Hamilton One shots and Stuffs

Alexander x Reader

Ya know, this was going to be happy. Now it might just be sad, creepy, and just weird.

Alexander Hamilton. The best Lawyer on the East Coast, with his business being in New York. He was an immigrant, maybe an orphan even, but that's all that was really known about the man.

But I just knew him as Alex. Sometimes I would call him dear, and he would respond with a cute name of his own.

Alex and I had a few kids, that was known to the public, two dogs, also public, and a cat, not known to the public. We lived in a two story house, not know to the public, and had a large backyard, not known to the public.

Alex liked keeping his personal life very personal, and I couldn't blame him. But I do wish he would spend more time in his personal life.

Everything was about work for him, whether it was making sure he was the best, to making sure his rivals were still second best to him.

It was often hard explaining to our nine year old son, Phillip, why his dad never came to his poem readings. Or to our daughter why her father never was there for her art shows. Our youngest child didn't even understand that Alex was her father, he was just a man who came over every so often.

But he did come home. It was never for long, maybe just a weekend or a few days more. It was enough to keep me somewhat happy. I just miss him so much when he isn't home.

When he is, we have a nice family dinner and maybe even watch a movie. Everyone is just glad he isn't working on some big case.

And I'm just glad I can lay my head on his chest as we sleep and know he is here with me. That he won't leave me in the middle of the night.

°•°

Things changed when I became pregnant with our fourth child.

As soon as I found out, I called him. He picked up, luckily, and said he would come home that weekend and spend the whole week at the house.

It was Thursday when I told him, so he would be home within 24 hours. I was overjoyed to see him again.

Friday night came and Alex still wasn't home. Dinner was made, with the help of Phillip who really made more mess than actually helped me, and the girls were both bathed and in nice clothes.

We ate alone.

It wasn't until the girls were asleep and Phillip had curled up in my lap that I got the call.

°•°

He stayed in the coma for over 11 months. It was only a few days short of being a full year.

Alexander Junior was born in that time. He was a healthy little baby boy, born at 7 pounds exactly. His father was starting to look like he weighed 7 pounds too. There's only so much a feeding tube and an IV can do to keep you alive.

We were thinking of pulling the plug on him. I couldn't bare the thought, I broke down crying whenever a friend or family member brought it up, and God forbid a doctor ask me. The whole hospital would probably hear my cries.

But then he woke up. Just like any normal person would wake from their mid day nap. He showed no signs of even remembering why he was in this white room, smelling of bleach, and laying on hard blankets.

The doctors told me that his mind wouldn't let him remember that he was in a coma, it was just like one day he went to sleep, and the next he woke up.

He was fine and basically already ready to go home.

And a few weeks later we did go home. We had a nice dinner, the girls had their best dresses on, Jr. wore a cute little onesie, and we were a good family again.

That first night we where home was amazing. But as the weeks went on, Alex seemed a bit, how to put it? Off? Strange? Weird?

Different.

He was... Alex. He was someone who looked just like Alex, and almost acted just like Alex, but he wasn't Alex.

And after his first trip back to work, I almost felt relieved the was gone. But the night he was going to come hope, he didn't.

I went to bed early, the house was already quiet by 9pm. I fell asleep.

A few hours later, I got a call.

He was in a car accident, this one worse than the first.

°•°

Two years of him sleeping in a hospital bed. Then he woke up. Then a few weeks would pass and he would go back to work. Then I would get a call.

Then 4 years of sleeping and then the call.

Then 8 years, and call.

Then 16. Then a call.

Then 34.

°•°

I was over 90 years old when I was laying in my own hospital bed. The kids were around me, their own children, one of which had a few kids of their own.

They said calm things to me as tear drops rolled off their cheeks. And I closed my eyes to never open them again. Inky darkness came over me and all was at peace in my mind.

Until I hear the damn phone ringing. I reached over to answer it and ready to give the person on the other end a stern talking to. It was nearly 3am for God's sake.

But then the calm voice told me the news, and I was up in a flash. I had to see him, he was hurt and I needed to get to him before it was too late.

I packed up the kids and had them in the car in minutes. We sped to the ER and made it in time to see Alex one last time.

The kids sat in the hall, a nurse watching over them while I cried.

Alex past away with a hand on my small baby bump. His face, while having cuts and scrapes all over it, still looked young and peaceful.

His expression reminded me of the face our baby boy Alex had when I would bring him home a few months later.