LAMS! Hamilton/Laurens One Shots

J. Laurens: the Doctor of London Street (1/3) [E]

Hold on to your lunches.

Explicit! Trigger for gore and violence, sexual themes, etc.

Welcome to 1877

Also 3 parts, this is part 1/3

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Accompanied by his younger brother, who had happily gone to the docks to receive him as soon as he had received the guised letter requesting he do so, John Laurens returned to London Street with a heavy cloud over his head and a vast, impenetrable, terrible, unfill-able emptiness in his heart. It had been fifteen years since he'd been exiled. His daughter must be sixteen by now.

"Where are you off to now, Jack?" James asked with a sigh. He could only frown at his brother's brooding. Laurens had just arrived to the States and already he was running off somewhere, and after his long travel by train to the city, James was sick of his once happy brother ignoring him. The eldest Laurens had barely spoken a word. After fifteen years and very few letters, all he had to say was a bid farewell before parting to venture likely down memory lane, heaven knows where—James would have been angry, had he not been the fairest tempered of the Laurens siblings, the most quiet and polite, and had he not loved his estranged brother even for the fifteen years he was a stranger. To meet John Laurens' wishes to be alone with hostility would be a surely charming way to mend their relationship.

"I have somewhere to be," Laurens said. "On your way now. It doesn't concern you."

"But Jack—"

"Please, go. I am in want of solitude. I am pleased you received me, however you should better imprint your time and care elsewhere. This world will ruin you." He looked at James and his eyes, in spite of his otherwise appearance, sparked with that hope he once had himself. "Do not let my company be the reason why."

"You are not ruined."

"What would your father say if he knew I was back, and that you were associating with me?"

"He will not know, and he is your father, too. You are my brother. I should think you would not forsake that."

"I do not forsake it. I cherish it," he said earnestly. "Therefore I ask you to make your time with me scarce, for your own good. Make a safe travel back home. Write soon."

James left without a word or protest. He forced himself not to look back at the older man as he went.

Laurens had never been more ready in his life—though he was afraid. What could he expect? Would his wife be happy to see him? His daughter wouldn't even know his identity! Her own father... The poor girl had grown up without a father. Laurens thought on this as he entered his old home. What if Martha didn't recognize him? He hadn't aged that much, but still... fifteen years is a long time. What if she didn't want to see him? His wife and friend, Martha, could she hate him? What if—

Well, what if Martha didn't live on London street any longer? Seeing that as soon as Laurens entered his old home and it was occupied by a man running frantically back and forth behind a counter, he figured that was the case. The invader was mumbling to himself, red hair falling over his eyes. Laurens scowled.

The man looked at him, did not recognize him, and thus figured he must've been looking for a meal.

"Pardon me, Sir! I was just so busy —cooking that I hadn't noticed you'd walked in. What are you standing there for, Sir! Sit down, sit. Come, now," he grabbed Laurens by the arm and pushed him down into a seat at a table far enough away from the door. "You look like you must be starved! Hard at work? Have a meat pie, Sir!"