It felt like a century since they last saw eachother.
Georges remembers it as if it were yesterday.
"Bonjour, madam! For I am Georges Washington Louis Gilb-"
Eliza laughs quietly, cutting him off. "Son of Lafayette. I remember you. Your father talked quite a bit about you."
The young boy nods, a kind smile on his face. He looks remarkably like his father, the eyes, orange hair. Even the way he stands.
"Whatever brings you to New York?" Eliza knew the answer. Gilbert was thrown in prison, and they guards were planing on throwing young Lafayette in there as well.
Looking nervous, he scratches his arms, "ah, I am, as you say, anxious?" His French heavy in his voice.
"My ma informed me of my father's problem, and wanted me to come here.. So I would not be locked in a cell as well."
Nervous tears well up in his deep brown eyes, looking at the floor. "I did not choose to leave my family. I really did not want to leave my sisters... But.." Licking his lips, and brushing his hair out of his eyes, he continues. "I do not want to be captured.."
Eliza nods understandably. Would such men really take the boy away? She wouldn't let that happen. They took care of Fanny, they could easily take care of Georges.
"Live with us. I have a feeling you, and our boy, Philip, will get along quite well."
She was right.
The two bonded almost instantly, making silly jokes, running around the yard.
Young Hamilton looked up at the redhead. Grinning widely, he pulls him along. "It's quite an honor you're staying with us."
Georges nods, smiling at the youngers enthusiasm. His father had babbled on about Alexander's children, and it's great to finally meet them all.
The truth is... Georges doesn't know how it happened. He really doesn't. Yet, one night... Things got, heated?
The fifteen year old was blushing deeply, head to toe, almost.
He heard about their fathers being close.. Were they this close too?
Laying in bed, Philip only wearing his socks, wondering what had happened. The older male was fast asleep, arms wrapped around his torso.
Thank the gods the house was asleep... Or they'd have a lot of explaining to do.
Six months later, when Georges left, Philip felt saddened. Promising eachother to write whenever they could.
That was the last time they saw eachother face to face.
It was almost four years later, and Philip still longs for his touch. Perhaps that's why he didn't find a wife. Yearning to be held by those strong arms. To run his fingers through the silky hair, the touch of his soft, pink lips.
Philip almost felt guilty challenging George Eacker to the duel. Yet, his intoxicated mind was was throwing him off. His buddy by his side, as Eacker lifted him from the ground by his collar of his expressive shirt.
Glaring, and spitting out how much of a rascal Philip is.
Young Hamilton decided to not inform his mama about this. Instead, he went to his papa, in hopes of getting out of this.
His father looked alarmed as he heard the news, grabbing his will and paper, just about to ruin his career-
"Papa.. No. I can do this for myself. I'm a grown man." Although that may be true, he was still seemingly a child in Alexander's eyes. Only nineteen. Barely done anything in his life.
"Pip," his father starts, taking a breath. "I have much trust in you. But, alas, you are a Christian boy. You know how your mama is about it. Please, do not kill this man."
Standing up, he walks over to his tall son, placing a hand on his shoulder firmly. "You cannot ruin your life over this one man. Promise me, that you will not do anything dangerous. Aim towards the sky. Do not aim towards him."
Biting his lips nervously, he nods carefully. "I promise you, papa."
He kept his promise.
Sitting on his bed, writing a shaky note, words being splothed in some areas. His hands are covered in ink, and his eyes burn with tears. He could feel his throat tighten, as he realizes that this very well could be the end for him.
How would his mama and papa react if he passed? Would they even know? What about his dearest siblings, whom he tried so very hard to protect. Who would protect them if he was gone?
Georges. Sweet Georges. Would he even be able to find out? Praying to the very gods that he would.
Philip set off to the meet with George Eacker.
Staring off at the sun, causing it to burn his eyes, they start counting.
Each pace feels like it's a pain. Feet feeling as if there's concrete attached to them. Finally, the final pace.
Turning around, so fast, he almost falls over, head spinning.
The seconds felt like years, before Philip slowly, and carefully aims his gun-
The sound of a gunshot makes him flinch, and time seems to go slow. Painfully slow.
The way Eacker's eyes widen, in fact Philip wasn't aiming at him. The younger male gasps in pain, as the bullet slices through his body, the agonizing feeling making him collapse to the ground.
Pressing the trigger, trying his best to at least shoot him as well.
Unfortunately, he missed. By a lot.
Laying on the ground, twitching every so often, feeling the tears slowly pool down onto the bloody grass.
It's happening. This is his fate. There's no saving him.
Letting out a little sob, as he's being rowed back.
It was December 1st when Georges' father walked in the room, pale.
It was December 1st when he was handed the letter that crushed his heart into thousands of pieces.
It was December 1st. 7 days after supposedly when his best friend, and the one person he truly loved took his final breath.
There, the letter read, in Philip's messy handwriting:
"My dearest, Georges,
It appears I could not keep my mouth shut.
My words got me into some troubles, that this time, I cannot get out of.
I got myself in a duel.
Yet, I can't really say how. Too embarrassed in myself for even saying such things.
You will only be reading this very letter, if I lost the duel, and passed.
Please. Do not cry too much, I am with my aunt, Peggy. I will one day be reunited with my papa, mama, and siblings. Along with you.
Please. My love, take your time.
We will meet once more on the other side.
I strongly believe there is a better place, somewhere warm. Someplace safe. Where nobody will judge us. Where we will not be afraid.
Thank you for all the memories you gave me, even if it was only six months.
From, the one and only, Philip Hamilton."
Georges is at loss for words.
He doesn't know how to react.
He doesn't know when he started crying, until his father hugged him tightly. The pain in his chest only growing more and more unbearable when he thinks about his smile. His face.
Why him? Philip had done nothing wrong. The world was so cruel. So very cruel. So unfair.
He curses the gods. He curses the doctors he failed to treat him properly, he curses the world. For being like this. For hurting him this badly. There could be no God. If so, why would he do this, why would he make Georges go through the pain?
It was unfair.