Burr sits on the floor of the study for a long while, wracked by terror and anxiety. He continues to vomit, but as daylight breaks he becomes sure this is not the work of the potion at all, but of morning sickness, or worse. Some deeper thing at work, premonition of his husband's doom.
He is exhausted, when the letter comes. A light doze more like nightmare, disorientation clinging. Not a dream. Hard wood, aching spine. Then the letter, slipped under the door by Theodosia, no doubt.
And that--Hamilton is alive, but not that Hamilton is unharmed. Jefferson wounded. For Burr. Over Burr.
He should have gone after him. But--he can hardly stand, when he pushes up on legs that wobble. His whole body aches, his cheek bruised and swelling. The smell--stale heat. Working out of his pores.
Will Hamilton even want to see him? He had allowed Burr to drop like nothing more than--
But it is Burr's duty. And if there is even the slightest chance Hamilton needs him--and even then, what right does Hamilton have to refuse him? A little artificial flash of their old animosity.
He likes Ned. Letters short and to the point. He has to go.
Theodosia is sleeping, when he opens the door, so Burr slips around her up the stairs. Bathes and dresses carefully, and the scent reducers have done their work.
He grabs one of Hamilton's books on the way out, calls for a carriage where normally he would walk, and is knocking on Ned's door before the hour is up. The picture of composure, but for bruised skin.
no subject
He is exhausted, when the letter comes. A light doze more like nightmare, disorientation clinging. Not a dream. Hard wood, aching spine. Then the letter, slipped under the door by Theodosia, no doubt.
And that--Hamilton is alive, but not that Hamilton is unharmed. Jefferson wounded. For Burr. Over Burr.
He should have gone after him. But--he can hardly stand, when he pushes up on legs that wobble. His whole body aches, his cheek bruised and swelling. The smell--stale heat. Working out of his pores.
Will Hamilton even want to see him? He had allowed Burr to drop like nothing more than--
But it is Burr's duty. And if there is even the slightest chance Hamilton needs him--and even then, what right does Hamilton have to refuse him? A little artificial flash of their old animosity.
He likes Ned. Letters short and to the point. He has to go.
Theodosia is sleeping, when he opens the door, so Burr slips around her up the stairs. Bathes and dresses carefully, and the scent reducers have done their work.
He grabs one of Hamilton's books on the way out, calls for a carriage where normally he would walk, and is knocking on Ned's door before the hour is up. The picture of composure, but for bruised skin.