening, leaning in the doorframe.

“No, come in.” He pointed at the chair next to his desk, where Eliza had sat for a while to eat dinner, on days he’d studied all day. “Take a seat.” Even without really paying attention, he knew something was off about him; he walked more carefully, didn’t look him in the eyes. It threw him, even if it was probably nothing. “Is something the matter?”

“I want to…propose something,” he said, falling silent for a few minutes. “I think it’s time for Frances and I to return home.”

The silence that fell between them almost felt heavy. Alexander frowned before putting his papers to the side. Confusion was the best way he could describe what he felt. Why did he want to leave now? Now that things had stabled out?

“I thought you were due to head out for France soon? What about Frances?” Alexander had thought they’d stay for a while longer. He could leave Frances with them and let them guard her while he went to secure their alliance and eventually, would head first into battle again. He had seen it as a logical next step. After all, they were all family in a way. She’d be safe with them, comfortable. Frances seemed to have build a liking to each of them, smiled whenever her ‘uncle Alexander’ picked her up or when she could help her ‘auntie Eliza’ out.

“I am,” John said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. Alexander wanted to reach out his hand and make him look him in to the eye, but refrained.

“Then, what are you going to do with her once you leave?” He hoped John hadn’t planned on leaving her alone with strangers or send her to relatives of which he knew she’d never met. They’d still be strangers.

“Martha is coming over to our house, to take care of her. It’s been settled for a while now, that she would. Staying with the two of you turned that around a bit - which I am thankful for - but I think it’s time we go back home,” he admitted.

“Of course. You must miss being home.” John hadn’t been at his house in weeks, couldn’t have felt like he was at truly at home ever since arriving here with his daughter, both of them pale and quiet, withdrawn.

“Not quite.” John looked up to him now. “Not me, at least. Frances does miss her home. It’s not fair to keep her away from all memories of her mother.” He threw him a small smile. “She has this dark blue scarf with her now, sleeps with it and everything. It never goes far away from her. It’s the only thing she has and she says she’s forgetting about her mother. I thought that perhaps, she could feel a bit safer at home.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” They’d known they’d move along at one point. It was unavoidable. “Know that you’re always welcome back here. Eliza and I thought you’d leave her with us while you’re gone, but your sister probably is a better fit. Should you change your mind, know that she’d be welcome. She’d be safe here.” He reached out and took John’s hand in his. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”

“Frances misses home, I’ve got no choice but to put my daughter first,” he said silently before looking down at where their hands met. John clasped his free hand over his. “I miss the house, being around everything, but.” He looked down again before shrugging. “But I’ll miss you as well.”

Alexander couldn’t help but throw him a small smile. “Know that the feeling is mutual.”

“Are Peggy or Angelica still up?” he asked, running his fingers gently up and down his fingers.

“They all went to bed a while ago, why?” He couldn’t keep the confusion out of his voice.

“Because I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he admitted before reaching out and pulling him closer. He could feel his breath ghosting against his skin before their lips met in a gentle kiss.

“Congratulations on your son. You seemed so happy earlier,” John whispered against his lips, a smile stretching over his lips as Alexander touched his forehead against his. “It’s good, to see you happy like that.”

“It’s hard to be unhappy.” He smiled before running his fingers down the few curls that had escaped from the carefully pulled back mess of hair. He’d always been so intrigued by them, of the way they stubbornly held shape. “You seemed to be as well today, with Frances. Were you?”

“I think so, but then again, I’m easy to please, give me the ones I cherish most and I am happy.” He fell silent for a minute. “Especially when they are as well.”

“And yet, you can’t have all of them, can you?” He shifted his gaze to the windows, at the moon shining through the curtains. It had gotten late, perhaps too late for a conversation like this when it was held without alcohol.

“No, I can’t,” he admitted, “but I have two and that ought to be enough, for now.” John sighed before reaching out and straightening his shirt. It was oddly domestic, even if what they had going on between them wasn’t quite that. Or at least, it hadn’t been until John came to their house as a way to cope with the grieve. Somehow, stealing morning kisses and sometimes, taking walks with John through the woods had become their truth, their reality. It had become mornings sitting on the porch and talking. Some days, John helping him with his studies.

He’d miss that, he realized, when John would leave again. “It’s all I’m getting, regardless of what I can have. Don’t worry about me, Alexander.”

“You know I do, I always do,” he admitted with a small smile on his lips. “Eliza does too, I don’t know how much that means to you or how much of it you have noticed, but she does care for you quite a lot.”

“It does mean something.” John admitted, squeezing his hand lightly. “I’m honoured she does. Speaking of your wife; perhaps it’s time to go to bed. Studying will not to do you well now. Go be with your wife and son, they’d appreciate it.” He opened his mouth to speak, but John silenced hi with just a touch to the shoulder. “No, go. You’ll regret it if you don’t have any memories of now.” He threw him a small, perhaps strained smile. ”Cherish them, don’t make the same mistakes I did. Take some of the weight of Eliza’s shoulders, if you can. She will not look at you the same if you’re absent now.”

“Alright.” He sighed. It was too early and he had so much work to do, but he was right. Eliza wouldn’t appreciate it. “You go to sleep as well, okay?” Alexander knew well enough John had been having a few rough nights, that he hadn’t slept on some occasions.

“I will.” It was a quiet promise. John smiled before standing up from his chair, pulling him with him. Alexander had no choice but to follow him. He was already making move to leave the room, heading for the door, when Alexander tugged on his hand.

“Can’t I get a good night kiss then?” Hearing John’s warm laugh as a reply was perhaps enough for him.

“You didn’t give me a chance, did you?” He muttered something under his breath, oddly resembling ‘you adorable bastard’ before he stepped closer, rested his hands at his hips. Alexander couldn’t help but lean into the touch, deepen the kiss when their lips finally met.

“Good night, Alexander,” John whispered against his lips before resting his head on his shoulder lightly.

“Good night,” he whispered in reply and watched as John threw him a smile and he slipped out of the room. Alexander waited a little before slipping out of the room as well, finally making his way to his wife and son, to rest.



John woke up gasping for breath, sweat clinging to every inch of his skin. He could feel it bead on his front, in the way his hair was tangled and damp at the nape of his neck. Last night’s nightmare had been too vivid, to realistic, too clear in his mind.The aftershocks still clung to him. He laid in bed, trying to calm his practically frantic breathing, trying to clear the images from his mind. His heart was pounding, an energy that had no reason to be there coursing through his veins. John hoped it would stop soon, before it send his skull into another lapse of pain, before it would force him to suffer again.

The aftershocks still clung to him. He laid in bed, trying to calm his practically frantic breathing, trying to clear the images from his mind. His heart was pounding, an energy that had no reason to be there coursing through his veins. John hoped it would stop soon, before it send his skull into another lapse of pain, before it would force him to suffer again.

Not even sitting up in bed seemed to helping. He’d brushed his hair out of his face and attempted to collect his thoughts. To think happy thoughts, different thoughts. Jemmy was there in the back of his mind. He’d been smiling in his dream, no longer the nine year old child with a blush on his cheeks, but a tall thin figure in his late teens. He’d been grown up.

In his dream, Frances had ran towards him, smiling and laughing before reaching her hands up and asking him to pick her up. Pick me up uncle Jemmy! Make me fly. She’d yelled for her mother, caught in giggles when he started ticking her instead. Mommy save me!

Hearing her say those words, seeing Martha walk up to them and smile, seeing her take her daughter in her arms yet again and brush her hair away from her face, it had caused ice to run through his veins. For a solid moment, John had forgotten how to move, breathe, speak and how a heart was supposed to beat. He’d just stood there, frozen, as his wife laughed with his brother, one she’d never even had the chance to properly meet.

He’d woken up on the verge of tears, with nothing but memories of the dream he’d had and the people he’d lost along the way. He’d grown to love both of them, had lost both of them in ways perhaps worse than dying on the battlefield.

“He’s not here.” John spoke the words with his eyes pressed shut. Perhaps, the darkness could bring him some solace, could trick his mind into forgetting, into regulating his functions again. “He’s not here.” Hearing him say the words out loud however, felt like an extra knife to the heart.

Reluctantly he opened his eyes, to check the light the sun was radiating. It was slim to one. The trees swayed in the wind.

“I need to wake up,” he muttered to himself, forcing himself out of bed, “right now.” It was almost mechanical that he got up, ignoring the popping of his shoulder joints as he gathered his clothes. John knew what he had to do, he needed to banish all ideas of his brother and wife, needed them out of his head and his memories clean. Neither could completely disappear from his heart, but they didn’t need to make a painful appearance in his thoughts.

If this worked there was a chance he could perhaps get through the day a little bit easier, a little swifter.

The fresh air and oxygen helped him clear his head faster than he could have wished for. Just the walk over to the little stream where he’d intended to quickly rinse his body was enough for them to disappear to the background. It was barely light outside, something even clearer while walking under the protection of the trees. The sun was barely starting to peek over the treetops.

John was thankful each time a little ray of sunshine hit his back or skin, each time he got at least a little bit of warmth back. He couldn’t complain about the cold, they’d had rougher winters, with temperatures closer to freezing.

While the previous weeks had felt more bitingly cold, it didn’t now. Yet, he didn’t know if it was the actual weather or if it was just a representation of his mental state during the winter months. Winter had always been rough on him, something about the temperatures dropping and nature dying made part of him die with them.

Having arrived at the stream, he wasted as little time he could before starting to undress. During the hot summer days, the stream had more than once been the cause of relaxation. When the water got the chance to warm up under the sunlight, it was pleasant to wade in the water and perhaps stay under a bit too long.

Today wasn’t a warm day, it was no summer so John knew that he’d be freezing from the waist down. He knew that by the time he’d climb back onto land, he would be shivering and have chills creeping up ups legs, that for the first few hours, nothing he did would appear to made him feel warm. It should be worth it.

He ignored the shaking of his fingers as he undid the buttons of his shirt, as he carefully stripped layer after layer. John made sure to anchor down his clothes as he put them away, knowing well enough he couldn’t afford to go running after them when the wind caught in them.

There was rustling in the background and for a moment, he was sure there was someone there. If he’d had his gun on him, he’d had it in his hand already, ready to threaten.

“Anyone there?” Silence followed his question. John scanned the environment for any sign of movement, but there was none that wasn’t caused by the wind. He stripped further, finally stripping off his pants and undergarments, anchoring them as well before walking towards the water. He dipped his toes in first before walking in deeper, giving himself no more time to get used to it.

“Oh Christ, it’s cold,” he muttered under his breath, balling his fingers into fists as the water rinsed a scrape on his side. He knew that once brought his complete body under the water, he’d be used to it. The water always seemed to warm up after a while, as the difference between his body temperature and that of the water became smaller.

Yet, with a difference this big, John couldn’t be sure. As long as he promised however, there was a chance it would. Hope, after all, was always better than none. At least did what he’d hoped it would do. Jemmy was erased from his mind as the cold bit and his muscles trembled. He no longer could see that smile each time he blinked. He didn’t know why his mind has chosen today for a dream like that, why now seemed to be a good day to remind him of the people he’d lost along the way.

It was as he came up after submerging his head that he noticed the shadows falling over the water. Alexander was leaning against one of the trees, close to where he had anchored his clothes down. When he glanced down, their eyes met and Alexander threw him an apologetic smile.

“We have a perfectly fine bath, “Alexander said, a mix of amusement and something similar to worry in his voice. “Did I scare you?” He was standing far enough away to offer a resemblance of privacy and John was grateful for it. Alexander had seen him naked before, it wasn’t that his body was something new, yet with the new wounds and scars, John felt awkward, conscious about it.

“It’s early,” he simply said, while wading closer to the bank of the river. He had been done anyway. He felt cleaner, less like he’d just come back from marching in a one-hundred-degree heat. Alexander reached out his towel to him, which he gladly took. “I didn’t mean to wake anyone up.”

Even with Alexander there, drying down and starting to get dressed again was mechanic; he dressed quickly and without paying attention to the other man. Alexander didn’t seem to bothered by it himself, he just stood there and let him be. He’d noticed that he’d been looking him a little funnily but John knew Alexander, knew him more than well enough to know he couldn’t hide anything. “Why are you already awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Alexander said, shaking his head. “But if you must know, Philip was awake, it woke me up…and I must admit collegial habits never quite disappear. Especially not now I’m reviewing again.” John remembered the night in their tent when he’d told him how he used to study when he was still at King’s College; until the sun was about to go down, only to get up again at dawn and pace the burial site, attempting to review as quickly and efficiently as he could. It had reflected itself in the way he worked; he’d wake up when there was even a semblance of enough light and start working on whatever Washington had asked him to draft. He had to admit it had intrigued him at first. Alexander was one of the first people he’d ever known with graveyards as part of their study routine, but then again, it wasn’t like there weren’t any other weird ways to study out there.

“Children rarely sleep through the night the first couple of months,” he said with a small smile before reaching out for his shirt. He’d left them for last, knowing that getting his feet and legs warm was more important than anything. They had been submerged longest.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, confused, as Alexander stopped him when he wanted to slip it over his head. His fingers brushed gently, almost hesitantly against the raised skin on his right shoulder, the place tormented by more than one wound. He should have flinched away, or wanted to do so, but the fingers felt so comfortable, so familiar. He seemed almost tentative when he stroked his thumb over the wild flesh.

“I hadn’t seen them before. Are they recent?”

“Not quite,” he promised, “a year or so, perhaps a little less.” He had been injured so often, especially his right shoulder. The wounds and cuts all blurred together, leaving ugly marks. “It didn’t heal as well as hoped.” He pulled his shoulder away from his touch and pulled the shirt over his head. He hadn’t meant to get into that, not today. “One can only be lucky so many times.”

“You didn’t answer me on why you’re up before dawn. I am used to it, you know that as well as I do.” Alexander threw him a small smile. “Yet you aren’t, Laurens.” He shifted his gaze up, caught John’s eyes with is. “It’s not the headaches getting worse again, is it?”

“Oh no, you don’t need to worry,” he promised quietly. His fingers still shook as he attempted to button his shirt up. He noticed - Alexander always did - and reached out, did up the buttons himself. His fingers worked quickly efficiently. “I’m…”

John fell silent, unsure of if he should tell him.

“Why don’t we go to my study?” he offered, noticing the way that he was still shivering. “It’s warm - you must be freezing, John, why did you ever decide to go this foolish thing I do not know. We can have something to drink.” He turned pensive for a moment, small smile on his lips. “A bit early for anything strong, but maybe tea. We can talk there.”

He ran the suggestion around in his mind. Warmth and tea sounded wonderful, even if John didn’t look forward to talking to talking about Jemmy, as good as it could sometimes feel to talk about the dead.

“I think I would prefer that,” he admitted, with a small smile on his lips. “Thank you.” Alexander took him in for another moment, decisive for a moment before slipping off his overcoat.

“Here.” He draped it over his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off, to give it back to Alex, but he wouldn’t allow him to. Each time, he hung it back over his shoulder. “John, I insist. I’m not cold, I don’t need it.” His hand rested on his shoulder a little longer, squeezed it gently. “You are the one who bathed in a freezing stream. You cannot afford to fall ill now. She needs you.”

John just nodded before following Alexander back to the house. Even if he didn’t want to say it out loud, he still appreciated the extra warmth. Alexander had been right; he couldn’t afford to fall ill, not right now. Even if Alexander was the one between the two of them with the frail health, the one who really couldn’t afford to fall ill.

But yet, he looked out for him instead, even if John didn’t quite deserve it. He couldn’t help but be thankful, no matter how small the gesture was.

Alexander had lighted the fire, the flames only now starting to lick at the wood. The warmth of it was more than welcome and though John did not like admitting it, he huddled closer and tried to soak up as much of it as he could. The blanket Alexander had given him the second they walked in the room helped as well and he had buried his hands in it.

“You’re being overbearing,” he complained as Alexander put another block of wood on the fire. He’d set his cup of tea on the table next to him and he’d had gladly taken it. The warmth was slowly working its’ way through the blanket and warming his fingers from their frozen state.

“Let me be,” Alexander sighed before sitting down in the chair next to him. “You’ve given us all cause for worry. You have done so for a long time. Let us, if it makes us feel any better.” Us. He wondered, but didn’t comment on it. “Now tell me, John, why were you even awake?”

“I told you it’s nothing,” he sighed, but turned to look at Alexander anyway, “it’s just ah, a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.”

“John, if it would be nothing, you wouldn’t hesitate before talking about it.” He had a point, it was something. Jemmy and Martha both were important to him, more important than he perhaps realized some days. “Please, tell me. Don’t bottle things up - god knows you always do.”

“I haven’t told you about my youngest brother, Jemmy, have I?” he asked. “Or of the time we all spend in Europe together?” He just shook his head and John was glad. At least he could start his story off on a positive note, at least he could start with the good days they’d had while there. They’d shared plenty of laughs, plenty of small ways to relax in between reviewing French or maths.

“I had two surviving brothers when my father brought us to Europe,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “Harry and Jemmy. Harry - or Henry Jr. - was the oldest of the two. Just a few weeks ago, he turned seventeen years old.” He shifted his gaze away from Alexander, staring at the flames that licked away at the wood. He couldn’t tell the story and see his face fall or expression shift. He knew that. “If you speak to my father, he probably will not speak highly of him.”

John himself had always taken pity of that. He was treated like less, just because he wasn’t as explicitly good at things, like Martha was. Like his father thought he was. “My father takes a certain…pride in Martha and I. Jemmy as well, in a way. Harry, not so much. I feel for harry, trust me I do. I just, cannot help but envy him for that. It’s less pressure on your shoulders. Or perhaps, more. I don’t know.” He took his cup of tea in his hands now it had finally cooled enough to hold without the security of the blanket. “I spend a lot of time in Europe both studying and tutoring the both of them. It’s was a calm time, gave us the chance to be ourselves, in a way.” He heard Alexander shift in his seat and when he looked over, he noticed that he’d shifted closer, was now barely a few centimetres away from him. “I was their guardian while there…I was supposed to protect them, make sure they came back to South Carolina safely.”

John bit his lip, took a deep breath. He’d never spoken about him in so many words. Many didn’t know about Jemmy or what had happened. “Jemmy - or James, if you will - is my youngest brother. He was nine at the time, just a few months shy from turning ten. He was filled with energy like you wouldn’t believe. It made studying harder for him.” John couldn’t help but smile at the memories of his little brother almost begging if he could go play outside, if he could run over to the fields real quick, as a little bit of a break. He’d always been so weak for his pleas. “Last I remember is helping him with his French. He kept making these same small mistakes. Oh god and some of his pronunciations were terrible. He kept making the same small mistakes. He couldn’t seem to grasp numbers like quatre-vingt and quatre-vingt-douze.”

“I can imagine,” he said, with a small smile on his lips. “The numbers aren’t quite what they appear to be sometimes.”

“They certainly aren’t, I know I myself struggled with them quite a bit.” He laughed, remembering the days himself. He hadn’t been an inch better than his brother. “Jemmy was playing outside when it happened. I’d told them both to take a day off, enjoy the sunshine while they could. I mean, like I said, he’s only nine at that point. A boy shouldn’t study all the time. Last of him that I remember is telling him that I was going into town for a while, while they were busy. I... found myself quite…lonely, among only people who are years and years younger.” His fingers curled up in his fingers, as if it would help him. “By the time I came back, it had already happened. Harry was there. He told us, later. Jemmy was playing when he fell. It was a stupid railing of all things. He hit his head wrong. The doctor said that they tried but...”

“John…” Alexander took one of his hands in his, made him untangle his fingers even the slightest.

“You know what I remember last? His eyes opening for a little while and seeing those eyes stare up at me. He was in so much pain, you have no idea. He was already off very badly when I got back at the house. He breathed his last breath that night, holding both Harry and my hand. My…father was heartbroken for a while. He’d lost my mother just five years earlier, now another one of his children, this time one he saw grow up past the age of crawling and babbling. It hit him. I’ve always felt guilty about it, perhaps I still do.”

Alexander squeezed his hand lightly, reassuringly. “John. There wouldn’t have been anything for you to do, even if you were in the house. Perhaps, if I understand right, you could have been teaching him, but that was all. From what it sounds like to me, you would only feel more responsible, because you had been there. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“Perhaps. I got distracted, I’m sorry,” he sighed before shaking his head. He hadn’t meant to go into detail, not now and not there. “It wasn’t my point. I didn’t mean to tell the sob story in full. What I meant to tell you is he is part of the reason I was awake, along with Martha. It was just a bad dream, they happen.  I needed to clear my head, it’s why I was up and out, to answer your question. It’s never nice to dream about your deceased wife, daughter and brother all at once.”

“You have peculiar ways of clearing your head,” he said. “Unhealthy ones at that.”  He moved his hand up to his arm, rested it at his shoulder. He knew it was his way of silent comfort, from the person who always knew what to do.

“Says the person who studied until sundown and woke up and dawn, walking at a burial site,” John said with a small smile on his lips. “I don’t quite think that you can lecture me on health.”

“I hope you know I most sincerely regret telling you that,” he said, small smile on his lips. “At least it could bring you a pneumonia, or fevers. You can’t board ship if you’re ill.”

“Oh I know you do,” he said with a small smile, glad that the mood had been lifted after all, “it’s why I like bringing it up. And I’m aware, I won’t. I promise. Now, how was your night, Alexander? Did Philip wake you up often?”

“It was…calm,” he said. “He only woke up a handful of times to nurse. Calm. He only woke up a couple of times to nurse - nothing I can do to help.”

“You must be lucky, but then again, Eliza is a quiet and reserved - he must take after his mother instead of his father,” he said, “he, after all, can’t quite keep his mouth shut, can he?” John hoped he noticed his teasing and he did. Alexander threw him a warm smile.

“Perhaps, who knows. Who knows.” He looked away, at the door they’d pulled shut behind him. “You are right however, his father does not know when to stay silent. Silence seldom saves a man.”

“And yet it has,” he argued. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them…” John felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as Alexander realized he was quoting the bible at him. “A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.” He was pretty sure that Alexander was close to rolling his eyes at him. “Or are you saying that the bible is lying to us?”

“I wouldn’t. What I would say is that you have spent too much time with the bible too close to your chest.” He smiled at him. “Are you alright, John? Truly?”

“If anything, I will be, soon,” he promised. “When I know that I can hold my daughter without having to go back into battle, then I’ll be.”

“I wish you wouldn’t, go back.” He glanced at the door and when there was no sound coming from nearby, threaded his fingers through John’s. “You don’t have to.”

“No everyone can turn their back like you do, Alexander. You may have found your peace with studying the law, but I still have battles left to right.” He forced a small smile on his lips, leaned closer to Alexander. “I cannot rest until they’re fought, until we have a chance at rebuilding this country away from the British, I hope you understand.”

“I do, trust me. Doesn’t mean that I wish I didn’t have to worry about you, while you’re out.’ He shook his head. Just promise me you’ll think of Frances before forcing yourself into battle, that you allow yourself rest.” He let his hand go. “Promise me you will do your best to come back, that would be enough, for now.”

“That, I can promise.” John had been afraid while he was talking, afraid that he would ask him to promise to come back. He knew for a fact that he couldn’t promise that. War was a dirty game and John knew he was okay with losing his life in battle. At least, if he did, there was a purpose behind his death. He would have served a duty. Perhaps, that could be enough for him. “I will promise to do my best, to come back to my family. The entirety of it.”

Their teas turned cold as they sat in front of that fire and did nothing but talk. Talk about more fatherhood, about both Philip and Frances. Talked about how Peggy had practically been the saviour of her baby sister a few months prior, when the Schuyler’s parental house had been under attack.

At some point, John drifted off to sleep again, comforted by the warmth and company. Perhaps Alexander Hamilton was a bit of a safety blanket effect on him, but if that had downsides, he had yet to find them.

The cold had worked, but perhaps, Alexander and his family was still the best medicine to his broken heart and mind.