Burr doesn't know what to say. Never had much skill, in matters of comfort and reassurance, when that person was dear to him. A terrible story. Two days, lying insensate next to a dead mother. Before that--years of hard labor, or starvation and suffering, not enough meat on the bone, not enough of anything.

Burr can't do anything, but hug Hamilton while he cries--uses his body like a balm, slides upward so that his head is next to Hamilton, and he can press their cheeks together, can bring his hands up to stroke over his face.

"I'm sorry," he says, because what else is there to say. "I didn't know, I don't know, what that is like, other than that it sounds miserable, and heart-breaking." Little kisses, pressed gently into skin, twining fingers.

"That could never happen to us, Alexander. We have friends here, and means. I would never leave you, and I know you would not abandon me, and even if the worst happened and we were separated, you could seek sanctuary with Washington or Laurens as well as I could seek support from Mr. Edwards, who would take me in as his Christian duty even if I were a whore and Theo an illegitimate orphan." But that is not good enough. Hamilton is shaped by it--the towering specter of poverty, the need to get away. And he will not rest until they attain something unattainable, beyond all reproff. But Montgomery's money would help. A small balm, if not perfect security.

"I would fight on this matter of the money regardless, but I would do it for you and Theo as well. So you do not have to feel those pains again."