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aswithasunbeam · 4 years ago

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Toxic, Hamliza Month Day 6

For day 6 of @megpeggs and @historysalt‘s Hamliza Month prompt list

Toxic

“Ugh.” Hamilton shifted on the bed, his arm guarding his stomach. “This is horrible.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she said. “Just relax. It’ll be over soon.”

He peeled one eye open and rasped, “That’s not the most diplomatic thing to say to someone who’s been poisoned.”

“The pain will be over soon,” she clarified, reaching out to comb her fingers through his hair. “Not your life.”

“I’d take either at this point,” he said. He adjusted again, arm wrapping tighter around his middle as he placed his head in her lap. Snuggling against her, his cheek pressed into her stomach, he moaned, “Ooh. I’m dying.”

“You are not,” she said firmly. “You’re going to be fine. I made the same mistake when I was little. All of us did.”

Berry picking at the edge of the Schuyler property had been a time honored tradition amongst her siblings for as long as she could remember. And each of them had learned long ago, most through painful experience, to tell the perfectly edible ripe red berries of the undergrowth from the toxic red berries on the nearby holly bushes. Alas, her poor husband didn’t have the benefit of that long experience.

She’d been bouncing Philip on her hip when she heard her husband announce, “I don’t think these ones over here are quite ripe. Very bitter.”

She’d swung around in time to see him pop another holly berry into his mouth, nose wrinkling. Alarmed, she’d cried, “Don’t eat that!”

He’d swallowed, then froze, staring at her with wide eyes. “Why?”

��Honey, those are poisonous. How many did you have?”

“Poisonous!” His voice sounded strangled.

She’d placed Philip into her sister’s arms and pressed, “How many?”

“Two or three.”

“Oh, good. Thank God,” she’d sighed. Two or three might not make for a very pleasant evening, but he wasn’t likely in any real danger.

“Good?” he echoed, still horrified.

“Two or three won’t do any lasting damage,” she’d explained. Placing her arm on his, she moved them away from the group back towards the path to the house.

“What’s going to happen to me?” he’d asked, worried.

“You’ll be all right. But your belly probably isn’t going to feel very good.” Sure enough, not long after they’d arrived back at the house, he’d started curling in on himself, clearly in pain. She’d encouraged him to get sick, hoping to rid his system of the toxin, then tucked him into bed. He’d been curled up against her ever since.

He groaned from her lap again. “I hate this.”

“If it helps, it’s a mistake you won’t repeat. We all did it once. It’s like a family rite of passage.”

“I don’t care for it,” he said.

“I’m sorry for not thinking to warn you. All of us just know.” She tangled her fingers in the loose hair at his temples. “They didn’t teach you about poisonous berries in the army?”

“No.” He squirmed in place, palm splayed out over his middle. “Berry foraging somehow didn’t come up in basic training.”

“Quite an oversight, in my opinion.”

“Apparently.”

She laughed softly. “What I want to know is why did you keep eating them after you discovered they didn’t taste good?”

“I thought it was maybe just that one. Poisonous berries shouldn’t look so enticing.”

“Silly goose,” she teased affectionately.

He gave a wan smile, then moaned again, clutching at his belly. “Ow.”

“My poor darling,” she cooed. “Can I get you anything?”

He breathed deliberately through his nose for a minute. When he’d relaxed a little, he reached for her hand. Their fingers tangled together, his palm warm against hers. “Just you.”

“I’m right here,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

His eyelids drooped, fatigue weighing on him. She stretched out on the bed and encouraged him up until his head rested just over her heart. His breathing evened out as he rested against her.

“Pray tell,” he asked, voice soft and thick with sleep, “Are there any other potentially deadly family activities you’ve yet to warn me about?”

She hummed, thoughtful. “Well, Papa does have a penchant for hunting suitors who attempt to woo his daughters, but I think you’ve basically managed to avoid that. Maybe stay on your toes if you see him with a hunting rifle, though?”

“Hardy har.” He poked her playfully in the side. “Don’t tease me. I’ve been poisoned.”

“You poisoned yourself.”

“It’s still true.”

She laughed and rubbed his back. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

#hamilton fanfic #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #fluff

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angelqueen04 · 4 years ago

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Hamliza Month, Day 19

@megpeggs @historysalt

Pain Summary: Alexander races back to Philadelphia after receiving a terrifying letter. Warning/Note: Discussion of miscarriage, references to/implied depression (hence why there is no preview for this one and everything is under behind the Keep Reading link). The angst and sadness is strong in this one, folks. Fair warning.

Among other reasons for wishing your return is Mrs. Hamilton’s earnest desire. It seems she has had, or has been in danger of a miscarriage, which has much alarmed her. But Doctor Khun by whom she is attended with Doctor Stephens, assures that she is in no danger. However she is extremely desirous of your presence in order to tranquilize her. [1]

The words, read only once, still managed to burn through his mind. A miscarriage. This had never happened before, not once. Eliza always maintained excellent health when she was carrying their children. She seemed to blossom, keeping a rosy, healthy color about her cheeks as her belly grew. The births were always painful, that was true, but she came through each time without cause for alarm. Why was it different now? What had happened?

He really ought to be truthful with himself. He knew what had happened, what was different. Barely a year ago, both he and Eliza had nearly lost their lives during the yellow fever epidemic. It had only been thanks to the miracle of Ned’s tender care that they had survived. Then, there had been a great deal of sickness among the children, particularly little Johnny, which had only added to the stress Eliza labored under.

Then, of course, there was Alexander himself. Though he had done as much as he could to aid her in caring for their children while they were ill, he had seen even then that Eliza was not doing well. Then he had insisted on accompanying the army as they dealt with these rascals in the back country. She had asked him not to go. Just once, but she had asked. When Alexander had insisted that he had to go, if only because of Henry Knox’s lengthy and irritating absence from Philadelphia, she had fallen silent and not brought the subject up again, not bothering to argue with him.

He could still remember his last sight of her as he’d ridden off. Pale almost to the color of milk, a strange thinness about her person even though he knew she was eating regular meals. She’d looked exhausted, despite her frequent efforts to rest whenever possible.

Her condition had not improved in his absence. Mother Schuyler and his brother-in-law, Philip Jeremiah, had visited Philadelphia while Alexander had been away, and they had been much alarmed by Eliza’s fragile health. They had even tried to convince her to travel back with them to Albany, where she could rest among and be supported by the family. She refuses to leave without you, Philip wrote, and will not hear of the children leaving either.

Hurry back, brother. End this and come home.

Alexander recalled wincing when he read of Eliza’s refusal to leave the state without him accompanying her. He could guess very easily as to why she refused to go, even if she had not confessed her reasons to her mother and brother. So, he had had done his best to hurry things along, but everything could be handled only so fast. After Philip’s letter, there had been little news. Eliza wrote to him when she could, but she said little of her health, focusing instead on the children. She said nothing of him coming home either. The tone of her letters was brittle, almost wooden. It had only increased his disquiet, but there was little he could do except keep doing what he was doing so that he could return home.

And then, finally, came the letter. Knox said Eliza was ‘extremely desirous’ of Alexander’s presence. Knox wasn’t known to exaggerate in his choice of words, and really, they had only confirmed the unease he had been living more and more with as the weeks passed.

She needed him. She had needed him before, but he had still gone away, so certain that he was indispensable to ending this crisis with the whiskey rebels. So he’d left her alone in a way he had never done before while she was carrying a child.

And now that child was gone.

Alexander could feel the tears stinging his cheeks as he guided his horse onto Market Street, the setting sun shining now directly into his eyes. He barely noted passing the Presidential Mansion, his focus solely on locating a familiar gate in front of a lovely house of red brick.

He spotted the hitching post first, the one Alexander had ordered installed in front of the house for the use of guests or government officials that might arrive there on horseback. It was deserted at the moment, but that meant little. The doctors might have arrived on foot, or their horses may have been put in the barn behind the house, particularly if their stay was going to be of some duration.

Bringing his horse to a halt, Alexander vaulted off of his horse, and stumbled a bit when he landed hard. It had been a long time since he had done something like that, and he was no longer twenty-one. Getting his feet back under him, he looked toward the men of his escort, who had actually managed to keep up with him. Tossing one of them the reins of his horse, Alexander turned on his heel and strode to the front door.

Someone must have been watching for him, because the door opened before he could even reach for the knob. In the doorway stood Ned, stripped down to his waistcoat and breeches, with tired, dark-rimmed eyes. “Ham,” he greeted solemnly, stepping back to allow Alexander to enter the house.

“How is she?” he demanded as he entered the front hall. He struggled out of his military coat, both because it wasn’t needed – the house was more than sufficiently warm – and the sudden feeling that it did not belong, that it was almost insulting to be wearing it in this house of mourning. Eliza had not wanted him to go, had not wanted him out there risking his life when his family needed him here, but he had insisted on doing so, had insisted on playing soldier again, to relive the glories of his youth.

Well, he had, and now he, they, were paying the price for it.

Ned, to his credit, didn’t try to delay or prevaricate in his response. “Mrs. Hamilton is resting comfortably upstairs,” he said. “Mrs. Washington has been here for some hours, sitting with her so that she is not alone.”

Alexander barely waited for him to finish before he started to move toward the stairs, but was brought to a halt when Ned’s hand closed around his arm. “Ham, wait.”

He tugged at the other man’s grip. “Not now, Ned,” he said impatiently. “I need to see my wife.”

Ned didn’t relent, however, meeting him with an equally firm gaze. “You need to collect yourself first, Alexander,” he said. “You’ll do Mrs. Hamilton no good if you go rushing in there and disturbing her from the sleep she needs to preserve her health. Plus, there’s more that you need to know.”

Alexander wanted to shrug his old friend off and continue on his way to reassure himself of his wife’s survival, but his words struck him. Eliza needed to rest to get better. He shouldn’t disturb her. This was about what she needed, not him.

“Fine,” Alexander said through gritted teeth, and allowed Ned pull him into the dining room. There remained a fair bit of food on the table, looking like the remains of a buffet. There had been others here, but must have left before his arrival. At Ned’s gesture, he sat down at the table, eyeing the food warily. He wasn’t hungry.

“You should eat, Ham,” Ned said firmly as he joined him, seemingly reading his mind. “The last thing anyone needs is you fainting from lack of food.”

He shot his old friend an impatient look, but decided not to bother arguing. He picked at some of the meats and bread, avoiding the fruits.

“The children?” Alexander asked suddenly as he began to eat, the silence of the house falling heavy on his ears. Surely there should have been some noise coming from them? It was too early for them to have gone to bed.

“The President took them to stay at the Presidential Mansion,” Ned informed him. “He thought it best so that Mrs. Hamilton wouldn’t be disturbed.” He paused before adding, “Young Philip proved himself very responsible, keeping his younger siblings in hand.”

Alexander nodded. Under any other circumstances, he would be pleased by the news that his firstborn had handled himself so well. When he finally finished what was on his plate, he made to stand, asking, “Are you satisfied now, Ned? Can I see my wife now?”

“Just a minute, Alexander,” Ned said. “It’s important that you know her condition before you go up there.”

He stilled. Her condition? What did that mean? Was Eliza in further danger? “What is it?” he demanded.

Ned took a deep breath. “While I know that Secretary Knox’s letter intimated that Mrs. Hamilton suffered a miscarriage, Dr. Kuhn and I are more inclined to judge it a stillbirth. The babe was well formed, but was small, too small to have survived.”

Alexander closed his eyes. Poor, poor lamb, he thought, fighting back a wave of tears. He’d focused so much on Eliza that he had not given the child much thought. “What was it?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Ned responded, his expression shifting from professional to sympathetic.

Another boy. They’d hoped for a girl this time, to give Angelica and Fanny a baby sister on which to dote, but they would have welcomed a son with equal joy. In either case, he and Eliza hadn’t had the chance to discuss names. Their poor boy would go into the grave without anything to mark his existence.[2]

Taking a deep, shaky breath to stem the tide of tears, he whispered, “I’d like to see my wife now.”

Thankfully, this time Ned didn’t try to stop him when he stood and strode toward the stairs.

Just as Ned had said, Mrs. Washington was with Eliza, having pulled a seat close to the bed. An embroidery hoop sat in her lap, but it was clear she had given up on working on it, perhaps due to the fact that only a single candle was lit in the room. The older woman looked up as he pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. A relieved expression crossed Mrs. Washington’s face.

“Ah, Colonel,” she said upon seeing him, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned.” She glanced toward the bed. “She’s been dreaming, and calling for you.”

Mrs. Washington was kind enough to quickly vacate her position and depart, leaving Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at his sleeping wife. Though the candle provided little in the way of light, he could see how, if anything, Eliza’s color seemed worse than it had been when he’d left. Her dark hair had been braided back away from her face, but that only emphasized how gaunt and haggard she looked. Even with her eyes closed in sleep, he could see the furrow of her brow, and Alexander knew that if he touched her cheek, he’d feel the clammy sensation of dried tears.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, drawing in a ragged breath. Sliding around to the side of the bed, Alexander unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off, tossing it carelessly onto the chair Mrs. Washington had left behind. After removing his boots, he crawled into their bed and curled himself around Eliza’s side, draping an arm over her and gently pulling her close. He buried his face into the crook of her neck.

Her belly was still swollen, he realized, like the baby was still there, though Alexander knew from experience that that would soon fade. Eventually, Eliza’s body would begin to return to its normal shape, and although the marks of her pregnancies would remain, there would be no other sign that there had ever been a sixth Hamilton child.

She’d had to deal with this all by herself. While Alexander recognized that she had had the support of friends like the President and Mrs. Washington, and the care of talented physicians like Ned and Dr. Kuhn, Eliza had still been alone. Who had been here that could truly share in her grief and sorrow?

Who should have been here? He should have, but he hadn’t, placing the suppression of a bunch of unruly rascals over Eliza’s health and wellbeing. Oh, there had been many good reasons, all of which Alexander listed to Eliza before he left, in his own head in the ensuing weeks he was away, and on the frantic, harried race back to Philadelphia.

But now… lying here, cradling Eliza’s frail, fragile form in his arms, he realized just how hollow those reasons were. Alexander should have been here, taking care of his wife during her time in need. But he had turned his back on this duty, the sacred duty of any husband, and now God saw fit to punish him for it.

The tears came silently and, while part of him fretted about disturbing Eliza, once they started, he had not the strength to stop them. “I’m sorry, my Betsey,” he whispered into her neck, clutching her even more tightly to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Alexander held her close all through the night. He must have slept at some point, because when he opened his eyes, he found, first, that the dawn’s earliest light was beginning to creep through the window, second, that he was lying on his back and, third, Eliza had shifted away and now lay on her side, her back to him. Tremors shook her body, and he could hear the sound of repressed sobs.

He sat up hurriedly and reached for her, saying, “Betsey?” He pulled at her shoulder gently, urging her to turn back to him. He could feel the stiff resistance in her body for a moment, but then it gave away and she let him bring her around to face him.

Eliza’s cheeks and eyes were flushed and red from crying, and he wished he had a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. Instead, Alexander gathered her back into his arms, cradling her close and letting her bury her face in his chest while he rested his chin on top of her head. He rocked her as he would rock one of their children when they were ill, trying to soothe her even as he struggled to keep his own grief in check.

They stayed like that for a while, remaining undisturbed by the outside world, for which Alexander was grateful. Much as he longed to see his children, right now it was their mother who had to be his first priority. She had suffered his neglect, his disrespect, for far, far too long, and this was the terrible, terrible result.

“We’re going to leave, Betsey.” The words flew from his mouth before they’d even fully formed in his head, but as they settled into his thoughts, everything began to take shape. Correspondingly, her shaking body stilled in his arms. “I’m going to start writing my resignation.[3] I’ll submit it to the President, and I’ll start making preparations for us to return to New York.” He leaned back and looked down into her face. “We can perhaps stay with your parents for a time? Would you like that?”

She stared up at him with watery eyes, and he was not blind to the naked skepticism in them. He winced, knowing that she had a right to be doubtful. Alexander had talked of resigning before, had made vague promises that they would return to private life, but he had never followed through. He had made excuses for it, citing this or that crisis that required his guiding hand. Eliza had endured and soldiered onward, even as their continued residence in a city that she had never truly warmed to wore on her. She’d even endured a scolding by letter from Angelica when she heard the rumors of Alexander’s considered resignation from public service, though he didn’t think she ever responded to it.

“It’s time to go home,” Alexander said, and then he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know you have cause to be suspicious, darling, but I truly mean it. We’re going home.”

Eliza did not respond, but she slowly sank into him, relaxing into his embrace for the first time in months. She buried her face into his chest, and her fingers gripped his shirt in the grip of someone who had been drowning, but now had something to keep them afloat.

Alexander refused to disappoint her. Not again.

-----

[1] Henry Knox to Alexander Hamilton, 24 November 1794.

[2] In truth, we don’t know the gender of the baby Eliza and Alexander lost at this time. No record was ever left that I know of, not even where they might have buried the poor mite. I chose to go with the baby being a boy because it seemed more likely to me. Out of eight children who came from successful births, six were sons, indicating that, on a physical level, Alexander was more apt to father boys.

[3] Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 1 December 1794. Alexander certainly did not waste time, did he? Knox’s note above was dated November 24th, and literally within 7 days, Alexander had received it, raced back to Philadelphia to Eliza, and then wrote his dated resignation, which I imagine Washington received that same day or close to it, given its important contents. One week.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #edward stevens #martha washington #tw: depression #tw: miscarriage

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