Hamilton Oneshots

Tomorrow There'll be More of Us -Lams

Alexander thought he had stopped living. His hands where shaking violently and he took a steadying breath— though it was futile.
"Alexander, are you alright?" Eliza's voice cut through the chaos, a calm sound that fought a losing battle against the chaotic hurricane in his mind.
"I have so much work to do."
He lurched off the seat, stumbling outside to the garden.
John was dead.
Fury and grief wound around his heart like a crushing fist and once more he found himself fighting back tears.

John was dead. Valiant, unrelenting John who had always known what to do and what to say. Who had dreamed of freeing slaves for so long.
Alex choked back a sob, covering his mouth with his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, yet a rebellious tear slid down his cheek.
The air was so cold. He must be freezing to be shivering like he was.
But as he opened his eyes, the sunset was bright and warm.
He had begged Washington to let him go with John. If he had just listened- if he had just let him go-

John shouldn't have died. Not like that. John should have lived to see a new world, a reconstructed one with his aspirations coming to light.
Instead, his Laurens was in a coffin, in a grave marked 'John Laurens'. Perhaps, in another reality, it would have been 'John Hamilton'. Would that make it hurt less or more?

It didn't do to dwell on such ludicrous ideas. Wishing would only wound Alexander's heart further.

He inhaled sharply, turning back to walk into the house. He was vaguely aware of Eliza opening her mouth to speak to him but he brushed past her, heading to his study. The desk was littered with papers, but it didn't take much time for him to find the one he had been planning to send.
A deep breath.
Don't focus on the pain.
Alexander held the letter just near enough the candle to catch onto the flame.
The paper curled and darkened as it burned. Alexander stared at it emptily.
What did a flame and a life have in common?
Both could flicker out, leaving only darkness.