Some Philidosia, and Father/Son Washington/Hamilton. I tried. This was just kind of an idea i had for a sob story after coming across some fanart, enjoy!

Please?

It was a normal day. Almost. Almost everyone was fine that day. Almost everyone was going about their daily business. Everyone, in fact, but the Hamiltons and one Theodosia Burr. They? They were grieving for a great loss. It was November 24, 1802. A year ago that day, each of the grieving people had lost someone dear to them: Philip Hamilton.

Alexander and Eliza Hamilton had lost their son. Each of the Hamilton children had lost a beloved sibling and friend. And Theodosia Burr had lost the love of her life… not that anyone knew it. She and Philip had been a secret, and she intended for it to stay that way. If either family found out… well, there would be hell to pay. Not only did their fathers hate each other, but Theodosia was married shortly before Philip's death, and she was not about to let anyone know she had cheated on her husband, if only for a short time.

Each of those affected was dealing with the loss however they could. Theodosia was grieving silently, and taking the opportunity while her husband was at work to pen out a letter to her deceased lover, telling him all that had happened since he was gone. Even though she knew it would never be sent, knew she would end up burning it when she was finished, it was a sort of comfort to communicate with Philip somehow, even if it was rather one-sided.

Eliza spent the day with her children, offering a quiet support to the older ones, who remembered the day a year ago when their brother had died all too clearly, and making sure the younger ones were happy and distracted enough to not notice the somber mood the household carried. She would grieve later, after the children were in bed and Alexander had returned home. Then she would let herself break down, and find comfort in her husband's arms. For now, she had to be the strong one. Her husband had disappeared early that morning, undoubtedly dealing with the emotions the day brought in his own way, so now the role fell to her.

Alexander was walking, much as he had directly after his son's death. It was a sort of coping method, much like his work was. He didn't really know where his feet were carrying him, just that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He knew that as much as Eliza and he loved and supported each other, despite the ups and downs in their marriage, for now, each of them would want to grieve in their own way.

The realization of his surroundings snapped Alexander Hamilton out of his thoughts. His breath caught in his throat, almost a sob, when he saw where he was. His wandering had led him to the graveyard where both his son and the only fatherly figure he'd ever known rested. Slowly, hesitantly, he approached his son's grave. Looking around, wanting to leave a tribute, he spotted a flower patch growing a few feet off, presumably for the purpose of leaving flowers on the graves of loved ones.

He knelt before his son's final resting place, his head bowed. Slowly, he reached out and placed the flowers at the bottom of the gravestone, just under the date inscription. "January 22, 1782 to November 24, 1801," he read in a whisper, running his fingertips over the dates. Sighing, he settled next to his son's grave and spoke for a while, weaving together a tale of all that had happened in the last year. Alex didn't know if Philip could hear him or not, but he figured there was always the chance.

After he had spent almost two hours talking to his son, he rose from his position on the ground, intending to go home. At that point, though, another gravestone caught his eye. It was the grave of George Washington, the only father figure he had ever known, although he would never admit it.

Making a split second decision, he made his way to the grave of his nation's first president. Here there were flowers all around, and the gravestone was engraved in a fancy, flowing script. Slowly, he kneeled before the grave, bowing his head. He had no words to express the grief he felt for his son, and his family. But it seemed as though the spirit of Washington understood anyway. Alexander could almost feel the general's presence as he sat in silence. Finally he just let go, talking about everything that had happened- the loss of his son, The Reynolds Pamphlet, all the things that had gone wrong since the General was gone. He talked about how he needed guidance, how the general had been a father figure to him. It gave him a sort of peace, in a way, to finally get everything off his chest.

As he finally got up to go back home and be support to his family, he turned back one last time towards his father and son. As he looked away, you could almost hear his quiet whisper, "Call me son one more time… please?"