Becoming a Founding "Father"- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Forty-Six: Reality and the Lack Thereof

*Buckle in, because this is going to be a ride.

"Poor Laurens; he has fallen a sacrifice to his ardor in a trifling skirmish in South Carolina. You know how truly I loved him and will judge how much I regret him."- Alexander Hamilton to Marquis de Lafayette, November 3, 1782

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I should be more gentle, I'm sure. If Laurens is truly as unstable as he was in that letter, I should approach this matter with absolute caution and understanding.

But after traveling non-stop for God-knows how long, with a severe downward spiral of the voices (or whatever stupid mental illness it could be) and then finding him, partying and drunk, I couldn't stop myself from roaring.

"Colonel John Laurens!"

Laurens jumps and stumbles- that's reasonable, considering how furious I am storming into the place, twigs and shit in my hair, with several soldiers following me. The women hanging onto his arms carefully back off as I stride right to him and shake him with all my might.

"What is the meaning of this, Monroe?" Hamilton hissed, slamming the newspaper down onto his desk. He looked down, and- of course this is about Callender. Hamilton's fuming- like the frivolous peacock he is- and he had no time for such matter.

"Sir, I have nothing to say to you," he answered curtly, willing the whoreson to go away. And yet, as always, the man persists.

"Nothing to say?" Hamilton yapped. "Clearly not, considering my many letters I received no reply to." Yes, the many letters that only one as obsessive as the bastard could write. "I had told three men, sir, of my situation, and you were the one writing notes!"

"Those documents you accuse me of sharing are in the safe hands of my dear friend in Virginia." He referred to one man, and one man only. It was amusing how the mere mention of the sir could turn Hamilton's bulging face even redder.

"My apologies-" Hamilton was not capable of remorse, "- you must think me a fool for-"

"Layden?" I'm hurled back to reality with a gasp. Laurens is looking at me, his hands weakly clinging to mine where I was shaking him, clearly inebriated. The rest of the room is gaping at us, both soldiers and ladies alike. "What in the heavens are you-"

"I'm sorry- you're drunk as hell, and I am putting you to your damn bed," I say loudly, too tired to care for my social appearance, then grabbing Laurens by the arm and dragging him out. The women gasp at my language, and I would care- if I hadn't been seeing vivid flashbacks of lives I hadn't ever seen.

I'm hallucinating now. Fun. This new development isn't great.

Fuck you

"The feeling is mutual, no one gives a shit about your imaginary scenarios," I mutter, and- oh great, Laurens has stopped. I forgot I wasn't alone. Shouting at the voices on horseback has been more effective in silencing them than ignoring them.

"Solo- Sir, wha's goin' on? How did you even- get here?" He grasps my arms, swaying from side to side. I look in his eyes- the whites are yellow. His skin is paper thin, also with a tinge of yellow I know too well.

"What the hell are you doing out of bed?" I put my hand to his forehead- he's severely burning up. "And you're sick? The hell's wrong with you?"

"Ze hall arr yoo doeng hair? " He mocks my accent, before switching back to his flawless own, though slurred "You're supposed to be in... in New York with Hammie?" He sputters. "Why did you ruin the fun? I was having so much fuuun."