𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 [𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳]

White Lights

Alexander had ideas of where he was before he even bothered to open his eyes, before he decided to stir and allow the rest of his body to wake up, before he decided to show whomever in the room with him that he was awake. The bright lights, burning into Alexander's eyelids, were a heavy hint as to where his new location may be. They basked Alexander's eyelids in white instead of red, which normal bright lights would do, and had him squinting even with his eyes closed. The second biggest hint he had, was everything he was currently hearing. He heard a muttering of words beside him - two voices, he had decided, perhaps in a conversation -, he heard crying down the hall, and he heard the familiar beeping of a machine he couldn't quite place.

When he had finally assumed his place of stay, he shifted slightly in the surprisingly comfortable sheets of the surprisingly uncomfortable bed, quieting the voices next to him. Maybe it hadn't been the most in-depth conversation, at all. Or, maybe it had, though staring Alexander as the main topic of speech. It didn't matter, for now. It's not like he was going to ask whoever was speaking, anyway. He allowed his eyes to flutter open, only for them to instantly turn to a quint, the completely white room almost as bad as the lights built into the ceiling. Alexander liked the colour white just as much as the other guy, but no building needed so much of it in such a small room. He now shifted to sit up on the bed, pulling the rather warm blankets up with him, before slowly willing his eyes to fully open after a few blinks, glancing around.

A hospital room. His assumption was right. Though, with a bit of a foggy memory as to why, the extent of what he remembered being him at home, he couldn't quite back up why his mind had instantly gone to the building. There wasn't anything unusual to the room, other than a small card on the cabinet that made Alexander crack a small smile, the majority of it seemingly untouched, and abandoned. He looked to his left, where he had heard the voices, and his smile turned to a small frown at the sight. It wasn't one he had seen before, everything else about the situation having been familiar, which caused a small drop of anxiety to fill through his blood, moving all throughout him. It was a cop, complete with uniform, mace, handcuffs and all else that he had owned, speaking to none other than Thomas Jefferson, messy hair, tank top and sweatpants, as if he rushed to arrive. While Jefferson appeared stressed, and god exhausted, the officer was more.. Well, Alexander couldn't quite place it. He was more calm, however refined, elegant in broad movements, sure of what he did. His movement, where and why he moved, had purpose. It had meaning.

However, when Alexander cleared his throat, both of the men turned to look towards the immigrant, the officer with a raised brow and Jefferson with a fallen expression, silencing the discussion they were previously busying themselves with. Alexander took that moment to glance down to the pad and pen the officer was holding, his frown deepening, before he looked back up to study their expressions more. Alexander couldn't read what the man had written from where he stood, being practically blind without his glasses, so he didn't bother straining himself, instead glancing away before he spoke.
"So, I'm in the hospital."
He could hear a scoff, and looked back to see Jefferson running a hand down his face, an amused grin playing on his lips. Alexander had to say, he was glad that at least /someone/ found amusement in the situation, because he sure as hell didn't.

"Usually, a blow to the head can result in a temporary condition equivalent to 'knock out' that just lasts for a half a second or so. The effect is a white flash or black flash in the recipient's field of vision and they can't take any action requiring vision and decision for a period of about one second. A much harder blow results in a taste like battery acid in the mouth. So, a hard blow overloads sensory input and prevents action for a short period of time. Harder blows than that result in a complete loss of consciousness. Surprisingly, you had gon' through a real hard hit to be here. I'm surprised the ass could even hit that hard."

Alexander had gotten lost along the way while Jefferson spoke, blanking out for a moment. He wasn't quite expected to be put through a medical lecture, at least not one that sounded so pristine - at least, not one from Jefferson - but he couldn't help being slightly impressed. Nothing he would openly say, of course. When the Virginian was finished, Alexander raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms behind his head.
"What are you even talking about, 'a blow to the head'? What happened?"
Jefferson stayed silent for a moment, slightly widened eyes displaying something along the lines of disapproval, disbelief, and surprise. He quickly narrowed them, though, easily overriding the previous expression that might have been used against him.
"You're abusive fuckin' boyfriend knocked you out, you fuck."

Alexander stayed silent for a moment, his eyes now taking turn to widen, as he glanced over to the office, who was busy writing something in the godforsaken notepad. Alexander had decided that he hated that thing, knowing that it must be incriminating statements. What else would a police officer write down, while somebody was just accused of abusing their now bed-ridden boyfriend? It's not like he was writing down what food he needed to buy for tonight's dinner. It was obvious. Alexander's glance turned back to Jefferson, eyes narrowing into a glare when it did, the shorter immigrant taking little to no time to hiss out his words. Speech has always been his greatest talent, and even if he was condemned to silence the rest of his life, he was going to say whatever the fuck he wanted to say at this point.
"You know what? Fuck you, alright? You know nothing about me, nor do you know anything about Laurens, nor do you know anything about our relationship. He's not fucking /abusive/. It's not my fault you've always lived in a perfect world with the perfect life and been associated with the perfect people. Grow the /fuck/ up and realize that people aren't always-"

Alexander's ramblings were cut short with the cops voice finally cutting through the air, silencing the immigrants' words. Alexander decided that he was afraid of this man, and the power he holds. The power he /has/ to hold. Nobody, with such a bite to their tone, with such a gravely voice, tired demeanour, and strong stand has little to no power.
"Laurens? Can you assure that your significant other's name is John Laurens?"
Alexander bit his tongue, his glare now shifting to the cop, however falling when he saw the mans expression. It was pitying. Alexander was being pitied. And now, he felt smaller than ever, like an ant compared to the two men he was next to. Alexander swallowed, thinking of what exactly he was supposed to do here, before shaking his head.
"I plead the fourth."

"You mean the fifth?"
"...Yeah, that."

The response received a small groan from the officer, who's glance now turned to the Virginian in the room, as well as Alexander's had, taking the time to fully study the man. He looked like a god-awful mess. He didn't bother on dressing to impress, which he usually takes an hour every day to do. His hair was unruly, as if he just woke up and left without taking time to do anything for it. The circles under his eyes challenged Alexander's, and his worn out stance completely washed away Alexander's previous memories of his usual confident stride and build.
"Can /you assure that the man accused is named John Laurens?"
Jefferson took no time to nod, hesitating in his step for a moment before glancing back at Hamilton - who was now staring dejectedly at his hands - before looking back at the officer.
"Yes. There's plenty of evidence to support that claim, as broad as it is, as well."
"And you're the only one Hamilton is in further contact with?"
"He has nobody else on his phone, so I'm assuming yes."
"Alright. Seeing as though the next process is to take said John into custody for interrogation, and Hamilton can't be by himself in living conditions because of his head injury, he's going to have to remain under your watch for the time being. Is there any issue with that planning?"

Thomas hesitated for a moment, eyes widening slightly from the information. He should have said Ale- Hamilton spoke to other people. He should have said he didn't know the immigrant at all. He shouldn't even be here.
"No. There's no issue."
"Great. Sign the papers, and he'll be let out."

Fuck.