(1. QUESTION, if you haven't answered already: Who's your favorite Hamilton Original Broadway Cast member??? It shapes the plot of a future chapter!
2. *backs away from rotten fruit and moldy boots*I EXPECTED MYSELF TO HELP YOU FEEL EMOTION WHEN READING THIS I'm sorry also I'm like really dumb in school (except Spanish and English and US History) and I have chemistry exams coming up in a month and I gotta study so yeah, sorry folks...)

"One, two, three, four, five, seven, six, six, eight, nine..."

We were studying the election of 1954, and 3 nights ago we watched the infamous "Daisy" ad.

The camera panned into the little girl's eye as she stared at the daisy and laughs rippled around the lecture hall.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero," a different voice said.

BOOM!

The class howled with laughter at the sheer unpredictability of the atomic bomb explosion, and I chuckled along. "So this is what happens if America votes for Barry Goldwater..."

A twitch of a pale hand to the left of me. The fingers curled into a trembling fist.

"What's wrong, Oliver?" I asked, turning to him, still grinning nervously.

I saw the corpse of the soldier, sitting in Oliver's seat and brandishing his pen.

"We must either love each other or we must die," the soldier choked out in sync with the ad. Blood dripped onto the laptop in front of him. I stumbled out of my seat, staring at him in horror.

I blinked, and he returned back to the smiling, boyish face with gaunt cheeks and an eagle's nest of brown hair.

Oliver turned back around to face Professor Rollins, who swept the lecture hall with a look. The class quieted down, realizing the implications of the ad.

"Vote for President Johnson on November 3rd. The stakes are too high for you to stay home," The ad finished.

After shakily getting out of bed and making my way downstairs, I nibbled on a pastry from last night's supper. The sweet smell of tomorrow's bean porridge filled my nostrils.

What did I do to deserve this? I looked around the parlor unhappily.

I gulped my pastry down, and crept back upstairs so as not to wake the others.

It was colder here without Eliza, I realized.

***

On the off chance that Alexander Hamilton would walk down the streets (instead of running, for a change) he would say some sort of gibberish I couldn't understand for the life of me. Today was one of those days where I actually could understand what he said.

"There's a million things I haven't done..."

I held back a snort. "You probably did John back at camp when I wasn't looking."

"What about John?" His eyes flickered with warmth.

"Nothing—nothing! Slang, actually." I stifled a yawn.

Alexander frowned at me. "It makes me wonder why you live in the Schuyler dwelling at all—using such disreputable language."

"Well, I apologize—I'm feeling a little..." I held back another yawn. "Out of sorts."

His eyebrows straightened and he smiled mildly. "Quite alright."

"Speaking of houses..." I pointed out. "I should get my own."

"You'll have to marry someone. Preferably of high status."

"What—?"

"Who would be your suitor, Katherine? Maybe moi? Hercules, Lafayette? Or even... Burr?"

"Burr?" I spluttered, going red in the face and hoping against hope no one was able to hear me. "What—no, I can't have a husband! And Lafayette's married! God, you're married!"

"Would you not deny that both Burr and I are, in fact, quite handsome?"

"I mean... well... I'm not supposed to say anything about you, but Burr—he's very..."

"Obscure? Reticent? Restrained?"

"Complex." A funny feeling exploded in the pit of my stomach. Burr, Alexander and I had all met up frequently at camp, usually talking about life outside of the war. "Like—" I wrung my hands together. "A jigsaw puzzle."

Alexander stared at me, mortified.

"But I wouldn't be able to marry here anyway," I replied, trying not to feel hot around my ears.

"I suggest elopement."

"Hamilton!"

"Well, Burr's anyway having an affair with some British officer's wife," he said, not bothering to lower his voice at all.

It felt like someone had lowered a small anvil to my chest. "I-I see. Alright, then."

"Also..." He cleared his throat. "Eliza's, well..." He smiled bashfully. "We're going to have a son."

My head snapped up to face him. "What!" I beamed at him. "Alex, you didn't tell me this sooner?"

"That's exactly what I said to her when I got back," Alexander replied wearily.

"When's she due?"

"Eight months." Alexander fidgeted with his ink-stained fingers.

"A son!"

"Yes. A son."

Behind my back, he broke the seal on a letter and smiled.

***

The trip to Virginia took more than 12 hours, even at a gallop. Together, Alexander and I bumped, skittered and raced along the streets in the carriage to Yorktown. Our shoulders slammed into each other seven times. Once, he toppled over me when we reached a hairpin turn in the road. I yelled and hastily pushed him off. He didn't stop laughing or talking.

We talked about everything, seven things in particular: Eliza, the baby, the Hamiltons' house, rude gestures towards Jefferson (mostly on Alex's part, I swear), the baby, Aaron Burr, and the duel between John Laurens and Charles Lee.

Our throats were hoarse by the time the horse reached Virginia.

Alexander took a gulp of beer as he stepped out. "I have to meet up with General Washington—right about now. Goodbye, and good luck!"

"Same to you—see you on the other side!" I waved to him.

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the big tent, a huge smile on his face, a new weapon in his hand, and visibly writhing with potential glory.

Dressed in my nurse's uniform, I walked over to him. "Well?"

He just made a small noise in his throat, then burst out, "I'm a General!"

"Oh my fr—"

"I mean, I've been given command of a battalion for Yorktown! Not quite a general, but still—it has its proximities to being one."

I smiled. "Please—please, don't lose hope, Alexander. You have a wife and son to get back to anyway."

The orange, setting sun burned in his eyes. "We'll get the job done." He turned and walked away.

"My son will be born in a free country," He murmured.

Darkness fell, and I heard the sound of hands grabbing little pieces of metal—bullets?—and stuffing them in pockets.

"And so it begins," I muttered.

(I put so many numbers in there because Ten Duel Commandments.
I also put some sevens in there. *gulp*
Yeah, Yorktown's coming up here. I SKIPPED SO MANY SONGS IN THE MUSICAL I'M SO SORRY
I basically just went from Satisfied to Yorktown...
Holy shoot. I thought since Hamliza (Eliza and Hammy) married in December 1780, then 1781 wouldn't be a big jump
YORKTOWN HAPPENED IN OCTOBER 1781
I'm so sorry guys... hope you enjoy anyways. I'll try to update more frequently after my exams as well, but I can guarantee the next chapter will be more exciting than this.)