Dear, Hamilton

Blow Us All Away

When I wake late the next morning, Hamilton is still sound asleep beside me. As I study his face, I notice there's a smatter of freckles on his cheeks and nose as if he'd spent a lot of time in the sun during the march to Yorktown and at Yorktown.

A flare of concern shoots through me as I notice the late time. It's unusual for him to be sleeping this late. Usually, he's up and about, eagerly ready to start the day. Usually, I wake up because I hear him waking up.

But not this morning. He's sound asleep, and it's eleven in the morning.

Resolve settling within me, I untangle myself from the sheets and quickly dress before setting out into town. I find Philadelphia's supposedly "best doctor" easily enough, meaning it takes me twenty minutes to blindly walk around Philadelphia in search of his office.

When I catch sight of the sign outside a small building in downtown, I hurry inside. A bell attached to the door rings as I step inside, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath my feet. A moment later, a middle-aged man appears behind the front counter.

"Hello miss. How can I help you?" he asks, pushing his glasses up with a finger.

I smile, trying to hide my anxiety, and approach the counter. Settling my hands on the counter, I answer, "My husband. He has just gotten back from Yorktown. I'm afraid he's ill."

I quickly describe what occurred the night before, and soon enough the doctor is following me back to the house to examine Hamilton.

When we step into the house, I show the doctor towards a chair as I tell him, "I'll just check on my husband and make sure he's awake so he's ready to see you."

With that, I hurry into our bedroom and peek inside, only to find Hamilton sitting up in bed, tugging his boots on with much difficulty. 

"You're awake," I say with no small amount of surprise from the door, and he looks up sharply, clearly startled by my presence.

He attempts at a smile, but it falls flat. I can still see the exhaustion lining his face.

"I didn't think I would sleep this long," he admits with an embarrassed laugh. His voice turns sheepish as he adds, "I don't even remember getting to the bed." 

I raise a brow at him and stride closer to the bed. "You need to rest," I tell him, putting my hands on his shoulders and gently pushing him back down. "You shouldn't be up. You do remember passing out last night, right?"

"To be honest, last night was a blur."

I roll my eyes playfully and say, "Then all the more reason to stay in bed."

He shakes his head as he counters, "I need to see Washington. I'm fine enough." At my disbelieving look, he adds earnestly, "Truly." 

"Huh-uh okay. Let's see how you do," I deadpan, stepping away to allow him space to get up.

He casts me a grateful look, utterly oblivious to my trap. He finishes tugging his boots on before he gets out of bed. He stands before me, staring down at me, and I almost back up a step. I stand my ground, though, and peer up at him, waiting for the inevitable.

He smiles softly and prompts, "I'm fine, see?"

I merely cock a brow, and I notice his hand shoot towards the bedside table out of the corner of my eye to brace himself. I give a pointed look towards his hand, and he winces slightly. Suddenly, a knock sounds from the door, and we both jump in surprise. 

Well, I jump.

Hamilton, being the extra person he is, takes a step back, unsteadying himself, and nearly topples over. I let out a shout and quickly grab his arm to keep him upright, at the same time the doctor finally enters, having heard my shout and wanting to investigate.