"Hush, now." Madison strokes Burr's throat, where there are signs of a fresh bite. (Thomas couldn't have -- he couldn't have.) Burr leans against his thigh, and Madison sits, awkwardly, with his legs half-bent in front of him, braced against the carriage's walls. Sets his cane aside, and begins to rub Burr's back. "There. I'll have you back to your husband."

But, as it turns out, Hamilton is not at his home. Theodosia directs them towards the President's house, her lips pressed thin in what Madison can only assume is anger. He remembers the months working with Hamilton on the Federalist Papers, Theodosia underfoot, curious and sharp and dazzlingly witty. How different, that time, from this one -- cold words and colder silences. She does not want to see Burr like this, and Madison cannot find any fault in that.

The slave wants to leave Burr and return home; it takes all the authority Madison can bring to bear to have him go on.

The carriage jostles unpleasantly, almost bruisingly, as Madison tries to comfort the insensible omega. The smell is almost too much for him, overwhelming in its distress.

--

"Where is Aaron?"

Hamilton is shaky but conscious, now; he has little to dull the pain of a tearing heart. He turns from Ned, turns from Ned's question. "He would hardly touch me," and Hamilton shudders. "He would hardly look at me."

"Where," Ned enunciates, slower, "is Aaron?"