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amrev_intrigues2022-11-01 12:00 am
slowtoanger) wrote in amrev_intrigues2022-11-01 12:00 am
Future PSL 5
It takes a few days to get everything sorted away, so that it isn't until the next week that they are finally packed and ready to leave. The children have gone on ahead with Theodosia--too many for one carriage and their luggage, and Theodosia truthfully deserves a break from caring for Burr. Not that minding the children is much of a break, but once they arrive at Montgomery place their housekeeper can take over, in many regards.
Burr stays in his room for much of it. The night with the Madison's has left him changed. There is new life in him, and something more acute and delicate. Someone that feels as it could break at any moment, something which must be sheltered. He has never stopped loving his husband, but--loving him has not always been easy. Not because of Hamilton, but--
He came back. He came back, when he should not have. Or rather, he knows Hamilton will love Burr and keep on loving Burr at complete detriment to himself. That everything Hamilton does must be desperate and wild and burn hot enough to scorch. He came back, even when he thought Burr had gone of his own free will to humiliate him. Hamilton needs him, in the same way Burr needs Hamilton. And maybe that isn't healthy, to love some one enough you know you will die without them. But. That's how they are. Never a firm enough grasp on the fabric of life to do anything but cling to each other, no respite from horrors expect in each other's bodies.
When he looks at Hamilton his heart quickens. Hamilton, who works tirelessly, who has worked tirelessly to the exclusion even of his own ambitions, for Burr. For their family. Burr watches him so often now. Creeps from bed in his dressing gown to recline on the settee in Hamilton's study. Only to watch him. To see that he is still here.
He's no less beautiful than he was then, twenty years ago. But changed now. Less youthful, more regal. The face of foreign nobility, in the frame of one not unused to starving and hardships. Angular where Burr's body has gone soft, after seven pregnancies. Sometimes when Burr looks at him his eyes water, and he must look away. Like one staring too long at the oceans horizon turned glass in the rising sun.
He sets himself to work, as Hamilton goes to his own. He sends letters, and enlists even Van Ness, who must visit a ridiculous number of craftsmen to find one both discreet and of quality enough to satisfy those with refined tastes.
The whole thing should take longer than a week, but money talks. It is the morning they are set to leave, that Burr presents Hamilton with that box: wrapped in delicate gold leafed paper.
He has been nervous all morning, for the long carriage ride. About, finally, after so long. There is always a stir created, when a family such as the Hamilton's lets one residence for another. And the anxiety hangs over him. But this--this will help. This token. If Hamilton likes it. If he approves.
"I had something made for you--for us," Burr says, looking away, to examine the floor of the kitchen as if there is something to see there besides swept wood. "If you don't like it, it is fine. I haven't even opened it myself, I simply wrote with the specifications. But I have been assured the quality is more than adequate. If you don't like it--we don't have to use it. We could have another made, or we could simply forget about it altogether. I don't mean this for me, though if may seem like that. I mean it for--us."
Inside, the object he has agonized over: the most delicate gold chain he has ever seen. Not small chains like that on a lady's necklace, but more akin to something delicate one might lay on the neck of a small dog. Small, golden chains, made to lay perfectly, ornamental. But also twisted through with black silk ribbon, which can be unwound, if desired. A small space at the front to attach a lead, if wanted. And at the back, engraved in the most delicate of hand, in mimicry of Alexander's own hand: A.H.
It is not the only thing, though. Because there is a second, matching. Secreted away, for if Hamilton ever acts on those inclinations Madison revealed. More inconspicuous, but no less telling: the engraving: A.B.
Burr stays in his room for much of it. The night with the Madison's has left him changed. There is new life in him, and something more acute and delicate. Someone that feels as it could break at any moment, something which must be sheltered. He has never stopped loving his husband, but--loving him has not always been easy. Not because of Hamilton, but--
He came back. He came back, when he should not have. Or rather, he knows Hamilton will love Burr and keep on loving Burr at complete detriment to himself. That everything Hamilton does must be desperate and wild and burn hot enough to scorch. He came back, even when he thought Burr had gone of his own free will to humiliate him. Hamilton needs him, in the same way Burr needs Hamilton. And maybe that isn't healthy, to love some one enough you know you will die without them. But. That's how they are. Never a firm enough grasp on the fabric of life to do anything but cling to each other, no respite from horrors expect in each other's bodies.
When he looks at Hamilton his heart quickens. Hamilton, who works tirelessly, who has worked tirelessly to the exclusion even of his own ambitions, for Burr. For their family. Burr watches him so often now. Creeps from bed in his dressing gown to recline on the settee in Hamilton's study. Only to watch him. To see that he is still here.
He's no less beautiful than he was then, twenty years ago. But changed now. Less youthful, more regal. The face of foreign nobility, in the frame of one not unused to starving and hardships. Angular where Burr's body has gone soft, after seven pregnancies. Sometimes when Burr looks at him his eyes water, and he must look away. Like one staring too long at the oceans horizon turned glass in the rising sun.
He sets himself to work, as Hamilton goes to his own. He sends letters, and enlists even Van Ness, who must visit a ridiculous number of craftsmen to find one both discreet and of quality enough to satisfy those with refined tastes.
The whole thing should take longer than a week, but money talks. It is the morning they are set to leave, that Burr presents Hamilton with that box: wrapped in delicate gold leafed paper.
He has been nervous all morning, for the long carriage ride. About, finally, after so long. There is always a stir created, when a family such as the Hamilton's lets one residence for another. And the anxiety hangs over him. But this--this will help. This token. If Hamilton likes it. If he approves.
"I had something made for you--for us," Burr says, looking away, to examine the floor of the kitchen as if there is something to see there besides swept wood. "If you don't like it, it is fine. I haven't even opened it myself, I simply wrote with the specifications. But I have been assured the quality is more than adequate. If you don't like it--we don't have to use it. We could have another made, or we could simply forget about it altogether. I don't mean this for me, though if may seem like that. I mean it for--us."
Inside, the object he has agonized over: the most delicate gold chain he has ever seen. Not small chains like that on a lady's necklace, but more akin to something delicate one might lay on the neck of a small dog. Small, golden chains, made to lay perfectly, ornamental. But also twisted through with black silk ribbon, which can be unwound, if desired. A small space at the front to attach a lead, if wanted. And at the back, engraved in the most delicate of hand, in mimicry of Alexander's own hand: A.H.
It is not the only thing, though. Because there is a second, matching. Secreted away, for if Hamilton ever acts on those inclinations Madison revealed. More inconspicuous, but no less telling: the engraving: A.B.