It's been a long time. And no matter how much I would like to keep going, I think this is the end, everyone. So here's the last hurrah, dear readers.

Eight years later….

Mr. John Laurens straightened the lapels of his grey frock coat. Looking out the window, he saw the landscape roll past outside of the carriage he was traveling in. It had been a long drive from South Carolina, and he was eager to get to New York City, if only to stretch his legs.

Fortunately, they were at most a two hours ride away from the city. John leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

It had been three years since he and his father left the city to return to South Carolina and his family home. In those three years, he'd kept correspondence with his three dear friends, Hercules Mulligan, Gilbert de Lafayette-Miller, and Alexander Hamilton-Washington. They hadn't been in the same place since… oh, it must have been six years, now. They'd come for a visit one summer. What a time that had been.

Letters just weren't the same, though. And the torrents of words had died down over time. Now, he received word from them once, maybe twice, a month.

But now, he was headed up to good old New York, on a business mission for his father. Just like he had so long ago, when all four of them had lived in the city for a time. Alexander's late father, George Washington, had been president then. Now, it was their old acquaintance, Thomas Jefferson.

Politics annoyed John these days, especially with that pompous man in charge of the entire country. As such, he didn't really follow them as eagerly as he used to. Especially since he could no longer see Alex's face as he ranted about all of the workings of the country. It just wasn't as fascinating without his friend there.

Sighing, he flipped open his sketchbook. He'd picked up the hobby in the last few years, and to his, and his family's, surprise, he was actually quite good. Particularly at drawing turtles. Shuffling around for a charcoal pencil, he braced the paper against his knee and carefully outlined the hind foot of one of his turtles.

The rattling of the carriage's wheel's on cobblestone prompted him to lift his head and gaze out the window once more. They were getting into the city proper, now. He hadn't noticed, being as focused on his drawing as he was. Rapping on the side of the carriage, he gave the driver instructions to a small inn that he remembered.

Bag slung over his shoulder, he went inside and paid for a few days' stay. The innkeeper seemed bored, and said, "Room number ten, mister Laurens." with a yawn.

The room was alright. It seemed as though the last person who had stayed here got violently drunk, because it sort of smelled like alcohol. John let his bag fall onto the bed, and ventured back out into the city.

He breathed in deeply, and immediately coughed, as he inhaled a lungful of smoke from a nearby shop. Shaking his head slightly, John grinned. It's good to be back.

As he wandered around the streets, memories of the time spent here coming back to him, John wondered if any of his friends would be around. He knew that Hercules had opened his own shop not too long ago, and Matthew had retired to the outskirts of the city to take up gardening. Gilbert was actually on his way back from France. His ship should be anchoring… tomorrow, was the date his last letter had said.

And, this was embarrassing, but John didn't actually know where Alexander was. He hadn't written in a month, and his last letter had just mentioned that he was just starting in a new job and he was looking forward to the change.

So John contented himself to wandering around the city that had once been his home, and when the sun set, he returned to his room at the inn. As he passed through the inn's dining room, the innkeeper called his name.

"Mister Laurens! Some chap came by with a note for you, said it was from someone important, and you'd understand." The man waved a piece of folded paper.

John took the note, and headed up to his room. Flopping down on his bed (it made a creaking sound that was a little foreboding), he unfolded the note.

It only contained five words, five words written in a very familiar hand.

Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.

Gilbert de Lafayette-Miller stood at the railing of a ship, his coat buttoned to his throat, taking deep breaths and trying desperately not to be ill. It had been far too long since he'd been on a ship, and his sea legs had suffered greatly.

He could not wait to be back on dry land. Plus, there was no post on a boat, and he missed being able to communicate with his friends and family. Gil had found his own little flat in the middle of the city. It was actually close to dear Hercules's shop, so at least he could see one of his friends regularly.

Of course, life had pulled the four of them in different directions. Four twenty-five year olds can hardly be expected to remain in one spot for very long, especially when the world seemed to be calling for them. He, after all, was returning across the ocean from France.

And John was in South Carolina, and Alexander… well, where, was he? Probably Virginia, after all, his mother did have quite a big house to herself. But he didn't really know what was going on with his smallest friend.

Never mind that now. Gil could see the city coming closer, as the ship drew slowly into the harbor. He'd never been so happy to see land in his entire life.

When the crew dropped the gangplank, he practically danced down. The thumping of worn out wooden planks beneath his feet had never sounded sweeter. As much as he would have liked to kiss the ground, there were a lot of people around, and the ground was kind of disgusting. As if to solidify the fact that kissing the ground would be a very bad idea, a nearby ship dumped a bucket of something that had probably been fish at one point onto the planks.

Gil grimaced and moved on, going to collect his luggage.

His parents' house was a lot quieter now that he had his own place, but Gilbert knew they were home because a sweet, soft melody was drifting faintly out a slightly opened window. Evangeline was really getting quite good. As he listened, the tempo suddenly increased tenfold and the music sounded like...like... beautiful chaos, that was it.

He knocked on the door. The piano music came to a sudden halt, and quick footsteps approached the door. It was flung open, and his ten year old sister was standing in front of him. She squealed loudly, and dashed forward to hug him.

Gil smiled widely and picked up his little sister, spinning her around. "Salut, Evangeline! I missed you very much."

She beamed up at him. "I missed you too, Gilly!" She darted back into the house, calling loudly as she went. "Mommy! Daddy! Gilly's home!"

John and Rebecca Miller descended the stairs nearly as rapidly as their daughter had come rushing to the door. Rebecca sighed in relief; there was always a chance that a ship could sink, after all. She hugged her eldest tightly, and stepped back, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. John clapped his son on the shoulder, before he too pulled Gil into a hug.

"We missed you, Gilbert. Welcome home, son."

Suddenly Rebecca let out a soft "oh!" sound. She hurried into the parlor, and came back with a bundle of letters. "These came for you while you are away. Most of them are from your friends, but there's one that didn't have an address on it. The handwriting is familiar, though. I just can't quite place whose it is."

Gil took the letters, turning them over in his hands. "Thank you, Mama. I'll look through them later."

Evangeline took him by his free hand and tugged him over to the piano. "Listen to what I learned, Gilly!" She launched back into the song she'd been playing earlier.

For the next hour, the family spent their time laughing and dancing, happy to be together again. But when night fell, Gil picked up the letters, reading through them. He smiled softly at his friends' words.

Then, he picked up the note, unmarked except for his name. Inside, a five word message had been scrawled.

Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.

Hercules Mulligan started his day off just like any other. He got up with the sun, fed his cat, Lex, and prepared his shop for the day's business.

When he was done eating his own breakfast, and had set everything he could possibly need for the first customer of the day, he opened the door and placed a little block of wood that read "Open" on it in the window. Matthew had made it for him actually, as a gift when he opened his shop.

Herc smiled at the memory. He missed Matthew's company. The older man's home was too far for him to visit on a regular basis, especially with the busy torrent of people that passed through his shop.

Matthew had retired four years ago. Hercules had been twenty-one, and on one fine summer day, the tailor had sat heavily with a sigh.

"Hercules, I'm tired."

"What are you talking about, Matthew?" Herc put down the spool of thread he'd been holding, pausing in his organizing of a shelf.

The older man sighed again. "I'm tired. Of the hustle and bustle of the city. Of the constant busy rush of this shop. Don't get me wrong, I love the work, but I don't want to keep doing it for years and years more. So my wife and I, we've saved money and we've gotten a little house with room for a garden and I'm going to retire."

Hercules was glad he'd put down the spool of thread, because otherwise he would have dropped it. This was all a very sudden, rather unwelcome, shock. "What?"

Matthew stood, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to pass this shop on to you, Herc. You're twenty-one, after all. It's time you took over here, don't you think? You're talented, you've always done well. You'll be fine."

He paused. "Doesn't mean I won't miss you. Because I will. And change isn't always bad, after all."

The memory was shaken out of his mind by the sound of a gentleman's footsteps echoing on the floor. Hercules smiled. "How can I help you today, sir?"

As the morning turned to afternoon and the afternoon became evening, a steady stream of clients kept Hercules busy. He spent his day much the same as any other, nothing out of the ordinary.

When the last customer left the store, Hercules closed and locked the door, removed his little wooden block from the window, and carefully put everything back in its proper place. Lex had a tendency to sneak downstairs in the night and play with the ribbons and thread, which created an unbearable mess come morning.

He was just about to go upstairs when someone knocked loudly on his door. It wasn't even worthy of being called a knock, it was more like someone frantically thumping their fist on the wood.

Groaning, he turned and unlocked the door. "We're closed. Come back tomorrow, it can't be so urgent that it can't wait until morning."

The messenger boy standing on the steps blinked. "Sorry sir. Didn't realize you'd already closed. I have letter or somethin' for you, don't know who it's from, though. He didn't give me a name." He held out a folded piece of paper.

Herc took it from him, thanked him, and closed the door. He locked it again, called for Lex to make sure the cat wasn't doing anything he shouldn't be, and headed upstairs.

In his exhaustion, he nearly forgot about the note, right up until he went to blow out the candle and remembered. He picked it up and unfolded it, reading the five words written there.

Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.

Alexander Hamilton-Washington had started his life twenty-five years ago on an island in the Caribbean. Back then, he'd just been Alexander Hamilton. His life from that point had been a very stormy sea, including some literal stormy seas.

Now, twenty-five years from that point, he was standing on the porch of his family's home, Mount Vernon, hugging his mother. A carriage was waiting in the drive, taking him to New York.

"Bye Mom." He whispered one last time. Martha Washington hugged him tightly again, and whispered back, "Goodbye, Alex."

He picked up his bag and walked down the steps, opening the door of the carriage and climbing inside. As the driver snapped the reins and the horses trotted off, he waved goodbye until he couldn't see his mother standing on the steps.

Since he'd lost his father eight years ago, he'd been living at Mount Vernon. The house was big and quiet, even when there had been three people living in it. Now, with only two, it had been almost like a tomb. Of course, part of that could be contributed to the aura of grief that had permeated the air for over a year.

But the sun rose again, and again, and again, and eventually they started to smile more and laugh.

Then, the letter came. The letter from the one person who was least likely to send Alexander a letter, except for maybe the King of England. The letter from Thomas Jefferson.

Apparently the stuck up, pink coated ass had remembered the arguments that they had when his father had been President, because the letter was offering him a position on Jefferson's cabinet, as Secretary of Treasury.

Why Jefferson thought that hiring Alexander to work with him was a good idea was beyond him, but Alex wasn't complaining. He'd always hoped to hold that position one day, but Adams hated him nearly as much as Jefferson did- or, as much as he thought Jefferson hated him.

So that was why Alexander was on his way to New York City for the first time in eight years. He leaned back to watch the Virginian countryside pass by outside his window. He was on his way to see his friends, in the city where they'd had so many adventures. He knew they'd be there. Even if they didn't write as much as they used to, he still knew that John was heading up to the city, Herc had his own shop, and Gil was home-bound from France.

He was nervous. He knew he shouldn't be, but he was. They hadn't seen each other in person in six years. Hopefully, their friendship would prove to be as strong as he thought it was.

You know it is, the little voice in his head said, the one that sounded like his dad, what you've all been through over time should be proof of that.

A bump in the road jolted Alexander back to consciousness. He blinked confusedly a few times; he must have fallen asleep. Outside the window, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of fire. In the distance, the city rose before him.

Once they were in the city, Alex had the driver stop at the first inn that looked like he wouldn't get robbed, murdered, or both within its walls. He still really didn't like carriage travel. Too cramped.

When he reached his room, he closed the door, let his bag fall, and collapsed onto the bed. The desk in the corner had a pen and ink bottle laid out on top of it, and the beginnings of an idea began to bloom in his mind.

Pulling himself upright and raking his hair out of his eyes, Alexander grabbed three pieces of paper and wrote the same five-word message on each.

Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.

When the sun rose the next day, it brought with it the promise of good weather and a clear blue sky. It was under this clear blue sky that, at five minutes to noon, four young men set off from various locations around the city and headed towards Trinity Churchyard.

Alexander Hamilton-Washington was the first one to arrive. He slipped into the churchyard silently, and settled in to wait. It was three minutes to noon.

Roughly a minute and twenty seconds later, the gate opened again, this time letting in Hercules Mulligan and Gilbert de Lafayette-Miller, who had met up with each other while they walked. They had not yet spotted their friend when John Laurens arrived.

"Johnny!" Hercules bellowed, and hugged him tightly. John returned the embrace, laughing. "Hey, Herc, Gil. I haven't seen you guys in ages! What are you doing here?"

Gilbert cocked his head. "We both got a note that told us to come to Trinity Churchyard today at noon."

John's eyes widened in surprise. "So did I." Then he smiled. "I think we know exactly who wrote them, though."

"Surprise, mes amis." A fourth voice rang out. Alexander strolled towards his friends, a wide grin on his face. Anything else that he might have said was cut off when the other three rushed forward.

"Group hug!" Someone shouted. It might have been Gilbert. Thankfully, the only person in the church was a priest, who, upon looking out the window and seeing the reunion going on, smiled and turned away. He'd never tell the four, but he'd seen their goodbye eight years prior and was glad they'd met up again.

They were lying on the grass again, watching the sky overhead. Their chests were heaving with laughter as they were reunited once more. Letters were good and all, but there are some things that are best told in person.

Alexander sat up. "Hey. I have some news."

The other three looked at him, curiosity in their eyes.

"I was named Jefferson's Secretary of the Treasury. So, I'm coming up to stay in New York for his term. That's going to be at least four years, so I'll get to see you all again, every day."

Gil tackled him back to the grass, whooping. "That's wonderful, petit Alexandre! I always knew you'd be the best for that job." Confusion suddenly crossed his face. "Jefferson, though? I thought you hated each other?"

Alexander shrugged. "Guess he doesn't hate me as much as I thought, or he's just really desperate. Probably the latter, to be honest."

John laughed. "That's awesome, Alex. You won't get yelled at for talking in cabinet meetings anymore!"

They quieted down for a few minutes, until Hercules asked, "John, what about you? Are you staying?"

The other boy sighed. "No. I have to go back to South Carolina in four days. Dad sent me up on a business trip for the plantation. He's getting older, so he doesn't like to make these trips anymore, that's why he sent me. Besides-" he hesitated, unsure if he wanted to tell them what his parents had said to him before he left. "They want me to get married."

His friends' faces fell. "But, John," Hercules frowned. "You always told us how you never really wanted to get married. Are they forcing you into this?"

"Nah, they're not doing anything yet." John sighed.

Gilbert butted in. "Just don't. Don't get married, don't go back. Keep putting off your return, and if you do have to return, come back to New York the first chance you get. We'll help."

"Yeah!" Alex chimed in. "We'll make up excuses to keep you here, like, you're keeping us from foolishly investing in a doomed sailing company or something."

John laughed. "We don't have to worry about it right now, anyways. Can we just spend some time catching up? I don't think we've been in the same place, all four of us, for six years."

"Has it been that long?"

"Too long."

Fortunately, no one came into the churchyard. A group of older women passed by the gates, pausing to shoot disapproving looks at the four young men laughing on the grass inside. But no one told them to leave. They were in their own world for the next few hours, until Hercules had the idea to go around the city and visit some of their old adventuring grounds.

With the sun getting lower in the sky, the four walked all over the city, pointing out every place where they'd made memories, gotten into trouble, or both. It was mostly both.

"Hey, check it out, that's where we used to go to school! Remember that professor that hated me?"

"Look, it's the shipyard where we found Lex! He ran up a mast, do you remember that?"

"There's the government's offices! That's where I work now!"

Eventually their reunion tour of the city led them to Hercules's shop, where he invited them inside. Lex immediately started twining around everyone's legs. Even though it had been a long time, the cat still recognized it's old friends.

The sun was setting as they sat at Hercules's table, mugs of tea and coffee, in Alex's case ("nO Alex you can't have coffee this late" "fight me Herc coffee is for all day").

Silence fell, but that was alright. Sometimes, when you've known someone for a long while, you can be just as comfortable silent in their presence as if you were having a lively conversation. No words needed.

Until, Alex spoke up. "You know, all those years we spent together, I don't think it ever occurred to us that we would have to say goodbye one day. And you know, I don't think we ever really did."

"We're not the type of people who can just say goodbye." John grinned. "If we ever said goodbye for real there would have to be a parade, with a salute and everything."

Hercules lifted his mug. "Here's to goodbyes that always end in hellos."

Gil stared at him. "Herc, mon ami, that was a quote worthy of the history books."

And the moment was broken. The four dissolved into laughter once more. In the midst of the giggling and the guffawing and the tears that leaked out of the corners of their eyes, Alex lifted his mug too.

"Raise a glass to freedom, and to family that doesn't end in blood."

I want to thank everyone who stuck with the story to the very end. Your support kept me going. This has been a good long year and now it's goodbye. I don't think it occurred to me that I'd have to say goodbye to this story, either. But this was a real joy to write. Thank you, so, so much. Yours truly, RedCoatsRedder.