Archive of Our Own ^beta

Just because you find that life’s not fair it

doesn't mean that you just have to grin and bear it

if you always take it on the chin and wear it

Nothing will change.

Burr knew most kids waiting to be interviewed for Princeton would be nervous, but he wasn’t. Top of his class, mock trial, internship, early graduate -- he had this in the bag. And if all that didn’t convince the admissions office, he was a legacy. The young people surrounding him were all toe-tapping nervously, but Burr sat there coolly. People said he was arrogant, but he was only confident in his abilities. He succeeded because he never reached out of his bounds.

The doors swung open and a skinny black boy stumbled in. Burr hadn’t noted the comings and goings of other people -- he’d been here all day waiting -- but he noticed this boy for three reasons:

One, he was the only other black kid in the room. After being surrounded by people calling him a credit to his race all day, it might be nice to talk to a kid with similar experiences.

Two, he looked younger than Burr even. If he had to guess, he’d peg him at around thirteen or fourteen. Another prodigy, he mused. Interesting.

Three, he had clearly put effort into his appearance, but he was definitely not as well dressed as everyone else in the room. Unlike his contemporaries in their suits and ties, the newcomer sported slacks, a white polo and black sneakers. He was wearing a nondescript brown jacket over it, likely the nicest thing he owned.

He sat down next to Burr and held out a hand. “Hey. Alexander Hamilton at your service, sir.”

Burr nearly ignored it, but the boy looked nervous and earnest. “Aaron Burr. Junior.”

“Junior … I’ve heard of you.” Hamilton grinned triumphantly. “My reverend -- back home, I mean -- went to school with your dad. Hugh Knox -- your dad ever mention him?”

No, he was dead, but Hamilton would get the softened truth because he looked so young and nervous. “No, he passed when I was a baby. I don’t remember him, so it’s not too bad.”

At this point, the conversation was usually over.

“I feel that.” But not now. Hamilton was supposed to go quiet and leave Burr to his reading, maybe say sorry so he could feel better, and they could move on with their individual lives. He wasn’t supposed to emphasize. Burr wasn’t sure how he felt about this. “I mean, my dad didn’t die, and I knew him beforehand, but he split when I was ten. I haven’t seen him since.”

Hamilton seemed troubled by this, and Burr felt the uncomfortable urge to say sorry, but he swallowed it. Instead, he pulled a water bottle from his bag and offered it to him. “Here, take this. They’re taking forever today, and it’s stuffy in here.”

“Thanks,” he said, in a painfully earnest voice. He was like a puppy, and God did that worry Burr. This kid couldn’t last if he kept it up.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Law.” His face brightened. “I want to be the kind of lawyer that wins cases for people who deserve it.” Oh, boy, the kid was fucked. “And I want to make a difference.” Fuck.

“Can I give you some advice?” Burr didn’t know where Hamilton was from -- his accent had a definite southern feel, but not American. An immigrant, perhaps. “Keep your head down, don’t get too loud. Don’t make them see you, hear you, because they won’t, even if it means making you shut up. You’re better off not trying. Even if you throw all your effort in, you won’t change anything.”

He hadn’t meant to go off on a tangent -- his intention had been to say something simple, to remind him that life wasn’t fair and there wasn’t anything you could do. Hamilton shot him a betrayed look. “I don’t think that’s true. I wouldn’t be here if it was. I’d be dead, in an unmarked grave.”

He didn’t elaborate, and somebody else may have asked him to, but not Burr.

“Whatever works for you, man.”

Two hours later Burr walked out of the admissions office seething. Hamilton wasn’t much better.

“Can you fucking believe it? They didn’t ask me any-fucking-thing about my education or my work history or published work -- I had references!” Hamilton plopped down on a park bench. “I got my diploma. Sure, it wasn’t conventionally , but I fucking got it. Fuck.”

Honestly, Hamilton’s verbal tirade was a lot nicer than Burr’s internal one.

“I told you.” Burr dropped down next to him. “Hey, you’ll be fine. Just give them some time. They’ll get off their high horse and accept you.”

“I don’t have time.” he moaned. “I can’t wait around for them to accept me. I have to get into a college now. God, I’m so screwed.”

“Patience is a virtue.” His foster mother told him that constantly, and it served him well.

“Not one I can afford.” The way Hamilton said it was almost wistful.
A Middle Eastern man somewhere in his thirties approached them. When he saw their dejected faces, he smiled reassuringly. “Stiff upper lip, boys. It’s not all bad.”

Hamilton snorted. “Yeah?”

“There’s other schools -- my brother’s alma mater, Columbia. It’s a good school.” He sat down next to them. “When I was your age, they wouldn’t have even given me an application, but I think you got a shot, Alex.”

He started by addressing both of them, but it was clear that he was talking to Hamilton. It had become clear whose he was. Burr was an intruder on this odd pair, and he shifted. The feeling was familiar, but it still made him uncomfortable.

The two got up, leaving Burr alone on the bench, and he felt a little empty. Hamilton was weird and chatty and had literally no filter, but he wanted to be Burr’s friend. No one had wanted to be his friend in a while.