Burr's bed is cold, without Hamilton there. The blankets smell like him, though a stale, empty version, and he finds himself tossing with pains that before would have been soothed by Hamilton's touch. There are no extra rations, now that Burr will not speak to him, so often he finds himself wracked with hunger, and in the morning, when he is nauseous and sick, there is no one to vouch for him. No one to help him on with his stockings, his boots.
He leaves the letter alone, until just before the trial. Unable to look at it, for twistings of sick jealousy that he is so unaccustomed to. But the night before, when he is ill with worry, he takes it from the back of the drawer he has stuffed it in, unfolds it, and holds it in his hands. It takes a good moment, to force himself to focus on the words, but when he finally does, he feels even more sick.
In the nights that I have such blessing as sharing a bed with you, it seems to me that you breathe but that I am the one animated. Sharing a bed with him. God, Burr is an idiot. Hamilton has been in Burr's bed every night, and no one else's.
He wants to speak to him. Wants to rush to him and beg forgiveness, but Burr is not taken to dramatic displays, and even if he was, it is too late to contact Hamilton, with the trial in a few short hours. A sleepless night.
--
From his position with the other officers, he comes to a series of revelations. That Hamilton's mother is a fallen woman, who earlier Hamilton had said he never associated Burr with. The next, that Hamilton's assistance to the ever-needy Burr has damned him. And that Burr may very well be hopelessly in love with him.
What can Burr do then but step forward, though every part of his body screams at him to stay in position, to resist such a public display.
goddamn it all Hamilton, answer the man Burr thinks, but he knows Hamilton will not. Will force this out of Burr, because who is capable of saving them both but Burr?
"I have testimony!" Burr cries from the gallery, over the general clamor that has claimed the courtroom. "I know the identity of that omega that Hamilton has spent his nights with, and has so often smelled of, and it is not this woman whose brother would damn an innocent man."
no subject
He leaves the letter alone, until just before the trial. Unable to look at it, for twistings of sick jealousy that he is so unaccustomed to. But the night before, when he is ill with worry, he takes it from the back of the drawer he has stuffed it in, unfolds it, and holds it in his hands. It takes a good moment, to force himself to focus on the words, but when he finally does, he feels even more sick.
In the nights that I have such blessing as sharing a bed with you, it seems to me that you breathe but that I am the one animated. Sharing a bed with him. God, Burr is an idiot. Hamilton has been in Burr's bed every night, and no one else's.
He wants to speak to him. Wants to rush to him and beg forgiveness, but Burr is not taken to dramatic displays, and even if he was, it is too late to contact Hamilton, with the trial in a few short hours. A sleepless night.
--
From his position with the other officers, he comes to a series of revelations. That Hamilton's mother is a fallen woman, who earlier Hamilton had said he never associated Burr with. The next, that Hamilton's assistance to the ever-needy Burr has damned him. And that Burr may very well be hopelessly in love with him.
What can Burr do then but step forward, though every part of his body screams at him to stay in position, to resist such a public display.
goddamn it all Hamilton, answer the man Burr thinks, but he knows Hamilton will not. Will force this out of Burr, because who is capable of saving them both but Burr?
"I have testimony!" Burr cries from the gallery, over the general clamor that has claimed the courtroom. "I know the identity of that omega that Hamilton has spent his nights with, and has so often smelled of, and it is not this woman whose brother would damn an innocent man."