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The words ‘Alexander Hamilton’ and ‘quiet’ were never used in the same sentence unless the words ‘is not’ were between them. He spoke his mind about everything, and he did so with a passion and energy that made it impossible to not notice him. His presence filled a room, and it was impossible to ignore him or forget he was there.
At least, it had been before his son died.
He’d been gone for quite a while. He never spoke to anyone, never released any public statements…the only reason people knew he was alive was because they saw him walking through town every day, seemingly aimlessly. His hands would be stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched, and he would just look so small. Granted, Hamilton wasn’t a big man, but no one ever thought of him as small what with how he presented himself. Everyone could see the bags under his eyes, how slight his frame was, the way his hands shook when they weren’t in his pockets…
Jefferson was worried.
They were political enemies, sure, but Jefferson knew, could easily see, that the man was suffering, and it was hard to hate someone who always looked so sad. For the first time, he wished that they had met under different circumstances, that they weren’t enemies so that he could offer Hamilton any sort of comfort without the man thinking Jefferson was trying to tease or patronize him. It bothered him, but for now all Jefferson could do was watch from a distance and try to make sure it didn’t progress any further. Or that’d been his intention, anyway, until Eliza Hamilton had shown up at his doorstep, frazzled and obviously worried.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” Jefferson did his best to keep his tone polite. After all, he had no problems with Hamilton’s wife. He’d never met her until now, but she certainly seemed nice. Better than what Hamilton deserved, at least.
“Mr. Jefferson.” Her voice was strained, shoulders tense as she addressed him. “Please pardon me for the intrusion. I understand you aren’t exactly close to my husband, but…”
Jefferson arched a brow, but nonetheless ushered Eliza in. “You aren’t intruding at all. Please, come in. Now, did I hear you say this is about Hamilton?”
Eliza met his gaze and he saw unshed tears swimming in her eyes. “Yes.” The two moved to a couch, Jefferson sitting down and turning his attention to the woman sitting beside him and motioning for her to continue. “I’m sure you know about his walks around the town.” He nodded. The entire town knew. “He left for one of his walks yesterday. He hasn’t returned.” Alarm shot through Jefferson at that. Everyone knew about Hamilton’s walks through the town, but someone had always seen him heading back home. For him to suddenly not do so, to suddenly disappear for a whole day…that was unheard of, and Eliza’s tenseness and worry suddenly made much more sense.
“And he didn’t mention anything about being gone?” It was a stretch, and Jefferson knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking the question. He couldn’t, even now, imagine Hamilton being anything other than the fiery man he’d come to love arguing with. Eliza, as expected, shook her head frantically.
“No! I’ve looked for him, but I can’t find him, and nowadays you’re really the only person he talks to besides Mr. Burr occasionally, so I thought maybe you had seen him, but-”
“I’m afraid I haven’t, Mrs. Hamilton.” Eliza immediately deflated at his words, and he found himself speaking before he could really think about it. “But if you’d like, I could assist you in your search.”
Eliza’s gaze shot back up at that, and the tight yet genuine smile on her face made him glad he’d offered. “That would be very helpful, Mr. Jefferson. I’d appreciate greatly.”
“It’s no trouble, Mrs. Hamilton. I’m sure you’ve been searching for a while. Why don’t you head home and see if he’s come back? I’ll look around town.” Eliza nodded, and Thomas escorted her out once he’d grabbed a light jacket to protect him from the biting winds. They parted ways, and Thomas resigned himself to a long night of searching for his enemy.
＊ ＊ ＊
Once upon a time, Alexander had noticed the cold digging through his thin clothes and seeping deep into his bones. He’d known that, by the time that happened, it was time for him to start heading home. Eliza had enough to deal with already, after everything that’d happened, and he didn’t want to make her worry. But it got harder to tell after each walk. He’d gotten used to the chill of New York. He’d hoped for that very thing to happen ever since he got here. Being from the Caribbean, he wasn’t used to the cold, and it was never anything but annoying. Now, his inability to feel it left a hollow ringing in his chest. Philip had liked the cold. Insisted on traipsing around in far too few layers, insisting that “It isn’t cold Pa, you’re just warm-blooded-”
Alex shook his head. The point of these walks was to distract him from thoughts of Philip, not encourage them. Of course, thinking of that only reminded him of why he was here to begin with.
Ever since his mother died, writing had been his escape. It’d been his passion all his life, but without his mother writing was the only thing he could find any sort of comfort in. He’d wrote relentlessly after his cousin killed himself, determined to force his way through all five stages of grief without actually acknowledging any of them. He’d wrote about the hurricane after it destroyed his town, his home, and it had gotten him out, to America, to the greatest city in the world. Writing came as naturally as breathing, sometimes even more so, and it was always the first thing he did when his life inevitably went down the drain again.
But now? For the first time in his life, words wouldn’t come to him. It was annoying, and it hurt. He couldn’t sit and do nothing though, so he walked.
Noticing the sky’s shifting colors signifying the day’s end, he turned around to begin the trek back home and crashed into someone’s chest.
“Pardon me,” he murmured, voice raspy from disuse as he began walking around the person. He was stopped by a hand grabbing him by the elbow and yanking him back. He looked up, fully prepared to question the other person as to exactly what the hell they thought they were doing, but then he saw exactly who it was that was gripping his arm. His eyes immediately narrowed and he hardened his voice as he asked, “What are you doing, Jefferson?”
Jefferson arched a brow at him, still tightly holding his arm as if he thought Hamilton would run away if given the chance. “What am I doing? I should ask you the same thing. You know your poor wife is worried sick?”
Alexander softened slightly at the mention of Eliza, though his brows knitted together in confusion when he heard the end of the question. “Worried? Why? She knows I walk through town every day…”
Jefferson tsked, already moving towards Hamilton’s house and dragging the smaller man with him. “Yeah, but you also come home every day. Why didn’t you last night?”
Hamilton looked genuinely shocked at that, as if he hadn’t even realized, and Jefferson felt his worry for the man increase. Alex thought about the question, trying to think of any reason he would’ve not automatically gone home as he usually did. Then he remembered.
It’s already been that long?
“It’s been a month.” Alexander’s voice was quiet, subdued, and so wrong that it made Jefferson’s skin crawl. Hamilton shouldn’t ever sound like that. Then what he said actually sinks in, and Jefferson’s grip on Hamilton’s arm loosened, moved to his shoulder and became more of a comforting presence than a guiding one.
“I-...” Jefferson was at a loss as to what to say, a first for him, especially around Hamilton. “What can I do?”
Hamilton let out a bitter laugh before replying, “I…Can we go someplace high so I can jump off it? No, I can’t leave Eliza alone to deal with Angelica’s breakdown and the other children…” He seemed to remember who he was speaking to halfway through his thought, as he suddenly cut himself off and questioned, “Why are you even here?”
Jefferson fell into step beside the shorter man, keeping a careful hand on his shoulder. “I told you. Your wife is worried about you. She came to me asking if I’d seen you and I offered to help her look for you when she said you’d been gone since yesterday morning.”
Hamilton let out a sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. It was pulled back, as per usual, but some of the strands had come loose and were dangling in his face. “I’ve been trying not to make her worry...she deals with enough already.”
Jefferson snorted, turning to face the other as he shot back, “While I agree with that last one, I think you’re doing a pretty awful job at the first thing. Hamilton, even I’m worried about you. You can’t walk off grief.”
Jefferson felt Hamilton stiffen under his touch, but he didn’t respond immediately. Jefferson was beginning to wonder if he’d get a response at all when he heard, in a shaky voice, “I’m still gonna try.”
Jefferson let out a quiet laugh, stopping the other from walking straight into the door that he apparently hadn’t noticed. “As stubborn as ever. Go let your wife know you’re not dead in a gutter somewhere. Try to actually do the things you need to to survive, like sleep and eat, maybe?”
Hamilton huffed a quiet laugh, and it wasn’t quite as tired, as world weary as the other one had been, and for now that was enough. “That’ll be the day.”
Jefferson shook his head in a manner that was dangerously close to fond exasperation, saying over his shoulder as he began his own walk home, “Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Hamilton.”
Jefferson was already several steps away from the door when he heard a soft spoken, “Goodnight…and thank you.” He smiled, not pausing in his steps to respond. Knew he wouldn’t need to. Hamilton was home, Jefferson had done what he could given their usual animosity towards each other, and he dared say that the weight of the world that Hamilton always carried on his shoulders seemed to have lightened just a little bit. And that was enough.