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Dec 25, 2015

There’s Nowhere He Can Go

Gift fic for @magicdemoncat for @herculesmulligon‘s Secret Santa Exchange! I hope this is okay, and it at least somewhat fits the prompt! Sorry this got a bit long, the characters got out of hand. Fic posted on AO3 and under the cut.

It's been three days since the funeral.

Eliza has barely seen Alexander, much less witnessed him eating or drinking. If anything, the move made it worse - she had to settle in six children, and there wasn't time to do anything but hope that Alexander wouldn't be too idiotic if left unsupervised. As far as Eliza can tell, he's been holed up in his room for the most part. She's almost certain that he hasn't been working like he says he is, but she'd opted to leave him and let him sort it out; she'd still been dealing with her own grief, and the grief of all her (remaining) children besides.

But now - well, it's been three days. If Alexander doesn't come out she'll just have to make him. She leans against the wall beside the door, feeling sad and a little foolish, and knocks.

"Alexander." A few beats' pause. "Alexander, come out to eat. Please." She doesn't knock again; she knows he's not asleep.

A full five minutes later she hears his response. It's quiet, like he's half-hoping she's given up and gone away. "I'm not hungry."

Eliza sighs. She grew up with a headstrong sister, and she's been married to him for a long time. He should really know by now she won't just leave. "If you don't come out I'm going in." She's given him his space and his time. "Alexander, you need to eat."

"... give me a minute."

It takes him fifteen, and by the time his door slides open Angelica's here and tugging at her mother's sleeve. Eliza absently notices that the piano music that had been drifting up the stairs has stopped, and she's faintly relieved because it brings up too many memories. Even the good ones hurt - it's only been three days, and that's not enough.

She doesn't get much time to stay relieved. The first thing is that she sees how terrible Alexander looks, and it makes her wonder what he's been doing all this time. The second thing is that Angelica gives a final, insistent tug and opens her mouth to say: "Mom, Philip's not letting me have a turn on the piano."

Alexander grimaces a little when he hears his son's name, but he doesn't otherwise seem to be listening. Eliza doesn't know what to say. She bites her lip and looks Angelica in the eye.

"Sweetheart, do you remember what happened a few days ago? Philip's - he's not here anymore."

Angelica crosses her arms and juts her chin out. "Sure he is. Now go tell him that he's been playing for long enough, and it's my turn now."

Alexander wanders down the stairs and out of sight. Eliza can only watch him go.

Hamilton remembers going on walks with his son. He never had time, but when he could spare a little he remembers it was nice. Just the two of them, and Hamilton could talk and talk - about his current case, about past and future clients, about what laws he thinks are stupid - and Philip wouldn't nod and stare blankly, nor would he try and argue his every word. He'd listen.

And sometimes Philip would point out a particular leaf or the colour of the sky contrasted against a cloud-shadow, or how that lady in a rush still stopped to help a young man pick up his dropped books.

"I am a poet," he'd say, and he'd show Hamilton the world through his eyes.

"Oh, Alexander," Eliza says when he comes back. "Did you go out without a coat? And why are you holding a leaf?"

Hamilton leaves it on the countertop and goes back to his room.

"Dad, come downstairs to work for once. I promise I won't bother you! Here, I found an arrangement that's supposed to boost concentration. Can I play it for you?"

Of course, he'd always change it around. Hamilton found he didn't mind a little distraction, some of the time. He still didn't spend a lot of time downstairs, though, because most of the time he had deadlines to meet and people to prove wrong. Eliza swept by and he stopped her.

"Our kid is pretty great."

She smiled back and said, "Of course."

There's the music again. Hamilton's had a few glasses of water and his head is a little clearer now, and he can see that Eliza's stressed by the piano-playing too.

"Have you asked her to stop?" he says, tired, over a third glass of water.

"She -" Eliza sighs. "She keeps insisting it's Philip playing, and I don't have the strength to argue anymore."

Back at the old house, there were always papers strewn about, left under cups of tea and tucked between the coats on their hangers. They'd fall out of pockets when Eliza did the laundry, and sometimes one of the younger kids would knock over a stack that was sitting on the stool by the door as they rushed past.

Most of them were Hamilton's, either bits of an essay or notes for a case. Some were Philip's attempts to write down the little alterations he made to his music - or, more often, they were his poems.

It's part of the reason they moved, so they could put everything in boxes and just not take Philip's things back out again, but Hamilton finds himself missing all the little scraps of paper flitting around every time he opened a closet.

The fourth day after the funeral, he emerges briefly from his room to get a drink, so Eliza would stop bothering him about it, and he notices something.

"Angelica," he calls as his daughter goes by. "Did you move my pen?" He knows Eliza's done with all her correspondence - she's taking a break from social matters until Angelica (the sister, not daughter) comes to visit.

"No," comes the answer from over her shoulder. "Maybe ask Philip?

It would have been a very reasonable suggestion less than a week ago. Hamilton drops the subject. A flicker of movement in his peripheral catches his attention. It's not paper like he'd assumed (or half-hoped) - it's the leaf he'd brought back yesterday, skittering across the floor.

He stands up to follow it. He could have sworn he'd seen a word or something scrawled onto the underside, between the veins, in the same colour ink as his missing pen. He loses sight of it, though, and even though he checks every corner and every place it could have caught, he doesn't see it again.

The thing is, none of the windows or doors are open. There's no breeze inside the house.

Aaron Burr wakes up to a pounding at his door. He's had a very long day, and he wants to try and ignore it but the responsible side of him decides that it might be urgent and forces him out of bed. He rubs his eye with the heel of one hand and opens the door with the other.

"Alexander?"

"Burr." Hamilton looks a mess, bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his hair sticking out in more directions than Hamilton has opinions. His lips are dry and chapped, and he looks like he hasn’t eaten anything decent in days. He manages still to pack all his usual intensity into the one syllable that’s Aaron’s name, dammit, who gives Hamilton the right to always use it better than Burr himself does?

“It’s...” He slips out his phone to check. “It’s two in the morning, Alexander, what do you want?”

“Eliza’s asleep,” he answers, like that’s at all related to the problem. “The children are asleep. I’m not asleep.”

“Well I can see that,” Burr comments dryly.

“Philip’s not asleep either,” he goes on, desperately, and at this point Burr frowns and considers closing the door or inviting him in.

“Alexander, you should go home.” Burr lifts his hand to touch Hamilton’s arm, but changes course to rub the bridge of his own nose instead.

“Everyone’s asleep but the piano won’t stop going.”

“Look, I have no idea what you’re going on about. Can’t you wait until morning and call me like a reasonable person?” Burr tries to refrain from sighing, because even if Hamilton’s being difficult he still ought to be somewhat sensitive, given what happened. “Why are you even here?”

“There’s nowhere else I can go.”

“Now, I’m certain that’s not true. Go bother Laurens. Or Lafayette, or, I don’t know, Mulligan.” Burr doesn’t want to chase him off like this, but he’s too tired to handle this situation with the delicacy he’d like to. “You really should go back to bed, Alexander. You look terrible.”

“I don’t want to,” he goes, sounding like a child. “I’m bothering you?”

“Well, yes,” Burr answers. “I was asleep.”

“Sorry,” Hamilton says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it. If he had Burr would’ve been even more worried, to be honest. “I should... I should work.”

“No,” Burr tells him firmly. “No, you should sleep. Or eat. Or drink some water.”

“Can I come in?”

He looks pathetic, and Burr actually does want to let him in. But, well. His wife would be worried, and Burr’s still half-asleep and in no mood to cater to a guest, and Hamilton shouldn’t be his responsibility anyway. He reaches out and lays a hand on Hamilton’s elbow.

“You should go.” He says it as kindly as possible, but he closes the door before Hamilton can answer.

Burr’s in the middle of breakfast the next morning when he hears more knocking. It’s much more polite than Hamilton’s ceaseless thumping, so he puts down his fork and gets up to answer it.

“Does nobody use their phone these days?” he mutters to himself. On the other side stands Eliza. Burr blinks. “Hello.”

“Have you seen Alexander?” She looks like she woke up much earlier than anyone should have to, and her hands fidget and clutch at the material of her dress.

Burr frowns. “No, not today. Why?” He starts putting together the pieces in his mind. “He’s not out for a walk or anything?”

“He wasn’t there when I woke up at four in the morning to get a glass of water.” Her lips are pressed together. “I thought he went out to get some air or something, so I didn’t think much of it, but... You know how he’s been recently. He never went back to bed.”

Hamilton’s not Burr’s responsibility, he reminds himself. “I saw him last night around two,” he tells her. “He seemed... upset.” Not his responsibility. “I’ll help you look.”

“Thank you.” She tries smiling, but she looks too stressed for it to have much effect. “Angelica’s watching the children - she just got here today - but I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I was just by myself.”

“Where have you already looked?” He’s pulling on his coat and shoes, and absently reprimands himself for not inviting poor Eliza in. The Theodosias are away visiting family, but they’d definitely be disappointed in him for forgetting common courtesy.

“Just our own house. You’re the first person I went to.”

Burr’s about to go “why?” but he supposes she has a point. For whatever reason - proximity? Not wanting sympathy from his friends? - Hamilton picked his house to visit before he vanished off to who-knows-where.

“Okay, then. Let’s go.”

They pick up Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan before they return to the Hamiltons’.

“Still no leads?” Angelica (the elder) asks. Eliza shakes her head. One of the little ones bumps into Laurens’ knee, and he squats down to talk to her, comforting and asking for any information she might have.

Mulligan goes right back out again. He’s the best at gathering information, and so he’ll go out and ask around, see if anyone’s seen Hamilton wandering the streets. Laurens follows, planning to go to the places he and Hamilton frequented the most.

“Burr,” Lafayette says in greeting. “You were the last person he talked to?”

“Yes.” Burr’s not sure where this is going - none of Hamilton’s friends ever really liked him. He’s not sure he considers Hamilton a friend himself. Why is he even here?

“Did he say anything? Any hints as to where he might have planned to go?”

“I don’t think he was in the right state of mind to plan anything,” Burr responds, but immediately knows that he’s wrong. Hamilton can scheme up a plot in his sleep. “He said...” Burr tries to remember, but it was the middle of the night. “He said everyone was asleep. And something about his son. And a piano?”

At this Eliza shoots a glance at the younger Angelica, looking like she means to be scolding but coming off more as hopeless.

“I wasn’t playing,” Angelica goes before her mother can say anything. “Philip might have been, though.”

“Ignore her,” Eliza goes, almost pleading. Burr nods, sympathetic, and turns back to Lafayette.

“He wanted to come in, but it was the middle of the night. I told him to go home.”

“Clearly he didn’t,” Lafayette remarks. “Well, I’m off. Laurens and Mulligan have most of it covered, but the more people out there looking the better.”

“Wait, before you go -” It just occurred to Burr why no one called him. “Here’s my number, let me know if anything comes up.”

“I will. Good luck.”

It’s the first time in his life Hamilton doesn’t know what he wants. To get away from the house and all the remnants of Philip? To find something - forgiveness, escape, death?

They’re going to worry. They are worrying, actually, because he’s received twelve calls from Eliza, ten from Angelica, and five each from Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan. A lot of texts he hasn’t checked. He turns his phone on silent.

He came out here to find the quiet, possibly, but now it’s too quiet for him. He should have known - he never liked the quiet before. His thoughts crowd him, and there’s nowhere for them to go because he didn’t bring a pen or paper or his laptop.

It’s cold. He forgot to bring a coat.

Burr ends up out searching too. Angelica and Eliza are at home, watching the children and fielding calls. They’re the only two who have the phone numbers for all four men out looking, and some of Hamilton’s other acquaintances as well. (“Why would I know where Hamilton is?” Thomas Jefferson grumbles. “Why, did something happen to him?” He doesn’t sound particularly concerned.)

Burr’s phone rings. He considers ignoring it, but the responsible side of him decides it might be urgent and so he pulls it out of his jacket pocket to check who it is.

It’s Hamilton.

“Burr,” is the first thing he hears after he hits the green button. Same intensity, same unfair usage.

“Hamilton, you idiot, where are you?” Burr snaps, his pace increasing even though he still doesn’t know where he’s going. Wherever he’s going, he’ll be getting there fast. “Do you know how worried everyone was? If you’d been missing any longer we would’ve thought you were dead!”

“I’m not dead.” His tone is petulant, and he sounds like he’s about to keep going but Burr interrupts him.

“And it’s a good thing too,” Burr mutters, slowing down. “You’d make a pretty terrible ghost.”

“How so?” Hamilton’s intrigued, now, almost like this is just another one of their conversations where an argument is put on hold because Burr’s brought up something interesting.

“You have really strong emotions,” Burr replies, raising an eyebrow that Hamilton can’t see. “Complete fury or exhaustive joy - you’d be the most destructive spirit in history, I’d swear to it.”

Hamilton laughs. “Well, let’s hope we don’t find out.”

“Seriously, though, where are you?” Burr’s back to frustrated frowning. “Your wife is worried - your friends are worried. You can’t just up and leave in the middle of the night and then not answer any of your calls.”

Hamilton’s quiet, for once. “I just needed to get away. Just... tell them I’m okay, all right?” Burr notices he doesn’t promise he’ll be back soon.

“You don’t sound okay.” He’s just noticed the slight shiver in his voice, on those last two words. “You sound like you’re going to freeze to death.”

“I’m fine,” Hamilton snarls, abruptly sharp and dismissive. “I’ll be fine.”

And then he hangs up.

“- he’s been acting odd for the past few days, I don’t know why I didn’t notice,” Eliza’s saying to Angelica (the sister). “I should’ve checked whether or not he was nearby when I woke up, maybe we could’ve realized sooner that he was missing -”

“It’s not your fault,” Angelica reassures her, catching her by the wrist to keep her from pacing. “We’re looking for him now, that’s all that matters. And anyway Alexander’s -”

They both pause.

“You hear that, right?” Angelica goes after a moment. “Piano music?”

“But.” Eliza counts her children mentally. Six. “Everyone’s here.”

“Except Philip,” littler Angelica pipes up. Her mother and aunt stare at her. She huffs a sigh of teenage exasperation and repeats herself. “Except Philip. He’s not in the room.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” older Angelica says. Eliza pulls away from her hand and starts toward the room where the piano is, but the music stops almost instantly. Angelica puzzles it out faster, and turns to her younger counterpart. “You think that was Philip?”

“Well, everyone else is here.” There’s a moment’s pause as the two Angelicas stare each other down. “Dad’s missing, right? Do you want me to ask Philip where he might be?”

“That would be wonderful.” Eliza takes her daughter by the hand, an unspoken apology.

Burr’s phone starts ringing again almost as soon as he lowers it from his ear. Eliza’s calling. He hits the button and raises it again. He needs to report in, anyway, let everyone know that he had contact with Hamilton.

“We know where he is,” Angelica says all in a rush.

“What?”

“It’s a long story, and it involves my nephew probably being a ghost, so I’m not telling it right now. But we know where he might be. Where are you right now?” Burr tells her. “Okay, so you’re the closest. I’ve already updated Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan, and they’re on their way, but the faster we know he’s okay the better.”

“I talked to him.” Burr finally manages to get a word in edgewise. “He called me.”

“He what - okay, fine, that’s good. Go find him anyway, before he does something even more stupid.” She rattles off a string of directions.

“On my way.”

Burr finds Hamilton sitting curled up against the back of a bench on a small street branching off the one he’d been searching. He’s shivering, like Burr had expected, and he looks very small with his knees tucked up like that. Burr’s shrugging off his coat as soon as he sees him.

“Burr.” Hamilton doesn’t look surprised to see him, despite the fact that Burr clearly had had no idea where he was during their call. “Hi.”

Burr throws the coat at him, and it hits him in the chest. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“Were you worried too?” Hamilton turns the coat over in his hands, not looking up. Burr clears his throat very sternly, and Hamilton relents and puts it on.

“Well, yes. You ran off.”

“Sorry,” he goes, not really meaning it. A few moments pass, and it’s clear that Hamilton doesn’t plan on getting up. Burr supposes that they’re waiting for his three friends to get here anyway, so they can meet up before they go back to Eliza and Angelica, and so he sits down beside Hamilton.

“I couldn’t keep walking,” Hamilton says after a beat.

“What?”

“I wanted to keep going, but I couldn’t. I probably should have - I would’ve been warmer if I kept walking, but I didn’t want to turn back in case one of you found me and I couldn’t.” His hands start up, slowly at first and then moving into full-on gesticulation, and he keeps talking. It’s probably the most Burr’s heard out of him since the funeral, and it’s a bit of a relief. “Philip and I used to take walks along this route. But I was always busy, too busy for this and that and my own son, and so every time we got to here I’d make us turn back because I couldn’t spare any more time away.”

Burr listens.

“I couldn’t walk past this point.” Hamilton’s quiet again. A few more moments pass, but once Hamilton’s started he can’t stop talking. “It’s too quiet here. I thought I needed space to think but now there’s too much, and I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Why did you run off in the first place?” It was rather sudden. Burr remembers something about a piano, and then he remembers Angelica saying something about a ghost.

“Everything reminded me of Philip.”

Burr decides it isn’t the best time to break the news to him that he likely wasn’t imagining things, and that he actually had been haunted by his dead son. His reasoning is that Hamilton doesn’t need to feel justified in running off.

A few minutes later the whole gang arrives. Laurens pulls Hamilton up to his feet and into a hug, and Mulligan tells him he looks awful. Lafayette lists off every moment of trouble Hamilton caused, and Hamilton smiles at that, looking a little sheepish. Burr steps back to leave room for the more boisterous reunion.

When they get back, Angelica punches him in the shoulder hard enough to leave him staggering, and Eliza glares at him for long enough that she actually manages to pull a meaningful apology out of him.

And then his daughter takes him by the hand and leads him to the piano. It’s playing the same tune over and over again, a little different every time.

#hamsanta #hamilton #cinderwriting

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