#the urge to do angelica and eliza as well grows by the second

[cuteniaarts]

In which Nia is making Hamilton fanart in 2023... this is a new low, even for me

THE HOLD this woman had on 13 year old me, you don’t get it, I was absolutely OBSESSED

I called myself the #1 Maria Reynolds stan, defender and apologist, read every single fic on Ao3, FF.Net AND Wattpad, spent days digging through every historical record available on the internet to find out everything there is to know about her, made a presentation about her for school... If you ever need a detailed biography which includes accurate dates, a map of where she lived during her lifetime, and the names of, among others, all her siblings, stepchildren, sons-in-law and great granddaughter, you know who to call

A.k.a: When Nia’s mental health is in the gutter, she turns to Broadway musicals to cope

[marquis-lafayeet]

John Laurens x Spy!Reader Part 2

Don’t hate me, I just wanted something to post.

Warnings: swears

Y/N strutted her way to the barstools at the front of the bar and did a quick scan of the room. Rule number one of being a spy, always scan a room you enter. When she turned back around, she was face to face with the bartender. She glanced down at the name tag. Samuel. Samuel smirked. “What can I get for you, pretty lady?” He said in a not-so-smooth voice. Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Nothing for now, hot stuff,” she said, plastering on a fake smile and playing along. He raised an eyebrow. Y/N could physically see his ego soar.

Before Samuel could say anything else, she felt a tap on the shoulder. Y/N spun around in the chair and was greeted with the sight of a very handsome man. He was tall, taller than her, and had curly black hair pulled into a low ponytail. He had beautiful sun kissed skin and adorable freckles that scattered across his whole body, she could see some on his buff arms. He had soft hazel eyes that seemed to see right through her disguise. He smiled. That just about did it for Y/N. She felt herself growing nervous. Really Y/N? You just had a boyfriend! She silently agreed with herself. But, that was a while ago! Didn’t you see on his instagram that he’s already moved on? Twice?! Whatever. Hookups were not on her schedule.

Y/N gave him a big grin. “Hi!” She said, trying to sell the “perky” act. His smile widened. “Hey, care to dance?” He said, gesturing to the dance floor. Y/N figured that she could analyze more faces there. Or dance with a hot guy. Either way, jackpot.

Thomas’ POV

I watched Y/N walk into the club. I didn’t want anything to happen to her, over the course of these two years that she’s worked here, she felt like a little sister to me. I shook my head and edited the photo that Y/N wanted me to look at. I zoomed into the writing on the mirror. Fake dealing at Club Adrenaline, lead NYCLE on, kidnap. My eyes widened. Y/N was in trouble.

Third Person POV

As Y/N was dancing with the stranger, she noticed he kept glancing around the room. When he caught her staring she looked away bashfully. “I don’t believe I introduced myself. Winston Parker. And you...?” He trailed off. His eyes were so gorgeous. She wondered how many freckles does he have? “Y/N L/N,” She trailed off. Her eyes widened. Holy shit. She just gave away her cover. But she didn’t catch the little widening of Winston’s eyes, and the little smirk that grew on his face. Y/N immediately turned around and speed walked to the door. Winston stepped in front of her before she reached the door.

He roughly grabbed her arms and turned her around. Before she even knew what was happening, she felt cool handcuffs go around her wrists and a gag in her mouth. He looked down and saw the tiny trademark “NYC” on her wrist. Every NYCLE agent had one. “Where’re you going, sweetie? Back to NYCLE?” He growled the last part. He roughly pushed her into the back room, nodding to Samuel. When he closed the door, Y/N kicked his straight in his jewels with her heel. Winston groaned and fell to his knees. She worked her hands so that they were in front of her and looked around the room. She spit the gag out and found a Bobby pin on the table. She grabbed it with her mouth and unlocked the chains. Wow, handcuff 101 was a really well spent book.

She heard a shout and saw more guys piling into the room. Too many. Y/N knew when she was outnumbered. Suddenly, a kick to the door interrupted her almost defeat. Thomas quickly punched a guy, and paralyzed another guys temporarily using pressure points. “You good Y/N?” He asked worriedly. Y/N furiously nodded. “Just fine.” She grabbed a chair and swung it at one of the guys that was attempting to come at her from behind. Winston stood up, wincing. He pulled a gun out quickly. Y/N and Thomas pulled one out, too. “Put the gun down and I won’t shoot.” Came a low feminine voice from behind Winston. Y/N peeked and saw Maria. Y/N beamed. Winston reluctantly put down the gun. “Fine. You got me. Whatdya want now?” He asked in a frustrated tone.

“Now, we take you back to headquarters and interrogate you,” Maria said, shoving him forward with the barrel of her desert eagle.

t i m e s k i p

Y/N’s POV

We tied up Winston (if that’s even his name) and put a gag in his mouth. “Should we put him in the front?” Eliza, our stay-behind officer, asked. I stiffiled a laugh. She was always so considerate. “No, he’ll try something. Let’s put him in the trunk,” Thomas said, already walking towards it. He opened the trunk door with his key and threw him inside. Eliza winced. If Eliza’s older sister, Angelica, was here, she would have laughed. But she’s on a mission in Bolivia. Peggy, Eliza and Angelica’s youngest sister stepped out the car and pouted. “You guys didn’t call me in,” she said in a whiny voice.

I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry Peggy, we weren’t in need of bombs at the moment,” I said, giving her a side hug. Peggy was our weaponary management. “Next time. Right now, we have to interrogate.”

As we walked inside NYCLE headquarters, I made sure “Winston’s” mask was on tight. I couldn’t have him figuring out where our hq was. I roughly pushed him in the interrogation room and tied him to the chair, and locking his wrists on the arms of the chair. I yanked off the mask and he glared at me in annoyance. I glared harder and started to walk away. “Commander Washington and Agent Hamilton will be with you shortly,” I said uninterested. I walked out the room and sat in the chair looking at the one was glass. To him it looked like a mirror, but I see everything that happens.

Washington and Hamilton walked into the room with files of papers in their hands. “This the secret agent?” Washington asked. Alex on the other hand was jumpy. “How was your mission? Did you get hurt? Please tell me you called for backup when you needed it. Did yo-,” Alex ranted. Washington cut him off. “As you can see, Y/N is fine. Now, let’s go question him.” Washington said in a semi annoyed voice. Alex nodded and shuffled into the interrogation room.

The questioning didn’t look too bad, though Winston wouldn’t give up any information about himself or CMA. Loyal. Bonus. I shook the thought from my head and grimaced. Hamilton clenched his fists and started to yell some explicit things to Winston. Winston just smirked. Hamilton stormed out the room and slammed the door shut. “Y/N, where’s the lie detector,” he angrily asked. I pointed to the table where it was laying. He quickly snatched it up and stormed into the room. He set it up and put the wires on him. He started asking the questions again and scribbled some things down. Finally, the two agents got up and left the room. “So, how’d it go?” I asked in a curious voice.

Washington just sighed and left. Alex groaned and slumped into the chair next to you. “It was horrible. He won’t fess up,” he mumbled. He suddenly perked up. “Could you interrogate him?” He asked in a hopeful voice. I scrunched my face up. “What? I’m a field agent, not an interrogator,” I finalized, crossing my legs. Alex pouted and gave me his puppy dog face. “Pwease?” He begged. I sighed. “Fine,” I muttered. Alex jumped up and cheered. He grabbed my arm and pushed me into the room. Winston looked up and scoffed when he saw me. “If they’re trying to bring out their big guns, I honestly expected better,” he insulted. I didn’t even wince. I knew he was just trying to get under my skin. I sat down in front of him. “So, hows it going?” I asked casually. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, just peachy. My enemy agency kidnapped me and is trying to get me to break.” He said sarcastically. I looked down at my wrist and stared at the tattoo on my wrist. He started to shift uncomfortably and yanked on his wrist restraints. I looked at them and did a double take on his right one. I got up and squinted. I leaned in closer and inspected his wrist. My eyes widened. On his wrist was a tiny “NYC”. “Y-!” I began. “Shhhhhh!” He hissed. “Nobody can know about this,” he said quietly. I shook my head. “I need to tell Commander Washington,” I said, already heading for the door. “No!” He shouted. He sighed. “If you don’t tell anyone, I’ll tell you why I have this tattoo,” he muttered. I turned around skeptically. I reluctantly sat down in the chair. “Start,” I commanded. He took a deep breath. “First off, my real name is John Laurens, not Winston Parker. And I used to be a NYCLE agent. Just like you,” I took a sharp inhale. “I was a field agent, specialized in being a double agent. It was an undercover assignment. I was assigned with my best friend, and the job was at a wedding party. It was invite only, so we had to wear disguises,” he explained. That reminded me about disguise I thought as I glanced down at my attire. “After a while, I noticed that my friend was missing. I started searching high and low and I wound up outside. I found him in a nearby alley beaten up and on the brink of death. Before I could call for backup, CMA captured me and told me they would set my friend free if I joined them. If I didn’t, they would kill him. So I did what I had to do. I joined CMA, but I disappeared from my friends’ life, and from NYCLE’s files.” He concluded. I shook my head. “Wow, that’s crazy. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” I sympathized, rubbing his arm. “Do you think I could find my friend?” He asked. I thought for a second and shrugged. “It could be possible.” I answered. He beamed. “Great! Just unlock me and we can start analyzing faces,” he said to me. I put my hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll. You’re still an enemy. And you still attacked me and NYCLE agents. I can’t unlock you. It’s forbidden.” I stated. He rolled his eyes. “Wow, even after three years you NYCLE agents are still goody two shoes.” He muttered under his breath. “I heard that,” I snapped and stalked out of the interrogation room.

[aswithasunbeam]

Broken Bears and Cocoa, a Modern Hamliza AU

[Read on AO3]

Rated: G

Summary: Eliza finds a young Fanny Antill crying alone on the sofa in the middle of the night. The rest of the Hamilton clan quickly follow, and together, they do their best to show the little girl that whatever she's struggling through, she need not do it alone. __ A modern hamliza AU

A soft sniffling  drifted out from the living room as Eliza slowly padded down the stairs. The lights downstairs were all still off, but the soft white glow from their Christmas tree spilled out across the dark entryway. Eliza turned towards the living room and paused, heart breaking at the scene within.

Fanny Antill was curled up alone on the couch, clutching at the stuffed bear Angelica had loaned to her and crying softly, clearly doing her best to make as little noise as possible. The girl looked so young and small; everything in Eliza longed to rush over and scoop her into her arms. But she resisted the urge. The poor girl had just lost her father and her home, and now, without family capable of taking her in, she found herself living with virtual strangers. A hug may not yet be welcome.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Eliza asked, voice low in an effort not to startle the girl.

Fanny jumped anyway, and her face crumpled further. “I’m sorry,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to. It just fell off.”  

Eliza’s brow wrinkled with confusion until she saw Fanny hold up one of the bear’s plastic eyes, the Christmas lights twinkling off the shiny surface. She felt almost relieved to see the cause of her current distress. At least this was a problem she could fix.

“Angelica’s going to hate me,” Fanny added in a whisper.

“Oh, no, sweetie. She’s not going to hate you,” Eliza assured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And, anyway, we can fix it.”

Fanny looked at her with wary hope. “Really?”

“Easy,” Eliza promised. “I’ll get the hot glue gun out and stick it right back on, good as new. Okay?”

Fanny wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Okay.”

Eliza smiled. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll start some hot cocoa for us while I’m at it. How does that sound?”

The offer of the sweet drink brought a tiny smile to Fanny’s face at last. “Good.”

“All right. Wait right there.”

Heading into the kitchen and flipping on the overhead light, Eliza filled two mugs with water and popped them into the microwave to heat before squatting down to dig through the cabinet in search of the hot glue gun. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned her head in time to see Alexander come to a stop just inside the kitchen, rubbing at his eye with a sleepy yawn. He had adorably mussed bedhead, and was wearing the old reindeer t-shirt Pip had decorated with his two little handprints for antlers back in preschool. Her husband’s wardrobe had been growing goofier by the day in an effort to make Fanny feel less shy around him. Eliza felt a wave of fondness wash over her, and grinned up at him.

“Hey there, handsome.”

He smiled back at her, though he was visibly confused. “Why are you up? Is somebody sick?”

“An eye fell off that old bear Angelica gave Fanny. She was upset, so I’m making us some cocoa and looking for our hot glue gun.”

“I think it’s in the garage,” he offered. “Pip was using it to make ornaments with Alex yesterday.”

“You let them use hot glue by themselves?” she asked, voice going high with disapproval.

“Of course not. I was supervising. What kind of horrible parent do you think I am?”

She softened and pushed herself up. “I think you’re a wonderful parent,” she assured him, planting a kiss on his lips before scooting around him to go look in the garage. “Can you finish making the cocoa?”

“Sure.” He was already in the kitchen when she glanced back.  

The glue gun was in fact in the garage, back on Alexander’s makeshift workbench beside some old fishing hooks and scraps of felt. Bare feet freezing on the cold cement, Eliza rushed over to collect it and hurried back inside the house, still shivering as she flipped off the light and closed the door. She heard the television as she made her way back down the hall.

“I’m independent,” she heard Hermey the elf declare. She stepped back into the room to see the elf suggesting to Rudolph, “Hey, what do you say we both be independent together?”

Fanny was still on the couch clutching at the bear with one hand, but Alexander now sat on the other end. They were both holding steaming mugs of cocoa, and Fanny looked at least mildly interested in the movie. Alexander smiled when he spotted Eliza, and nodded to the television. “Rudolph’s on.”

“Exciting.” She stooped down to plug in the glue gun, then narrowed her eyes at the mug he held. “Hey, you stole my cocoa.”

He made a face at her, which made her laugh.

“We can share,” he offered. “I promise I don’t have cooties.”

“What’s going on?” Eliza looked back to see Angelica standing at the foot of the stairs, half her hair loose from her ponytail and one leg of her polar bear sleep pants twisted and caught around her bony knee.

Fanny tensed at the sight of her, but Alexander waved her over to the couch. “Come here, Geli bean. We’re watching Rudolph.”

Angelica looked slightly wary, like this might be some sort of trick or test, but she came over after a seconds’ hesitation and crawled up onto the couch beside her father.

“Cocoa?” Alexander offered, holding the mug out towards her. Her face lit up with delight, and she happily took the mug.

“Angelica?” Fanny asked, voice scared and small.

“Yeah?”

“I broke your bear.” Fanny slowly unclenched her fist to reveal the shiny plastic eye in her palm. Angelica frowned at it for a minute, shrugged, and took another sip of cocoa. Fanny watched her carefully, then asked, shocked, “You’re not mad?”

“Mama will fix it,” Angelica said dismissively.

Eliza smiled at the utter faith her daughter seemed to have in her ability to fix everything. The little light on the glue gun had stopped blinking, she noticed, indicating it was ready for use. “I’m going to fix it right now,” she said, motioning for Fanny to come over to her. “Come here, honey.”  

Fanny slid off the couch and came over, holding out the bear and the eye. Quickly smearing the glue all along the back of the eye, Eliza affixed it in its rightful place and pressed down, counting under her breath for half a minute before releasing the pressure. “There, all fixed. We’ll let him stay here on the table to set while we watch the movie, all right?”

To her surprise, Fanny surged forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. Eliza happily returned the embrace, squeezing the little girl to her securely. “Thank you,” Fanny whispered.

“You’re very welcome,” Eliza whispered back, kissing the top of the girl’s head.

Just as she was unplugging the glue gun, she heard the sound of tiny footsteps on the stairs again, and looked over to see Jamie coming down, his ratty old blanket in hand and his thumb in his mouth. The little boy grinned at her around his thumb and raced over to the couch, plopping down on Alexander’s lap.

Alexander laughed and cuddled the boy to him. “I think we’re going to need more cocoa,” he said, glancing over at her.

“I’ll get it,” she offered. “And I’ll wake Pip and Alex. We might as well all be up as a family.”

By the time the movie had ended, the coffee table was littered with mugs and a half empty bag of marshmallows, and their children were all snoring between them on the couch, snuggled up under blankets. Fanny was cuddled between Pip and Eliza, her newly fixed bear held close, and all evidence of her earlier tears now gone.

Eliza noticed Alexander watching her with his head resting against the back of the couch, his face warm and soft in the glow of the Christmas tree. “She’s going to be all right,” he said, his gaze flickering down to the little girl in her arms.

“You think so?” Eliza asked.

“I know so. There’s a lot of love in this house. Whatever she’s going through, she’s not going through it alone.” She stretched her free hand out across the back of the couch to ruffle his hair tenderly. He gave her a wink and added playfully, “Not to mention how amazing we are at parenting.”

She laughed. “Oh, yes. Quite the parenting we’re doing--hopping our kids up on sugar and letting them pass out in front of the tv at one in the morning.”

“Exactly,” he nodded sagely, serious for a beat before his face broke out into a beaming smile.

[alittlecstaticxilophone]

Who told your story

So, here’s this for the sweet anon who requested number eight with hamliza. Thank you for requesting and I hope you  like this 

If anyone is curious about the prompt list HERE it es and feel free to request.

The light of the candle was the only thing that illuminated Eliza’s bedroom and it seemed like that little light was going to be consumed soon. Now at her age and after passing most of her recent days in bed she was unable to fall sleep finding difficulty to find a position that would warrantee a comfortable sleep. Usually her family kept her company during the night but it was too late and they were all sleeping leaving her alone with her thoughts. Nowadays, she didn’t have many things she had not passed already through her mind, instead, she had memories. Thousands of precious things to remember were locked inside her brain and most of them still made her smile today.

She was unused to be ordered to stay in bed she had spent most of her life (especially after she got married) running around helping people, carrying herself and sometimes another bundle in her belly. Being confined to a bed, no matter how necessary, was bothersome for the old woman that always looked for ways to be able to at least visit her own backyard without her entire family gushing about her health.

Suddenly she heard a soft knock on the door interrupting her thoughts, curious; she tilted her head looking at the clock that marked the one a.m.

-Come in- she muttered hoping the person at the other side would hear her. Perhaps it was one of her sons or daughters coming to check on her or bring her a little company knowing she would complain jokingly of expending a night entirely alone.

The door cracked as it was opened and a figure stepped inside Eliza’s bedroom, the woman stared in disbelief at the masculine figure as it made its way to her bed and sat at the end of it, it took it a while to adjust to the soft mattress and it smiled softly as tears filled Eliza’s eyes.

-It’s good to see you Eliza- the figure smiled and Eliza felt the tears run down her cheeks, when the figure saw this his face turned into a more worried one surprised at the woman’s reaction and how calmed this was, but still heartbreaking

-No, no- he whispered leaning closer to her careful not to invade too much of her space–Eliza, don’t cry, I crumble completely when you cry- he spoke bringing a smile the woman’s face, she lost the count of how many times she had dreamt with hearing that voice again.

-It’s not that- she laughed -I’m just-she cleaned the tears that rolled down her cheeks –surprised to see you, it’s been fifty years Alexander- She said and he nodded in understanding, if the situation was reversed(thank god it wasn’t) he would also be surprised to see his dead wife in front of him.

-I know- he answered knowingly sitting closer and reaching for her hand–I was waiting and counting any minute until the day I would get to see you again. - he kissed her knuckles like the first time he had met her all those years ago, the gesture made her feel young again and brought another smile to her face, oh she missed his unnecessary attempts of flirting.

-You could have come earlier, when I was still young- she joked as he caressed her ridged hand, he looked at her almost as if what she said had offended him directly.

-Don’t say that- he sat next to her interlocking his hand with hers letting her rest her head against his shoulder –You did so many wonderful things without me around, besides you definitely are beautiful no matter your age- he kissed her forehead, she furrowed her eyebrows with a smile adorning her face –And it wasn’t the time for me to come, but now it is- he whispered quietly, she widened her eyes at his choice of words noticing how he seemed to look at her but at the same time avoided her gaze focusing instead in her hands or head but never looking into her eyes.

-Does that mean I’m going to…?

-Yes, I’m sorry I can only seem to bring bad things to your life- he apologized knowing she would pick up whatever he said almost instantly, she had always been a smart woman, he waited her to fight or refuse the fact that she wouldn’t survive the night, she was a fighter, instead, she nodded and adjusted herself better to him and he held her closer as he used to do.

-Well, you also brought some good ones- she remembered fondly the night they had gotten married, and how happy she was after she had Philip, now she wanted to remember the happy things she had while he was still married to her. He smiled softly.

-If it wasn’t for me we could have had an incredible marriage- he reasoned – You managed yourself amazingly without me, there are not words to thank you enough for everything you have done for me Eliza, now I have a name, a legacy. Thank you- he recognized kissing her in her forehead,

-I wasn’t going to cry forever Alexander, someone had to finish the job you left half made-she reasoned –It wouldn’t have killed you improve your handwriting when you were alive, you know? I found it charming when you were courting me but as your widow it was painful to read, John even asked what I had seen in you because with that handwriting it was impossible that I could have understood your letters- he chuckled at the choice of words she had used,

-I’m sorry- he apologized, still with a smile on his face, -Thank you for organizing my writings, I’m sure it was a lot of work-

-It definitely was challenging and a constant dare for me and Angelica’s patience- she reminded fondly how Angelica would help her and complain at the same time about Alexander and how the man didn’t deserve all the troubles Eliza was going through for him, it had pained her when her sister passed away but she moved on, she always did

-I can see that- he pictured an angry Angelica –That woman slaps hard, as soon as she found me on the other side she slapped me twice one “in case I forgot what I had done on earth” and another, quoting her “Look after Eliza even from here because you did not deserve her and still don’t, so watch her as she does wonderful things for your sorry undeserving ass” she didn’t have to tell me a single one of these things- he mumbled as he rubbed his cheeks remembering the pain of the ghostly slap Angelica Schuyler had given him.

-I can picture that, she used to say if she died before you she would come to haunt you- Eliza mumbled, if he wasn’t dead Alexander would have sweated nervously expecting Angelica’s ghostly figure to appear in front of them ready to hug Eliza and slap Alexander once again. It took him a few seconds to assure himself that angelica wouldn’t come to haunt him so he could speak again.

-Washington told me to tell you that he was grateful for the monument; he was touched for the gesture and the effort you put into it- Alexander spoke as he traced with his hands the details in Eliza’s dress, she raised her shoulder like a child that didn’t know the correct answer to a question.

-It was nothing, and it was mostly Martha’s idea I just helped with the found rising- she answered dismissing his opinion being as humble as she was, the truth was that she had tried as hard as she could and her husband knew it just like everyone else should have known.

-You need to stop belittling yourself like that Eliza, you are a wonderful, fierce woman.

-I know who I am Alexander; you don’t have to remind me- She interrupted him sternly, not letting him continue with the trace of compliments –I’m just stating the truth, I helped Martha, the monument was not my idea- She finished leaving him speechless, when they had met she would accept any compliment with a soft blush on her cheeks, now with the severity of her voice, there wasn’t any trace of hurt in it seemed like he was scolding him for doing something stupid rather than reminding him who she was, it was rare to see Eliza like that, she tended to take things in a softer way, scolding the person but more softly leaving them to think about what they had gone wrong.

-The boys told me you interviewed them- He opted for changing the subject knowing that conversation wouldn’t lead any of them to anywhere,

-their stories also deserved to be told – she reasoned, she chuckled when she remembered how much Lafayette gestured whenever he spoke telling her about his battles and the French revolution and everything he had done in his life, or how Hercules told her that he convinced a poor British officer to tell him their plan and the man told him, they saved Washington’s life thanks to that.

-I know- Alexander responded as their promises of success in a bar filled their minds.

-Have I told you what I’m the proudest of?- She smiled nervously he opened his eyes in child-like curiosity waiting for her response

-What?- he urged her to speak unable to wait any longer, she let out a soft heartfelt laugh aware of her husband’s limited patient.

-The orphanage-he kept quiet, she took it as a sign for her to continue –I helped to found it and was the directress for twenty seven years, there were so many beautiful children Alexander, all of them needed a home and I did my best to be able to give it to them, I watched them grow.-She smiled widely remembering every single one of the kids, her children complained about how she forgot about the simplest things nowadays but she still seemed to recall every single detail about her past. –Sometimes they reminded me of you, when they ran around, with their endless energy, I thought I didn’t have enough hands for all of them- She laughed as she looked at her own hands –I wonder if I did enough for them, for all of us, for you- she mumbled, he looked at her shocked unable to believe the words that came out of her lips

-Why do you doubt yourself Eliza? - He exclaimed, -What you did was more than enough, hell you didn’t even had to do nothing at all, it wasn’t your duty and you still. All those kids will remember you forever as the kind sweet woman that gave them a home. You might never see the result of your work, but that doesn’t mean what you did was unimportant Eliza- he consoled as she sank deeper in his arms Alexander felt how her heartbeat got weaker and weaker, he turned his face to the clock noticing that it was the three AM and it was almost time for them to leave.

-I know- she yawned closing her eyes slowly –I was just wondering how was it, from someone else’s eyes.- It was the last thing she said before her eyes closed completely, his eyes filled with tears as he slowly accommodated her in the bed in the position she liked to sleep when she was alive.

-It was amazing Eliza, you are amazing, I love you so much- he stood up and watched as her soul did it as well separating itself from her body ready to reach him. She stood slowly in disbelief taking a look at herself noticing she looked young once again, like Alexander who looked like he did the first time they met. He stretched his hand to her so she could reach him, she kissed him it was slow, kind and soft and everything Alexander missed about her. Eliza looked around the place one last time as he opened the door and gestured to tell her that they couldn’t stay much longer it was time for her to leave, they left the bedroom knowing they would miss their home and what they had built.

The next morning John was the first one to open his mother’s bedroom door to inform her that the breakfast was ready and that someone would bring it to the room. It surprised him to see that she was still asleep, with a soft smile on her face.

-Mom- he called. It usually didn’t take long to wake Eliza up, so when she gave no answer he understood, he looked how her hand held her locket tightly and smiled softly as the tears accumulated in his eyes. As he left the bedroom to gave the family the news he thought he saw both of his parents waving goodbye, even if it wasn’t true he leaned his head to them.

[swan-archive]

welcome to another thrilling episode of “hey uh swan? literally NOBODY asked”! on the menu for tonight: wereham Reynolds affair. thanks to Hannah @the-everqueen for making this anything even vaguely approaching postable, sorry i’m like this, no i’m not sure why it keeps happening, enjoy maybe, etc.

(general warnings for sexual content, infidelity, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, and dubious consent apply.)

It’s been about a week since Eliza, Angelica, and the puppies packed up and headed for Albany.

Or, well: it’s been eight days, thirteen hours, and six minutes. Not that Alexander has been counting.

(Seven minutes.)

(...Okay, he’s been counting.)

He stayed behind for a reason, he reminds himself several times a day. The country needs this plan, won’t sustain itself for long without wrangling its finances back into working order after the chaos of the war. Alex isn’t the kind of person to slap a bunch of sloppy, unrealistic policies together, call them sufficient, and expect Congress to shrug and approve them; no, this is a good plan, one that he’s been hashing out in notes and letters and essays and drafts for years. One that would work. And yet, somehow, somehow (he thinks of Madison’s soft, convincing murmur, Jefferson’s smirking drawl, and curls his lip), the damn thing’s stalled in the House, stonewalled by a bunch of whining Southerners who don’t understand the concept of national interests. 

Figure it out, Alexander, Washington had said, and Alex is the Secretary of the Treasury, this is his job, this is his responsibility, so he’d lowered his tail and bowed his head and said yessir, gone home and holed up in his office and sent out the first of the letters pushing for a reconsideration on the matter of assumption that very evening.

That was back at the end of winter. It’s July. Still no movement on the plan, aside from a couple hard-bought, tepid ehh, maybes.

So, no, he does not have the time to spare just now to go on a vacation. Not even if the whole family’s gone. Not even if he’s been tempted with descriptions of the grounds of Eliza’s parents’ home, spacious and secluded, plenty of room for a wolf and his growing pack of puppies to stretch their legs and explore. Not even if he hasn’t had a quiet night in with Eliza in ages, has spent even his wolf days poring over economics texts that he knows by heart, on the off chance he’ll stumble across the perfect point to convince his detractors.

Not even if (and his heart clenches painfully to think of it) Angelica is back from England. Bright-eyed, brilliant Angelica, who tears into his writing with a ferocity no one else has ever matched, who can match him point for point in any debate, who even an ocean away always seemed to vibrate on the same wavelength as Alex. Angelica, who, in the handful of days she’d been in their home, had left Alex lying awake at night, her words thundering in his ears and her smile dancing before his eyes and the memory of her fingertips brushing casual against the back of his paw burning, burning in him... 

Alex growls and balls up another substandard draft without bothering to let the ink dry first, shoves it to the edge of his desk where it falls down onto the floor. Heel, boy, that’s your wife’s sister you’re talking about. If he’s going to be like this, maybe it’s a good thing they’re all out of the house. Keep him out of trouble, give him some peace and quiet to work in.

And that thought makes him whine so loudly he can’t help but chase the noise with a slightly hysterical laugh. 

Funny to think that he’d used to pride himself on his independence, on his ability to shrug off little things like loneliness and too much silence and an empty bed in service of his goals. Not anymore; he’s a pack animal to his marrow, now, used to a den full of pups and his mate there to hold him as they both drift off to sleep. No matter how he rationalizes, he comes home to his empty home night after night and finds the first panicky thought in his head is they’ve left me. They’ve left me, and they’re never coming back. It’s truly pathetic, but he’s taken to bringing a blanket from the nursery with him to bed at night, curling up with it and with Eliza’s pillow in his arms or between his paws so when he wakes up in the morning he can smell them all, pretend for a second that he’s surrounded by his little pack and not alone, alone, horribly alone.

And that leaves him here, eight days, thirteen hours, and seventeen minutes without his pack, holed up in his office, laboring over yet another letter to a damned fence-sitting Congressman who will probably end up doing nothing more than exchanging a few meaningless notes with Alex before politely refusing his—

(“Compromises,” Eliza would call them, complete with air quotes, reading over his drafts with a faintly exasperated air. You have to give something in order to get something, Alexander.

Don’t you think I know that? he’d challenge her. Would you have me cut my entire plan to ribbons to get one bloody Congressman on my side? It works because it’s a whole, Eliza, they have to see that, unless they’re fools, and if they’re fools then I ought to be able to convince them...

Tell me, brother dear, have you ever made a compromise in your life? Angelica would quip, because you sound to me like a man very out of his depth. Would you like me to write your letters? I’m sure I could get your plan through to Congress in a quarter of the time it’d take you to manage it.

No, no, I’m an honest man, I’ll not have them accusing me of hiring a ghostwriter to do my work, he’d say with a grin. Save for at full moon. But then I’ve no thumbs, so I have no choice, really.

And then Angelica would roll her eyes fondly, and Eliza would laugh and lay a kiss to the side of his muzzle, and then the puppies would burst into the room at the sound of their laughter, and he’d lift little Jamie to his shoulder, and tousle Angie’s curls, and they’d all go down to supper together...)

There’s a knock at the door.

Eliza, he thinks instantly, leaping from his chair, frustration and self-pity forgotten. He throws open his office door and fairly sprints for the stairs. Eliza’s home, she changed her mind and came back to me, thank God, she’s back, they’re back, they’re all back. 

He’s halfway down the stairs before his mind catches up with him, clears its throat and murmurs that Eliza has a key, surely she wouldn’t need to knock to be let in, and even if she did she wouldn’t stand on the front step scuffing her toes nervously against the ground like she’s not meant to be there. And, if it were Eliza, she wouldn’t have come without the littlest pups, and he can’t hear any of them. Alex cocks his head, takes the last few steps with a cautious tread. So, not Eliza. Then who...?

He opens the door, and the woman on the front step jumps. There’s a shawl drawn up over her head and face, concealing her features, and her wavy brown hair conceals more, but there’s no mistaking the new-coin gold of her eyes, or the scent of animal musk she gives off. Another wolf. A strange wolf. The hackles that have just grown in over his shoulders bristle automatically, intruder in my territory not my family not my pack. But—no, Alex, calm down, he thinks, she doesn’t mean any harm, the cast of her ears under her shawl and her shrinking posture all crying out no threat. They’re civilized people. He can control himself.

“Can I help you, madam?” Alex asks, once he’s tamed his voice back down to a reasonable tenor and not a snarl. The other wolf straightens up with a quickness, as if remembering what shape she’s in.

“Secretary...um, Mr. Hamilton?” she says, a bit muffled by the fabric covering her mouth. 

“That’s me.”

“I—I don’t mean to bother you at home, sir, I know this must be—irregular, but would it be possible, might we have a word?”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” says Alex. He moves forward and sniffs, but no, doesn’t recognize that scent, and he would certainly remember another bitten wolf if he’d run across one in his social circles. She sounds young, as well, too young for a colleague’s wife.

“No, no, I—you don’t know me,” she says, a hint of keep-away growl in her voice at Alex leaning into her personal space. She coughs to damp it down, smooths her skirt down behind over the stir of her tail.

“Then, if I might ask...”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she interrupts. “Forgive me, Mr. Hamilton, I wouldn’t have—but I know, I’ve heard you’re a man of honor, a charitable man. That you’re sympathetic to, well...people in need.” She pauses for a moment, shakes her head like that phrase is an annoying fly she’d like to shoo away, but pushes on. “And I thought, maybe you’d understand, you’re like—that is, you’re a—”

She trails off, looks at Alex a little desperately. You’re like me. You’re a werewolf. A stir of pity in his breast. Yes, maybe he would understand. He knows something of how humans and fullblooded wolves treat their kind. And he’s terribly busy, really ought to get back to his work, but he has to admit, the prospect of focusing his efforts on something different is appealing right now. Something that he can actually resolve. Ride in on a white horse and help the lady in need, and go back to his work later bolstered by the victory under his belt. He makes up his mind.

“Perhaps we ought to continue this conversation inside?” he says. He holds the door open, gestures gallantly. The other wolf gives him a wary glance, but steps over the threshold, her clawed fingers working at a fold of her skirt. She raises her head to the unfamiliar smells of the house, looks about the foyer. Alex can’t resist the urge to circle around her curiously, still sniffing. Faint smell of cheap perfume, of one—no, two—other wolves. Her pack?

“You needn’t keep that thing on,” he says at last.

“Sorry?”

“Your shawl, Miss...?”

“Reynolds. Maria Reynolds.” She pauses, then adds, rather grudgingly, “And it’s Mrs., actually.”

“Oh, excuse me. Mrs. Reynolds. But you can still—I mean.” Alex laughs. “We’re all wolves here, aren’t we? You don’t have to cover up like that. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He gestures at his own face with a wry grin, wags his tail slow at his little joke. Maria doesn’t seem to find that funny; Alex sees her nose wrinkle, just above the edge of her shawl. She unwraps it anyway, though, settles it about her shoulders and shakes her hair out. 

They’re coming up on half moon, not a particularly flattering time for a bitten werewolf. Both of them are saddled with ugly, skewed features, noses stretched out too long and lips thinning over pointed teeth and dark fur beginning to sprout on cheek and forehead. Maria tugs a lock of hair down over the side of her face, self-conscious, but it’s obvious to Alex that she must be a great beauty when she’s human. Heart-shaped face and full lips, he thinks, soft tan skin still showing in places under her patchy fur. Prettier than he is, any time of the moon, and he chuckles to himself again at that.

A glint of irritation shows through the nervousness on Maria’s face, and her ears twitch as though she’d like to flatten them out to the sides, come on, stop fucking around, I didn’t come here to get smarmed at. 

Fair enough. “So. What was it you needed my help with, madam?”

Maria swallows hard and becomes very focused on the hem of her skirts. Pretty red dress, flattering, even at this time of the moon, but slightly out-of-fashion, like something saved from several summers ago.

“It’s my husband,” she forces out at last. “He’s—you were an officer, back during the war, perhaps you knew him, James, James Reynolds? He served in the commissary department for a time. His father too.”

“I’m afraid I don’t…”

“It’s, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter. I just thought you might—not that it’s relevant at all, but—oh, Lord.” Her ears droop tragically, and she ducks her head, tongue-tied. Poor girl.

“Please, Mrs. Reynolds,” Alex says, dropping his chin and lowering his eyelids soothingly, “It’s all right, but I don’t understand—your husband, he’s in trouble?”

“In trouble? Ha.” Maria smiles humorlessly at that. “He is the trouble.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he’s a…that is to say, he hasn’t…behaved toward me as a gentleman ought,” she says with excruciating delicacy. Worry, worry, worry, her fingers at her skirt again like to wear a hole in the fabric.

Flash of memory: Maman, years and years and years ago, caught in a candid mood. Sometimes, petit, marriages are not happy things. When I left Johann, and your half-brother, it was not on a whim, but—because he didn’t treat me as a husband should treat his wife. And I couldn’t live that way any longer. 

Alex had been a smart child. He’d been able to piece together the gaps in the story from Maman’s odd comments and the disputes he’d heard of around the neighborhood and, when he could bear to listen, from the gossip swirling around his mother’s name. So. Hasn’t behaved as he should. Lots of implications there, none of them good.

Hard to find the words to respond to those implications, too. “I—Mrs. Reynolds…”

Maria takes his hesitation for disbelief, though, and hastens to add, “I mean to say, what I mean is—it’s not, I wouldn’t have come to you with a trifle, sir, please believe me, I can handle the odd argument. But he disrespects me, he brings women home and doesn’t even bother to hide it and lets them make a madhouse of our place. Staggers home drunk with them every night. And the things he says to me when he’s been drinking, oh, Mr. Hamilton, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, terrible, vile things—I’ve feared for my life, some nights, the way he talks. And then, when he started to—when he…” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head hard, but can’t keep her hands still. They flutter about, ghosting from ribs to shoulder to cheekbone, her touch careful, so careful.

Maria notices him noticing. She presses the pads of her fingers against her face, deliberately, trying for nonchalant, but her whiskers twitch once with discomfort.

“Anyway—I’ll spare you the gory details, shall I?” Maria says, with harsh, affected sarcasm. “He—he beats me. On top of everything else. And, well, there’s not much I can do about that, is there? You know.”

Alex nods, a burning knot rising up in his throat. Oh, he does know. One slip for creatures like them and then it’s mad wolf, and after that the muzzles and manacles and silver chains. So easy to pin blame on a thing, just because you don’t like the look of its face, just because it did what any animal in a trap would do and snapped at its captor.

And here comes another unpleasant flicker of memory. Eight years old, lying in bed with the covers drawn up over his head, trying his best to ignore the raised voices from downstairs. They cut off with a stinging slap that makes him clutch at his own cheek. Nothing to say to that, next morning, to the bruise on Maman’s face. Nothing to say to it now.

Just because there’s nothing to say doesn’t mean Alex can stand to stay silent, though, so, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Reynolds,” he tries, rather weakly.

“I’ve borne it as long as I could,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken at all, “really, I have, I know I’m not, that I can’t help being remiss in my duties as a wife, and if it were just me, I’d’ve never bothered you, but, you see...” For the first time in their conversation, some of Maria’s nervous prickliness melts away, and her voice is almost gentle as she continues, “I’ve a little girl. Susanna. She’s just six. My pride and joy. I couldn’t leave her with—him—I just couldn’t—but she’s another mouth to feed and we’re staying in a boarding-house and that’s no place for a child, it’s simply not—”

“A boarding-house? You mean you can’t even stay in the same house with him?”

“No, that’s just it, he’s broken with us. He’s gone and left me. Left me, and my little girl, and is living with another woman, put us out of our own house and left us with next to nothing, all because I’m a—”

“Because you’re a bitten wolf,” Alex says grimly.

She nods, and digs her fangs into her lip, and grits out, with an obvious effort, “So. You see. I had nowhere else to turn. And I know you have a family of your own, sir. But if you had anything, anything at all you could spare, just enough to, to get us out of the city, to find us somewhere else to stay, even…” Her voice breaks, wavers with an ugly, hurting whine. Her eyes very wide and shining.

“Oh, Mrs. Reynolds—here, please, take this.”

Maria makes a soft whimper—the only sound at her disposal at the moment—and snatches the handkerchief out of his hand. Buries her face in it, half-turning away from him. Alex thinks about reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder, maybe nosing at her in a gesture of gentle canine reassurance. No, probably too forward. Must be something else he can do to make her stop crying.

“This…husband of yours,” he says after a moment. “He wouldn’t happen to be human, would he?”

“N-no. No. Wolf. Born to it.”

“Hah. Shame. I’d’ve offered to give him a bite of his own, if he were. Teach him something about empathy, eh? I could still mess him around a bit, if you think it’d be any help, I could take a born wolf it it came to that…” 

Maria lets out a wet little cough and shakes her head. “Th-thank you, Mr. Hamilton, but I just…I want to be rid of him. I never want to have to think of him again. That’s all.”

“Of course. Of course.” Stupid, Alex, you stupid brute, he snarls at himself, twisting a cuff button between his fingers. First that idiotic apology, and now this? Some help you are to this poor girl. He’s too keyed, that’s what it is, he’s not thinking straight. All those uncomfortable recollections, and Maria sobbing silently into his handkerchief, and behind it all his plan still nudging at the back of his brain. Pull it together. Focus. Make yourself useful, and the rest will fall into place. Should fall into place. He clears his throat.

“Mrs. Reynolds?” He brushes his fingertips against the back of her hand. Soft fur there, muted tickle against his callused paw pads. “I’m terribly sorry to leave you alone, but would you mind if I ran and fetched something? It’ll only take a moment. I won’t be gone long.”

Maria bobs her head, makes a muffled noise of assent into the handkerchief. Good enough for Alex, and he turns and heads back upstairs.

Probably a stupid idea to leave a strange wolf alone in his home, unsupervised, but Alex can’t bring himself to care much as he throws open his office door and walks over to his desk. He pulls out a drawer, rifles through it for his checkbook. Habit of squirreling cash away in the bank whenever he thinks to do it: throwback to those lean years of his childhood, coins in a box under his bed, insurance against the next inevitable disaster. What’re you saving up for, Eliza always asks, what do you think’s going to happen to us? Think you’re going to get run over by a carriage on your way home from work?

Just for a rainy day, he’ll reply, or you never know what life will throw at you. The reasonable part of his brain stills his hand on the quill. Yeah, you never do know what life will throw at you, it says archly, like—losing your job if you can’t get your plan past Congress, perhaps? Remember Eliza, remember the puppies, remember what happens if you fail. 

And he does, he does, that specter hasn’t given him a moment’s peace in months, but Maria’s right downstairs. Maria has a puppy too. She’s playing against high stakes, just like Alex, but with no one at all in her corner.

She’d looked so lost. So very helpless.

He won’t fail, he thinks, pushing back against caution. He’s never failed before, not in an arena like this, and he’s not about to start now. He’ll manage things in the end. So he can afford to show a little charity.

He scrawls a number on the check, blots it quick. Thirty dollars. That should be enough, right? Enough to get one wolf and her pup somewhere safe. You have a family, gasps his reason, thirty dollars, you gonna buy this girl a horse of her own to ride out of Philly in style, or—

Okay, so maybe more than a little charity. But whose business is it what he does with his own money, anyway? He crumples the blotter paper savagely and tosses it amongst his discarded letter drafts. He’s Secretary of the fucking Treasury. There are much worse things he could do with his cash than hand it off to someone down on her luck. Before he can scare himself out of it, he seizes his quill and slashes his signature down in the margin. 

There. No going back now. He’s helping.

Flapping the paper to dry it, he hurries back downstairs. Maria’s standing there waiting for him in the middle of the room, still as a statue but for her hands twisting his handkerchief, the fur on her face scrubbed clean and dry. You’d never know she’d been crying, just a few minutes ago.

“I’d like you to have this, Mrs. Reynolds. I only hope it’ll help,” he says, crossing the short distance to her and pushing the check into her hands. “Get your little girl a safer place to sleep.” Maria flips it over, scans it. Her eyes widen, and her ears perk straight up with shock.

“I—oh—Mr. Hamilton…” Maria tilts her head down and peers at his writing over the too-long bridge of her nose, as though sure she must have misread his writing. “This is—thank you—oh—” 

“Please, don’t mention it,” Alex says, with a wave of his hand, warm glow of done-something-right settling over him. It feels good to be generous, feels like winning. Maria clutching the check so hard it crumples, her claws in danger of punching straight through the paper. Must not have been expecting such a gift. Poor girl.

Alex pats her on the arm, feels the trembling tension of inhuman strength there. “You put that somewhere safe, now,” he says solicitously. “Wouldn’t want someone taking it from you on your way home. In fact, I’d be happy to walk you back to your lodgings, if you like. It’s coming on night, no time for a lady to be out on the streets by herself.”

It’s a whimsical, even silly offer—what kind of fool would try to jump a werewolf at night, lady or not?—but Maria colors up under her fur and lowers her eyes and says, “That would be...I’d appreciate that, sir, thank you.”

“Of course, Mrs. Reynolds. If you’ll just give me a moment to fetch my coat…”

Maria’s destination turns out to be a boarding-house not two blocks from Alex’s own front door, barely far enough to be called a walk. Alex goes slow, enjoying the sultry evening, the sounds and smells of the city, his tail up at a cheerful angle and swishing back and forth. Maria is more subdued, her hand resting chastely on his offered arm and her shawl drawn back up over her muzzle. Both of them panting a little with the lingering heat in the air.

Maria catches herself, puts her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, even though her face is covered. “Excuse me, Mr. Hamilton,” she says, “it’s—reflex, you know how it is, it’s terribly uncouth of me though, I’m sorry—”

“No, please don’t worry,” he replies, licking his own chops with good humor. “The weather really is intolerable in this city. I can’t remember New York ever getting so hot in the summer.”

“Me either,” says Maria, “must have been the ocean breeze, or—” She stops abruptly, almost guiltily, and hitches her shawl up her muzzle. Clears her throat. Says nothing, and they walk on a ways without speaking.

“You’ve spent time in New York, then?” Alex asks after a minute, to fill the awkward silence. Maria glances up at him out of the corner of her eye, cagey, as if trying to judge whether he’s earned an answer to that question. Exhausting, that constant vigilance, and trying to rub away the sharp edges of it a little, he continues, “I studied law there, when I first got to America. King’s. You know King’s?”

“Of course I do,” Maria almost snaps. Her hand on his arm twitches, and then she appears to regroup, lowers her chin in submission, takes a breath as if to steady her voice. “Um. Yes, I—I grew up in New York. Born and bred, actually.” Her eyes soften, a flicker of that human beauty of hers showing through again. “My parents still live there. My sister.”

“That’s nice. You go back and see them much?”

Alex can practically feel the shockwave as Maria’s walls slam up again. “No,” she says, the word grinding against a growl in her throat that she tries and fails to soften with a harsh laugh. “No, James has never been much of a fan of unnecessary expenses, like hiring a coach just to visit a family who doesn’t even—well. So, no. I haven’t seen them since we came to Philadelphia.”

Alex bites back the question that wants to slip between his teeth, which is are you sure you don’t want me to tear this guy’s throat out? Might be better for all of them if he did just that. “Do you miss them?” he asks instead.

“Of course, but...well. It’s not—it’s complicated. I wasn’t seeing them much anyway, not after, after...” Alex recognizes that tone, that reluctance, has heard it in his own voice plenty of times. After the accident, she means, after the bite. “They like to see Susy, at least. Liked to. She’s a sweet pup, a pretty little girl. Easy to be around.” Bitter note there. Not like me.

“I’m sure she’s perfectly charming.” Alex flashes a doggy grin at her. “Like her mother.”

Maria snorts, gives Alex another sidelong look. Glances back down at her toes. “Anyway. I like New York summers. Liked. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to handle them now, either. Who knows.”

Interesting. Alex picks at the timeline forming in his brain. Bitten before she came to Philly, left New York quick enough to miss the changing of the seasons. Family back there who know her daughter, knew Maria herself after she was changed, for a little while. And then, wistful—would he be able to bear a Christiansted summer, now, if he were sent back there?

Maria’s fingers squeeze his wrist lightly. Must’ve caught the thoughtful cast to his ears. Clever thing, paying attention. He folds his free hand over hers, and she tenses. Face unreadable under the shawl. “I hope we get a good storm to break this heat, soon,” is all she says.

“Hope so,” he agrees. Almost imagines he can sense it building in the air right now, a barely tangible frisson between the two of them. The corners of Maria’s eyes crinkle in what might be a smile.

The boarding-house, when they reach it, is a shabby little place, dark weathered wood and tiny windows that dim the already weak evening light, knots of customers muttering to each other and glancing around suspiciously in the foyer and common room. Alex insists on walking Maria up to her quarters and seeing her safe inside, watches her shrug off her shawl and bustle around the room. She removes his folded check from her pocket and tucks it safely inside a drawer before busying herself lighting candles. Nondescript space she’s got here, stuffy with the heat, musty mildew smell in a few corners, but there are small stabs here and there at making it livable. A clumsily-stitched, brightly-colored quilt thrown over the threadbare bed. A fat red poppy starting to wilt in a chipped glass bottle on the windowsill. Half-mended dress, or petticoat, or shift, stuffed hastily into a basket next to the nightstand.

Something very obviously missing.

“Your daughter?” Alex asks, his ears twitching as though he’ll hear her hiding under the bed, or perhaps behind the curtain.

“With an acquaintance, for the evening. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be, well, out. She’s safe where she is, for now. I’ll go and fetch her soon.” Maria shifts the candle on the nightstand, so the light catches gold on her eyes. Shadows dancing on the line of her muzzle, the soft curve of her lower lip. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Hamilton?”

Alex looks at the spindly little chairs up against the near wall. “I suppose—sure. Why not. Just for a moment,” he says, and tucks his tail alongside his leg to sit more comfortably. A taut flicker of smile crosses Maria’s face, and she saunters over, lowers herself into the second chair. Cocks her head at him, all charm. The light blurs her human features, so for a moment it’s simply a wolf in a red dress blinking at him. With the dim light and close warmth and wolf-smell, he could almost be in a den.

“I just wanted to thank you properly for your generosity, Mr. Hamilton,” she says. She smooths her skirts, the same slightly crumpled blood-shade as the poppy’s petals. The hem brushes the toe of Alex’s shoe. “It’s—what you’ve done for me—for us—” She pauses, then, quite deliberate: “If there’s anything at all I can do to repay you for your kindness…”

“Please don’t, Mrs. Reynolds. Please. You don’t owe me a thing.”

“Don’t I?”

“It’s enough to have spent the evening in the company of a young woman like yourself.” And where did that come from? He looks at Maria for any sign of offense, but she doesn’t growl or recoil or reprimand him. Just sits there, worrying her skirts again. A strange sharpness in her eyes, he’d almost call it fear, but of what? Nothing to be afraid of, surely not while he’s here.

This heat is making him crazy. He lets out a gruff half-bark, shaking his head in the stagnant air. Candlelight shining red through his eyelids when he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Mr. Hamilton?”

“I…I ought to head back home,” Alex says. Makes no move to stand.

“Someone waiting for you?”

“No. No.” Alex manages a weak grin. “Just. Lots to do. Lots of work.” Important work, crucial work, he knows, but an unaccountable surge of irritation wells up in him at the thought of it, so he sits there, his leg jittering a little with nervous energy. Just a few seconds more, up here in the half-light, lingering in the smells of candle smoke and fur, and then he should go—he should—he will—

“You don’t need to leave,” Maria says suddenly. “You could stay. For a bit. If you wanted.”  She lays a hand on his knee, ghosts it up his thigh.

Alex jumps. Burning sensation on his skin, under the fabric, under the fur, like she’d struck him with a red-hot poker. “Mrs. Reynolds—”

“Maria,” she interrupts. She presses her lips together for a moment, looking at her own hand on his leg like she can’t quite believe it’s there, but she collects herself. Bears down enough for claws to sting. She meets Alex’s eyes, hesitation gone. “You can call me Maria.”

“I—” Alex says. Stops. I shouldn’t, I couldn’t, I won't caught in his throat. Yes, he should refuse her. He’s a taken man. He has children. A pack. A life that would not benefit from a liaison with a married woman. He should go now—

—back to his empty home, with only scent-phantoms to keep him company. Back to Congressional deadlock and the sneers of Jefferson’s faction. No one to offer a new perspective on the tail-chasing circle of his thoughts, no one to commiserate, no one to stroke his ears and hold him close and tell him that his hard work will be worth it in the end.

And there’s a warm body here in front of him, warm and soft and she smells so good, oh, nothing like Eliza or Angelica but she smells like wanting and she smells like wildness and she smells like mate.

And he’s alone.

Almost before he knows what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses his lips to hers.

They’re neither of them shaped quite right for it; their noses bump together and Alex's fangs catch on her lower lip and she makes a little noise and they both freeze for a long awful moment. No no no no no no echoes in his ears, as if screamed from a long way off, but he feels velvet of just-grown fur under his fingertips and someone else’s breath against his lips so he surges up to her again, and she softens to his touch.

And then he’s kissing another werewolf, and the only thing strange about it is that he’s never done it before. Wrong, the angles of her face under his hands, not human, but his must be too, and she hasn’t pushed him away, and she isn’t pushing him away. Fireworks going off behind his eyes, want and hungry and mate in little flashes of animal frenzy. Feels raw and new and intoxicating. He’s sure he must have been wanted before, by someone, but he can’t seem to remember when or by who—

Maria ends the kiss, ducking her head, unexpectedly coy. Her curls fall in her face. Alex pushes them back. Tilts her chin up. She trembles, but wrinkles her nose slightly, meets his eyes. Alex thrills at that. A challenge. Let him work for it. He’d always been a flirt, even after the bite—he can convince. With words, or not.

“You’re very beautiful, Maria,” he says.

Maria barks sharply. Not even pretending to be a laugh. Yeah, tell me another one.

“You are, though.” He traces a claw down the line of her neck, over the downy fur just appearing there. Strokes his thumb over her collarbone. “Do you not hear that much? You should. You should have someone to tell you that every day...” Like Eliza does for you, murmurs a voice in his head, like your perfect, wonderful, loving, faithful wife does for you. Remember her?

Yes, but Eliza isn’t here, he thinks. And I’m so lonely.

It’s not too late. You can still say no. Can still walk away.

Alex leans forward and sets his teeth against Maria’s skin. Bites down but gently, not enough to really hurt, not enough to draw blood. Still a revelation. No teeth with Eliza, too much of a risk, what if he pushed too hard, then she’d be cursed like him, spoiled, a monster.

But Maria’s already—and the taste, the taste—

Maria shivers, and her hands come up to rest against Alex’s hair. He lays his cheek against the pulse in her neck, under the faint marks of his teeth. Quick frightened flutter, a bird he’d flushed from the underbrush on a full moon hunt. He would like to sink his teeth all the way in, still the beating wings and consume, predator triumphant. Settles for whining and licking a long stripe up Maria’s bared throat. Animal. Doesn’t matter. We’re all wolves here, aren’t we? 

She looks down at him, and he realizes he’s left his chair, fallen to his knees before her. She is beautiful, really is, in a way that only another wolf could recognize, another creature, someone like him. Soft and sharp in turns, long white fangs and loose dark curls. Delicious dichotomy. Those eyes gleaming like candlelight in a fever dream. Golden, golden, and he pushes his hand up under the hem of her red, red dress, her body twisted with the wolf-change but so is his, neither of them human so it’s all right, isn’t it, it’s all right. He can touch. He can—

“Mr. Hamilton,” she says, and he freezes, his hand flinching away from her thigh. Thank God, he thinks, yes, give me an excuse, make me stop and I’ll go and we’ll never speak of this again, and no, no, please, let me give this to you, let me keep going, I thought you wanted me, I need it, I need it. He whimpers softly in confusion. Maria rises from her chair; Alex crawls backward on hands and knees, still looking up at her, half-expecting a kick or a cuff. Bad dog. Go to your kennel and think about what you’ve done.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she repeats. Her tone bizarrely cool, makes no sense with the heat in the air, the heat under his skin, and she’d panted too, earlier, just like him, she must be able to feel it the same.

“Alex,” he says, hoarsely, stupidly, because even now, he has to say something. “It’s Alex.”

Maria walks to the bed and perches herself on the edge. Maria draws her skirts up over her knees, over her thighs. Maria regards Alex, and Alex breathes in the warm musk of her from across the room. Counts his heartbeats, and after seven of them, she crooks a finger at him. Come, boy.

Crass.

But Alex does, eventually.