Here's a depressing Hamilton blurb

I need to stop being obsessed. I think everyone's done with me spamming with depressing Hamilton stuff. I'm probably going to forget to contenue this if I decide to contenue this.

published on December 04, 20172 reads 2 readers 0 not completed

Ok here.

Hamilton's POV:

I have never seen Burr act so worried recently.  He seemed paranoid, as if he were waiting for the worst to happen to him.  His version of the worst has happened.
It had began when he began pressuring me to go home when I would notice odd phrasings.  His version of pressure, really, is insisting a bit more and using reasons as of why.  Burr would insist, direct words, to "go home, and spend time with Eliza and Philip."  That I found odd, but it never clicked why.  
Until, one night, almost exactly one in the morning, I found out why.
My plan was to simply grab some papers from his desk, but that was not the case.  He was working, late, after pressuring me for the past week to go home and not stay late.  It could have been possible he was catching up on work after being late today, but he would usually go in early the next day instaid.  Odd.
"What is it you need?" He asked, politely, looking up from what he was doing.  Burr was acting like he was alright, but his eyes told otherwise.  His eyes were screaming for help.
My mouth ran faster than my mind, of course.  "What's wrong?"  I blurted, grabbing the papers off his desk.  We knew eachother well enough and worked along side eachother long enough that we knew the other's organization systems, what's wrong, and so-on.  Like that day.  He had switched two different stacks.  He usually didn't do that.  Another sign.
"I'm fine.  Why do you ask?"  My mouth ran again.  "You preach not to stay up late, and it's nearly one in the morning.  You switched the stacks, and your eyes say otherwise."  I responded.  
"It's one?" He glanced up from what he was doing again, stopping the quill in it's tracks.  Panic.
"Burr.  What's wrong?"  I asked as he stood.  He was heading to the door.  That resulted in me blocking the door.
"Hamilton, I suggest you move."
"Oh, you're calling me Hamilton now?"
"Or else?"
"I'll get you to move."
"Tell me what's wrong first."
"I don't want to leave my daughter alone."
"Where's your wife?"
No responce.  If he hesitated, that was normal.  But no responce, that was terrifying.  You could see the terror in his eyes spike even more, and he looked like a broken plate that was stomped on repeatedly, like you threw each broken shard at a wall repeatedly.  I have never seen a man more broken.
That's when it clicked.  Theodosia and Eliza were friends.  My wife had told me how worried she was due to Theosia being sick, and it being a possibility she could die.
"Please don't tell me she..." my voice trailed off.  I couldn't bring myself to say it.  I know how much I speak, know how good I am with words, yet I can't even describe how badly he must have felt.
But, I could see it.  He couldn't even bring himself to answer by even nodding his head.  The look in his eyes said it all.  
"Go home.  Go to bed.  If you need something, stop by my house.  I won't hesitate to help you."  I assured, stepping aside.  
All he could bring himself to do was nodd as he left.
I've seen many broken people, but I have never seen anyone more broken than that as he walked away.  Carrying himself as if everything was fine, a storm of pain following him.  
Everyone should expect this, but I impulsively followed.  Too late to stop now, knowing that he heard me.
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