Work Text:
Alexander Hamilton remembered misery, hunger, and regrets in Nevis. His mother’s always smiling but tired face, and his brother’s weariness. He will always hate his father, a permanent stain that not only covered him in bruises, but in his mind.
Alexander Hamilton knows that he and Burr are different, but he can’t help but feel envy as he tries to believe they’re somewhat similar–they are orphans. But when Burr spoke of how he got into Princeton, he remembered the good fathers in Nevis. Who’d take care of their children. Who’d always do their best to make sure, while they could, their children had the best.
There was a difference in Nevis unlike with the elites of America.
There was no law to ensure your kids had it all when you died. No thin parchment that will protect them, no thin parchment that will prove they are better than the common peasants. So you had to teach them the skills to survive; no one will do it. Even if they can’t read, the fathers make sure their kids can survive.
(Living is a lesson they cannot teach.)
That’s when the clarity came rushing to his eyes.
Alexander Hamilton had no father, but he had a mother who loved him, cared for him, and persevered. Persevered despite the cruelties a tiny land bestowed on them. Loved him even though it would’ve been easier to send him and his brother somewhere, at least somewhere far enough her shame would have been hidden. Cared for him, cared about his words, encouraged him to write, cared about him enough to be his first reader. Cared for him to treat his wounds and sing songs.
“CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME!”
Alexander Hamilton didn’t think of the man who walked out on his life.
He thought of Rachel Faucette Buck. His mother, the one who deserved more than what the world gave her.
He has an inkling what role Washington was trying to fill, but his mother filled that role till her death.