Hamilton Trash 3: Triple the Hamilton

A one-shot, idk

He didn't want to travel. No, he never intended to, and with the rising politics he couldn't leave for Albany.
They tried to persuade him, but that was his talent - he couldn't be persuaded. Even if he were to be arguing with a political rival, he couldn't be persuaded.
His children implored him also, but as stubborn and prideful he was, he couldn't and wouldn't.
So as Eliza and Angelica added this pressure on him, as they followed and pleaded, he only mumbled, "I cannot join you in Albany."
That was the signal of the difficulty at an end; Hamilton had one the argument with the littlest of words.

As they said their goodbyes, Hamilton immediately went to his writing desk. His writing desk, where he had written his most memorable works.
This place was the only place where he felt safe, secure.
He wrote and wrote and wrote.
As he wrote he felt an overwhelming feeling. It had only been five minutes. He had only been writing five minutes.
The feeling came over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in its petty furtiveness.
His quill fell from his hand, and as it fell he lost focus. He couldn't see straight. Everything was blurry.
The quill was on the floor, useless.
He chuckled at this. No, he wasn't feeling right. He felt overwhelmed, perplexed.
He found his quill, thankfully, and began to write once again.
But - but, the feeling came back. He looked up at the window, and realized it was dark, becoming dark.
The moon had waxed, it was bigger than it was the last time he had seen it, which was before they left.
This was odd. It couldn't be about six days. He had been only writing five minutes.
He attempted to lift the quill up. He couldn't. He was too weak, and needed rest. But that petty feeling couldn't stop him. It wouldn't.
He hadn't slept in six days.
He stood up to help bring himself back from obscurity. The desk cluttered, for he had blindly bumped into it.
The migraine in his head was deadly. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe.
He longed to be with Angelica, and missed Eliza also. If only he listened to them...

His thoughts scattered as he heard a knock at the door.
His vision blurred as he neared the door, his limp body fumbling into every object in his way.
He didn't want any visitors, he only wanted his family.
He opened the door. As he turned the knob, he assumed it was Washington, Burr, or maybe even Jefferson.
He was wrong.
Standing before him was a petite woman. His face was transfixed on her expression, which read fear.
She was a mess.
Hamilton wished to close back the door.
Her name was Maria Reynolds, and she hesitated at the door. She said, "I-I know you're a gentlemen of honor, and I apologize for stepping in like this," she explained, her voice soft and innocent. "But I'm afraid I don't know where to go. I-I came here alone."
She said, "My husband is abusing me, and he left me here. I don't have the means to go on... please help me..."
Hamilton was hesitant.
He didn't want to travel. But, as a public figure, he would be perceived well. He cleared his throat,
"Of course."

He gave her money, so she could help herself. He felt pity for the girl, she had only been in her twenties. He offered to take her home safely. She smiled as she heard this and spoke, "Thank you sir, you're too kind."
They neared her house, and Hamilton realized she only lived a block away.
She pointed to her house and said, "This house is mine, sir."
They both entered the house, and as Hamilton looked back, he realized it had just rained. The sky was dark only because of the clouds. He chuckled.
Hamilton was nearing the door as he said, "I should head back. Take care."
He was only turning the knob when she led him upstairs to her bed.
The innocence in her was now gone and a grin crept up her face as she whispered one word:
"Stay?"

Idek