Burr thinks at first, that Hamilton has picked him up, but when he presses his face against the warm bulk it is not Hamilton's scent the greets him.
He is too out of his mind with pain, to do much of anything while Washington carries him towards the trees and the small cabins arranged there in a semicircle. Cannot but clutch on and try to swallow back pitiful, shameful sounds.
Washington is muttering to him but he cannot make out the words, over the howling wind and blowing snow. Lafayette takes his hand at one point, says something in French, slow and lilting and smooth.
Burr cannot help the warning that spills from his scent gland, the horrible, weak omega sound, some whine from high in his throat, as they carry him over the threshold of a cabin. An instant cessation of wind and noise, a wall of warmth.
He is on the bed, and then Hamilton is there, grabbing his hand and asking to stay, but Burr will not let him go, whines for him, half-gone with pain.
Questions, as they strip his clothes, peeling bloody fabric from his legs and opening him, bare before the room of women and omegas. Have you had any contractions? Seizings? And he doesn't know what contractions feel like--cramps, he says, my stomach--
He doesn't know these people.
He isn't opening, another woman says, from between his legs, someone presses on his stomach and he flinches away, tries to turn towards Hamilton but someone holds him down. Fingers slip inside him and he sobs. He doesn't know what is happening. He is lightheaded and dizzy and confused, hurting.
"Alexander," he says, but he doesn't know what he is asking for.
The bleeding doesn't stop. It grows no worse, but it doesn't stop. They pile tags between his legs, soak up what they can. There isn't anything to do, they say, but keep him still and hope whatever is broken mends itself, though it is likely he will keep bleeding in some capacity until the baby comes, whenever that may be.
Burr is scared. For himself, for Hamilton, for the baby.
Keep him well fed, give him plenty to drink. Burr doesn't feel like he can swallow anything. He is nauseous, the room spins. He is tired, on the verge on unconsciousness.
no subject
He is too out of his mind with pain, to do much of anything while Washington carries him towards the trees and the small cabins arranged there in a semicircle. Cannot but clutch on and try to swallow back pitiful, shameful sounds.
Washington is muttering to him but he cannot make out the words, over the howling wind and blowing snow. Lafayette takes his hand at one point, says something in French, slow and lilting and smooth.
Burr cannot help the warning that spills from his scent gland, the horrible, weak omega sound, some whine from high in his throat, as they carry him over the threshold of a cabin. An instant cessation of wind and noise, a wall of warmth.
He is on the bed, and then Hamilton is there, grabbing his hand and asking to stay, but Burr will not let him go, whines for him, half-gone with pain.
Questions, as they strip his clothes, peeling bloody fabric from his legs and opening him, bare before the room of women and omegas. Have you had any contractions? Seizings? And he doesn't know what contractions feel like--cramps, he says, my stomach--
He doesn't know these people.
He isn't opening, another woman says, from between his legs, someone presses on his stomach and he flinches away, tries to turn towards Hamilton but someone holds him down. Fingers slip inside him and he sobs. He doesn't know what is happening. He is lightheaded and dizzy and confused, hurting.
"Alexander," he says, but he doesn't know what he is asking for.
The bleeding doesn't stop. It grows no worse, but it doesn't stop. They pile tags between his legs, soak up what they can. There isn't anything to do, they say, but keep him still and hope whatever is broken mends itself, though it is likely he will keep bleeding in some capacity until the baby comes, whenever that may be.
Burr is scared. For himself, for Hamilton, for the baby.
Keep him well fed, give him plenty to drink. Burr doesn't feel like he can swallow anything. He is nauseous, the room spins. He is tired, on the verge on unconsciousness.