I always want to see you, words that should sooth him, but instead flow over him like nothing. Well. Perhaps a distant warmth, far away. He's not sure Hamilton really knows. Has processed yet. This is temporary. It will change.

"You can't give him a small amount more, to ease him down?" Because Burr is familiar with that--taking laudanum each morning following birth, and then having to ease himself off.

And then Hamilton says he wants Jefferson dead. Well. Burr doesn't know if he has the power to address that, right now. It's such a--what had happened, really? And Hamilton--

He sits down on the edge of the bed, strokes cool palms back over Hamilton's brow, the wrinkles there.


"Jefferson--he will live?" He asks, because there are small mercies, aren't there? Hamilton can't go away. They could be ruined but happy, so long as Hamilton was not away.