Burr turns on the bed, when the pain fades, and his hand brushes a sheet of parchment. damn Hamilton, leaving the stuff everywhere, even in Burr's sickbed after creating human life.
Ah, but the letter is addressed to him, and as he fold it open and begins to read he feels something unfurl, a small, breathless feeling, different from before, but no more foreign; the feeling when Hamilton had slipped that rings on his finger, had shown him the ring near that river, when he asked for Burr's hand in the courtroom, when he stopped Burr in the hallway that first night, even when the feeling had been buried beneath fear and resentment.
Small sentiments, no less precious for their size; 'My Dearest Little Captain,' 'You were right,' 'I dream of you,' 'Be well, love.'
Burr is crying again, because he's been crying enough these past few days, what's a little more? Hamilton is so sweet to him, so good, as much as he is annoying and overbearing and has no sense of scale or temperance. Burr is right, and for all he thought Hamilton might never understand, that this might the an unfortunate, insurmountable hurdle in their relationship that Burr would have to learn to deal with, he has displayed a capacity Burr did not know he had.
He feels the rings on his finger, a nervous habit he has never gotten over, twirls the metal and watches how it settles against his flesh. His body is ruined, but it will heal, eventually. And Hamilton makes him feel more whole than anything.
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Ah, but the letter is addressed to him, and as he fold it open and begins to read he feels something unfurl, a small, breathless feeling, different from before, but no more foreign; the feeling when Hamilton had slipped that rings on his finger, had shown him the ring near that river, when he asked for Burr's hand in the courtroom, when he stopped Burr in the hallway that first night, even when the feeling had been buried beneath fear and resentment.
Small sentiments, no less precious for their size; 'My Dearest Little Captain,' 'You were right,' 'I dream of you,' 'Be well, love.'
Burr is crying again, because he's been crying enough these past few days, what's a little more? Hamilton is so sweet to him, so good, as much as he is annoying and overbearing and has no sense of scale or temperance. Burr is right, and for all he thought Hamilton might never understand, that this might the an unfortunate, insurmountable hurdle in their relationship that Burr would have to learn to deal with, he has displayed a capacity Burr did not know he had.
He feels the rings on his finger, a nervous habit he has never gotten over, twirls the metal and watches how it settles against his flesh. His body is ruined, but it will heal, eventually. And Hamilton makes him feel more whole than anything.