Dear, Hamilton

Farmer Refuted

ELIZA'S POV

Before I've even fully awoken, I'm aware of someone laying beside me. I can hear the soft sound of their breathing, and their body heat is seeping into me from where their side is pressed against mine.

When I finally open my eyes, I indeed find Hamilton sprawled beside me on the bed. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is slow and even as he sleeps. He lays close to me as if to provide me comfort, but it seems that even in his sleep, he's careful to not be too overbearing.

Physically, I feel a little better-- as if I could perhaps get out of this bed and change out of these clothes. Careful to not disturb Hamilton sleeping beside me, I tentatively move the covers slightly back and swing a leg out of the bed.

When my foot touches the wooden floorboards, it's freezing cold. I cringe in discomfort at the cold floor as I swing my other leg out of the bed. With slow, careful movements, I stand up. When I'm standing on my feet, my head is a little dizzy and I feel slightly faint. I shove past my lightheadedness, or at least I try to as I pad over to my closet and peer at the dresses hanging there.

I pick out a soft pink dress and quietly remove it from my closet. I look behind me to check that Hamilton is still asleep, and he is. So, I quickly sashay out of my old dress and slip on the new one. My blood pounds in my ears and my heart races the entire time I'm changing clothes, and it's only when the dress is over my head and down to my feet that I allow a breath of relief.

I was nervous Hamilton would awake while I was changing. 

I walk over to the vanity next, a little more unsteadily because my dizziness is getting gradually worse. I cringe at the state of my hair as I run a brush through the thick, tangled strands. I make a face in the mirror, and I hear a rumble of laughter behind me.

My heart leaps into my throat as I whip around and spot Hamilton laying there on the bed with his eyes open and arms behind his head. A faint, amused smile plays upon his lips. 

"You look beautiful," he says as he regards me with a spark in his fiery, blue eyes.

I blush as I run a haphazard hand through my hair in an attempt to smooth it out. "Don't joke, I look hideous."

Hamilton swings a leg over the side of the bed as he sits up. "I'm not joking," he tells me seriously.

I roll my eyes playfully as I reply, "Well, some would suggest otherwise." I make it three steps closer to the bed towards Hamilton before a wave of dizziness hits me with such ferocity that I sway a little on my feet.

Hamilton is instantly beside me, one hand on my arm, the other around my waist in an effort to steady me. "Maybe you should get back in bed," he suggests worriedly.

I'm too dizzy to bother protesting as he gently leads me back over to that wretched bed. I'm so sick of being bedridden. I lay down slowly till my head is on the pillow, and Hamilton gazes down at me with a mix of concern and tenderness as he perches on the bed beside me.

"The doctor should be here tomorrow," he tells me, and dread curdles in my stomach.

"The doctor? They sent for a doctor?" I whisper with horror, and he frowns at my response.

"They were worried about you," Hamilton retorts defensively, frown deepening. "Besides, you're sick."

"I'm feeling better. I don't need the doctor," I tell him matter-of-factly with a raised brow.

He crosses his arms and levels a look at me, and I think, oh-no, now I've done it. Here comes the argument, an argument that he's going to win, obviously. He quirks a brow as he replies haughtily, "Oh really? Because I just saw you almost collapse after standing for only three minutes."