𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 [𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳]

Fire's Cold to The Touch

Alexander was not happy. About any of this. How could he possibly be happy, when his boyfriend was shoved away in some jail for interrogations, Alexander had to find a lawyer to go to court with, and he had to bunk it with Jefferson all the while? None of the situation was anything Hamilton would have prefered. Though, he might as well be grateful for one thing - the fact that he now remembered what got him into this mess, exactly what had happened. He remembered his lacking breath, disappearing with every sentence his lover had said, or read, off of his damned phone. He remembered the taste of battery acid just before he had fallen unconscious, the accent yells drumming through his ears and silencing the painful heartbeats that originally lay there. He remembered a firey hot hand digging into his scalp, the feeling of rough, cold wood as he was smashed against it. He remembered it all, and most importantly, what had started it.

It was Alexander's fault, and it was Jefferson's fault, but it sure as hell wasn't Laurens's fault. It wasn't John's fault that Alexander had been unfaithful, and untrustable. It wasn't his fault that Alexander was always dissatisfied, always craving more, always yearning for something he couldn't have. And, it was Alexander's fault that he was stupid enough to do it, even more so, get caught. He could have at least deleted the messages or deleted Thomas's contact. There was so much he could have done, so much that could have stopped Laurens from being upset with him, but he did none of it. He pushed his boyfriend to the brink - of course he was going to get a punishment. He didn't know why it was such a big deal. He didn't understand why Jefferson, why the officer, why anybody had seen it as anything more than that. It wasn't abuse. Alexander knew the definition, he was a word geek. "Treat a person or an animal with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly." It wasn't.. It wasn't regular. It wasn't repeated. It was just on occasion.

"You look exhausted, just go the fuck to sleep. We're nowhere near there, yet. 'Ve got a good hour."
An accented voice dragged Alexander out of his thoughts, having him looking over and blinking at the taller male who was driving, the sight bringing a scoff from his lips. He shut his eyes, before shaking his head, leaning against the car door. He had to admit, he hated Jefferson's car. It was a black Koenigsegg One:1, far too expensive and showy for anything that should be driven on the road. It looked like it belonged in GTA 5, not the streets of New York. The inside was overtly comfortable, proper heating system, good radio, and nice seats. It was perfect. It was Jefferson. So, Alexander hated it.
"Take me to the office."
Alexander's words were a scoff on their own, practically a hiss if he wasn't so worn out. Physically and mentally, though he had no reason to be either. At this point, he was even pitying himself, which was pathetically disgusting in his own right.

"Your office? Why?"
"To work, dumbass."
"Holy fuck, Hamilton, you just got out of the fucking hospital. I'm not taking you to work."

Alexander opened his eyes just to glare at the Virginian, it being weaker than he would have prefered. He only knew so from Jefferson's amused chuckle when he glanced over to see it, matching Alexander with an eye roll before looking back towards the road. The laugh sparked something inside of Alexander that he couldn't place. Well, even if he could, he wouldn't bother, deeming it as unadulterated loathing or irritation. Seriously, who laughs at a glare? That was just fucked up. Alexander huffed, shutting his eyes again and shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable, curling in on himself. They fucked a few times, and now Alexander was going to have to live for him for possibly a few days. Hopefully not longer. Great.
"I don't care if I just got out of the fucking hospital, I don't need you telling me what to do and where to do. I'm not a fucking Barbie doll, you can't control me."
"You're as small as a Barbie doll."
The insult brought a heat to Alexander's face, as he scoffed, not even bothered to shoot back at the fucker. He was right about something - Alexander was exhausted.
"Fuck off."

Once again, he was met with a chuckle, less amused and more relaxed. Once again, he was met with the same ball of emotion pinking at his rib cage, begging above all else to be let free. It was like the anxious feeling you get just before a public speaking assignment, or just before you're about to go on stage. If Alexander were dense enough, he would call it butterflies in his stomach. Though, that usually associated with love or excitement - and if Alexander knew anything, he knew that those were nothing of what he was feeling. He prayed that those two were nothing of what he was feeling.
"Just take me to my office."
"God, Hamilton, no."
"Why the hell not?"
"You're fucked up! You need rest and shit! You just got out o the fuckin' hospital, for Christ's sake!"
"Why the hell do /you/ care?"
"I don't, I just don't want you fucking dying. I would be the first person they look for."
"Just take me to work."
"I'm taking you home."
"Jefferson, fucking-"
"No."
"You're just-"
"Nope."
The next two parts, they had yelled in unison - "I fucking hate you!" - "I'm doing my best to help you!"

The mixed yelling sparked a sense of confusion for the both at the moment, before figuring out what the other had said, and having the expression fall to a bitter silence. Alexander, frustrated and swallowing down a lump in his throat that always came from when he was mad, and Jefferson, irritated and gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. It was quite the contrast, what they had managed to say at the same time. Not two sentences you would usually find together. Alexander huddled closer to the door of the vehicle, hugging his knees close to himself and resting his chin on top of them, his eyes being squeezed shut. He fell asleep shortly after, neither of the men being bothered to keep up a conversation.

When Jefferson had pulled into the parking lot of where he lived, and glanced over at a still sleeping Hamilton, he sighed, biting back a small smile, before getting out, rounding over to his side. He gingerly picked the smaller male up, careful not to wake him, before shutting the car door shut with his foot, finding his way inside. When he had, he made his way to his bedroom, tucking Alexander in and shutting the lights off, closing the door behind him and making his way downstairs, deciding to sleep on the couch.

He didn't lie, with what he had said. He's doing his best to help the immigrant.