#rp ship: gavillton

[mamashitty]

Dear Sirena

Character: Hamilton B. Jefferson Playby: Hugh Dancy Thread: Characters & Characters & Characters Ship: Sirham — in friendship now. Brief mention of Gavilton. Post/One Shot: One Shot...ish? Date Posted: 8.19.2018 Blurb: Ham received a letter from his ex, Sirena, in the middle of the night. Oh, their relationship is long and complicated. Anyway, they have a lot of history. She can’t sleep. It is August, a rough month for them both. This is Hamilton’s reply to her.

It was nearly midnight when Hamilton’s box glowed. Ever since the attack on the Cerulean House, Hamilton had had a difficult time sleeping. He was in his own apartment for the evening, Gavin being out of the country on work. Hamilton had half the mind to sneak into Gavin’s place even without his husband being there because he slept better in Gavin’s bed than he did in the bed of his new apartment. His temporary apartment. He missed the Cerulean House. He missed the noises the old place made, the creaks in the boards as Washington explored the house at night, as Billings or Leslie moved about. He missed sleeping in a library—the smell of the books—and the fact if his mind was restless he had access to more books than he could name or count. His apartment, nice was it was, felt a little sterile to him. It was only temporary lodgings, a place to stay while the Cerulean House was repaired and newer, better wards, placed on it. He would have much rather not be renting this apartment and just living with Gav, but there would have been questions.

Having a secret marriage was the pits sometimes(see: all the time), especially lately, with the state of mind he was in ever since the attack on the Cerulean House. His brother and Billings had survived, but a part of Hamilton felt forever changed. More changed than the attacks on himself or the kidnapping. Something about almost losing his brother, of possibly even almost losing Gavin because Gavin had been there that night, of the thought of Billings or Leslie or even Lexa getting hurt or worse. The thoughts and worries played in his mind constantly and really the only time he got decent sleep was when Gavin was with him, arms around him. Or his arms around Gavin. He stared at the box. He always kept it somewhere he could see, and in this new apartment, it was at his new desk. A piece of furniture he was renting, something that lacked all the character and history of the desk in his library bedroom. No other Presidents had sat at this desk, and he realized his thoughts were petulant at best. He moved to his desk and took a seat. He removed the letter from Sirena. It was August. The Month of Lincoln, on top of the shit from the summer, no wonder he could not sleep. So he read, and reached for his own notebook and a pen because he knew would reply as soon as he finished reading. He could tell from the way the words looked on the page that Sirena was upset, he did not even need the clue of the tear spots. He could read it in her writing. He and Sirena, they had been writing to each other since Sirena was fourteen and Ham sixteen, he knew the sweep of her letters. He knew how to read excitement in them and despair. He could read in the strokes when she was trying to be brave and when she was angry. She had a peculiar way that she wrote certain letters, ways he had tried to replicate when they were younger and he never managed to quite match them. Sirena, he could tell before he even read the words, was a mess. And his heart went out to her because… August was hard. Sirena, I am awake. Ever since the attack on the Cerulean House, I have not been able to sleep as well as I once would. I am alone tonight which makes sleep even harder to come by, and it is August. We both know what August means. I wish you were sleeping, it is no longer late where you are at, but quite soundly morning. Three days (or as I write this reply is it really four?) without sleep, Sirena… you can’t do that to yourself, to your body. It will give out one day. I know, I know. If you could sleep—you would. I am going to stop lecturing you. Are the potions no longer working for you? Though, you never did take anything for actual sleep, did you?  Just potions to keep the nightmares at bay. Are those potions no longer working? For what it is worth, I doubt that Theo thinks you are unstable all the time. Maybe just a tiny bit at this moment, but you have so much on your shoulders, Sirena. You always put so much on your shoulders. You block yourself off, throwing shields and barriers up, at the times when you need people the most. August is a hard month and it will never be easy. I think I am glad that you let your guard down, that you yelled to Theo about Lincoln, that your sadness about Lincoln slipped out without you meaning it to. Because, I think Theo is in it for the long haul, Sirena. I see the way he looks at you. I don’t think you can push him away so easily. Not that I think you are intentionally pushing him away. You just have such a hard time opening yourself up. You always have, ever since your Mom. Your Dad closed off to you then, and you did the same. Except, you had us Jeffersons constantly poking at your shields. Did I ever tell you that I thought I hated your father for awhile? Your Mom had just died and I could not find it in me to be empathetic to the grief your father was feeling, to the way he handled that grief. I only saw him pushing his daughter away, keeping her locked out, effectively making it like she had lost both her parents instead of one. You were the love of my life at the time, and I hated anyone who hurt you. My parents told me to be respectful, to not tell you what I was really feeling towards your father, to give him time. It was always give him time. And, they did their best to step into the void left by your parents, and I loved them so much more for that. But always I would want to grab your father by his shoulders and scream into his face that he was pushing you away, that he was losing you, and that you too were closing off. I definitely do not hate your father now, and I don't’ think it was ever really hate—just—a strong dislike and anger. Fuck, I am rambling. I’ll just pretend that I hope my rambling will lull you to sleep. Did I tell you that I am seeing Dr. Maeve Connolly again? It has only been a few weeks, really. I started going to her back in July, once things started to settle down a little. It all became too much after the attack, after seeing Madison like that. Probably, I would have benefited going back to her long before that, maybe after the kidnapping. But I always had an excuse, you know?  Bullshit things like, what if word got out that the President of MACUSA was seeing a therapist? Worries about patient and healer confidentiality, but… all of that was stupid of me to think. I got to thinking of how much she helped me after we lost Lincoln… Sirena, you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened with Lincoln. It was not your fault. It was NEVER your fault and it will never be your fault. It was just the cruelty of life. You did everything absolutely right when you found out you were pregnant. I think that is one thing about myself that I will never forgive myself for—that I did try to blame you—but I was foolish and stupid and awful for that. It was easier turning my own grief over like that. The men in your life, we fucking suck with how we handle our grief, don’t we? Hopefully, Theo will be a much better man than your father and I ever were in that department. I guess I am just trying to say, that seeing someone helped me with Lincoln, and is helping me now. Therapy is more than just a band-aid solution. And you don’t have to talk about everything that haunts you, you do not have to bring up Lincoln or your time in Azkaban if you are not ready. You don’t have to talk about the war. You can talk about how you can’t sleep, the fear you get from sleeping because of the nightmares. You can talk about absolutely anything you want, and save the bigger stuff until the healer is no longer a stranger to you. Therapy, it does not fix things in one meeting or even a hundred—it is a constant process, always evolving and changing as you and your needs change and evolve. Just… think about it, Sirena. Don’t write it off because you think it is a lost cause. I know how hard it is for you to open up to someone. Even someone you love and care for, let alone a person you do not even know or trust. But… they are trained to help you. Just like you help people with your potions and research. Think about it. I know you picture your life and what it would be like if Lincoln had been born if we had been able to raise our son. It is painful and magical all at once, because I think about it all the time, especially in August. Think about the example you would want to set him. I know, I would not want him to think it was shameful to seek help. Not that I think you think it is shameful to go to therapy, just… I don’t know. I am going to force myself to stop writing this letter. I want you to sleep, but I will tell you that, I doubt I will be going to sleep anytime soon myself. My box is always open for you, and Merlin that would sound a lot dirtier if I were a female. - Hamilton p.s. I think if Lincoln went to Hogwarts instead of Ilvermorny, he would be a Ravenclaw, from what I have heard of their houses. It is less painful for me to imagine him at Hogwarts than Ilvermorny. Hamilton stared at the letter he had finished writing. Then he folded it neatly and placed it in the box. He tapped the box with his wand, and then stood up and went to get a drink. He figured he would camp at his shitty rented desk for a little awhile longer, and a drink would help.

#hp rp #rp #the geeking shack #mama shitty writes #mama shitty rps #mama shitty one shots #rp character #rp character: hamilton b. jefferson #rp ship #rp ship: gavillton #rp ship: sirham