While this could technically be considered a Hamliza fic, I figured it'd be best as a story solely based around Alexader.

Requested by my Wattpad sister: HAMILTON42

Thanks for the request!

C/W:
Mentions of death, some PTSD, and self-deprecating thoughts.

~Story begins~

What could be worse than a mother losing her baby?

Perhaps the thought of a bird jumping from the nest, but it shall never fly. Maybe the imagery of a caterpillar never getting to sprout its wings. Or conceivably, it's the thought of a young child never being able to seek help from its parents, for the parents are no longer around. 

Alexander shook, covering his face, trying to stop himself from crying for what felt like the hundredth time. He lost his son; undoubtedly, that pain can amount to any of the things listed. Philip was his eldest, the one he bonded with, his flesh and blood. 

Eliza was in rough shape, no doubt; she carried and loved the boy for nine months, and never once did she stop loving him through the years. Frankly, there could be no bond between mother and child, but Alexander had valued his son. And now, it all feels like a nightmare, looping repetitively through his mind.

He wakes up every morning, waiting to hear Philip's greeting before the boy heads off. He's stood by for hours, waiting for his son. But, he never walks through the door, and the cycle continues.

Alexander took a deep breath, looking around the house. They had moved not long ago, and he was still growing used to the house. He stopped by the door, glancing into where the children played. The younger ones played as if nothing ever happened while the older children mourned. 

Perhaps they were the closest to Philip. Poor Angie hadn't been the same since the boy died. She seems distant, almost childish as if nothing ever happened. Alexander knew she'd never be the same; she couldn't possibly be after something so drastic. 

And poor Eliza. She seems to blame herself for the incident, no matter how often Alex assures her it wasn't her fault.

He took a deep breath, turning to walk out the door. He almost called out to see if anyone would like to join him but caught himself; genuinely, it might be best to be alone.

Besides, Philip was the only one that followed him. The kid wanted to be just like him, though Alex was confident that his child would've gone much farther. If he had known that it wasn't some joke, that the duel wasn't just some little dispute that occurred in school, he would've stopped Philip. How was he supposed to know that his son was dueling some guy?

He took a deep breath, pulling the door open. A gust of air rushed into his face, and he sighed, finally allowing tears to fall. He moved quickly down the road, eyes focused on the dirt path. Around, all he heard was the clatter of hooves against the dirt road, men talking loudly, women laughing, and children playing. 

It didn't seem fair that they were happy. How could the rest of the world move on when one person loses something so significant?

Hateful thought, but why should Alexander care? He had lost his son, and the people around were much too happy. They laugh and talk as if they have nothing they've ever lost. Though, undoubtedly, they have lost somebody, if not someone, something.

"Pardon me, sir," A young woman muttered, squeezing by Alexander. He quickly jumped to the side, allowing her more room.

"I'm sorry, I must've zoned out, ma'am," He muttered, wiping the tears from his eyes. The woman froze, looking back at the man. She sighed quietly, shaking her head.

"It's no problem, sir. You're Mr. Hamilton, aren't you? I'm so sorry about your son. I heard about it recently. My condolences; it must be rough on your family."

Alexander smiled a bit, blinking a few times, trying to rid the pain caused by tears. "Oh, it is. Our little Angie has had it rough, and some of our older children are still very quiet, lost in mourning. Eliza can barely get out of bed without crying. She merely wants her baby to come home." Alexander's lip quivered, and he took a deep breath, resisting tears. "And I've sat up at night, praying that he'll come back and the family will be okay. He'll come back, smile, hug me, and ask me how I've been. I keep clutching to the thought that he's no longer in pain, and nothing more will happen to him, but it's not enough."

The woman stared in pity as the man broke down in front of her. "It's going to hurt you for as long as you live, Mr. Hamilton. I lost my son when he was five."

Alexander glanced up, face twisted in sorrow. "I'm sorry-..."

"Don't be. I still blame myself when I know there was nothing I could do for my son. He slipped from climbing a tree and came down hard, busting his head open." She looked to the side, staring at a taller, blonde man that approached. "His father and uncle tried to save him, but there was no use."

Alexander stared up at the man who now stood nearby, and he sighed. He had known the man from the military, a Mr. Anderson. He took a deep breath, looking back at the woman before nodding. "I'm sorry for your loss... take care."

She nodded slowly, turning away from Hamilton.

Alex moved quickly down the street, not knowing how far he'd walk or when he'd stop. He could walk for hours, and he has before, returning late, into the early hours of the morning. Alex would spend those hours talking to himself, trying his hardest to understand why the world decided it was Philip's time. But, he hoped death was kind to his little boy and led him gently into the afterlife. Perhaps Philip was able to meet his grandmother and know she'd protect him, or maybe he gets to see Washington, young and in his prime. Hopefully, the afterlife is kind enough to care for the boy the way Alexander couldn't.

Reaching his face, Alexander quickly wiped away the tears that streaked warmly across his cheeks. He has done this repeatedly, sobbing while alone because he would hate for his family to see him like such. He felt so pathetic, knowing he couldn't protect his family.

He halted by an old building, staring at his reflection in the glass. He looked so much different than he once had. That red hair he once treasured faded to grey, his skin wrinkled, and his eyes held heavy bags. Nothing felt right. His eyes went from indigo-blue to a dull shade he couldn't identify. 

Nothing was right because Alexander had changed. He has seen the flaw in his life and desired to change that for the better; going to church with his kids and spending more time with his wife. It's the least he could do after everything.

He reaches forward slowly, pressing his palms against the glass. He saw a flash of his younger self, and then he saw Philip. The boy smiled, waving eagerly before fading into what was Alexander; nothing but a crumbled, older man.

He shook in his spot, his knees finally buckling and giving way. Alexander hit the ground, just letting himself cry. He didn't care who was watching, who could use this against him.

He merely wanted his son back, but that's too much to request from anything.

---

By the time Alexander got home, it was already four in the morning. The kids were in bed asleep, and he assumed Eliza was as well. Alex proceeded quietly, pulling his office door open before walking inside. It felt too quiet and lonesome, but he'd rather not bother anyone. 

Several papers scattered across his desk, and his quill sat lazily on the desk, not touched since Alexander put it there. 

It's strange, honestly, how Alexander's way of mourning altered. Once, he would work until total exhaustion set in, and now, he can't even pick up a quill to begin a sentence.

He sat down, staring at the pages, read over and over; he knew them like the back of his hands. Some were letters from Washington, others from Laurens, and the pile continues. Alex couldn't help but drown himself away in sorrow.

He never had time to say goodbye to those he loved most.

Taking a deep breath, he set the letter down. The last one he ever received from Washington before the former president had passed. That day had been devastating to almost everyone fond of Washington; it was nearly a pitiful thing that he went so soon.

"Alexander."

The Caribbean man turned, looking at the figure in the doorway. "Hello, dear."

He stood quickly, making his way over to Eliza, taking her hands into his. "Are you alright, my love?"

She nodded, kissing his forehead. "You've been out all night; why don't you come to bed?"

He laughed, running his fingers through her hair. "I don't think I could sleep, my dear Betsy. I've been haunted all day by the same thoughts."

She sighed softly, leaning into Alexander's shoulder. "I miss him so badly," her voice broke.

"I do too..."

"It seems like yesterday I was helping him learn how to play piano, and now he's just... gone."

"I wish I had spent more time with him, been the father he thought I was..."

"What are you talking about, dear? That kid was a living, breathing copy of you!" Eliza smiled warmly, tears pouring down her face. "He wanted to be just like you."

"He was too much like me, I fear."

"Brave, intelligent, and charming... He was so similar to you; it's uncanny."

Alexander laughed a bit, hugging his wife tighter. He had missed these small moments they were able to share, the ones that are kind and quiet. He took a deep breath, pulling back. "Let's go get some rest, shall we? I was thinking we take the kids outside and let them play tomorrow."

"Sounds great, hun. They'll love it."

The two nodded, walking out of the room. Alexander talked with his wife as they both got ready to lay down. It had felt like ages since they shared a bed, but he was happy he could be there for Eliza. It was something that felt right.

Laying down, he wrapped his arms around Eliza's waist, careful with her stomach. She was heavily pregnant and due any day now. He pressed a kiss to her neck, cuddling in close. "Sleep tight, love."

"Sleep tight, Alexander."

A/N:

Sorry if the pacing sucks with this one; it's been a while since I wrote a story in the third person that focuses on one person for a long time, but I hope you enjoy it!

(Word count: 1778)