Chapter Text
[ODYSSEUS]
I look into your eyes and I think back to the son of mine
Telemachus shifted nervously, his eyes darting between both versions of his father. Odysseus sat there numbly, eyes away from the screen, while Ody looked visibly distressed, Polites trying to comfort him.
Not to much avail. Polites couldn’t remove the guilt.
You're as old as he was when I left for war
A rush of unpropelled sadness returned to Telemachus. It was no easy feat, living your entire childhood without a father, unknowing of his whereabouts... unknowing if he was even alive. He was waiting just as much as his mother– but how could he know what he was waiting for? All he relied on were the tales of the great warrior he was, one he aspired to be... and then what?
He loved his father. He loved him so dearly. It was just difficult, sometimes, considering the years lost that they can never bring back.
Burr mused of an alternate universe where he didn’t have Theodosia. Ten years was a long time to not see your child for, and everything else you’d ever known. Burr, unlike Hamilton, was content with a normal, predictable life, living in solicitude, even if his name didn’t go down in history.
Until he wasn’t.
On the contrary, Hamilton, oblivious to his paralleled, simultaneous thoughts in line with Burr’s, had an unwanted reminder of Philip’s ill fate. Who did he have to blame but himself?
Maybe part of him planned to shoot to the sky because of the guilt he carried with him. If he were to die, he would die having upheld his son, as if the heavens came down.
God, he couldn’t wait to see him again. Whether that was today, tomorrow, or in fifty years.
After this ordeal, obviously.
Will these actions haunt my days? Every man I've slain?
Is the price I pay endless pain?
It was Washington who contemplated this time, flashbacks to the point he had made to Alexander.
History has its eyes on you.
He revealed the woes of his first ever command, even younger than Alexander, and how he led his men straight into a massacre. Was this what it meant to be? Was it truly necessary? In order to be a great general, did he have to have a trail of bodies follow his every step?
Some nights, sleep didn’t come easily. Splutters of crimson would plague his thoughts. And for their freedom, he had to live with it.
No honour came without a cost.
Close your eyes and spare yourself the view
How could I hurt you?
Part of Polites wondered how he could. Obviously, this was an impossible choice. Obviously, he would defend Ody’s every action. Obviously, this was necessary.
But...
If it were up to him, he couldn’t he simply couldn’t.
Part of him hoped the infant would stay alive.
Maybe.
Maybe?
I'm just a man
“It’s pretty sad,” Angelica commented, “how what’s normally an excuse has been transcribed into something tragic.”
Telemachus glanced over at her. “An excuse?”
“Oh,” she answered, “I don’t know how things worked three thousand years ago, but it’s just a common excuse for men to do stupid things. Like, disgusting things.”
“Oh,” the prince replied. He offered nothing more.
Who's trying to go home
Even after all the years away from what I've known
Ctimene felt a pang of sorrow, as he was only halfway done the journey. And here he was, thinking this was the worst of it.
She recalled the splurge of an explanation, verbose and panicky, he gave to her to reason why Eurylochus was... well, dead. Thankfully, he returned, but... his words stuck with her. Something about the way he spoke sparked an anguish that didn’t come from this world.
And all these years later, she could do nothing to help her older brother.
I'm just a man who's fighting for his life
Deep down, I would trade the world to see my son and wife
That will later show, Odysseus predicted.
Penelope offered him a sympathetic glance. So did Eliza, noticing his distress from the other side.
I'm just a man
The Americans who were not composite of the war had a moment of stress alleviation, thinking the song had ended. Maybe he didn’t kill the baby– maybe there was still a tinge of humanity remaining in him.
Until they were proven wrong.
But when does the comet become a meteor?
When does a candle become a blaze?
When does a man become a monster?
Jefferson quipped, whispering to Madison, “That’s one way to make murder metaphorically lyrical.”
Madison did not humour his words, shrugging, watching the television.
Meanwhile, Athena couldn’t help but remember how harshly she had treated him. He was just a man, and she was expecting him to be more.
So much guilt and little room to apologise.
When does a ripple become a tidal wave?
When does the reason become the blame?
When does a man become a monster?
Angelica and Eliza subtly looked away, unwilling to watch him drop the baby.
Quiet weeping came from Ody, sobbing into Polites, who rubbed his back apologetically. Eurylochus offered a similar look, understanding the conflict in him.
[ENSEMBLE]
When does a comet become a meteor?
When does a candle become a blaze?
[ODYSSEUS]
Forgive me
[ENSEMBLE]
When does a man become a monster?
[ODYSSEUS]
Forgive me
[ENSEMBLE]
When does a man become a monster?
[ODYSSEUS]
Forgive me
I'm just a man
The animation didn’t show the baby drop, but it didn’t need to– it was implied.
There was an ominous silence in the room, and no one dared to break it for what felt like eons.
Looking around the room, there were a variety of expressions.
Washington, who had a mild grimace, mostly of acceptance. After all, this was war, and war wasn’t known to be forgiving. The blood etched onto your skin. Once you took the kill, that memory would haunt you forever.
To do it was one thing. To live with it was another.
Jefferson was mildly disturbed, but not really. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough. Sure, it was a shame, but they were at war. What was he expecting, a silver spoon of peace fed to his mouth?
Madison thought similarly to Jefferson, subtracting the hostility. It all came down to a single, threatening word– war.
The revolutionaries of all ages didn’t show much disturbance from the visuals, but they definitely had a pang of sympathy. Even if it were for freedom, even if they didn’t regret the war, the things they did for independence would always stick with them.
All Eliza could muster was pity. Why must such cruelty happen? What was so horrible about peace? It was a lose-lose situation. One of them was going to end up harmed either way.
Angelica frowned, a sliver of disdain towards Odysseus. Even if he didn’t have a choice, it was still one thing to be able to kill a baby.
The King couldn’t care less. People die every day. So what? He was going to kill the man when he grew up. Maybe all the veterans around him had no instinct for self-preservation, but logically, it wasn’t just his life on the line, but his family’s. It was the rational choice to make, and wars were certainly not one through emotions.
Perchance somewhat pious of him, some would daresay.
Then there was Odysseus. He was numb to all this. The infant still haunted him, sure, but there were bigger regrets to cave to guilt for. The tears he shed for this one child were so incessant that it evolved into indifference. Nowadays, it was easier to just... not care.
Some days it was easier not to care. Other days...
Penelope had no enmity towards her husband for what was a fundamental decision. That was it. She loved every bit of him that he constituted as a monster, for she would never see one. He meant no malice, yes? That was all she needed.
Telemachus was the same. Sure, he had some pity, but no one could expect the foes of war to be a walk in the park.
If Ctimene could be upset about anything, it wasn’t the infant. Even then, she was too forgiving to hold it against him.
Ody kept sobbing. That was plenty enough of an explanation for how he responded. Eurylochus and Polites did their best to tranquilise him, to no success.
As for Athena, she really wanted to feel pitiful... but nothing came. The decision was unfortunate, yes, but he didn’t have remorse for it. He would’ve done it again. And again. And again. As evidenced through the remainder of his journey, he took out all six hundred of his men. This was hardly foreplay.
There was only one form of regret– and that was her own.
Alas, after a solid few seconds of deathly quiet, Eliza muttered a few words. “I’m sorry, dear. That is awful to live with.”
Odysseus shrugged. “Could be worse.” Would get worse.
“How can you not care?” Angelica asked, perhaps a little demanding, ignoring his younger version having a mental breakdown. “I mean, sorry. You just seem so... aloof about it.”
“I mean, that was ten years ago,” he replied ambiguously, not offended. “You’ll see. There were bigger fish to fry down the track. It doesn’t get better.”
It... doesn’t? The younger few of the crew flinched, anticipation filling their guts.
“Just,” Odysseus sighed, “appreciate Troy while it lasts.”
Big, bold characters flash on the television.
Full Speed Ahead.