"Wait!"

The call comes from a diminutive, portly man, instantly recognizable as James Madison, come to pay a call on his ill friend, diverted by the emergency in front of him. What could Burr-Hamilton be doing here? Could it be that this was truly a crime of adultery and not ravishment?

The poor omega is ill and insensate, not responding when Madison calls his name. "Mr. Hamilton... Mr. Burr." He looks to the slave. "Lay him out on the sopha."

"Mr. Jefferson has instructed me to bring him to the Hamilton residence..."

"Then lay him out in the carriage. Let the poor man down." Madison sends his own carriage ahead and climbs in after Burr. The only place he can lay properly is on the floor, and Madison lowers himself next to Burr, projecting as soothing a scent as he can manage. Presses his wrist against Burr's lips, so that one of his scent glands can be close to Burr's nose. It would ordinarily be unthinkable to take such liberties with pheromonic manipulation, but he believes the extraordinary measure is called-for.

"Hush, now," he murmurs: "You'll be home soon."