Hurricane

Alfred had fucked up. He had known it since he met Emma in the park. But he couldn't say no.

"In the eye of the hurricane. There is quiet. For just a moment. A yellow sky."

Just a simple word would've saved him from this mess. He buried his head to his hands. Now Ivan, Sadik and Máximo knew all about it. Great.

"When I was seventeen, a hurricane destroyed my town. I didn't drown. I couldn't seem to die."

His mind drifted off to his childhood memories. He choked back a sob. He didn't want to do this.

"I wrote my way out. Wrote everything down as far I could see. I wrote my way out. I looked up and the town had its eyes on me."

His mother had had a cancer, but like a good mother, she knew what his son dreamed. She had smiled and said that go for it. Don't wait for it. Alfred had answered that they didn't have enough money; also, there was no way that he would leave his mother.

"They passed a plate around. Total strangers moved to kindness by my story. Raised enough for me to book passage on a ship that was New York bound."

Somehow she got enough money to get him a seat in the plane which was flying to New York.

"I wrote my way out of hell. I wrote my way to revolution. I was louder than the crack in the bell. I wrote Eliza love letters until she fell. I wrote about The Constitution and defended it well. And in the face of ignorance and resistance, I wrote financial systems into existence. And when my prayers to God were met with indifference, I picked up a pen, I wrote my own delivarence."

His writing desk was a mess, but somehow he managed to find a pen, and paper. He started writing. He wrote about that evening in the park and what she did. Alfred poured his heart to the paper, changing his feelings to words. After a moment, he wrote the title. The Jansen Pamphlet.

If he would publish this tomorrow, he wouldn't be the next leader of the company. His co-workers didn't forget things so easily.

"In the eye of a hurricane. There is quiet. For just a moment. A yellow sky."

Then he glanced at the clock and his eyes widened. It was over five o'clock! He would've supposed to be at home an hour ago! Alfred stood up and hurried out of the room. He didn't give another thought to the pamphlet. The offices and corridors were empty, as he walked past them. Soon, he was at the parking lot. Alfred opened his car's door, sat inside and started it.

"I was twelve when my mother died. She was holding me. We were sick and she was holding me. I couldn't seem to die."

He tapped the steering wheel, when he waited for the light to change to green. The habit reminded him of his mother; she had always done that before she died.

"Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it..."

He drove past the park.

"I'll write my way out..."

Soon, he stood in front of his home's door, just staring it for a moment with mixed expression. Then, he took his keys from his pocket and opened the door.

"I'm home!" He shouted, trying to get a happy and a carefree tone to his voice. He didn't succeed.

"Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it..."

Soon, Arthur appeared in the entry. He looked more tired than he was usually; the circles under his eyes looked darker and his skin looked paler.

"Don't think about it, love." The Brit smiled, although wearily, but it was a smile. Alfred nodded. He couldn't bring himself to think that day when he had received a call from his son Charles. The boy was crying, but he had managed to speak. What he had told had frozen his blood: Arthur had passed out. Alfred had hurried to his home and taken his childs and husband to hospital. Later they found out that that Arthur had a cancer.

"Write ev'rything down, far as I can see..."

"I won't." Alfred said, smiling and hugging the smaller blonde. He could almost feel his ribs through the sweater. Alfred huffed. Arthur was too stubborn to stay at hospital; after all, he had to take care of his kids. Alfred closed the door after him.

"Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait... History has its eyes on you."

"I made food." Arthur muttered, burying his head against his suit. The tall American wasn't sure did he cry or not or did he just need comfort. He didn't mind, though.

"No you didn't, father! Charles made it, because you can't cook!" Amelia laughed from the living room. Arthur withdrew from the hug, looking like he was going to go and tickle his daughter. Suddenly, Alfred grabbed his sleeve. He opened his mouth to tell him about Lars and Emma and about everything. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I'll write my way out. Overwhelm them with honesty. This is the eye of the hurricane, this is the only way I can protect my legacy."

"Are you alright?" Arthur's eyes were full of concern when he saw Alfred's expression. Some part in Alfred died. His love, his everything, stood there, in front of him, looking at him with those beautiful green eyes.

"Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait..."

"Yeah, I am." Alfred smiled and kissed his husband deeply. Arthur blushed, but nonetheless kissed back. Their adopted teenage son Charles yelled 'Gross! Get a room!' from the living room, while his sister, Amelia, giggled happily. Alfred had always wondered how they managed to stay positive even in the darkest times.

"The Reynolds Pamphlet."

Just this evening left.

Lyrics don't belong to me! They belong to Lin-Manuel Miranda.

Another Hamiltalia fic, yay. Finally this is ready -.-'

My school started today and I was the only one who went to school with a positive mind :')