His description of the son he’d seen warned her heart, but when Alexander mentioned that he was fighting for his life, Liberty felt a strange, unfamiliar tightness in her chest. It was true. He still was, even if he looked a little stronger now. Something within her wanted to reach out and grab his hand again, but she pushed that thought back. ‘You,’ she said, the word heavy as if she had to force it out, ‘have lots of reasons to stay alive, Alexander Hamilton. Your son is one of them. Don’t go anywhere, okay?’
She let him talk, despite his tiredness, because she thought it was good for him to talk. It was a sign of improvement, wasn’t it? He seemed to know what was a dream and what wasn’t, not like that first day when she’d been searching the telephone records to find people to write to who didn’t seem to be here at all. Far too much time wasted searching for the elusive Citizen Burr to inform him of Alexander’s condition, once she was done writing to the English men. If Alexander’s seeming friendship with the two men who had once tried to kill him confused her, she didn’t say anything about it.
Ordinarily when they talked, she’d challenge him, push him a little, or at least ask for clarifications, but that seemed like additional stress he didn’t need today. She didn’t tell him, then, that it was really all contracts at the bottom, that crime was nothing but a breach of contract. Save that thought for another day. She leant forward, an amused smile on her lips. ‘No, who wants to dream about being a bad lawyer? What a waste of a dream! Which were you, the prosecution or the defence?’