Jamilton Oneshots // Hamilton ✔️

Doctor [JAMILTON]

this isn't angst, slow your roll

I'm gonna die. I can feel it. The heart cancer has finally become too bad for my small body, my breathing is becoming harder. I'm going to die. I can't be treated. James reinforces my beliefs more as he stares at me with more sadness than ever. It makes me wonder.

And when I wonder, I have to ask. I tackle the stare.

"Am I going to die?" I ask James one day. I'm in the hospital bed. James gave me his jacket and it's covering my arms, which helps me feel less cold.

"Maybe." He mutters as an answer, playing with my blanket as he speaks.

"Is Peter ever going to visit?" I'm referring to my half-brother. He still lives in St. Croix, where he was born. I never really knew him, but it would be nice if he visited.

"I highly doubt it." James responds, laughing tiredly. I make him very tired. It's my fault too. I'm very bored when Thomas isn't around, and Thomas doesn't exactly have all day for me.

"Sorry," I say to James, "Sorry I'm putting you through all this. I'm so sorry. We're... orphans. And I'm leaving you alone and I'm so sorry." My voice cracks and I let a few tears fall down my face.

"Hey!" James immediately answers, "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. At least we're together."

I'm about to answer before my doctor pops his head into my room.

"Tommy!" I scream, scaring James, who didn't realize he was there.

However, once he does, James gets up and walks away, "I'll leave you two alone." He winks at me one last time before leaving us... alone.

"Get over here!" I say aggressively, opening my arms for Thomas. He laughs a bit, hugging me and pecking my lips.

"How are you feeling, sweatheart?"

My heart flutters even at the gentle nickname.

"I feel like I'm dying," I say truthfully, "Am I?"

"No," He answers, "You're getting better, actually."

"Oh." I look at my hands.

He checks my pulse on one hand, taking it softly and rubbing over the skin as he listens to my heartbeat. With his other hand, he brushes it through my hair. He doesn't stop until everything has gotten checked and my hair is clean of knots. That's when he stands up and begins to leave.

I whine.

"Alex." Thomas mutters strictly.

"Can you stay?" I ask, "Please?"

"I have other patients..."

"But I'm dying!"

"No, you're not." He sighs. Exasperated. As usual.

"Yes, I am!" I exclaim, "Maybe not physically, but mentally! I get headaches and no one cares about me and I want to die!" I'm yelling now. Well, at least one person knows my true feelings.

"Alex, give me your wrist."

"Huh?" Why does he want my- oh, "Tommy, I wouldn't cut. You know that. Even if I do mentally feel like shit, I wouldn't  do that."

"Sweetheart, give me your wrist."

I hand it to him. It's the wrist it doesn't check the pulse of. I watch him roll up the sleeves and I watch him sigh as he looks back up at me.

"Sorry, Alex. Just wanted to... make sure."

"It's okay. I love you."

"I love you too, Lex."