The Press (Whamilton)

Ch. 27

Ever since George Washington became president, Alexander Hamilton has felt his presence spread throughout his body like a virus. He polluted his thoughts like stars pollute the sky, was obvious throughout his day at work like a sunrise is obvious at six in the morning. Something you can't have more than once.

It was around six when Alex finally pulled himself away from his computer. He looked out the window at the sun setting on Washington DC. Alex stood up from his desk, shut his computer off, and searched for his keys. Somehow, by sitting around in an office chair all day, his legs were sore as if he ran a marathon.

"Is Betsy still here?" He mumbled to himself as he spun his car keys around his finger. Hamilton stepped out of his office and went down the hall to where her office was. As he passed Thomas' office he thought he heard two voices speaking in a hushed whisper, but he decided it would be better to let it go. Alex couldn't do any more meddling for awhile. It was starting to get to his head, and he was sure that if he kept meddling and lying then he was going to have a stroke.

Eliza's office was dark, the door locked and light shut off. Alex frowned. "Right, she left early." He mumbled, "Well I could see G-" Alex cut himself off and stomped his foot, quickly marching to the exit. "I don't need to see him." He snapped at himself, stepping outside to the cold windy air of Washington. "He doesn't want to see me either anyway." Alex huffed, marching to his car and tossing his stuff in the back seat. He tried to star the car. The engine sputtered in protest like a dying animal, but she started up nonetheless. Alexander smiled and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Betsy has me all paranoid about me crashing." He muttered, "Can you believe that?" Who am I talking to? He wondered in the back of his head, Did I ever have somebody to talk to before George? Alexander tried to remember if he ever had anybody before Washington, but no specific names came to mind. Not Betsy, not Thomas, not Hercules. Who did he hang out with before all of that?

"I can't go back out there," He sobbed in Alexander's arms, "I can't do it! I'm not cut out for this!"

"Yes you can," Alexander insisted, "I'm here. I'm always here, J-"

Hamilton's breath hitched as he swerved the car out of the way of the left lane and pulled over with a screech of his tires. He finally let himself breathe once he realized that the car was safe and sound. Alex stared at the road. He suddenly scrambled to open the glove box and to find his spare cigarettes. Once he got the glove box open he noticed something... odd.

A single green ribbon, pushed aside to the corner of the glove box, and a pair of dog tags next to it. Alex remembered war, he remembered serving for a long time, but he knew that his dog tags were hanging on his grandfather clock in the study. So where did these come from? Why are my hands shaking?

Alex picked up the dog tags and looked at them. All the normal stuff was on there. Name, social security number, blood type, religious preference. Catholic, B blood, social security number, and-

"John..." Alex mumbled to himself, the name almost echoing in his head. He couldn't remember a john for a moment.

And then he did.

His eyes snapped up to the road, his eyes went wide with fear, and Alex quickly slammed on the gas and got back on the road. "John." He said again, as if scolding himself, "YOU FUCKIN-" Alex screamed and checked the clock. "I'm coming home, John, I-I still remember you of course I didn't forget you I would- I wouldn't forget you ever- This isn't happening!" Alex felt like his car couldn't go fast enough.

Alex barely stopped the car before getting out of it and running inside his house. "John!" He shouted with a desperate sob, "John I'm here! I-I'm home!" When he received no answer he ran to his room. "John?!" He called, opening the door and looking inside. Alex moved the covers of the bed and the pillows. "JOHN!" He sobbed, "I'M HOME PLEASE COME OUT!"

Hamilton continued to search every room of the house, his eyes blurry with hot, salty tears and his hands shaking. His knees wobbled as he stood in the middle of his living room, staring at the mess he made trying to "find" John Laurens. Alex looked at the dog tags, still being held firmly in his clenched fist. He screamed in anger and threw them across the room, breaking down in sobs once more. Falling to his knees, Alex whimpered, "John c-come back!" He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his work jacket.

"Come back home." Hamilton whispered as his tears gathered at his chin and dripped onto the ground, "Please just come back home, John."