May. 9th, 2022

non_stop: (alex18)
[personal profile] non_stop
When he returns to their townhouse, it is in a frenzy. Monroe's sneering voice, vile words echoing in his ears. Burr is not there; Burr is with the Senate, or on an errand. He forces a smile at Theodosia, who knows that something is wrong -- she is bright beyond her years, and she is -- she is almost the age he and Burr were, when they began their romance.

He kisses her on the cheek. "I need to write, darling. You can play my confessor later." By which he hopes he means never.

Paces in his home office, his heart like to beat out of his chest. Burr has been so different, lately. Flinching from his touch. There should have been a heat, at least one, and he hasn't had it. Doesn't answer when Hamilton asks what is wrong -- denies it.

And so Hamilton knows, with awful certainty, that Monroe has told him the truth. That Burr has been the plaything of Jefferson. Has enjoyed it. Has abandoned Hamilton, and his family -- for what?

He wants to weep, but the tears do not come.

Not until a messenger at the door, Theo bringing him a letter from Jefferson, written in haste. Words that defend Burr, express sorrow, a horrific pretense that Jefferson and Burr are both innocents, drawn astray by desire.

He does weep, then.

He does not know when it is that there is a soft knock at the door, Burr's face --

"How could you?" bursts out Hamilton, moving to his feet. "How could you?"

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