Falling Through Time: Basking in Firelight: Book 2

Alive and Drunk

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Warnings: Hang on to your hats. Injuries and heavy drinking.

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They won.

They won the battle.

They won the war.

But what was it for?

Hamilton pushed open the doors, gagging at the scent that filled his nose. He hated that scent. He walked down the hallway, knowing which way to go from memory. The lights hurt his eyes so he walked with his eyes closed, relying on his hearing to avoid people. He stopped in front of a door and finally blinked open his eyes. Taking a deep breath, pushed it open and stepped inside.

Lafayette stood inside, he looked up at Hamilton with sad eyes. He stood and wrapped Hamilton in a warm hug. Hamilton stood rigidly. He wouldn't break. He couldn't break. Lafayette murmured something that was no doubt comforting but Hamilton's mind was somewhere else. Lafayette pulled away, patted him on the back and left the room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Hamilton stood in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on the reason why he was there. Finally taking a seat where Lafayette had just vacated. He finally allowed himself to slump in the chair. No one was around to see him like that, no one was around to see the tears roll down Hamilton's face. He leaned forward and grabbed the limp hand that rested on the side of the bed. The lights were still too bright and the smell still stung Hamilton's nose. He hated hospitals. Jefferson was lying on a hospital bed hooked up to various machines that kept him alive.

Alive.

Hamilton remembered when Lafayette hunted him down and told him that Jefferson was still alive. Barely, but alive. He was in a coma. Hamilton had cried. Cried and clung to Lafayette like a child.

Hamilton had slaughtered almost the entire remains of the enemy army before he collapsed. Rebel snipers picked off the remaining soldiers. Hamilton had suffered from several gunshot wounds to his limbs, broken ribs, some knife wounds, and a broken hand from when he slammed his fist in the face of the leading general of the Governmental army.

That had been months ago. He was mostly healed up now. Just a little tender in some areas. But Jefferson still remained unconscious. The doctors said that the special body armor he wore saved his life, that he healed up fine, and now it was just up to him to wake up. But he wouldn't. So Hamilton just sat by his side every day, holding his hand, waiting.

The Convention was in a month. The Convention that would rebuild the nation. This was the part that Jefferson wanted to be there for, this was the part that was important to Jefferson. This was the part Jefferson dedicated his life to. But if he didn't wake up soon, he was going to miss it. All that fighting to miss the most important part.

Hamilton would rather him miss it than not wake up at all. But Jefferson would be crushed if he missed it.

At least he was alive. That's all that mattered.

***

Hamilton was at the bar with Laurens, Madison, Mulligan, Lafayette, and Burr. He was drinking heavily and only Lafayette could figure out why. Madison and Burr also seemed to be drinking more than usual. Laurens and Mulligan seemed sad, but to Hamilton, they didn't seem sad enough. Jefferson was in a coma for fuck's sake. So what if they weren't that close? Lafayette seemed to be shoving down his own pain so he could make sure Hamilton didn't do anything stupid. He has watching Hamilton out of the corner of his eye constantly.

Hamilton hated it.

Laurens walked over a sat down next to Hamilton. "Any change?" he asked, referring to Jefferson's condition.

"Do you really think if there was a change I'd be here right now?" Hamilton snapped.

"Woah, sorry, I was just asking. I didn't know the two of you were such good friends. You always seem to be bickering over something. I'm truly sorry this happened."

Hamilton took another deep drink, slammed down his drink and walked out the door. Everyone watching as he left. Lafayette went to go after him but Burr held him back and went after him himself. "Go away, Burr," Hamilton growled when he caught up.

"No. You're going to go do something stupid and I have to be around to clean up your mess."

"Fuck off."

"You hate me," Burr stated it as a fact. Hamilton didn't bother denying it. After a moment, Burr asked, "Since when are you and Jefferson close? You hate each other."

Hamilton wanted to slam his fist in Burr's face. But he couldn't. Burr couldn't remember and Hamilton promised Jefferson he'd give him a second chance. "Since he started fighting in the war and I had to work with him every day."

"You two practically ran off together for months."

"So?"

"So nothing," Burr shrugged. "I was just wondering. Where are we going anyway?"

"The hospital."

"You just came from there."

"Hospitals don't have strong alcohol," Hamilton said.

They walked in silence. Burr only spoke again after he'd been watching Hamilton watch Jefferson as he slept after they reached the hospital. "You're scared."

"I'm not scared of anything."

"You're scared he's going to die."

"That tends to happen when you're around," Hamilton snapped.

"What do you mean?" Burr asked, a confused expression crossing his face.

Hamilton sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Nothing. Nevermind. Forget I said that."

"No. You're right. I deserved that," Burr stated.

Hamilton's head snapped up and locked on Burr. "What did you say?"

"Jefferson will pull through. He always does. He'll wake up. He has too."

Hamilton watched him for a moment. "You remember, don't you?" Burr said nothing. He'd ignored Jefferson's advice and let Hamilton figure it out. Hamilton deserved to know. "You motherfucker," Hamilton said, rising out of his chair. "How long?" Hamilton asked, anger lacing his every word. "How long have you known?"

"The rally, when we first met."

Hamilton wanted to launch over the bed and strangle Burr, but he couldn't. Not in a hospital. Not in Jefferson's room. "Did Thomas know?"

"Yeah. He confronted me shortly before the last battle."

Jefferson lied. Hamilton fell back into his chair, all his energy drained out of him. He couldn't even bring himself to hate Burr at the moment, he was just so done. Jefferson lied to him to protect Burr. Why? Why would he do that? Burr's the one who shot him, who killed him, who took the life they were going to have together away. How could he do that?

"Get out," Hamilton whispered. Burr disappeared a moment later. Hamilton reached out and took Jefferson's hand. Hamilton sat there for the rest of the night, staring blankly at the wall.

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