Poison

Chapter Ten

Hamilton's fingers tapped against the desk as he stared at the packet of paper in front of him. He leaned his head into his hand and tore at his hair slightly, trying to remember everything he was taught in class. He poured over different government types, the pros and cons of each, the liberties the people would have, the amount of control the government had, and so on. Personally, he preferred a stronger central government that tied the independent states together as a union. In his eyes, too much power to the people would cause nothing but bickering and anarchy.

Hamilton groaned and laid his head down on the desk, where his forehead touched the artificial wood. He glanced at his clock. It was currently four in the morning. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. He could fall asleep here. The chair seemed comfy enough and the desk would make a decent pillow. He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, causing him to look up. Jefferson stared past Hamilton and at the work on his desk.

"Can't sleep?" Jefferson asked, his voice still groggy from waking up. Hamilton simply nodded, staring at the work ahead of him. Jefferson leaned down where his elbows rested on the desk. "Want me to make you some tea?"

"No, I have to get this work done," Hamilton mumbled, scratching behind his ear.

"At the rate you're working, you'll never finish by morning," Jefferson remarked, rolling his eyes. "Just take a break, you'll feel better."

Hamilton spun around to face Jefferson as the taller man stood. "What exactly are you implying?" Hamilton asked. He couldn't help the malice that seeped into his voice.

"I'm implying that you're tired, overworked, and stressed. Just come to bed and we can finish it in the morning."

Hamilton stood, ready to start throwing insults, but he immediately looked down at his pants. "Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"What?" Jefferson asked, clearly confused. "What's wrong?"

"My water broke," Hamilton whispered, looking up at Jefferson, his eyes full of panic.

"Shit," Jefferson mumbled, immediately jumping into action. "Isn't it a bit early?" he asked, guiding Hamilton out of the dorm and into the long hallway.

"Does it matter?" Hamilton asked. They quickly got out of the building and Jefferson helped Hamilton into his car. Each step Hamilton took seemed to get slower and more painful, which concerned Jefferson. Quickly, Jefferson sped off to the hospital, shooting Eliza a text that told her to meet them there. Hamilton's breathing seemed labored and harsh throughout the drive. He grit his teeth, trying to fight through the pain.

When they arrived, which only took ten minutes, Jefferson carefully picked up Hamilton, explained to a nurse in the hospital what was going on. The nurse grabbed a wheel chair and Jefferson sat Hamilton down in it, following the nurse as she guided Hamilton into a room. By now, Hamilton was screaming with pain. The nurses left Jefferson outside while they situated Hamilton in the room. Jefferson could practically feel Hamilton's pain with each scream. He paced endlessly in front of the room, anxiously glancing at the door every now and then for a nurse to allow him in.

"Jefferson!" His head snapped up as Eliza wrapped her arms around him. "How is he?"

"In pain," Jefferson muttered, glancing at the door. He looked back at Eliza. "This baby is coming out now."

"Isn't it a tad early?" Eliza asked. "Actually, it's really early. He's, what, eight months along?"

Jefferson nodded, his head snapping to the door when he heard it open. The nurse looked at Jefferson and motioned him in. Eliza followed closely behind Jefferson. Hamilton was laying on the bed, seemingly in pain, but significantly less pain than when he first got to the hospital.

"Alex," Jefferson breathed. He strode across the room to Hamilton's bedside. "How do you feel? Are you okay? Do you need me to get anything?"

"I'm fine, Thomas," Hamilton smiled. "They think I'm going to go into labor within a few hours." Despite how calm Hamilton sounded, he looked terrified. "It's way too early. What if something is wrong?"

Jefferson talked with Hamilton for a while, trying to soothe him some. Eliza helped, putting in her medical opinion where she found it most helpful. They all knew there was a chance something would be wrong with the baby because of how premature it is, but none of them voiced it for the sake of Hamilton.

After about three hours of talking, Hamilton felt contractions in his stomach. He yelled out, the pain surprising him. Eliza immediately took action, ordering a nurse outside to help him since she technically wasn't allowed to because she didn't have the proper gear. Hamilton took Jefferson's hand, squeezing tightly as pain shot through him. Eliza ran out of the room to find the doctor.  The next few moments were a flash of nurses yelling, the heart monitor hooked up to Hamilton beeping like crazy, and Hamilton screaming in pain. Jefferson encouraged Hamilton, telling him he was doing a good job and that he was right there.

After two hours, Hamilton's grip started slackening. He heard the nurse telling Hamilton to push harder, but the only thing Hamilton could manage was deep, heavy breaths and the occasional scream as he weakly pushed with all his might. The heart monitor began slowing quickly, as nurses began yelling orders and two doctors came in, taking over for the nurse. Jefferson's concern grew as a nurse pulled Jefferson into the hallway, almost forcefully, while Jefferson tried to stay with Hamilton. Hamilton's head rolled to the side, facing away from Jefferson, and the monitor slowed drastically, almost to a full stop.

"What the hell is going on?" Jefferson asked when the nurse forced him out of the room. More nurses and doctors ran past them into the room to help Hamilton.

"Sir, you're going to have to remain calm," the nurse tried, fidgeting with his hands. "The doctors need space to work." That was all he said before he went back inside and closed the door.