"Alright, something needs to get fucked up, where the fuck is it."

Burr cursed and glared at Mulligan, who made a shrugging, helpless gesture. Laurens stood guiltily to the side, phone in hand.

"I told you not to call him," Burr hissed discreetly out of the side of his mouth. Alexander noticed anyways.

"You make bad decisions anyways, Burr. Now, where's my fucking body!" Alex shot off, whirling around the room in the singularly unique manner that Aaron had only ever seen on the short man. His lab coat whooshed out behind him in a way so dramatic, Burr was certain Hamilton had it down to a science.

Lafayette pointed to the table- in the center of the room, really alex- and the coroner immediately made a beeline to it.

He listed off notes faster than Laurens could have taken them, which was helpful, since John really wasn't taking any anyways. All Burr had grasped from the verbal avalanche was "Time of death, 8:00, AM not PM, jesus, that's too early for murder," and something about gunshot.

Then, Alexander finally took in the body. Really took in, not focusing on the bits and pieces instead of the full picture.

"Oh god. He could have been my son."

Being a coroner has never been the most cheerful of jobs. Few decide to spend their lives in a basement, surrounded by the stench of cadavers.

Then there are those who are simply attracted to death.

Hamilton had been right. The young boy, nineteen or so, looked like Alex aged back ten years. His eyes, on the other hand, a bright green so unlike the Puerto Rican man next to him.

"What's his name?" Alex asked shakily, quietly. In all the years they'd known each other, Hamilton had never been quiet. His eyes were transfixed on the cadaver's.

"Philip Rensselaer." Laurens responded, phone forgotten. This had been what they were afraid of.

The awkward silence lasted for about two minutes- then Mulligan broke it with a whistle.

"That's what, the fifth one this week?" He asks, a titch too loud, a bit too obviously covering for something. "And it's only Thursday!"

"Yeah." Laurens whispers, still a little unbalanced. Burr could sympathise. Of the five coroners, they were the only ones to have not found a corpse resembling themselves yet.

"Philip, right?" Hamilton asked, staring Laurens in the eye. John gestured at the tag on the young man's foot.

"That's Eliza's father's name. She was telling me that if we ever had a child, we'd name him that."

"Oh." Lafayette breathes, shifting from foot to foot, uncertain. Burr remembered his, the five year old with Lafayette's mouth and nose and chin, named George Washington Motier. Lieutenant Washington was more than a little freaked out as well.

"He has Eliza's eyes, doesn't he." Alex stated flatly. Burr took one look at his destroyed face, then shooed him out.

"You take the day off. There is absolutely no need for there to be five coroners working in here."

It's a miracle (and a testament) that he doesn't even argue.