Hamilton One Shots

Call Me Son One More Time.

Alexander's POV

I sat at the desk in my office, writing things down. I hadn't done much work lately, especially the other day since it was mine and Eliza's anniversary. I felt sluggish. I had no desire to do anything. Which was weird for me, Alexander 'The man is non-stop' Hamilton.

"Pa?" Philip entered the office, his voice sounded... different. It felt heavy and full of worry. He never sounded like that before.

"Yes, son?" I looked up from my papers. He stood there by the door, holding two sheets of paper in his hands. His eyes were wide. His face showed a sense of sadness. "Is there something wrong, Philip?"

I was starting to get worried. Was someone hurting my son? God knows what would happen if I find out that someone is bullying Philip.

"N-no," He shook his head, but I was unconvinced "B-but there are two letters for you. They're both from Virginia."

"Oh. Don't worry about it, son. It's probably from Washington." I said "Just place them on my desk."

Philip glanced down at the first letter, then shuffled them so it was now at the bottom. He let out a soft gasp as his eyes skimmed the letter from top to bottom.

"Well one of them is. The second one is from his wife."

I raised my eyebrow quizically. Martha Washington would often contact me through her husband. Something must be wrong.

"Will you read it to me?"

Philip nodded and began to read.

"Dear Mr. Hamilton,
I am sad to inform you that on the eve of December 14th, 1799, our dear general George Washington passed away due to Hypovolemia He is to be burried on the 18th of December. We are humbly inviting you and Mrs. Hamilton to his burrial in Mount Vernon, where he spent his final days.
Signed,
Martha Washington."

My eyes went wide from shock. Tears started running down my cheeks. No. This can't be true.

"Ph-Philip," I said shakily "Please put the letter on my desk and go study your lessons."

Philip nodded and placed the letter down on my desk. He walked back to the door, but before he left the room, he turned to me.

"Dad, are you all right?"

I couldn't speak. Tears just kept running down my cheeks. He seemed to understand what I was going through because he smiled at me sadly and exited the room.

My hands began to tremble. Tears were spilling out, possibly even ruining my writings. But it didn't matter. Nothing did.

"Why, George?" I cried as I stood up. I paced around the room like a madman. The last words he said to me, almost a year ago, just kept running through my mind.

"I'll see you soon, son."

Those memories, all those times that he had called me son, even when I told him not to. Those times I resented him for it. I never admitted it to him, I never admitted it to anyone, I never even admitted it to myself, but he was like a father to me.

It occured to me that I didn't read his letter. It took every ounce of courge in my to pick it up and read it.

"Dear Alexander,
It has been quite a while since we last spoke. I have grown to miss you, and that includes your antics in congress. How are the children? I hope they are growing to be as intelligent as their father. And your wife, how is she doing? Martha mentioned that she bore you a daughter last month. Congratulations, Hamilton. You now have your second daughter, two roses among five thorns. I'm joking, I'm joking. I do hope to see you soon. Martha and I plan to go down to New York to visit you all. Alas, we might not be able to make it, for it seems that I have contracted an illness of some sort. Do not worry, my boy, for I have a strong immune system. I will be fine. I will see you when I get well. Adieu, my son. Send my regards to your family.
Ever yours,
George Washington."

I threw the letter back on my desk and crumbled up on the floor in a fit of rage.

"Call me son one more time!" I yelled, blinded by a bittersweet feeling. A mixture of anger and sadness. Misery.

Tears ran down my cheeks like no tomorrow. Washington, the man who guided me for more than twenty years, the man who acted like a father to me even when I asked him not to, the man who looked past my greatest mistakes and still cared for me like a son. He was dead.

3 days later

I along with four other men lowered down Washington's coffin into the ground. We were all surrounded by mourning men and women. Family, friends, war veterans, members of congress, one thing was common among all the guests. We were all here for the Washingtons.

Once we lowered him into the ground, another man stepped in and covered his coffin with soil, burying him at last.

I stood strong, not wanting tears to get the best of me. Beside me were Martha and Eliza, both of whom were weeping.

"You know, Alexander," Martha said, not looking away from the men scooping dirt on Washington's coffin "You were very dear to George."

"Oh?" I replied as I held back the tears. I can't let them see me cry. Not now.

"Yes." She laughed slightly "Oh, he often talked about your eloquence and skill. Even before you were his aide, he would always talk about you."

I had no words. This was one of those very rare times when I was left speechless. I simply nodded as Martha continued to talk.

"He was always so proud of you, Alexander." Martha's gaze finally left her husband's coffin, she looked at me with a small smile. "You were like a son to him, and by relation, you are a son to me."

I smiled at the older woman. I didn't speak to her often, but whenever I did, she always seemed to make me feel better.

A few minutes passed, and nearly everyone had left. I finally let the tears run down my face and fell to my knees at Washington's grave.

Memories of Washington flooded my mind, the cannon stealing antics, the scoldings, the wounds. Everything cane back to me. Regret overcame my senses. I shouldn't have been so horrible to him.

"Call me son," I said through my tears "One more time."