Disclaimer: I do not own Hamilton. Sadly enough, that privilege belongs to Lin-Manuel Miranda.
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"I have nowhere else to turn."
She hated having to utter those words to the man in front of her. She wasn't weak. She wasn't. Being weak, to her, wasn't an option.
However, the chills and desire to vomit were telling her otherwise.
Alexandra Hamilton was a proud woman, whom would get very close to death before telling anyone she was sick, but she wasn't stupid. As soon as she saw the blood splatters on the back of her hand, she hobbled her way over to her next-door neighbor.
God, she hated that man. With his huge hair and pompous smile, he exerted arrogance. And, while she knew she couldn't say much about that, she was arrogant because she was smart. Without a doubt, Alex could truly say he was wrong.
Like, for everything. They had fought on at least seventy-five different points.
And that wasn't even the worst of it. That was the fact that there was no one else to call. George Washington was visiting his brother, Lawrence, with Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Hercules and John were skiing. Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy were all visiting their father, who was an hour away.
Alexandra had needed to finish an essay that was due the next day for his module, so she stayed home, planning on getting that done, but, no, she just had to get sick, didn't she? It was crazy.
Thomas Jefferson seemed to think so, as well.
If she didn't feel rather delirious, Alex would probably notice the glasses and 'regular people' clothes he was wearing. She also might have noticed he looked quite nice, too.
But she was sick and tired, and really all she wanted to do was hack up anything she had eaten that morning all over Jefferson's matched, black socks. Out of sheer force of will, Alex refused to give in.
"Shut the hell up and stop looking at me like that. Show where your damned car is and drive me to the hospital," Alex snarled. She was grumpy and tired; give her a break. Jefferson didn't move, still staring at her.
"Jefferson, if you do not freaking move your butt and drag me to your car I will call George - Bloody - Washington all the way from Mt. Vernon with his Marquis to take me, and we both know that wouldn't go over well. I am sick and I want to go to the hospital. Do you think your simple mind can comprehend that?" Was it really that hard, though? Yeah, she didn't think so.
The direct insult seemed to have snapped the man back in place. Jefferson didn't say anything at first, only grabbing a worn-in sweatshirt that Alex would bet every book she owned he didn't have and a pair of shoes.
Alex - thankful that he finally understood that she had to be in dire distress for her to come to him - removed herself from the door that she had been using to prop herself up with and made to follow him, not thinking anything of it.
That thought was rectified when Thomas, who actually had a worried glint in his eye, spun around on his heel, almost running into her, and asked, "What are you doing?"
Defensively, Alexandra rasped out, "Going with you to the car. What do you think?"
Though Alex had no idea why, he shook his head. "No, you can barely walk. I'm either carrying you, or you're waiting here until I pull the car around."
