Alexander lied in bed with Phillip that night, unable to catch a wink of sleep. They were headed straight to London to battle with a king who had managed to take down their strongest peaks in the span of five minutes. They had no army of their own, no one to give them a command, and yet they're going out to face King George III? How long would the trip even take? He held his son close to his chest, who was fast asleep and had no trouble going to bed that night. Alexander sighed as he began to think. When he had asked why Thomas cares so much if they get Eliza and her sisters back, it looked as though he had a reason but couldn't bring himself to say it. Something personal? Most likely. Curiosity ate at him. He didn't know if he wanted to befriend Thomas now because he wants to know why, or if it's because he felt sorry for him. The Virginian looked deeply hurt when Alexander saw him. Albeit he sounded so sure, so firm, they'll get the Schuyler sisters back, he could see the pain in his eyes. He groaned lightly. He's probably just overthinking it again. He ran a hand through the locks of Phillip's curly hair, tears stinging his eyes at the thought of having to leave him again. He wanted to make sure his son didn't live the life he did; as an orphan - A bastard - More than anything, but he had no choice. Just as he was about to close his eyes, Burr awoke him with the gentle mumble of, "It's time to go." Dawn already? Alexander held his son close, finally releasing him carefully as his tears streamed down his face. Burr felt awful watching the sight. If they can do this right, then at least he'd have a wife and child to go home to.
Theodosia and his what could've been child had been killed while they were away. He never even got to say goodbye. He never got to meet his baby....
Burr held his breath as the two men left the house, Phillip left undisturbed. Alexander dug his nails into his wrists. He didn't understand how Aaron could be so brave, so fearless, in a time like this, but he knew for a fact that he admired it.
---
The golden sun steadily rose in the lavender sky, the salmon clouds parting apart with each passing minute. Hercules attempted to help Thomas board the ship, but the stubborn man assured him countless times he was fine. Mulligan sighed as he watched Jefferson limp up, Lafayette and Laurens standing next to him. "He's really damaged," murmured John. The two other men nodded their heads in agreement.
"Inside and out," added Mulligan.
".... Had we just.... Warned them sooner-" started Lafayette. Hercules interrupted him by punching his arm. It shut him up.
"Don't. I don't think any of us have gotten over Washington's death."
".... Je sais, mon ami, je sais.... C'est juste...." Lafayette groaned and stomped down on the ground, Laurens motioning Hamilton to come over. Lafayette always spoke in French when either upset or frustrated. Alexander appeared briskly, just in time to hear Lafayette rant.
"Ce n'est pas juste! Il est mort à cause de nous! Et vous voulez que je crois qu'il nous pardonnerait?! Non!"
Alexander blinked. He said, "It's not fair! He died because of us! And you want me to believe he'd forgive us?! No!" It caused him to frown, but he firmly held Lafayette's shoulders. The group of friends were all on the verge of breaking down. ".... Lafayette.... You have to believe me when I say yes, he would've. He would've forgiven us because we fought back with all the strength we could muster up. He would've forgiven us because he'd know that none of us are at fault. He would've forgiven us because - Dammit, Lafayette! - He cared for us! He cared for us and we /know/ he cared for us! The only thing we could ever do to make him stop caring is if we betrayed him, and none of us could ever betray George Washington. Do I make myself clear?"
The four men fell silent, quickly drying their tears if any were shed. Lafayette nodded, whispered a, "Oui, mon ami," and hugged him tightly, Alexander hugging back as the two wept silently. Thomas watched from afar, his heart breaking at the sight. Madison searched for him and soon clung to him, brushing his hand against Jefferson's. Thomas looked at him and held him by his waist, the friends not speaking. They held their hands together tightly.
