#oh and also the appearance of Saint James McHenry

[tallmadgeandtea]

First Thing in The Morning

Hi everyone! So, this is a scene I wrote late one night on a whim, but it’s become one of my favorites, just because I think it really showcases what I love most about Benjamin and Elizabeth’s relationship, which is the softness they have for each other. It’s not much, and a majority of it is just Elizabeth’s thoughts, but I hope you enjoy it! It takes place right after the events of May 1778, which is my take on a certain situation in season three... 

SS&SP spoilers under the cut!

“Elizabeth,” he whispered, before she left the room, before she let the door close behind her, before she didn’t look back- didn’t look back for the first time in so long, before she had to convince herself he was safe, safe without her, safe without her constantly at his side, jumping at the slightest movement, the slightest stir. Before she left, before she abandoned him. 

Why do you think of it as that? Why are you so attached to him- why do you force yourself to stay at his side? You cannot help him, he does not need you as you need him. You are both trapped- but you may leave.

You have a chance to escape.

Benjamin was chained down to the bed, unable to stand, unable to hold himself upright. Whatever strength he had before- he was strong, strong in the way he carried himself, in the way he walked, in the way he spoke- vanished, taken from him by the greedy hands of the wound, the fever, the infection. She had found herself watching him at times, entranced by the nonverbal display of strength, his held high, one hand on his sword, the other firm at his side as he stood straight. 

He walked like a soldier, a leader. 

But his knees buckled whenever they tried to get him out of bed. But he lay there, looking at her as she crossed the floor, as she edged towards the threshold, out into the narrow hallway and down the narrower stairs.

He was weak.

He was trapped.

Do not allow yourself to be either.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered, before she had the chance to leave, before she let McHenry lead her out of the room, follow her downstairs, out the front door, past the offices- she knew they were watching, waiting for her to leave. Were they excited? Had they been holding their breath since she had forced herself into the house- into that terrible, cramped  bedroom? 

The carriage was waiting to take her back to her house- her father’s house. Could she think of it as her own anymore? What did she own? Besides herself, besides the ring on her finger, besides the body in the bed? 

She only had herself, her wedding ring, and the husband who gave it to her.

The husband who was whispering her name.

“Elizabeth,” Benjamin whispered, before she had the chance to leave.

She turned around before McHenry could pull her away.

Benjamin was awake, his head turned on the side of the pillow facing the doorway- he was looking at her, waiting for her. She didn’t even know he was awake- it seemed as if he were asleep when she was getting ready to leave, pulled back into a deep slumber. He had finally fallen asleep for the first time in a few hours- after she was forced to tell them he woke, that the fever broke, that he was alive. 

McHenry and Cochran and her father were all summoned, as if her common sense wasn’t enough to confirm it, as if she was hallucinating, as if she were dreaming and lying. 

After the two other surgeons left, Washington entered the room, diligently followed by Hamilton and Tilghman and Lafayette, lingering in the doorway as if they needed to be there, needed to catch him before the fall. 

The General didn’t leave until after dinner. 

And then it was McHenry- McHenry was last. He was the one who examined Benjamin, redressed the bandages, sat him upright, changed him into a spare shirt. He was the one who told her to leave- leave instead of stay. “He has survived the worst of it, Miss Walker. Go home, get a goodnight’s rest, change your clothes. Take care of yourself, now. You have survived it, too.” 

And a part of her wanted to- a part of her begged for it, screamed at her, scolded her: Get some sleep in your own bed, Elizabeth! Get yourself off the floor, Elizabeth! Get out of your days old dress, Elizabeth! A part of her was desperate for somewhere familiar, somewhere comforting- whatever comfort this house had was gone, and it would take time for it to return. It would take time for the smell of blood and sickness to wash away. But her house had a warm fire, a mattress instead of sheets on the floor.

And the other part of her wanted to stay. Wanted to watch the way his chest fell, wanted to see if he was breathing, wanted to see him wake up- wanted to know it wasn’t a dream, it was real. Wanted to know the nightmare was over. The other part of her saw Benjamin after McHenry examined him, collapsing into the mattress, struggling to catch his breath, exhausted from the controlled chaos of the last few hours, the uncontrolled terror of the last week, desperate for sleep and stability.

She wanted to be the one to give him it.

But she had to leave.

If she didn’t leave now, who knows if she ever would?

“Come here,” Benjamin’s voice didn’t sound like a command or plea, too hoarse and rough to express any emotion. McHenry told her it would wear off eventually, the awkward stillness, the emptiness, the straight, hollow words and endless gazes. His mind needed as much time to recover as his body did. 

She moved away from the doorway, looked over her shoulder- McHenry’s back was to her, giving them a moment of privacy. He was looking out the window. 

“What is it?” She asked. “Do you need anything- water, a blanket, some tea?” 

He tried to shake his head, “No, I just want to see you. Please, come here.”

She was at the bedside.

At the bedside as if she’d never left it.

“Closer,” he asked.

Her body touched the bed frame.

And then, Benjamin moved, his thin, pale arm coming through the blanket, trying to reach to her, trying to find her- trying to reach for-

Trying to reach for her hand.

His grip was weak as he brought it towards his face, ran her skin across his damp, flushed cheek- his skin was still hot, but the heat had weakened, like a dying fire, struggling to stay alive in the early hours of the morning.

He brought her hand to his lips.

He kissed it, his eyes closed, his face calm, as if he were about to sleep.

“I love you,” he said.

For the first time that day, for the first time in forever, he sounded like himself. 

A weaker, smaller, quieter, version of himself, but she would take him anyway she could. 

He loved her nonetheless.

“I love you, Benjamin.” 

It felt as if they were saying it for the first time, as if they had gone through it all again, the danger and the uncertainty and the risk and the emotion and the pain. 

But they had gone through it together.

She bent down, moved the hair out of his face, kissed his forehead. 

He still held onto her hand.

“I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” she said.

“You always are.”

Benjamin smiled.

A small, brilliant, unbelievable smile.

She never thought she would see it again.

That small, boyish smile, lighting up his eyes, spread across his face. 

“McHenry, make sure she gets home safe.”

He didn’t turn around, “Of course, Tallmadge.”

“Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

Benjamin let go of her hand. 

He let her leave.

“Goodnight, Benjamin.”

She was coming back in the morning.