Chapter 1
“Oh, what a wonderful idea,” Lexa snarked, tablet in one hand as she played with her girlfriend’s hair with the other. “Your advice as a mostly-forgotten figure is much appreciated.”
Laurie rolled her eyes. “All I'm saying is, you can't avoid this forever.”
“I can and I will,” Lexa said. “Fucking watch me.”
Her girlfriend huffed. “And why don't you want to meet him?”
Lexa scowled. “My legacy from that life is safe. I don't need to fuck it up.”
“Okay, look. If you want to make a difference, the Hamilton name is your springboard. More change, less time,” Laurie replied.
The scowl deepened. “I want to earn this on my own name.”
“It is your name!” exclaimed Laurie. “It is actually, literally your name! Come on!”
Lexa sighed. “That's the sort of thing I would have done as Alexander. I want to make a difference, yes, but I'm not about to design a new financial system. I'm trying to do less manipulating this time around.”
“Stop shying away from your own ambition,” Laurie chided. “Ambition is not a bad thing. If anything, you'll need it more than ever right now.”
Lexa was quiet for a moment. “Alright. Alright, we'll do this. But you and the rest of the squad are coming with.”
Gillian was bouncing up and down in her seat, Meg was snoring loudly, Laurie had her headphones in, Lexa was writing, and Mrs. Washington, who had somehow become chauffeur, was trying not to cuss out the Lincoln in front of them.
They went over a pothole and three people swore at once, in three different languages.
After a beat of silence, Mrs. Washington only said mildly, “Language.”
“You're the one who swore in a language everyone else could understand!” Lexa protested.
Mrs. Washington shrugged. “Adult privileges.”
“Come on, come on!” Gillian exclaimed loudly in French as she dragged Lexa through the crowd.
Lexa grabbed Laurie’s hand, trying not to get separated. “Gillian, slow down! Stop! Halt! Pause!”
Her shouts were ignored, so Laurie planted her feet and yelled, “Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, fucking stop!”
Gillian stopped, as did most of the people around the three. “Really? The full name? Oh, how you wound me!”
“The only thing here wounded are my eardrums,” Lexa put in.
In unison, the other two replied, “Shut up, Alexander.”
“Full name, youch,” she quipped back.
Laurie fixed her with a glare. “I meant it.”
“Ah, geez, okay.”
Meg and Mrs. Washington came up then, and stared at the crowd around the trio. “Well, move along,” Mrs. Washington said in her best Major General Voice.™ People went scurrying back to what they were doing.
They stared at the Richard Rodgers, Gillian once again overexcited. “I'm in a musical! Lexa, I'm in a musical about you!”
Mrs. Washington already looked like she regretted bringing them all. Meg, still the Mom Friend™ of course, was trying to calm everone down. Laurie had one earbud in, and Lexa had the other. (Once they'd gotten her to admit it, of course, she had confessed that yes, she'd listened to Hamilton, and yes, she was a fan. How could she not be?)
“Look!” shrieked someone behind them, and shouts of, “Lin!”, “Omigod!”, and “Notice me, Senpai!” filled the air. Lexa’s head snapped around to stare, and her dark blue eyes watched as a very familiar-looking man walked past the glass doors inside the building. He glanced the crowd's way, and walked back into the deeper recesses of the building.
As the crowd eventually quieted, Lexa said quietly, “He looks just like I did.”
Laurie shook her head. “Not really. His eyes are wrong.”
“What?”
Laurie had a faraway look as she replied. “Your eyes were, are, a deep violet-blue. That strange, beautiful colour of the evening sky in the South Carolinan summer.”
“Ummm… thanks? I think?” her girlfriend responded.
They laughed, and cried during the performance.
There was a lot of crying. Lots and lots of it.
“Proof that Mrs. Washington is actually a miracle worker and/or a divine being. Go.”
“Proof #137: She got us tickets to Hamilton.”
“Proof #138: She managed to get us backstage to meet Lin.”
“Proof #139: She was apparently drinking buddies with the man who plays her past self.”
“That doesn't count, Gillian.”
Gillian crossed her arms. “Why not?”
“That's irony,” Lexa pointed out. “Not magic.”
The reincarnated Frenchman rolled her eyes. “It counts.”
“It doesn't count,” Meg agreed. “Strike #139 off the list, Recordkeeper!”
Laurie backspaced rapidly.
“Holy fuck,” two said in unison.
Mrs. Washington sighed. “Language, young man.”
“Technically, I'm about 200 years older than you,” Lin pointed out. “You can't call me young man.”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. Shut up, Shakespeare.”