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Chapter Text

September 1780

He awoke to a dull straining ache in his arms and shoulders and a burning in his wrists, his brain foggy.  There was a low throb at the base of his skull.  He shook his head to try to clear it.  Bad idea.  The throbbing intensified.  His senses began to click into place one by one.  He couldn’t see anything.  Why?  He blinked several times.  Blindfolded.  His mouth felt dry.  Gagged.  The ache in his arms?  Chains, holding his hands above his head.  He tried to push himself up to relieve the stretching, his feet barely scraped the ground.  Where are my boots?  My stockings?  As he became aware of his bare feet, he also realized the room was cold, damp, and smelled musty.  Some sort of cellar then?  His jacket and waistcoat were gone too, leaving him in just his breeches and long shirt, which was untucked and allowed the cool air to breathe along his back.  How had it become untucked?  That had to have been done deliberately.   

He fought the urge to gag on the dry cloth stuffed into his mouth.  He would have spit it out, but it was apparently secured around his head.  He desperately needed to remember what had happened to him.  The memory would not show itself.  He remembered Washington sending him on a secret mission into New York to meet with the rebel leaders still in the city, Benjamin Tallmadge and many others in the Culper Ring.  He remembered delivering Washington’s orders to them and drafting their responses and insights on the issues.  There was also a very important piece of intelligence that had just come in right as he was preparing to leave.  It was imperative that Washington be given this information.  The trip itself was supposed to be quick.  Only two days in the city and then sneaking back out to meet back up with Washington.  Clearly, he hadn’t succeeded in this last leg.  Where was his satchel?  Thank God the correspondence was coded.  He was pretty confident in his own cleverness of the code.  Only three people knew how to read it: Washington, Laurens and himself.  Still, if Washington wasn’t alerted soon, the consequences could be disastrous. 

He could have kicked himself.  Even though he couldn’t remember what had happened, he had to have made a mistake. Been careless in some way.  How long had he been here?  Was he missed yet in Washington’s camp?  So many questions and unknows swirled around in his still foggy brain.  How could he have let this happen? 

He heard a door open somewhere above him.  Footsteps crossing the floor, several footsteps.  Then another door, nearer.  There was a slight draft that wafted through the room.  The footsteps on the stairs came closer, down into the cellar. 

If he could keep his identity hidden maybe there was a chance he could get out of this. If they knew who he was, he would probably find himself facing the noose.  Secretary to the Commander and chief of the rebel army.  Would they torture him?  Who was he kidding?  Of course that was coming.  Look at where he was.  He steeled himself for the pain he knew was coming, probably sooner than later.  For now, keep still and quiet and listen, Alexander, he warned himself. 

The men were chatting amiably amongst themselves.  The weather, the fresh chill in the air meaning that winter would be settling in soon.  There might be snow tonight.  Great.  He hated the cold.  He could distinguish at least three voices so far.  Three on one and the one chained up.  Cowards.  Not a fair fight then.  Again, who was he kidding, they had no intention of this being a fight, let alone fair.

“So, do we start by actually questioning our guest, or should we tenderize him a bit first?” asked the first voice he had heard, it was rather soft and ingratiating in tone, London accent.

“Is he even awake?” asked the second voice, more forceful and distinctly not British.   Maybe a native?  Whatever it was, his accent was thick and rough.

Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head back while at the same time slamming a fist into his kidney.  He couldn’t stop the gasp and the sudden twist his body made to get away from the pain. 

“He’s awake.”  Said the third voice.  Deeper, more commanding than the others.  So, this was the man in charge.  Their leader.  Alexander, breathe, just breathe and don’t make any other movements or sounds.  Don’t give them the satisfaction.  He bit down on the foul gag in his mouth and tried to center himself again. 

Fingers were in his hair again, caressing his face and neck.  God it was hard to be still.  It took everything in him to not react. 

“I think, we might work him over a bit.  Show him what’s in store for him if he later chooses not to cooperate," the Leader continued speaking.  The one holding his hair and stroking his face.  Oh, he did not like this man at all.  “Put those irons in the fire, that way, if we need them later, they’ll be ready.” 

Breathe, Alex.  Just breathe.  You’ve been hurt before.  You may be smaller than others, but your scrappy.  You can take it.  Don’t let them intimidate you.  He stayed still.  He didn’t struggle.  He couldn’t keep the slight tremor out of his breathing though.  Especially when his hair was released only for the leader to pull up the hem of his shirt over his head and ball it up in front of his neck.  The cold, damp air swirled around his bare skin causing goose bumps to break out all over his body.  Damn it!  Why did his body have to betray him like that?  The leader was still pressed up close to him, his hands running across his back, chest, and down his sides.  All he wanted to do was get away from this man.  Every touch made his skin crawl.  The leader fisted his hand into Alexander’s hair again and pulled his head back until he was resting against the lower part of the man’s shoulder.  Damn he’s tall.  He had to be at least a foot taller than Alexander. 

“You’re small for an officer.  I wonder if that means you’ll scream easier.  You should know that I am very good at what I do.  When they told me they’d ambushed and caught a rebel officer, I was delighted at another chance to put my skills to work.  I do so enjoy breaking people.”  The Leader’s face was pressed against his and as he finished speaking in licked Alexander’s cheek. 

Alex couldn’t stop the shudder that went through him at the feel of the man’s breath in his ear and his tongue on his cheek.  Get on with it, damn it!  Quit playing with me.  He was angry at himself again. 

Washington looked up from his desk as his door opened.  He looked back down at his work with a disappointed frown on his face when Laurens walked through his door instead of Hamilton. 

“Still no word from Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?” He asked dismissively.

“No, sir, not a word.”  Washington could hear the worry in Laurens’ voice.  Hamilton was two days overdue on his return for New York. 

“Reach out to Tallmadge in New York and see what he has to say.  And send out a search party on the route he was most likely to have taken. But, do this with as much discretion as you can.  If the Lieutenant Colonel has been compromised, we don’t want the other side knowing.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”  Laurens saluted and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, worry still etched all over his face. 

Washington knew his expression matched Laurens’ line for line.  Hamilton was so young and so eager.  He’d jumped at the chance to be the one to go to New York.  He had laid out a thoughtful, reasoned argument sighting his familiarity with the terrain and he prided himself on being able to get in and out of the city undetected.  His first communications had indicated that all went well.  He’d made it in, they’d had their meetings and the directives had been well received.  The last communication had stated that he was bringing some personal correspondence from the upper leadership to Washington and an urgent message that would require Washington’s immediate attention.   The final message asserted that he had made it out of the city and was on his way.  Washington had breathed a sigh of relief when the aide had reported he was safely out of the city.  And then nothing.  Not a single word for the last four days.  The journey should have only taken two. 

Despite his age, the Lieutenant Colonel was more than capable.  His contagious, confident, and occasionally arrogant smile endeared him to Washington.  The young man never stopped.  He seemed to be overflowing with a desperate thirst to prove himself.  His confidence did occasionally and frustratingly cause him to behave in ways that others would view as insubordinate. However, Washington recognized it as the passion that young Alexander Hamilton wore on his sleeve which drove him to be the best.  He didn’t want to stifle what made him so successful.  Washington gave himself a wry smile as he thought of the many time’s he had to rein his young aide in and even reprimand him.  Washington was always careful to do this in private, so that it didn’t hinder Hamilton’s ability to carry out his duties among the other soldiers. 

Still what Hamilton lacked in decorum, he made up for in sheer brilliance.  He had a way with a pen unlike anything Washington had ever seen.  He kept a detailed journal, maintained George’s dictations for his own journal, and handled countless missives.  He was always writing.  And when he wasn’t writing he was talking.  He was just as skilled with his spoken word as he was his written word. 

Washington sighed heavily and tried to return his focus to his work. 

Chapter Text

Alexander bit hard into the gag in his mouth, but an agonized groan was still dragged from his throat as the lash curled around his side over his ribs.  What was it, number ten?  Twenty?  He’d lost count a while ago.  Roads of fire crisscrossed and licked up and down his back, sides and chest.  It was the best he could do.  He hadn’t truly screamed, not yet.  He hoped it wouldn’t come to that before they decided he had been “tenderized” enough.  Maybe that’s what they are waiting on?  he asked himself.  He breathed through his nose, panting slightly.  Once again, as after each previous lash, he felt the cool fingers of the Leader run along the fresh mark on his body. 

Alex’s back arched involuntarily as the next lash caught him just above the line of his breeches and curved around over his hip bone.  Luckily, only a grunt came out with this one.  The cool touch again, this time the fingers following the line around his hips and dipping slightly past the edge of his breeches.  He could not stop himself as he twisted away from the invading touch and gave a sharp intake of breath.  No! No one was going to touch him like that.  Not again.  Not since he’d been alone on the island before the hurricane, after the deaths of his mother and cousin. 

“How very interesting,” the Leader cooed in his ear.  “He doesn’t seem to mind being beaten but get too close to the more intimate places on his body and he turns into a shy schoolgirl.  I think we can work with that.  But, for now, let’s keep going.” 

Alex cursed himself for the movement.  The frustrating thing was, the whip wouldn’t have even gotten to such a tender location if he hadn’t lost so much weight recently due to the lack of provisions in camp.  As always, Alexander had overworked himself and like everyone else, he wasn’t eating enough.  His uniform had recently started to hang off of him.  Washington had chided him on this, but what could he do?  There was work to be done and not enough food to go around. 

A sharp lash directly across his chest yanked him from his reverie.  He squeezed his eyes shut as the wave of pain washed through him.  He tried to focus on the possible questions they could ask him and how he should answer whenever they got around to actually interrogating him.  He tried to formulate a story about who he was and what he was doing.  However, that was easier said than done as the alternating burn of the whip and the cool unwanted touches made it very difficult to concentrate and organize his thoughts. 

He heard a scrape of metal.  His ears pricked.  They were doing something different.  Damn I wish I could see.  Alex cursed his blindfold for the hundredth time in the last hour since the men had come into the basement.  At least he thought it was an hour.  He had no way to be sure. 

White hot pain emanated suddenly from a line along his lower left side.  He screamed.  He couldn’t help it.  It was so unexpected.  It took him several moments to stop the agonized groans and grunts of pain from the hot iron bar that had just kissed his skin. 

“That’s much better,” the Leader stated. 

Alexander writhed as a matching mark was burned into his flesh on the other side.  He screamed again, but he was able to get control of himself faster.  God that hurts!  The whip felt like a burn, this actually burned.  And, as Alex was now recalling, the worst of burns was that they continued to burn.  It didn’t stop, leaving him gasping in continued pain. 

He heard glass clinking and liquid pouring.  The Leader’s hand was in his hair again, holding his head back and against him again.  Alexander’s breathing was much more labored now, he was not nearly as calm.  Still, he tried.  He tried to even out his breaths, to think of anywhere but here. 

“Shh.  Shh.  Shhhhh,” the man crooned in his ear.  Alex spluttered and coughed as strong whiskey was poured over his mouth and nose.  “Have a drink.”  The alcohol burned his nose and throat as it went down.  If the pain had been dulling his senses, this suddenly brought everything back into clear focus. 

“Whiskey is very useful.  We wouldn’t want anyone saying we didn’t offer you at least a little of the gentleman's beverage?”  Alexander kept himself from screaming, but only just.  The Leader, his other hand soaked in alcohol was caressing and covering every lash with the searing liquid.  “Can I tell you a story?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before continuing.  “One time, I was writing an intelligence report after interrogating a rebel very similarly to what we are doing now.  I had the unfortunate luck to give myself a paper cut just as I took a sip of whiskey. So, I stuck my finger in my mouth.  Oh, the burn was intense, and it gave me a whole new idea that I could use while interrogating you rebel scum.  What do you think of my discovery?  Doesn’t it add a entire new level to the discomfort I can make you feel?”  As he finished his ministrations of Alexander’s wounds, his fingers probed into the two burns, pushing the alcohol deep into the wounds.  The Leader stepped away from him as Alex continued to pant and groan in agony. 

Alexander let his head flop down, his chin resting on the balled-up wad of his shirt.  He tried to take deep breaths.  It was hard at first because the pain was so intense.  Slowly he felt himself getting control.  The alcohol on the lashes didn’t burn as bad, but the burns along his sides continued to pulse angrily.  Even with his deep breaths, he was shaking.  There was no way to hide it. 

“Better?” the leader asked with a mockingly kind lilt in his voice conveying artificial concern.  “Perhaps when we start again, I’ll draw a picture, instead of just a few lines.  Perhaps you’d appreciate the British Red Ensign Flag across your back?  Maybe your chest, since your back already has those lovely lines across it right now.  I didn’t have my associates hit you so hard that the marks would be permanent.  I have to have some sort of a holdout for our later sessions, don’t I?”

The gag was yanked out of his mouth.  Alexander sucked in in a deep breath and coughed.  His mouth was so dry. 

“Perhaps our guest would like a drink?” the leader asked.  Alex had no intention of responding. 

Something was shoved into his mouth and his head yanked back again.  Water flowed into his mouth and he started to struggle.  There was no way to make it stop.  He had to swallow, or he would drown.  He couldn’t help it.  His body reacted instinctively to this treatment and he fought.   He thrashed and tried to kick and tossed his head, trying to get away.  It didn’t seem to matter.  Water continued to flow down into his throat.  Finally, whatever was holding his mouth open was pulled out and Alexander vomited up much of the water, coughing and spluttering.  His breath wheezing.  He was swaying now from all his struggling.  He felt his toes scraping across the rough floor. 

He had been hurt before, in many of the same ways.  Yet, he’d never had it all thrust upon him at the same time.  That was new.  And brutal.  He wanted to cry.  He ground his teeth together.  I will not cry! I won’t.  He took a deep shuddering breath and lifted his head.  He wasn’t sure how long he could hold it up, but he was determined to be as defiant as his strength would let him. 

“Gentlemen,” he rasped and cleared his throat.  “I really should be on my way soon.  Perhaps we could have occasion to meet on the battlefield in the future.  Now, since you have so clearly expressed your displeasure at my decision to fight for our nation’s freedom, perhaps we could settle the rest of this disagreement like gentlemen?  A duel perhaps?  Do you prefer guns or swords?  Really, this treatment you have bestowed upon me is truly despicable and below the acceptable conduct for gentlemen of your stations.”

Alex expected the blow to his face that came a moment later.  He spit blood from his now freshly split lip. 

“Now, now, Dalton.  That’s quite enough.  Clearly our young guest likes to hear himself talk.  We can be better hosts than that,” replied the Leader. 

“Yes, Captain Brant.” 

Brant?  Where had he heard that name?  Oh, damn it!  The Monster Brant.  He’d been connected to several massacres of civilians at the Battle of Wyoming and other places a while back.  He had a cruel reputation and it seemed Alex had his full attention at the moment.  He’d never heard the name Dalton before.  But Brant did have a lot of volunteers, mostly Indians, that fought with him regularly.  He supposed these two could be some of them. 

“Now, you have heard my name, may I have the pleasure of yours?” Brant asked. 

“James Alexander.”  This was an easy deception, previously agreed upon by Washington, Laurens and himself.  They all had codenames they could provide should they be caught.  Using it in this sense was second nature. 

“What regiment are you assigned to?”

“I’m not,” but before he could finish the answer, he received a rough blow to his stomach.  It winded him badly.  He gasped, trying to refill his lungs with air.

“I will not tolerate lies, Mr. Alexander.  I can be very patient and polite, but not where lies are concerned.” 

“I am a general courier for the Continental Army.”  Another painful blow, this time between his shoulder blades, made his entire body tingle and throb. 

“When we took the liberty of removing some of your uniform, we noticed that you wore a green riband across your chest.” 

Damn it! 

“That clearly identifies you as an Aide-de-Camp.” 

Alexander’s mind raced.  They know too much already. 

“We have gone over the missives in your bag.  The code is very good.  But you will break it for us and show us what you were conveying.  Given the location where we caught you, I’d be willing to bet these documents were meant for Washington himself,” Brant concluded. 

Alexander felt a cold sinking feeling settling in his stomach.  He must have been very near home for them to have arrived at this conclusion.  He took a deep breath.

“I don’t know the code.  Only Washington and his top generals and aides know it.  I am not in that inner circle.” 

“We shall see.  In the meantime, where were you coming from?  Who gave you the missives?”

“I cannot tell you that.”

Alex screamed as the hot iron was dragged diagonally across the upper right side of his chest. 

“Looks like I can start working on that flag illustration,” Brant threatened menacingly.

“No.”  He took a moment to catch his breath.  “I mean, I can’t tell you because I don’t know.  I was handed the satchel by an unknown contact.  I was told where to go and what to watch for.  I had a satchel and I was to trade it for a same looking one with a man I had never seen nor spoken with.”

“Where?” 

“S-Saratoga,” he gasped.  God, I hope they believe me.  

“I think that is enough for now.  We will start again in a few hours.”  He heard something being opened, or unrolled, he wasn’t quite sure, but there was a sound of something clinking lightly, glass or metal or both.  “Apologies, for this, but I really can’t take any chances on you trying to fight or escape.” 

Alex’s head was wrenched back, and a liquid was poured down his throat. A hand slammed over his mouth and pinched his nose.  He struggled wildly but was forced to swallow the bitter liquid. 

They left him hanging while the drug worked through his system.  He slowly felt the tension in his muscles beginning to relax.  With a horrid shock, he realized that he was losing his ability to control his own body.  It didn’t knock him out completely, but he couldn’t move, everything was sluggish and dizzying.  He was dimly aware of being lowered, not to the ground, but to a table.  Rough, hard wood beneath him.  His shirt was pulled the rest of the way off.  His ankles were fastened to the legs of the table at the lower end and his wrists were secured by a length of rope that ran under the table at his waist.  The relief in his shoulders was immense, but the edge of the table bit into his forearms.  Shortly after this was done and the men left him alone, exhaustion overtook him, and he embraced oblivion. 

Chapter Text

“Monsieur?” A familiar accent.  Lafayette? “Monsieur?” Not a familiar voice.  Not his friend.  “You must wake up, Monsieur.”  Alexander blinked.  Still blindfolded.  There was a hand under his head gently lifting it.  He felt a cup pressed to his lips.  Water.  He spluttered and pulled away. 

“No!”  he protested. 

“S’il vous plait, Monsieur.  You must.  If you do not eat or drink they will force you too.  It is not pretty.  Please, Monsieur.”  Caribbean accent.  Most likely a slave.  He hated slavery.  He thought about what the man said and remembered the water being forced down his throat. 

“Qui tu es?” he asked weakly, accepting the cup of water that was again pressed to his lips. 

“No one of importance, Monsieur.  Just a servant, a slave.  I am tasked with making sure you have something to sustain you.”  Alex frowned.  That didn’t sound as promising as it should have.  “I have soup, some bread for you.  Easy does it.”  He laid Alex’s head back down on the table. 

“Comment tu t’appelles?” Alexander asked.

“Merced.”

“Merci, Merced.”  It wasn’t like this slave had any more choice in his surroundings that Alex did. 

He lay on the table, his body sore and aching from the abuse he’d already suffered, the burns still throbbing.  Merced returned to the table and set what Alex assumed was the bowl of soup down on the table.  He gently lifted Alex’s head and spooned a small amount of the watery soup into his mouth. 

He hated being fed, but it was not the slave’s fault.  He wouldn’t deserve a mouthful of soup spit in his face, which is what he would have done to Brant or one of his men.  As it was, the soup was decent.  It warmed him in the cold of the cellar.  Merced was patient and gave him as much time as he needed.  He also helped him carefully sip on more water and a few bites of the bread.  

“Where are you from?  I could almost swear that I hear a little of my homeland in the Caribbean.” Alex inquired

“Monsieur hears correctly.  I am from St. Croix.”  Merced followed his lead in switching back to English.

“Non! Incroyable.  J’ai vécu à Sainte-Croix.” Alexander allowed a wry smile to cross his face before recalling his hardship on the island and his current predicament.  “Though that was several years ago now.  I left after a bad hurricane.”

“Oui, Monsieur.  Many left after the hurricane.  I was sold to the British and then gifted to Monsieur Brant.” 

“I’m sorry.  I think this vile trade in human flesh is abhorrent.  I intent to argue against its legality when this war is over, and we’ve won our independence.”

All while Merced was caring for him, Alexander spoke casually with him, asking him about his life in the islands and what he thought of the mainland.  They both easily shifted between English and French.  Alex keeping the conversation light as much as he could, but still trying to gather as much information as Merced would give him. 

However, when the conversation turned to his owner, Merced grew quiet. 

“Non, je suis désolé, monsieur.  Je ne peux pas parler de lui,” Merced replied softly, a hint of regret in his voice. 

Alex let it slide and Merced would say no more on that front. 

He busied himself gathering the bowl and cup, cleaning up in general. 

“Monsieur, you must rest now.  They will return soon, and you will want your strength.”

Alexander gave him a nod of ascent. 

As Merced walked past him, he reached and gave Alexander’s arm a squeeze.  

“Soyez fort, Monseiur.  Il y a toujours d’espoir.”

Alex was taken aback at the kind gesture and for once was speechless.  Then Merced was gone, and Alexander was alone in the cold cellar.  It didn’t take him long to drift off again, but it was not a peaceful rest.  He kept jerking awake with fresh memories of the whip and the burning iron rod touching him.  When he woke after another nightmare, he was so cold and his body so stiff and sore, that he couldn’t stand it anymore; he shivered and could not find the ability to keep still.  He hated the cold.  Every movement jarred the cuts and bruises lining his back.  He was utterly miserable. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed or how often he drifted in and out of consciousness, but he again woke up to the sound of voices and footsteps coming down the stairs.  His captors were back. 

John slumped onto his bed.  They had been searching all day.  Nothing.  He would have to wait for a response from Tallmadge if they didn’t find anything soon.  Who knew how long that would take.  He had reported back to Washington and the weight of the world seemed to be on the General’s shoulders.  The whole camp felt… off. 

Sure, many of the men resented the fact that such a young aide was able to outshine so many of them, but at the end of the day, they were all brothers in arms.  Nobody wanted anything to happen to him.  It was an indisputable fact that Hamilton could be brash and arrogant, but he was good at what he did.  They all knew he made things better at camp.  He was never afraid to battle with the Continental Congress on their behalf.  He went without food and supplies just like they all did.  Despite the hardships, he was always quick with a smile and a positive outlook. 

God, Laurens prayed, please let him be okay.  And if not, help us find him.  Let the messages get through so we can find him.  And with that whispered prayer, Laurens blew out the lamp and tried to sleep.  Thoughts of his best friend plagued him.  Worries came alive in his dreams:  Alex dead, floating in a river, or shot through the chest, or even worse, Alex captured and being hurt. 

The hours passed slow and fitful.  John woke, bleary eyed and still exhausted.  Where was Alexander? He decided he’d see if Washington would let him search with a few other soldiers for one more day.  It couldn’t hurt. 

Chapter Text

Alexander still couldn’t stop the cold shivers that relentlessly racked his body.  Still, he may as well use his talents while he still had them. 

“Greetings, gentlemen.  I would bid you good day or good evening, but sadly I have been deprived of both my sight and a clock, so I cannot give you a more appropriate salutation.”

The cool fingers ghosted up his bare stomach, over his chest, along his throat, and then across his cheek.  Alex cursed himself as his breathing quickened involuntarily and he tried to swallow his panic.  The cool hand returned to his chest, the man’s thumb, stroking back and forth over his nipple.  Alexander felt his entire upper body flush red.  It took everything in him to stifle the terrified whimper that threatened to escape from his throat. 

“Are you cold, Mr. Alexander?  I am afraid today’s activities are not going to help you feel more comfortable.  We’ll get to that later.  On a positive note, Merced tells me that you were very cooperative for him.  I’m pleased with that.”

“I did not cooperate for your benefit.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  There was a sharp slap across his face and then the cool fingers were squeezing his jaw.

“You think you’re the smartest one in the room, don’t you?”

“I usually am.” Alex ground out angrily, trying to pull his head from the man’s grip.  Brant only tightened his hold and drove the inside of Alex’s cheeks painfully against his teeth.  Alexander tasted blood.

“That will get you nowhere here.  Here, you belong to me. I decide how your day goes.  I decide how much pain you feel, when you eat, when you sleep.  Everything.  You have no idea how much I can make you hurt.  The things I can and will do to you.  The plans I have.  Yesterday was nothing.” His other hand was on his shoulder, tenderly caressing him.  His voice was cold and low, deadly, nearly a whisper. 

Brant continued, “We won’t have near as long as I would have liked.  I informed my superiors of who I suspect you are and what we found on you.  I was informed that in four days’ time, we make for New York.  Once there, Howe and Clinton’s people will wish to question you.” His hand had moved down to his hip and his thumb was rubbing circles in against the bone, as if in a mock gesture of comfort.  Alex wanted to squirm away from the touch, but he knew it was useless to struggle.

The cruel Captain went on, “I hope to have wrung every ounce of humiliation and suffering that I can from you.  It should make their questioning easier if you’re already broken beyond repair.  After that, it’ll be the gallows for you.  A fitting end for all rebel scum.”

Alexander tried to concentrate on his breathing and not giving away exactly how panicked he was.  Anyone could die in a war.  He knew that.  Still, this was not what he had foreseen for himself when he imagined death and glory in the war.  It had always been on the battlefield, a desperate charge or a valorous last stand.  Not bound in some cell being tortured to death or swinging at the end of a rope.  Sure, they had discussed that last possibility.  They all knew that if they didn’t win, it was the fate awaiting them.  King George had dictated as much in his orders from across the sea.  But still… Alex had hoped…

Stop it, Alexander.  You’re not dead yet.  Fight.  Fight them at every turn!

“By all means then, good sirs, could we get on with it.  I’m not a fan of games.”  Alex spat the blood from his mouth in what he hoped was Brant’s direction.  He made himself smirk.  Perhaps they would be angry and accidently kill him.  Whatever the outcome, he had to make sure that he did not reveal anything that could harm their cause.  The sooner he passed out from the inevitable pain the better. 

“Yes, I think you and I agree.  But regardless of your intentions to rile me, you should know that I’m an exceptionally patient and methodical man.”

A chill went down Alexander’s spine. 

A knotted cloth was shoved into his mouth and then another was held over his face.  The table suddenly tilted back, and his feet were raised above his head.  Alex was completely unprepared for the sudden splash of icy water that smacked him in the face.  They held the cloth taught so he couldn’t move his head.  Water continually poured into his mouth and nose.  It seeped under his back and dripped off the table while Alexander struggled against the sensation of drowning, the edge of the table cutting into his bound arms.

When he was certain he was going to pass out, they would stop.  It was as if they knew.  He never quite made it to that part of the torture, the relief from the pain.  He was shaking violently.  He vomited and retched with the ending of each round.  It never seemed to stop. 

Finally, the table was tilted upright, with his feet slightly lower.  The gag was snatched out of his mouth. 

“Tell me your name!” Brant demanded.

Alexander coughed.  “J-James- James Alex- Alexander.”  He was still trying to catch his breath.  Every shift in the room made him flinch.  He was terrified that they were going to put him through more.  He had drowned so many times already, yet it wasn’t enough for his merciless tormentors. 

“You’re lying,” Brant’s voice was deadly calm.  Alex screamed as the hot iron was dragged across his chest again.  “I’ve done some of my own research.  This countryside is full of all sorts of interesting people.  People who will tell you what ever the goings on may be after a pint or two.  People who will tell you whatever you want to know if you threaten to hurt the right people in their lives.  All sorts of people.  Do you want to know what people said when I started asking about someone matching your description?”

“No.”  Alex couldn’t stop the response from bubbling up while he shook his head in denial.  It was too much.  They couldn’t know who he was.  Even the remotest chance of survival he had was contingent upon them not knowing who he was. 

Brant giggled in his ear.  “I knew who you were before you even started talking last night.  Due to the drugs we gave you after our clever ambush, you were out for over a day.  I had lots of time to sort out what I could before beginning to question you.” Here he paused to lean in close to Alex’s ear, lips ghosting across the outer shell, and whispered, “Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.” Alex felt the Captain’s tongue flick out and lick him again.  “One of Washington’s most trusted Aide-de Camps.  ‘Not in the inner circle,’ indeed.” 

Alexander’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.  This was not happening.  He couldn’t know this. 

“I’m not.  I’m not him,” he responded desperately. 

Brant punched him in the face.  He felt a knot begin to form in his cheek almost immediately.

“Now, now.  We’ve already established that I don’t have a tolerance for lies.”  Another torturous kiss from the hot iron as it dug against his ribs while Alex screamed.  “It all adds up to one conclusion.  Let’s review the evidence, shall we?  You’re young.  Too young for the position you hold, frankly.  You’re small in stature.  The green riband that was across your chest.  The fact that we caught you only a stone’s throw away from Washington’s camp.  We know exactly who you are.  The more you try and deny it, the worse it’s going to be for you.”

Alex’s face contorted at this.  He was so close.  He’d almost made it home. 

“Yes, you are Alexander Hamilton.  And,” Brant leaned in close to him, so close he could feel his breath on his cheeks. “Can I tell you another little secret?”  He giggled again.  “We’re only about two miles from that camp now.  So close and yet you’ll never see it.” Brant’s hand was on his chest again, it felt like the weight of the entire world pressing down on him. 

Alex felt like he was drowning again, but there was no water this time.  Just panic.  I’m a dead man, Alex thought to himself.  I’ll just have to keep my mouth shut until the end.  That’s the only thing that matters now.  

Brant straightened up next to him.  “Not only do I know who you are, I know what you fear the most.” His hand moved and rested on his inner thigh.  Alex couldn’t stop the grunt of fear and terror that escaped him or the tensing of his entire body.  “I told you I could use that.  So, what I want you to know is that we have six days left together, four here in this house and two more on the road.  I want you to know that by the time I turn you over to Admiral Howe and his men, You and I will have become intimately acquainted.  I’m not telling you when it’s going to happen, but just know that it is. I’ll consider it a coup de grâce.  You speak French, so I suspect you understand the irony.” 

Alexander felt hot tears soaking into the wet cold of the blindfold.  He completely understood the irony.  There was nothing merciful about what Brant had just promised to do to him.  Alex had sworn after what had happened to him after his mother and cousin had died that he would never be in the position to have anything like that happen to him again.  And now here he was, defenseless and at the complete mercy of a man so much worse than the one that had hurt him all those years ago. 

“Tell me,” Brant asked, his hand moving across Alex’s thigh, “What happened to you to react so beautifully and openly to my touch?”

Alex refused to speak.

“No more eloquent words for us ‘gentlemen’?” 

Alexander felt his cheeks flush at their laughter. 

Brant removed his hand and Alexander released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  His hand settled back on his chest, thumbing his nipple again.

“No matter, as I said, I’m not going to tell you when it’s coming.  For now, we have other things to discuss.”

Alexander’s world descended back into terror and panic as they alternated between drowning him and questioning him.  He refused to speak.  Not one word left his lips. 

Chapter Text

Alexander’s mind drifted.  He was with Washington at General Schuyler’s residence for a meeting.  He and Washington were preparing to leave.  Behind General Schuyler’s shoulder at the hallway entrance a beautiful face peeped around the corner.  He hadn’t been formally introduced and didn’t expect to be tonight.  This was supposed to be a secret meeting after all.  He thought it was the middle daughter, Elizabeth, he had heard she went by Eliza.  It was probably due to the wine they’d had earlier in the evening, but he met her eyes and winked boldly.  He knew neither of the two older men saw.  Her eyes widened a fraction and she blushed fantastically before she whipped back around the corner out of sight.  He smirked to himself.  He turned and followed Washington out the door.  Maybe another time. 

Alex jerked awake from the pleasant memory to the sounds of footsteps once again descending the stairs.  He was so tired. 

Washington glanced through the new batch of correspondence he’d just been handed.  Nothing from Talmadge.  Nothing related to Hamilton’s disappearance at all.  He sighed heavily.  He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck in an effort to try and release the tension that had settled in and taken root. 

He glanced over at Alexander’s desk.  God, please don’t let the boy be dead.  Where is he?  He felt like part of his heart was missing.  He had no children of his own.  His men, boys really, were his family: Lafayette, Laurens, and Hamilton and the others.  God, Hamilton! He was so much like himself.  Washington didn’t always like to admit it, but young Mr. Hamilton had endeared himself to him more than any of the others.  He was bright and resourceful, brilliant even. Not that he would wish harm on any of his boys, but Alexander, the least of all.  Washington rested his head in his hands. Why did it have to be Alexander, his boy? 

Laurens gaped at the scene before him.  He had been able to smell it, long before he had found it.  The flies swarming around the massive bloated corpse of the dead horse were thick and loud. 

“Is that the Lieutenant Colonel’s horse?” one of his soldiers asked him. 

“Yes.”  Laurens dismounted. 

Finally, something.  They’d been searching for days.  He looked around the dead animal, none of Alexander’s things were there.  No body, no clothes, no messenger bag.  And yet… Laurens held his breath inched closer to the rotting corpse.  Animals had obviously been at it for several days.  But there! Just below where the horse’s neck met the rest of its body was the culprit.  A bullet wound.  Someone had killed the horse.  He looked at the plants and grasses all around the site.  There was clear evidence of a struggle.  Blood on the grass.  Not a lot, and no telling whose, but there was definitely blood.  And that’s when he saw it.  Clear tracks leading off toward the top of a nearby hill.  He followed and instinctively dropped down to the ground to hide his presence from any unwanted eyes that might be in the valley below.  The tracks led towards a remote homestead in the valley, less than a mile away.  There didn’t seem to be anything else around for miles other than their own camp.  That had to be where they had taken him.  Would they be foolish enough to hide in plain sight this close the Continental encampment?

John returned to his horse for supplies.  He hastily scratched out his findings in a letter to General Washington, letting him know where they were.  He didn’t know if Hamilton was still there, but he needed reinforcements to find out. 

He handed the letter to his best rider.  “Go, ride as fast as you can.  Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton’s life may depend on it.  Straight to the General, speak to no one else.”

Eliza sat with her family at the dinner table. 

“Any news from the front?” her mother asked casually.  She knew the girls were always thrilled with the tales of the war and the dashing bravery of the Continental Army.  Their father rarely disappointed them on the occasions that he was able to be at home with them from the war. 

“Nothing good at the moment, one of Washington’s best Aides has gone missing.  We fear he’s been captured.  It doesn’t sound very hopeful at the moment.”

“Who?” Eliza asked before she could stop herself.

“You don’t know him, a young man named Hamilton.  Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.”  Eliza felt her stomach drop and the blood drain from her face.  “Didn’t he visit here with General Washington a few weeks ago?”

“Yes,” her father recalled, “it was a very quick meeting.  And secret.  How did you know that?”

Eliza blushed, “I may have peeked around the corner as they were leaving.  He had kind eyes…” Her voice trailed off.  She didn’t dare mention his brashness in winking at her. 

“So terrible,” her mother concluded. 

The conversation drifted off to other topics, but Eliza could not banish the charming, smiling face of the young officer from her mind’s eye.  It was too awful. 

Washington shook himself from his reverie as his door was unceremoniously shoved open.  Usually the messengers at least deigned to knock and wait for permission.  Swiftly he took in the countenance of the young soldier gasping for air in front of him and clutching at a stitch in his chest.  The soldier started talking without any formal greeting. 

“A letter… From… Laurens… We found… Hamilton’s horse… dead… not two miles from here…”  The young man held the letter out to him, and Washington snatched it out of his hands.  Hope daring to show itself inside him for the first time in days.  He dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand. 

Washington tore open the letter from John Laurens.  His eyes raked across it as quickly as he could.  And then he read it again.  He quickly left his office and headed outside.  He looked over and grabbed the arm of the nearest officer.

“Get a company of men together, at least 30.  Have them ready to ride out in the hour.  We may have found the Lieutenant Colonel.” 

Even if he was no longer there, they had to try.  God, he prayed, please let him be there.  Please let my boy still be there.

Another messenger approached him.  He had clearly been riding for a few days.  He handed the General another letter. 

Washington recognized the code and Tallmadge’s handwriting.  He automatically translated it as he read:    

                        General,

I was saddened to hear of the Lieutenant Colonel’s disappearance.  My spies have had their eyes and ears open. We have heard word that a reliable British Captain has a prisoner of some value and is slated to bring him here to New York for further questioning.  This questioning is set to conclude with an execution. 

I do hope you find young Hamilton before he is brought here, if he is the prisoner in question. Should we hear any further news, I will pass it on with the utmost haste.  We will do what we can for him, but the situation here is very difficult to say the least. 

I had sent some very important information with your Aide.  I will not put it in this letter but look for further correspondence to arrive soon.  It is most concerning news. 

                                    Culper

Washington wondered at the last paragraph.  Tallmadge was rarely so dramatic in his correspondence.  It must be grave news indeed. 

There was nothing he could do about it now.  He went to prepare his horse for the ride to meet up with John Laurens.  There was no way he was going to stay here.  He would lead this sortie himself.  Those bastards made a mistake that they would regret when they took Alexander. 

Chapter Text

Every time a session with his hosts ended, they drugged him.  Alexander had no idea how many days it had been.  How much longer until they left.  Nothing.  He only knew that when he would wake up, it would be in the same room. Merced would feed him and then there would be more rest, sort of. Then he’d wake to a new session with Brant.  Each occasion brought new horrors.

The latest, his current predicament, found him dangling from chains, secured tightly around his ankles.  His wrists were bound behind him, but he could not keep his arms up by his torso.  They were so heavy - he just didn't have the strength anymore.  So, his muscles succumbed to gravity, the weight of his sagging arms painfully straining his back and shoulders.  

Alex's left wrist throbbed painfully.  When they had put him on the floor, before pulling him up, he had resisted and tried to crawl away when he realized what they were going to do.  They had kicked and stomped on his hand until he felt something snap. Alex was unsure of how long ago that had been.  He just knew it hurt, a lot.  

The three men alternated with different "tools" as they called them.  His head pounded from the blood pulsing around his brain with too much pressure.  He screamed as the rattan cane thwacked across the back of his exposed calf or the soles of his feet.  

The man who had just hit him was an Indian, Alexander had never caught his name, but was able to discover that his accent was that of a native tribesmen.  Dalton used a knife and cut long lines across his ribs and chest.  They weren’t deep, but every so often, they rubbed whiskey into the wounds. 

Brant was the worst.  The bastard liked to burn him.  He worked the iron rod across Alexander’s body like it was his own personal canvas.  Alex always knew when it was Brant’s turn because he always got up close and personal, his cool hands ghosting over his tortured skin.

They hadn’t bothered to question him for a while now.  It didn’t matter.  Alex had refused to utter a word since Brant had threatened him.  Most of the time he tried to focus on the good things that had happened in his life.  It wasn’t a long list.  All of them were after he’d come to the mainland, with the exception of his mother.  The faces that came to him the most were his close friends: John Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan, George Washington, his mother.  Even Eliza’s blushing face graced his mind’s eye occasionally.  He would have liked to have had a chance to properly meet her.  Alexander felt his mind drift towards nothingness.  Finally…

Alex gasped suddenly and struggled to pull his arms up.  He must have passed out.  His left wrist pounded with a constant aching throb.  He couldn’t feel his left hand anymore.  They had brought him back around by splashing him with a bucketful of ice-cold water. 

He heard Brant’s cold whisper in his ear, “Can’t pass out now, Mr. Hamilton.  We only have a short time left together, pet, and the best is yet to come.  It’s getting closer.  I can’t wait to see what you look like once I’ve completely broken you and bared all your most intimate secrets.”  Brant’s hand ghosted across the cuts and burns on his ribs before patting his backside. 

Alex let out a small whimper and then bit down on the gag again to shut himself up.  He kept biting and grinding his teeth into the cloth because they were using the alcohol again.  Fresh burning agony washed across his tender, raw flesh. 

He moaned.  He couldn’t feel his feet.  God, I’m ready to go.  I just want it to be over.  His mother’s face came to him again.  S’il-vous plait puis-je rentrer à la maison maintenant, maman?  Can I please come home now, mother?

 Oblivion embraced him again. 

Brant smiled at the dangling prisoner in front of him.  He knew he was a sick bastard, but damn if Hamilton didn’t look gorgeous tied up, blindfolded, gagged, and crisscrossed with red and purple lines. He ran his hands over the burn he’d just dragged across his back.  It was deeper than the others, maybe a bit too deep.  There were a few whip gashes that were probably a bit too deep as well.  Who would care though?  Brant dipped his fingers into the whiskey and rubbed a generous amount of it into the wounds.  He was rewarded with a low groan from his prey. 

Brant’s smile widened.  They were not set to leave until midnight.  That would give him several hours yet to play with Alexander.  His plan was to have Merced clean the boy up and then have him moved to the upstairs bedroom.  He had wanted to make sure that Hamilton’s skin was raw and irritated as possible, that way, even the sheets and the mattress would be a further irritation. 

Once he had him tied to the bed, he would make sure Hamilton was awake before he stripped him.  God, he couldn’t wait to hear the panicked noises and, hopefully, screams that he knew this beautiful boy would make.  Alexander’s body language was blaringly clear that he was terrified of being touched and stimulated against his will.  Brant reveled in the idea of taking him this way.  Brant excelled at abusing those around him, especially his enemies. 

Brant could feel himself growing impatient and aroused at the thoughts and fantasies that were building up in his brain.  He took a deep breath to regain his control and composure.  He would lose himself to the violent act he was planning in just a little while.  Not here though.  Alex was too out of it and that would not be anywhere near as fun.  He set the branding iron aside and turned to his subordinates. 

“Finish up with him in the next ten minutes or so.  Have Merced clean him up and then get him upstairs.  I have a promise to keep with young Mr. Hamilton.”

They smiled back at him, just as twisted as he was.  It was why he had chosen them.  Maybe he’d give them a go with Hamilton after he was finished with him.  There was always the two days on the road as well.  They had plenty of time to use him in the basest of ways they could think.  He was fairly confident that by the time he turned Hamilton over to the British leadership in New York that there would be very little the boy would have left to give.  Once he was completely broken, the secrets would flow out of him. 

Brant had only waited this long because he had enjoyed torturing him.  It was time to move forward with his plans. 

He went out to the cart that was being packed in advance of their trip, briefly acknowledging the Indian men that were on guard outside the farmhouse they had occupied.  He gathered up several lengths of rough rope from the back of the cart and headed up the stairs and towards the bedroom to get ready for the evening’s activities.  Brant knew that he would sleep well tonight, completely sated, once they started on their journey to New York. 

Washington and his hastily gathered company of men rode quickly to the location Laurens had indicated in his dispatch.  It was only about a mile and a half from the camp. 

Laurens’ letter explained that they could maintain the element of surprise so long as they stayed below the hilltop.  They dismounted in the lower clearing and Washington headed straight to Laurens. 

“Your Excellency," John saluted.  "I wasn’t expecting you to come yourself.  I don’t know if he’s even in the house.”

Washington waved him off.  “Tell me what you’ve seen.”

“There’s not many men.  I’ve seen maybe five outside.  They’re getting ready to leave.  They’ve got a cart and they’ve been packing it for the last hour or so.  I think they intend to leave soon.”

“Yes, probably waiting for the cover of night.” 

Washington and Laurens crept up the hillside to look down at the small estate in the gathering darkness. 

“If he’s there, General…”

“Shh.  If he’s there, then we’ve found him.  Let’s not play the what if game too much.  Let’s see what we will see first.”

“Yes, sir.  How are we going to get down there without giving them time to kill him?”

“We’re going to pray.  And we’re going to attack from the woods at the front and the back of that house.” 

Washington took another glance at the estate as a tall man walked out of the door, down the steps and over to the cart.  He stood conversing with some of the other men while he rummaged in the cart for something, but the way he carried himself was as if he were above them.  You could see it in the cut of his shoulders.  Washington could just make out a few Indian men standing around the tall man.  Washington gasped with recognition. 

“It’s Captain Brant.  That butcher,” he whispered. 

“No!”  Laurens’ sharp intake of breath next to him said what both men were thinking. 

“Laurens, take a third of the men around behind this ridge to the back of the house.  Whatever you do, do not be seen.  Go as quickly and as quietly as you can.  We don’t have a lot of light left. Maybe an hour at best.  We can use the dark just as much as they can.  I’ll take care of the front of the house.  I’d be willing to bet he’s in the cellar.  If there’s an exterior way in, use it.  When you are ready to go into the house, I want you to throw a rock at that wagon.  That will be the signal.  We’ll all have to move very fast and pray that God is on our side.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”  Laurens saluted.  Washington reached and grabbed his arm as he was about to leave. 

“Be careful, son.  I know you want him back as much as I do.  Don’t do anything… stupid.  Stick to the plan and hopefully we will all be home soon.” Laurens nodded in agreement and went to gather his men and explain the plan. 

Washington, while he still knelt surveying the valley, really and truly did pray.  Dear God, please, let us find Alexander and please help me and my boys return safely home today.  You know how much I need them.  He closed his eyes in silent desperation.  How much I need Alex.  He breathed a silent Amen and scooted back down the hill.  Whatever the outcome, they were out of time.  The night was coming on fast. 

George gathered the rest of the men and they crept towards the other tree line near the front of the house.  They stayed low and quiet and tried not to make a single sound. 

Washington and his men settled into the thick brush behind the tree line and waited for the agreed upon signal.  Washington felt like the entire forest could hear his heart beating.  Waiting was always hard.  He exuded calm and confidence to the others around him, but he was quaking on the inside.  It wasn’t fear for himself, but for Alex, for Laurens, for the other young men whose families had trusted him with their sons. 

He had already had to write so many letters to families whose sons were never coming home.  Would he have to write more with the rising of the sun?  He didn’t think Alexander even had any next of kin.  He had people who would mourn him, but no actual family.  That thought twisted Washington’s heartstrings painfully.  He took a deep breath to clear his head.  Alex was not dead.  Not that they knew of anyway, so he would proceed with the plan and hope for the best.  If Alex was here, he was going to bring his boy home.  That was all he needed to focus on right now. 

Chapter Text

John crept closer to the back of the house.  Every window was covered.  They clearly didn’t want anyone seeing what was going on inside.  Wait!  There was a door, set down low, the earth dug out around it.  Laurens signaled to a few of his company to follow him and for the rest to stay back while he investigated. 

He listened at the door.  There were voices.  Men laughing.  He paled as he heard the sound of a whip or a cane and a low moan.  Alexander!  He was certain of it.  He gave the order for the rock to be thrown and for the rest of the men to join him.  He was going to get his brother. 

Once all this was done, he got one of the bigger soldiers to slam himself into the door.  The wood gave easily before the broad-shouldered assault.  Laurens could hear Washington’s men charging in the front. 

It was dark in the cellar.  Two men flew at Laurens and his men as they advanced into the cellar.  The brawl was quickly ended.  A knife and a whip are no match for guns and bayonets.  Somewhere he thought he heard a horse neighing and galloping hooves.  Where was Alex?

 One of his men lit a lantern.  Laurens looked around.  There was no doubt in his mind what this room had been used for.  Fresh blood spattered the floor.  Please let him still be here!  Let him be alive.  John did not hold out hope that Alexander would be without injury.   

Something oddly shaped swayed in the dark corner of the room.  Laurens walked to it, afraid of what he would find.  Just as he got close enough, he suddenly realized it was a body hanging upside down. The body moaned. 

“Here!  He’s here!  Help me!” he yelled to his men.  John hit the ground on his knees and cradled Alexander’s head in his arms.  “We’ve got you.  You’re going to be ok,” He cooed to him.  God, please let him be ok.  He was covered in bloody gashes and burns.  His whole body reeked of whiskey as if he’d been bathed in it.  Jesus, what had they done to him?

 One of the men figured out the pulley system and began to lower him.  Several others crowded around Alex to assist in carefully letting him sink to the ground. 

“Cut these ropes!  Get his arms free.” John shouted while he pulled the blindfold off his eyes and removed the gag that had been in his mouth.  Laurens made a note of his purple left wrist and the way the hand attached to it flopped uselessly. 

He wiped the sweat and blood that was dripping off of Alex’s cold brow.  Laurens looked up to see Washington’s worried face coming into the dim light of the lantern. 

Washington watched from his perch behind the undergrowth of the forest as Brant once again came down the front steps of the farmhouse to the cart.  He watched as Brant casually placed a leather satchel in amongst some of the trunks.  Brant then climbed up on to the front bench to rummage around on the foreward most section of the cart.  He was clearly looking for something, but Washington couldn’t tell what it was. 

The next moment, Washington saw the toss of the rock and heard it clatter, perfectly thrown, into the bed of the cart.  Brant turned to see what the noise was, calling out to one of the Indian men in their native tongue. 

There was no sense in delaying since time was of the essence.  The General ordered the charge and he and his men ran full tilt towards the front of the house.  There were the five Indians and Brant himself against Washington and his roughly thirty men. 

Brant reacted the fastest.  He didn’t move to fight though.  Washington watched in utter disbelief as he jumped from the bench, on which he had been kneeling, to the back of one of the cart horses.  He held a knife which he quickly used to slash at the riggings that were securing the horses to the cart.

In an act of utter cowardice, instead of standing and fighting like a soldier, he galloped away, leaving his men behind.  Washington dispatched several men to follow him and bring him back.  He probably should have gone himself, but his only thought was for Alexander. 

The large contingent of Continental soldiers he brought with him made swift work of the tribesmen, slaughtering them where they stood.  Washington spared no thought for the bloodshed.  They had taken Hamilton and now paid the price.  It wasn’t even a battle.  He glanced quickly back to the ridge to see if any of his men were returning with Brant, but none had yet. 

Then, the general and his men were sweeping into the house.  He noticed a thin black man in tattered clothing, clearly a slave, who had the sense to put his hands up and allow himself to be taken into custody. 

He could hear Lauren’s shouting from below.

“Where is the door to the cellar?” Washington growled at the slave. 

“Just there, Monsieur,” the slave pointed to the door just off the kitchen on the other side of the small room. 

Washington threw it open and raced down the stairs.  It was dark in the cellar, but for a small lamp.  In the farthest corner from the light, he saw Lauren’s carefully cradling Alex’s head in his hands and wiping blood and sweat from the boy’s face. 

“Is he… Is the boy… Does he still live?” Washington asked, barely able to hold his voice under control. 

“He’s hurt.  Can someone find a blanket?  He’s freezing,” Lauren’s pleaded. 

“Here!  Here’s his coat.” One of the soldiers said as he tossed it to John while another brushed passed Washington as he ran back upstairs for a blanket. 

Laurens gingerly placed the coat over him trying not to irritate the many raw wounds that covered him.  Washington crept closer, terrified of what he might see and yet also terrified that he still might lose him.  The boy was in bad shape.  He watched as Laurens moved a purple wrist and hand onto his torso, crossing it over Alex’s chest for stability. 

A few moments later, the soldier returned with a blanket and was closely followed by the slave. 

Washington turned to the slave while John tried to get Alex wrapped up and warm.

“Explain what happened here,” Washington demanded of the older black man. 

“Many terrible things.  I take care of Monsieur as best as I can.  Those men are evil men.”

“It’s not his fault General, you know he did not have a choice in being here anymore than Hamilton did,” Laurens interjected on seeing Washington's irate expression. 

Washington knew he was not doing a very good job of concealing his rage.  He took a deep breath and a step back from the man. 

“Do you have a name?” he asked, his tone calmer, though still furious. 

“Merced.”

“Did you speak to him?” Washington motioned towards Hamilton.

“Oui, I speak in French to Monsieur.”  Here he indicated Alexander. 

“Did Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton say anything?” Washington pressed. 

“He spoke of his home, where he came from, winning the war.  But of the things you mean, concerning the war, not a word to the bad men.  He insulted them, in a very polite and gentlemanly manner, but not a word of important things like they wanted.”  Merced looked sadly at Alexander.  “He was very kind to me.  He said ‘Merci’ when I fed him and gave him water.  He’s very brave.  They did many things to try to make him talk.  He did not speak after the third day.”

Jesus, he’s been missing for six days! Washington was absolutely nonplussed.  Hamilton was never quiet for more than six minutes, let alone a number of days!   Washington turned and met Lauren’s gaze.  He could tell the same thought was going through his mind as well.  Laurens shook his head in disbelief. 

“Sir, we need to get him back to camp.  Merced can accompany us, yes?  We may have need of him?” Laurens looked imploringly at Washington.  The two men knew where each other stood on the issue of slavery. 

Washington nodded his agreement and Merced moved to help Laurens lift Alexander up.

“No, I’ll help.” Washington stepped in.  Laurens and Washington lifted him off the ground and the general took his full weight.  He carried him carefully up the stairs.  Hamilton, ever the lightweight, seemed even smaller than the General recalled.   They walked through the house and then out the front door.  The cart was still there.  Washington glanced around for any sign of his men returning from the hunt.  Still nothing. 

John, immediately behind Washington, looked around, “Where’s Brant?”   

Washington laid Alexander down in the back of the cart, tucking the blanket carefully around him. 

“He took off as soon as we charged the house.  I sent men after him, but they’ve not returned.”  Washington pursed his lips.  He was not going to be happy if the bastard managed to slip free.    

Lauren’s groaned.  “Just like a coward to run instead of fighting and facing the consequences.”

“Coward indeed,” Washington replied dryly. 

He looked at Alexander who had not stirred since they had rescued him.  There was blood smeared across his face.  Alex looked so young in sleep, little more than a child.  Washington reached out and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear.  Hamilton whimpered at his touch.  Hot anger flashed through Washington as he thought about what they must have done to his boy.  He clenched his fist. 

Washington felt there were not enough curses in all the languages of men that could be laid upon Brant for the despicable and ungentlemanly way that Alexander had been treated.  Should they ever meet on the battlefield, Washington was sure that he, and all the men that were under his command, would stop at nothing to end the Monster Brant.  He hoped it wouldn’t come to that though and that the men he had dispatched would return with Brant in custody. 

He looked at Laurens who was pale with concern for his friend, his brother.  At least they had found him.  It was what they had prayed for.  Please, God, don’t let him die now.  Give him strength.  Let him live, the General prayed silently. 

With that, he went to mount his horse which one of his soldiers had fetched for him. 

Laurens hopped into the back of the cart next to Alex.  Many of the men were dispatched to go and retrieve the horses which were still on the other side of the ridge where they had scouted out the little valley and farmhouse.  Laurens’ had volunteered his horse to be used for the second cart horse so he could sit with Hamilton.  He gently lifted Alexander’s head into his lap and pushed his hair out of his face that had again fallen over it.  Alex hadn’t moved since they’d rescued him.  John laid his hand on the smaller man’s chest.  He was breathing.  Thank you, God.  Just keep him breathing.  Merced climbed into the cart opposite John.  The slave tucked the blanket carefully around Alex’s feet. 

“Monsieur doesn’t like the cold,” he said, giving Laurens a sad but knowing look. 

“No.  He’s always grumpy when it snows,” John smiled wryly at a distant memory. 

“I know the feeling.  We used to live on the same island,” Merced volunteer.  John looked up shocked at the slave’s admission.  “He recognized my accent as Caribbean.” 

John huffed at this in astonishment.  The two didn’t speak for a while after that.  John kept checking to make sure Alexander was breathing. 

“Monsieur is very strong, like a little lion,” Merced said. 

John laughed.  “We have a friend, who is also French, that calls him that.  He is strong.”

After a few more minutes, all was ready for them to move out.  Washington left a few men behind to burn the house and bury the bodies.  It seemed that Brant was the only one of his group to escape.  They must have been relying on their small number to fly under the radar.  It had almost worked.  Laurens clutched his friend a little tighter.  Almost. 

Laurens glanced around aimlessly at the cart and all the things that had been stuffed into it.  He saw the edge of a familiar brown strap.  He reached over and yanked Alexander’s satchel out from behind a trunk.  He flipped it open, pulled out the coded messages still tucked inside, and quickly read the coded words.  He felt his eyes blow wide with shock as he translated what he was reading. 

“Your Excellency!” he yelled.  Washington pulled back to ride next to the cart.  Laurens handed him the letter.

He watched as Washington scanned the letter.  Laurens saw the moment the message registered and Washington’s eyes widened just as his had a moment ago.  Laurens observed the emotions play over the General’s face: rage, betrayal, sorrow.  Washington glances sadly at Hamilton and then at the rest of the men riding alongside them with a grim sense of duty. 

Laurens understood, Washington doesn’t want to leave Alex like this.  But there’s nothing to be done.  The information is damning and Washington, as the commander, must be the one to deal with it.  John holds Alex a little tighter.  Would I be able to leave right now if I had to?  John does not think he would. 

“This must be attended to at once,” Washington finally concedes with a look of defeat and sadness in his eyes as they once again drift to Hamilton.  “Will you be alright with ten riders as an escort?  I believe I shall require the others.” 

Laurens nodded, “Of course, your excellency.”

“John, I’m placing our boy in your care.  I can think of no safer hands.  I will be back as soon as I am able.  You just see that he is alive when I return.”

Laurens saluted and watched as Washington split up the men and took his much larger group off to the east. 

Brant couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the rebel soldiers haphazardly searching for him from his hiding place.  Stupid Continentals don’t even know the lay of their own territory.  How do they even hope to win this war?  Brant had learned much during all his years dealing with the Savages.  Sure, they were heathens and of a base bloodline, but they were smart when it came to using the land for tactical advantage.  He had no love for the redskins, but they were certainly useful.  In Brant’s mind, that was what mattered the most. 

Brant had soon realized that he would have to abandon his horse and hide in the brush and forested growth of the countryside.  He had spotted the tell-tale break in the undergrowth that indicated a small cave and had quickly squirmed his way inside, being sure to cover his tracks as he went. 

He was grateful to have escaped – still, he was furious at the lost opportunity with the lovely young Lieutenant Colonel.  Hopefully they would cross paths again.  Brant still had a promise to keep.  So long as the war continued, there was always that chance.  The odds were in his favor.  Brant let out a small curse at himself for the delay.  He hated having to wait to get his prey.  Brant settled in for the next few hours.  He was confident that he could outlast the rebels and they wouldn’t find him. 

Already the sound of their searching was growing fainter in the distance.  With any luck he would find a horse to steal and make for New York.  Brant felt a slight pang of doubt.  His superiors would not be happy with him for letting Washington’s personal Aide-de-Camp slip through his fingers. 

Brant smirked again as his mind drifted back to the last image he had of Alexander Hamilton bloodied and beaten, hanging upside down.  He supposed it was still possible that Alex could yet die.  The thought gave him great comfort.  He was badly wounded, after all, and infection had killed men with far less injuries.  He could almost see the look on Washington’s face when he learned that all his efforts were for naught and the boy died anyway.  Brant felt his smirk widen to a full, twisted grin.  The thought of the young man forever cold and forever quiet – and oh how Washington would grieve.  Perhaps I’ve won after all…

Chapter Text

As soon as they arrived in camp, one of the soldiers helped John carry Alexander into the doctor’s quarters.  They laid him down on a table.  John watched as Dr. McKnight removed the bloodied blankets and coat in which Alex had been wrapped.  Alex whimpered at the cold air moving across his skin. 

John gasped.  Now, in an abundantly lighted room, he could take in the full horror of what had been done to Alex.  As the doctor began washing the blood and grim from his body, the clear and brutal nature of the damage was revealed.  Bruises blossomed across nearly every inch of his thin frame from his shoulders, down his legs and across the soles of his feet.  And then there was the actual wounds themselves.  John couldn’t count how many places a knife had opened his skin, or a whip had lashed him.  The same went for how many long burn marks had been carved into his skin. 

He felt the bile rise in his throat; he was going to be sick.  He turned and retched into a bucket in the corner. 

“I need to close some of these with stitches,” the doctor stated with a scientific detachment that John knew he could never possess.  “You will assist me if he wakes?  We may need others.”

John swallowed against a fresh wave of nausea.  “Yes,” he stated flatly.  His best friend might still die, so many wounds that could get infected. 

“I’ll be back with a few more volunteers and fresh supplies for the job at hand.”  Dr. McKnight left the room. 

John stood by Alex’s head, caressing his brow.  Please, dear God, let him be okay, he prayed silently.  “Please, Alex, please keep fighting,” he whispered in the younger man’s ear. 

The doctor returned a few minutes later and John was relieved to see Lafayette with him and a soldier he didn’t know that often assisted the doctor.  John saw Lafayette’s eyes take in the battered sight of their friend and then their eyes met.

“I came as soon as I heard.  I was already on my way when I ran in to Washington on the road.  He told me how and where you found him, then he sent me here.  He seemed to think you would need me more than he would.”  The two men shared a knowing look and then Lafayette turned his gaze back to Alexander.  “Mon Dieu! Is he going to survive?”

“He has to,” John whispered back desperately. 

The doctor pulled Alex’s jaw open and put a leather strip in his mouth.  He turned and looked at them all. 

“If he wakes, we’re going to have to hold him down to keep him still while I’m sewing.  Some of these wounds may have to be cauterized if they show signs of infection.  No doubt he will panic since this is so near the trauma he’s already suffered.  I am loathed to do it, but we may have to restrain him if it comes to that.”  The doctor reached down and touched Alexander’s raw wrists and his eyes darted to the similar state of his ankles.  “You two are his friends, yes?”

“Yes,” John and Lafayette answered as one. 

“I want you two on either side of his head, you’ll hold his arms if it comes to that.  Talk to him.  Let him hear you.  It may help stave off further mental trauma.”

They nodded and moved to their places.  Dr. McKnight instructed the other soldier that he would be responsible for holding down Alexander’s feet if it was required. 

John watched as Dr. McKnight laid out the instruments he would need and put an iron in the fire, a frown on his face.  Clearly, he hoped he wasn’t going to need it.  John swallowed hard.  He had to be strong for his friend, but this was killing him. 

The doctor started his work a few moments later.  With almost the first stick of the needle Alexander began to whimper and squirm, subconsciously trying to escape the pain.  John listened as Lafayette whispered in French to Alex, holding his head still and trying to soothe him.  By the start of the second wound, Alex was screaming.  He thrashed and writhed, and it was all they could do to hold him.  He didn’t seem to hear them at all.  He pulled at the hands that held him and screamed in abject terror. 

“This is not working!” Dr. McKnight growled in frustration.  We’re going to have to restrain him.”  He put down his needle and thread.  He had the leather straps that would hold him down on the counter behind him. 

Alex had kept his eyes closed the entire time.  Despite the fact that they had stopped, he kept thrashing, desperate to get out of their grasps. 

“I think he still thinks he’s in that cellar,” Lafayette observed. 

“Agreed.  Let me try something,” John replied.  “Alexander!  Alexander, open your eyes.  Alexander!  Do as I say.  You are safe.  You are back at home in the camp.  Open your eyes, my friend.”  John spoke with authority.  Alexander’s eyes opened briefly and then shut tight again.  He placed his hand on Alex’s cheek and his thumb gently caressed across his cheek bone.  “Alexander.  Can you open your eyes?”

Alex bit down on the strip of leather in his mouth and shook his head. 

“Okay.  Can you hear my voice?”  A nod.  “Do you know who I am?”  Another nod.  “Would I hurt you?”  Alexander shook his head.  “Good.  You know I would never hurt you.” 

“Do you know who I am?” Lafayette inquired in his soft French accent.”  Another nod.  “Would I hurt you, mon amie?”  Another shake of Alexander’s head. 

“Laf and I are both here with you.  The doctor is trying to make you better, but you have to be still.  Can we help you be still?”  Alex let out a terrified whimper but nodded.  God, he had to be in so much pain, John thought. 

They lifted him slightly and the doctor placed a thin board underneath his back that extended out to the side of his body.  Gently, they extended his arms out.  When Dr. McKnight went to loop the leather around Alex’s wrists, he began to thrash again and cry.  His brows knit together, his expression pleading.  

“Shh,” John whisper to him.  “You’re safe.  You’re okay.  We’re trying to help.  No one is trying to hurt you anymore.”  John felt his voice break on the last word at the pained expression on Alexander’s face.  He shook his head at Lafayette and wiped his cheek.

“Détendez-vous, mon ami, vous êtes entre amis.  Mous prendrons soin de vous et assurerons votre sécurité.  Cela ne fera que faire mal un peu plus longtemps.  Alors tu peux te reposer.”  Lafayette continued to speak slowly and calmly in Alex’s ear. 

John listened to Lafayette’s soft French soothing their friend.  It calmed Alex long enough to allow the doctor to restrain his arms and legs to the table.  The doctor was especially gentle with Alex’s left wrist, securing the leather across the palm of his hand and his forearm, so that he would not injure the joint any further. 

“Okay, mon amie, deep breath and bite down if you need to.  You are safe.  It’s going to hurt for just a bit longer.  Juste un petit peu.  I promise,” Lafayette crooned.  

Alex gave another terrified whimper, but also a slight nod, acknowledging what had been said.  Alex bit down hard and cried out in anguish as the doctor resumed his work with the needle.  John and Lafayette kept up a steady stream of soft encouragements in his ear, while their hands rubbed his arms and shoulders. 

Soon the wounds on his chest and abdomen were all sewn up and they helped the doctor untie him.  As gently as possible, they turned him over and with many kind and tender words, secured him once again.  He was trembling again as the doctor worked on his back. 

Lastly, there was one extensive wound that looked particularly nasty running the diagonal length of his back.  John had to look away as the doctor probed at it to see its depth. 

“I was afraid of this.  I can close all the other ones safely, but this one still seeps.  It will have to be cauterized and sewn in order to properly heal.”

John felt so badly for his friend.  It wasn’t fair.  Alex didn’t deserve any of this. 

“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, I need you to put up with me for just a bit longer,” the doctor spoke calmly, but firmly.  “The worst is almost over, but this next part is going to hurt.  I have to cauterize one of your wounds.  If you feel the need to pass out, please don’t fight it.  You are among friends.  No one will think the worst of you if you faint.  Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve made it this long.”  He touched the back of the young colonel’s head in a fatherly gesture.  Only Laurens saw the flinch and terror that briefly crossed Alex’s features at the unexpected touch.  My God, what else did they do to you?

Laurens and Lafayette each held one of his hands and stroked his cheeks gently, foreheads pressed close together against Alexander's, as the doctor fetched the hot iron that would be used.  As soon as the heat neared Alex’s body he began the thrash and pull at the restraints. 

The leather fell from his mouth and he begged.  “No!  Please, please no more burns.  Please.  No more.”  All three men, the doctor included, had tears in their eyes at the sound of his pleas. 

John carefully pressed the leather back to his lips.  Alex was shaking and terrified.  Laurens cupped his cheek.  “It’s almost over, brother.  Just one more push.  Bite down and then it’s done.  I promise.  Just a few more minutes.”

“Mord, mon petit lion, et puis tout sera fin.”

Alexander took several deep shaking breaths and then opened his mouth.  Laurens set the leather between his teeth and then nodded to them that he was ready, but his breaths were still shallow and shaky, terrified.  Please, God, let him pass out.  He leaned his forehead against Alexander’s cheek, he felt Laf do the same on his other side.  They held their friend close as the doctor began the final task. 

Alex’s blood curdling scream was almost too much for them to bear.  And then he was quiet.  John didn’t let go of him until the doctor was finished.  The sudden silence had scared him at first, but he could sense his breathing if he kept him close.  Alexander had finally passed out. 

“It’s okay now.  You’re going to be okay now.  I promise.  No more pain,” he whispered quietly in the unconscious man’s ear, stroking the hair on the back of his head. 

Lafayette and Laurens helped Dr. McKnight untie him and lift him up.  Alex’s head lolled as they held each of his arms over their shoulders while the doctor bandaged his chest.  The worst was over.  Now they just had to pray he could fight off any potential infections.  The doctor was hopeful, as none of the wounds exhibited any undue heat or redness and swelling beyond what was expected.  He used some herbs and poultices to bandage the angry welts that were on his legs and feet.  Alex remained unconscious as the doctor set his wrist and bandaged it to the splints that would hold the bones in place.  Lastly, he bandaged is raw wrists and ankles. 

“I’ll say one thing.  That boy has a tolerance for pain unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Dr. McKnight commented.  

“Yeah, and a phenomenal memory,” John commented darkly with a deep frown.  He and Lafayette exchanged a look that said they both understood the statement. Alex had an uncanny ability to remember everything.  It had always been a blessing and a curse.  They both knew he would remember everything he had suffered.  Maybe not right away, but eventually it would be there.  Forever.    

Lafayette and Laurens left Alex in Dr. McKnight’s care and headed outside for some air after all the intensity of the last hour and a half or so.  

“My God.  That man, Brant, is a monster.”  Laurens growled the last word.  He glanced around at the soldiers milling about the camp.  He recognized a group of them.  “Hey, the men Washington sent after Brant must be back.  I want to find out what happened. Are you coming?”  Laurens didn’t even look at Lafayette, assuming he would follow him.  A sudden hand on his arm pulled him back and made him stop.  He looked at his friend curiously.  “Laf?  What is it?”

“They didn’t find him.  They arrived back at camp at the same time I did.  I didn’t want to say anything in front of mon petit leon.” Lafayette spoke quietly.  His voice seemed dulled with a mixture of pain, sadness, and anger all at once.  

“He can’t have gotten away.  He can’t!  Not after what he did.  Did you see what Alex looked like?  Did you see the way every touch made him cringe and flinch in terror.?”

“What are you saying?”

“I… I think he may have done something else to him.”

“Râpé?” Laf replied, his French more accented in disgust at the idea. 

“I don’t know.  But something happened beyond just physically hurting him.  Alexander can handle pain.  We all know that.  He seemed literally afraid of touch.  God, Laf, I hope I’m wrong.”

“John, don’t you think the doctor would have said something?”

“I don’t know.  His wounds were so grievous.  He could have just, I don’t know, been concerned with the bigger picture.  Maybe.” Laurens looked back at Lafayette, both of them processing their own thoughts and speculations. 

“Non.” Lafayette finally concluded.  “I don’t think so." He held up his hand at John's eminent protest.  "I’m not saying Brant’s not capable of it.  But I don’t think he did it in this instance.  Tell me, what state was he in when you found him?”

“God, that room looked like a slaughterhouse.”  Lafayette winced at John’s description.  “Alex was upside down, chained by the ankles.  He… There was so much blood, Laf.  I thought he was already dead.”

“Was he dressed?” Laf asked quietly. 

“No shirt, but he still had on his trousers.”

“I know they killed all those they found at the house, but did you get anything out of anyone?”

“No!  They didn’t kill everyone.  We brought a slave back with us.”

“Un esclave?” John nodded at Lafayette’s astonished question.  “And did he report anything of the sort?”

“No, but he didn’t go into any great detail either.”

“Don’t you think he would have disclosed that?”

“Perhaps.”

“That is reason to be hopeful then.  But come, the night is late and we need rest.  I have a feeling that Alexandre will need us to be strong for him over the next few weeks.  Let’s trust him to tell us what he needs when he’s ready, oui?”

Laurens nodded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something besides physical torture, which was bad enough as evidenced by Hamilton’s injuries, had happened to him. 

“He’s alive.  He’s going to be okay,” Laf whispered quietly, throwing his arm around Laurens’ shoulder and pulling him into a hug.  John hugged him back and sighed. 

“I’m glad you’re back, Laf.  It always feels like our little family is complete when we’re all here together.”

Laf laughed and raised an eyebrow, “Washington’s boys?”

Laurens laughed too.  “Exactly.”  He cocked his head towards Lafayette.  “Does everyone call us that?”

Lafayette fixed him with his most grave of expressions, “Everyone, mon amie.”

Chapter Text

Alexander felt warm.  Warm for the first time since being captured.  He wondered if he was in New York yet.  There was still pain, but not like before.  Surely his execution date had already been set and Howe’s men would be coming for him soon.  He didn’t want to open his eyes.  If he let them know that he was awake, the pain would return in full force. 

“Alexander?”  A hand pressed to his cheek.  A cool hand.  Panic welled up.  He started to fight.  Something was on top of him holding him down.  Was this the moment he’d been dreading that Brant had threatened him with for so long?   His wrist gave a painful throb. 

“No!” he shouted.  “No! You can’t have me.  You won’t!”  He thrashed.

“Shh.  Shhh.  Alexander it’s all right.  It’s me.  It’s John.  I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, remember?”

Gentle hands pressed down on his shoulders.  Slowly, like when he’d first awoken in the cellar, his senses began to return to him.  He was clothed.  He could feel tight bandages around much of his torso.  Pain prickled along innumerable wounds covering his chest, back, legs and feet.  His arms were under warm soft blankets.  John’s voice filtered through to his consciousness.  For the first time in what felt like ages he opened his eyes and could see.  It was so bright that it hurt his eyes and he closed them tight again.  Nothing was in focus. 

“Too bright,” he whispered, voice pleading.  He struggled to get his arms above the covers.  He couldn’t bear the feeling of being restrained.  His left arm was wrapped across his upper chest.  That explained why he felt so constricted. 

John turned the lamps down and blew out all but one candle.  He touched Alex’s face once more.  “Try now, my friend. Open your eyes.”

Alexander blinked several times.  Things were blurry, but he could stand the light. 

“Are you okay?” John asked quietly. 

Alexander nodded.  “Did… Did you see me when they brought me here?” he asked sheepishly.  He knew he had to have been in a state. 

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Alex’s face paled.

“I was there.  I found you.  Washington as well.  He ordered thirty men to come with him, but more than fifty volunteered.  They took it as a personal insult that you had been taken.”

Alexander didn’t know what to say.  He knew he was younger and smaller than most of the men and that many resented his position and the fact that he had advanced so quickly.  They picked on him relentlessly.  But when it mattered, they’d ridden to help him.  He looked down at himself.  There were bandages around his wrists.  He reached with his right hand and touched his left wrist against his chest. 

Laurens prompted again, “Are you okay?”

“I think… I think I will be.  They were going to execute me, you know.” He frowned to himself.  “He was going to take me back to New York.”  New York… “John!” He grabbed Laurens’ sleeve.  “Where’s Washington? I had letters; he has to know.  I received proof of… proof of… Arnold!  He’s a traitor.  He’s conspiring with the British to take West Point.” Alexander started to try to get out of bed.  Pain lanced across every surface of his body, especially a particularly sensitive burn across his back.  He nearly screamed but managed to contain it to a small cry. 

Laurens pushed him back down.  “Relax.  You have been sleeping for two days.  You’re physically weak.  The bandages are about the only thing holding you together.  You don’t want to tear your stitches and have to go through what we did when we first brought you home, again.  Washington already knows.  We found your coded letters still in your bag.  It was packed on the cart in which they were going to transport you.”

Alex laid back and let the anxiety go.  He’d managed to complete his mission after all.  “What… What happened to… to Brant?”  The last bit of worry still clinging to his brain. 

Laurens looked down at the floor.  “He escaped.  Everyone else that was there is dead, but Brant, that bastard, got away.  Ran as soon as he saw us advancing.  Coward.”

Alex took a moment to process this unwanted piece of information.  “That’s… unfortunate.” A flash of cool fingers touching him ghosted through his memory and he shuddered. 

“Agreed.  But he won’t get to you again.  If any of us comes across him he’s a dead man.”

“So, what happened with Arnold?”

“I’m not sure yet.  Washington went to deal with him.  I expect he’ll be back at camp in the next few days.” 

“Did you say that everyone else was killed?”

“Yeah, why?”

“There was a… a slave with them.  He was kind.”

“Oh!  No, Merced is alive.  We brought him back here with us.  I meant that the British and the Natives that were there were all killed.”

“That’s good.  He’s a good man.  Maybe you and I can do something for his… situation.  Surely if he’s a slave for the British, they have no right to him, right?” 

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can do.  Washington will have the final say though, he was the ranking officer on site.”

“I don’t think I would have survived if it weren’t for him,” Alexander whispered quietly.  “It got… bad.  Real bad.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.  Like I said.  I was there at the end.  I saw what they had done to you.” 

Alex looked off towards the wall.  “I knew I was going to die.  Once that realization clicked in, I just... stopped talking.  I figured if I refused to talk, they would stop asking questions.  They did, but they didn’t stop anything else.”  He glanced at Laurens and was suddenly very tired at the look of concern on his face.  “I’m okay.  I’m just tired.  And sore.” 

“I’ll let you rest.  I need to go and check the dispatches anyway.  I’ll check in on you later?”

“That would be nice.”  As Laurens turned to leave, Alex reached out and grabbed his arm.  “Thank you for finding me.  I owe you more than you will ever know.  You have no idea what Brant didn’t get to do to me because you found me.”

Laurens leaned down and rested his forehead against Alexander’s.  “You owe me nothing.  We’re brothers.  You and I, do or die.  Remember?” 

Alexander wrapped his good arm around the back of John’s neck, holding him closer for just a moment.  “Brothers,” he breathed in agreement.

“Rest, Alexander.  I’ll come back later.” 

The nights were the hardest.  Nightmares plagued him regularly.  After Alexander repeatedly tore his stitches, thrashing through his dreams, Laurens and Lafayette had started taking turns sleeping in the next room so that they could wake him if the dreams grew too intense. 

Alexander would wake covered in a cold sweat with either his own cries echoing in his head or that horrible cold whisper in his ear.  He would sit bolt upright trying to push the cool fingers off of his body. 

One night, Laurens found him sitting on his bed, shivering, the covers on the floor because he’d thrown them off in his nightmare.  Alex didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he’d sat in the October cold of his room, shaking uncontrollably. 

Alex looked up quickly as his door opened and John came in. 

“Alexander, have you gone mad?  You’ll catch your death in this room in naught but your shirt.”

Laurens picked up the blankets and wrapped them around Alexander.  Alex, for his part, let him. 

“I can’t go back to sleep.  Every time I close my eyes I’m back in that cellar.  And… and, he’s there.  I can’t.  Not tonight.  I fight him every night, but I can’t again tonight, John.  I just can’t.”

“It’s okay, Alex.  You’re not alone.  Brant is long gone.  I’m certain.  What did he do that has you so… skittish?”

“I’m not sure I can say it.  You wouldn’t understand.”

“You know I’ve been captured before, right?”

Alex nodded; they’d only gotten him back as part of a prisoner exchange a few months before.  “I remember.  But you were held by gentlemen.  Brant’s… not a gentleman.  He’s…  He’s a…”

“A monster.” Laurens finished for him, quietly.  Alex nodded sadly in agreement. 

“I’ve started to remember.  I knew I would.  My brain never cuts me a break when it comes to bad things.  But I also remember when you brought me home.”  He looked over a John and gave him a watery smile.  “I remember you and Laf, what you did for me with the doctor.”  Alexander bit his lip and looked down.  “You, you both helped me come out of a really dark place.”  He took a deep breath.  “Sometimes… Sometimes I still feel like I’m there.  In that dark place.  That’s why I can’t sleep.”

“It can’t just be the physical torture.  There’s something else, isn’t there.  I don’t want to push, but you’ve tried not talking.  Why not talk through it?  You know you can trust me.  Nothing you tell me will make me love you any less.”  Alex met his eyes and knew it was true. 

“I know.  The problem is I don’t know if I can trust myself.  I’ve never told anyone.  Never.  For a long time, I told myself it never happened.”  John looked at him quizzically. 

“There was a man.  After my mother died and my cousin died.  I didn’t have anywhere to go.  Not yet.  I was just alone.  He found me sleeping on the beach.  He offered to give me food and a place to sleep.  I was tired, hungry, scared.  So, I went with him.”  He looked up at John.  “I knew the world could be cruel, I just didn’t know it could be evil.  Until I met him.”

Laurens nodded for him to go on, his face pale with dread in the moonlight. 

“He fed me, as he said he would, and showed me to an upstairs room.  I felt full for the first time in months and the room was warm.  It made me drowsy.  I climbed into the bed and went straight to sleep.  I didn’t think anything of it.  I don’t know how much time passed, but at some point, I became aware that someone else was in the bed with me.  He… was touching me.  I didn’t like it.  When I tried to pull away, he put a knife to my throat.”

Laurens gasped.  “What did you do?” 

“What could I do?  I was a twelve-year-old boy trapped in a grown man’s bed with a knife to his throat.  I obeyed and hoped to God he wouldn’t kill me.”

“How did you get away?”

“After two days, he… He actually paid me money when he was done and threw me out of his house.  He… He said I had earned it.”  Alexander rubbed his sore right wrist and held it up for Laurens to see the bandages.  “I had these same markings after he was done with me.”  Alex gave John a sad, wry smile at the irony of the situation.  

“I’m so sorry, Alex.” 

“Not your fault.”  Alexander sniffed and blinked his eyes, his smile fading, swiping quickly at the tears that were on his cheek.  “I took the money and ran.  I swore I would never be in that position again.  And I haven’t.  I used the money to help me get a clerking position with my mother’s former landlord.  I proved myself invaluable.  It bought me protection.  Until Brant.” Alex shuddered at the memory. “Brant…” he stopped, searching for the right way to explain.  “I tried not to give anything away.  I used my code name.  I tried to keep my voice calm and sound more in control than I was.  Bravado.”  He smirked at Laurens. 

John smirked back.  “I bet you did.” 

“Even though they had already beaten me and hurt me.  I maintained the façade.  Anyway, they were using the whip and every time a lash would land, Brant would run his fingers along the mark.  Cool fingers.” Alex shook off the feeling again and continued.  “Well, one struck just along the upper hem of my breeches and curved around to my hip.  It hurt like all hell because I’m so thin that my breeches were barely staying up with no shirt tucked into them.  I could have dealt with the pain, but then Brant touched me.  He dipped his fingers past the hem of my breeches and instantly I was back to that twelve-year-old kid tied to the bed in the Caribbean.”  Alex heard Laurens hiss at his description and saw him cover his mouth.

Alex paused and took a deep shaky breath.  He wiped away the tears that had started silently running down his cheeks again at some point.  “I couldn’t stop the sound that that touch elicited and the reaction my body had.  I knew the minute that I had reacted that Brant had me.  He knew my deepest fear.”  He looked up at Laurens again.  “And he used it.  My God did he use it.  Every day was a waking nightmare of threats and touches.  He told me that I wouldn’t know when it was going to happen, but that it was going to happen.  Every touch became an unwanted caress. He never let up.  It was constant.” 

Alex sighed.  And slumped back against his pillows.  A weight felt like it lifted off his chest.  He was so tired.  It felt so good to let somebody else know what had been going on in his head. 

“Every time I shut my eyes; I can feel him.  I can hear him breathing his threats in my ear and telling me what he’s going to do to me.  That’s why I can’t sleep.”

Alex risked a glance at Laurens and the man met his eyes, tears glistening on his lashes. 

“Alexander, I have to ask, did he… did he actually touch you or… was he able to go through with it.”  John, tears and all, held his gaze with steady determination. 

“No.  I think he was planning on it that night.  I’m fairly certain, but he didn’t get to.”  Alex reached out and took Laurens’ hand.  “You found me before he could.”  He squeezed his hand to show his gratitiude. 

“Oh, thank God.  You had me so worried.  That first night you flinched at every touch.  I thought for sure…”

“You thought?”

“I… Well, it was something Laf and I discussed after helping the doctor.  He didn’t think it had got that far, but I knew there was something else.”  Laurens wiped the tears from his eyes.  “I’m so relieved it didn’t get that far.  And I’m so sorry you’ve had to survive anything like that ever, especially as a child.  I can’t imagine.”

Alex shrugged.  “It was a long time ago.  I had buried it pretty deep and rarely thought about it until Brant.  I just hate that Brant brought it back to the surface in such a visceral way.  I thought it was behind me.  Now it just wears a new face… or, it doesn’t really.  That’s the worst of it.  I never saw his face.  It’s his voice and his hands.  I hear him, feel him, but I can’t see him.  How do you fight that?  Nothing happened and yet, it happens every night in my dreams.  The two incidents are now horrifically entwined in my mind.  I feel… weak.” 

“You’re not weak, Alexander,” John spoke fiercely.  “Everyone knows how strong you are.  It’s a miracle you’re even alive.  No one should have survived those wounds.”

Alex huffed.  “Maybe it was the alcohol,” he joked.

“What?”

“He, uh, had a penchant for rubbing whiskey into my wounds, to make it burn.  Said he got the idea off of a paper cut he gave himself.  Burned like hell.”

“That’s why you smelled like a distillery when we found you.  I had wondered.”  He looked back seriously at Alex.  “You’re not weak.  Don’t you ever think that.  You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

John moved from the chair to the bed next to him.  He sat up against the headboard and pulled Alex against him, repositioning the blankets until they were over both of them, careful not to jostle his broken wrist. 

“Well,” Laurens said calmly.  “I guess Laf and I will just have to protect you while you sleep.  We’ll be your defenders until your strong enough to fight him off in your dreams.  You will get better.  You are getting better.  I won’t tell Laf, if you don’t want me to.  I’ll just tell him you need him closer.”

“No, I’ll tell him, just maybe not right away.  He deserves to know.  We’re brothers, the three of us.”  Alex relaxed against John’s chest and closed his eyes. 

John stroked his cheek.  “Brothers.  Always.”  Alex’s breathing evened out and he was asleep within minutes. 

Chapter Text

Washington had only just returned to camp, at first light.  He’d stowed his things in his quarters, had a quick wash and then went to check on his boy.  He glanced into the room next to Alex’s, intent on letting Laurens know that he had returned to the camp.  It was apparent on even a cursory glance that Lafayette and John Laurens had been sharing the room, presumably to keep a close watch on Alex. Washington wondered where they had gone, as neither of the two men were in their shared quarters. The general felt warmth spread throughout his chest, looking at their duel possessions, scattered about the room.  His boys were taking care of each other in his absence.  He moved on to Alexander’s room. 

Washington opened the door quietly. A small smile tugged at his lips at the sight that greeted him, perhaps a bit improper under normal circumstances, but not at all surprising. 

John Laurens was asleep, sitting up, with his back against the headboard of the bed, arms wrapped around Hamilton, culminating in their fingers of their right hands being laced together.  Alex slept sitting up as well with his back against Laurens’ chest and his head curled against John’s shoulder.  They both looked so peaceful.  George could see the steady rise and fall of their chests as they breathed in tandem.  The bed clothes were haphazardly pulled up over both of them, but it was still evident that Alexander had had a rough night.  He chuckled softly as his gaze lowered to the end of the bed.  At some point in the night Lafayette must have joined them.  He was curled up in his own blanket, like a cat, at the foot of the bed. 

Washington quietly pulled up a chair at the end of the bed and sat down.  He was dog tired from the mission, but how often did he get to see his boys sleeping so serenely.  There were rarely such peaceful moments in a war.  Washington looked closely at Alexander, the gentle vision of sleep in front of him marred by the memory of the last time he had seen the boy.  Alexander was still pale and there was the tell-tale sign of restlessness in the dark purple circles that still clung to his face just below his eyes.  A softer purple than the healing bruises that still covered the parts of his skin that Washington could see. 

Alex had bandages on both his wrists, and one of his arms was bound diagonally across his crest to stabilize it.  He remembered the livid purple bruises of a clearly broken hand.  Washington leaned in a bit closer.  There were still ghosts of bruises across the young man’s face, but it was blessedly free of blood, unlike the last time.  Washington let his gaze linger as long as he could, trying desperately to replace the memories of the broken, bruised, and battered Alexander he’d laid in that cart. 

Washington wasn’t sure how long he sat watching Alexander breathe.  He had noticed that one of Alex’s feet was uncovered, his ankle also encircled by bandages.  George sat up a little straighter and pulled back a bit as Alex stirred minutely and pulled his foot back under the blankets only to moan and reach to rub the sleep out of his eyes a moment later.  Bright sunlight poured in through the window making Hamilton wince and squint in the bright light as he finally managed to get one eye open.  

Washington fixed the three men with a quirked eye.  “Good morning,” George stated with amusement.  He was rewarded with Alex, Laurens, and Lafayette’s eyes suddenly opening wide and Lauren face flushing pink with embarrassment.  “I was expecting to see how the Lieutenant Colonel is doing.  I was not expecting to find both my aides here and Lafayette.”  Washington smirked. 

“I… I had some… some… some trouble sleeping, sir.” Alex spluttered as John adjusted him off his chest and back onto his pillows.  John seemed epically grateful that he was fully clothed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side.  However, he remained close to Alex, almost hovering, unsure of were to be, yet not willing to leave Alexander just yet.  Lafayette pulled the blanket around him and sat up, blinking in the sunlight, also rather sheepishly. 

“Well, I suppose that is to be expected,” Washington replied gently.

“Did you get him?” Alex burst out suddenly, as if just remembering why Washington had been gone.  “Did you get Arnold?  What about the Fort?  Do we still hold West Point?”  The boy was a mass of questions for the general. 

Washington raised a calming hand, “Easy, son.  One thing at a time.” 

“Please, it was my mission.  It was delayed because I got caught.  Did I lose us West Point?”

“No, son.  We still hold West Point, but General Arnold did get away.”

Disappointment blossomed across Alex’s face.  “So, we failed.”

“No.  No, you didn’t fail.  You unmasked a traitor that could have done great damage.  We still hold West Point.  As it is, we had a prisoner.  A spy that I was hoping to trade for Arnold.”

“And did you?” All three asked at the same time.

“No, in the end, he had to be hung for spying because the British refused the trade.”

“Who was it?” Alex asked curiously.

“Major John Andre.” 

“Oh,” Alex’s face fell.  “That’s… that’s too bad.  He was a good man.  A gentleman.  He was always kind and polite.”

“That he was.  I would have liked to have given him a gentleman’s death, but his crimes would not warrant it.  He had to be hung to deter further instances of this by the British.  He was a man of honor and extreme valor all the way to the end though.  He held his head high, even as the noose was tightened around it.”

Alex paled and swallowed hard.  That was supposed to have been Alex’s fate, Washington recalled with dread. Washington softened his expression.  Something about Hamilton’s face made him think that he was thinking along similar lines. 

“Laurens, Lafayette, I wish to speak with Hamilton alone for a few minutes.  You may go freshen up.  It seems you have all had a long night.”

“Of course, General.  I’m glad you’re back, sir,” Lafayette replied in his gentle French accent, thickened by morning sleepiness. 

“Yes, sir.”  Laurens replied, almost sheepishly, and left the room, cheeks still pink. 

Alex’s head was bowed, as if he was taking in the sight of himself, still covered in bandages. Washington could see more of them poking out from under his partially open shirt.  

“I wanted to commend you for your bravery in light of what you went through.  The slave, Merced, said you refused to speak, even in the face of extreme torture.”

Alex swallowed and bit his lip.  “I didn’t talk because I knew if I said anything, it would only get worse.  It wasn’t bravery, it was fear.”

“Be that as it may, you endured more than what many a man has endured and talked under far less stress.  I am recommending that you be made a full Colonel.”

“No, sir.  I don’t deserve that.  I simply did my duty to my country.”

“That is exactly why you deserve it.  Congress is already aware of my recommendation.  I received the testimony from Dr. McKnight detailing your injuries.  I included it in my report to congress as part of my recommendation.  They probably won’t be able to rule on it for another month or two, but I am confident they will agree.”

Alexander flushed.  “With all due respect, sir, I wish you had not disclosed that,” he said quietly. 

“It’s only a small committee.  I was proud of you.  I wanted someone to know what you had done for us.”

Alex wrapped his good arm around his chest, matching the position that his injured left arm was in, as if he were trying to hold himself together.  He closed his eyes for a moment, processing this new information. 

Washington’s eyebrows furrowed.  “Son?”

“I’m not your son.”  The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.  His eyes flew open and he glanced at Washington and George was not fast enough to police his reaction.  He knew that Hamilton caught the sting that those words brought to him.  “I’m sorry, sir.  That was unwarranted.  I’m not… Not myself right now.”

“It’s alright, S – Alexander.  I was there too.  I saw the state you were in.  And, between the two of us, challenging me is exactly what you do when you are yourself.”  Alex didn’t stifle the small laugh that escaped him at these words.  Both men knew they were true. 

“Any news of… Brant?”  Alex’s hesitation evident at having to say the man’s name. 

Washington shook his head.  “No, as far as we can tell, he’s moved back out west again.  Though, our spies in New York hear that the upper British leadership were very cross with him when he failed to deliver you to them.  Apparently, he defied direct orders to bring you to them immediately.  It seems as if he wanted to hoard all the glory of any information you could have provided all to himself.  It’s why he kept you there for so long.”

Washington watched Alexander close his eyes and shudder. 

“If he hadn’t held you there as long as he did, Alexander…”  Washington trailed off; the implication clear to both men.  “I know what you went through was brutal, but the alternative is much worse.  They had every intention of a grand public square execution by hanging.  I would never want you to suffer, son, but I’m glad that Brant’s folly meant you were not available to the British for execution.”

Hamilton huffed.  “Me too.” 

Washington put his hand on Hamilton’s knee in a familiar and fatherly manner.  “It’s good to have you back, Alexander.  Laurens is good, but he’s not you.”

“Thank you, sir.  It’s good to be back.”

“I’ll let you rest and check in after I’ve had a chance to get settled in myself.  It’s been a long week, to say the least.  I came straight here upon arrival at the camp.  I… I had to see for myself.”

“See what?” Alex replied, his wide innocent eyes staring up at him curiously. 

How did he still look so innocent after what he’d been through?  Washington wondered. 

“That you were indeed still alive.  I... wasn’t sure you would be after what, well, after what I saw when we found you.”

“I’m okay, sir.  Or, rather, I’m going to be okay.” 

“Well, like I said, I came straight here as soon as I could.”

“I am honored then, Your Excellency.  Thank you.”  Hamilton gave him a faint smile.  He still looked so tired. 

Washington nodded.  “Get some rest, Alexander.  That’s an order from your commander.” Washington was smiling again, his voice gentle, no force behind his words.  “None of us are going anywhere.  Laurens and Lafayette have you well in hand.”  Then he quietly ducked out of the room and left Alexander alone.  

Two weeks later Alex was feeling much more well rested.  He was back to reading and writing during his recuperation time.  Washington wouldn’t let him go back to work yet, so it was mostly just his own interests. 

He sat on his bed, glasses on, writing in his journal.  It had felt so good to get back to writing.  Alex could lose himself in his ideas.  When he was writing, he could block out the world around him, the memories that haunted him. Even if only for a little while.  

He was in one of those moments when a quiet knock at the door pulled him from his furious writing.  He glanced up through his glasses at the intruder. 

“Yes, may I help you?” he asked of the tall, thin, black man with greying hair. 

“Monsieur Alexandre…” the man stated. 

“Merced?” Alex pulled the glasses off his face.  “Is that you?”

“It is, Monsieur.”  The man smiled at him from the door. 

“Come in.  Come in,” Hamilton motioned for him to sit in the chair next to his bed.  Merced tipped his forehead in acknowledgement and sat in the proffered chair.  “I’m so glad they brought you here.  Are they treating you well?”

“Oui, Monsieur.  Very well.  I have a place in the kitchens for now.” 

Alex’s brow furrowed.  “My friend John and I are going to try and persuade Washington to grant you your freedom.  It’s no guarantee, but I will try.”

“It’s okay, Monsieur.  I’m just glad you are alive.  I feared for the worse near the end there.  Plus, if they had succeeded in taking you to New York…”

“Yes.  I’m very glad that did not happen as well.”

Merced reached up and patted Alex on the arm.  “I just wanted to make sure, as a fellow Caribbean, that you were ok. 

“Thank you, Merced.  I’m so glad they brought you here.  I’m very relieved that you survived as well.”

“I was never in any danger, Monsieur.  Not like you.  It’s good to see you under better circumstances.”  He again patted Alex’s arm in a fatherly sort of gesture.  “I’m expected back in the kitchen’s soon, but Monsieur Washington thought you might like to see me.”

“Oh, well, yes.  That was most considerate of the General.”  Alex was not quite sure what to make of that, but he was glad that Washington got to meet Merced and that he sent him to talk to him. 

“Tell me, Merced, if you were freed, where would you go?  What would you do?”

Merced looked thoughtful for a moment.  His eyes took on a far-away, bright gaze.  “I would stay here and do what I could to help with this revolution of yours.  Monsieur Laurens has some great ideas that he has told me about.  I like him very much.”

Alex smirked at this.  “Yes, me too.  He’s very outspoken about his views.” 

“And then… I should very much like to return to the islands.”

“Why?”  Alex asked.  His memories of the island were, at best, bittersweet.  He had very little desire to return.  There was nothing left there for him. 

“I left my wife and children there.  I would very much like to try and buy their freedom eventually.”

“Oh.  Yes.  Of course.  I didn’t… I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry.  You must miss them dreadfully.”

“Yes, terribly.  I haven’t seen them in many years.  I don’t even know if they are still on the island or shipped off somewhere else, like I was.”

“I hate this bartering in human flesh.  I hate what it does to people; to families.  I hate it.  It’s so… ugly.”

“It is, but I have made my peace with it along time ago.  I can only do what I can.  And no more.”  He smiled sadly at Alexander.  “I have put my family in God’s hands, and they are much safer there, than in mine.  Still, if it is ever in my power, I would see them free.”

“If I can help you, I swear I will.  Laurens will do all he can for you too.  I’m certain.”

“Thank you, Monsieur.”  Merced gave him a doubtful smile.  “I appreciate anything you can do for me, but please forgive me if I do not hold out any true hope.  We must first win this war, yes?”

“Indeed.”  Alex returned his smile.  He reached out and shook Merced’s offered hand.  Merced turned for the door.  "Merced.  Thank you.  Thank you for... what you did for me... with Brant.  I... I don't think I could have stayed strong if you hadn't been there.  I just want you to know that I appreciate it.  And I am very grateful.  Je suis vraiment reconnaissante."

"Ce n'était rien de plus que la façon dont un humain devrait traiter un autre," the slave replied with a nod.  

As Alexander watched Merced leave, he silently vowed that he would try his damnedest to free Merced and help him get back to the islands so he could find his family. 

Chapter Text

November 1780

Alexander smiled at his friends swirling around the room with all the pretty young ladies.  He stayed off to the side, his eyes searching for one particular face.  His left arm was in a sling, still cradled to his chest.  He wondered if it made him look more dashing.  He was a Colonel in the Continental Army in full uniform, complete with a war injury.  Who was he kidding?  He was so nervous it wasn’t even funny.  Sure, he could speak for epochs on the subject of financial independence as well as political independence, he could give hours long dissertations about the evils of tyrant kings but ask him to talk to a girl… that was a whole other matter. 

Many people, including Major General Schuyler himself, had stopped to congratulate him on his promotion.  Philip Schuyler, apparently upon encouragement from his daughters, had decided it was the perfect excuse to hold a ball. 

Another very beautiful girl came up and started speaking to him. 

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

He took her hand and kissed it.  “Alexander Hamilton.  Yours?”  He wondered what her expression of recognition was about.  Did she know what he had been through?  Of course she knew.  The whole reason he was getting this promotion was because of what had happened.  He hoped that she wasn’t about to ask him about what had happened to him.  He was tired of people wanting to talk about it. 

“Angelica Schuyler.  My father is the one hosting this evening.  Congratulations, by the way, on your promotion.”  If she did know, she didn’t seem to care to ask him about it. 

“Your father is most kind.” Alexander replied. 

She was well educated and very smart.  He was quite taken with her, until he looked up past her shoulder and saw the face he was here to see.  Their eyes locked for a moment and he smiled when he saw the familiar blush he’d thought of so many times.  Angelica followed his gaze and smiled taking his right hand and pulling him gently across the room toward the other girl. 

“I’m about to change your life,” she whispered conspiratorially in his ear as they approached.  He knew in that moment that he and Angelica Schuyler would be fast friends. 

A moment later, he was standing in front of the girl he had so brazenly winked at months before. 

“Elizabeth Schuyler.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered him her hand. 

He glanced back at Angelica. “My sister,” she volunteered with a smile. 

“Thank you for all of your service,” Elizabeth offered.

He took her hand and kissed it as he had done with Angelica’s, bowing slightly.  “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet it will have been worth it.”  Alexander thought about what he had just said as he met her gaze through his eyelashes.  He had suffered greatly for the cause, but he was alive and standing in front of the literal girl of his dreams. 

If he can win her, if they can win the war, then it most definitely will have been worth it. 

She smiled at him and took his arm when he offered it.  “I’m not a great dancer,” he said and motioned to his injured arm, “do you mind if we just take a turn about the room together?”

“Not at all.”  Her voice was like silk.  They walked slowly along the darkened edges of the room, stopping here and there to let other couples pass.  Eliza paused and looked up at him.  “You winked at me.  That was very brash.”

“My apologies if I offended you, Miss Schuyler.  I was indeed very impulsive, and possibly a little tipsy from the wine.  And you were not supposed to be there.”  He smiled down at her.  He could see the red creeping along her cheek once more as she looked down in embarrassment.  He raised her chin to look at him.  “I’m so very glad you were there.  Your kind face was a great comfort to me during a recent… complication in my life.”

Eliza blushed even deeper and he couldn’t help letting his thumb caress her red cheek. 

“I was so very relieved to hear of your rescue from the British.”  Alex gave a sharp intake of breath at her words.  “I’m so sorry.  I should not have brought it up.”  Alex looked away from her as she stumbled on, “I was distraught when I heard of your capture.  It was at the same time as a childhood friend of mine was captured by our side.  He did not fare as well as you I’m afraid.  So, I was very glad you did not suffer the same fate.” She laid a hand gently on his injured arm.

“You were friends with Major Andre?”

“Well, not close friends, it was really more of a childhood crush that I had long since moved past, but still thought fondly of.”

“I see.”

“Colonel Hamilton, I am sorry if I have caused you any pain tonight.  It was not my intention to sour the mood of your commendation.  I simply wanted you to know that I am glad you are alive and free to continue our fight.”

Alex looked down at her.  Her eyes were wide and kind and searching for his approval.  He smiled at her.  “No harm.  I am alive and I do continue our fight.”  He placed his hand over hers, where it still held his arm.  “You did help me during that time though.”

“How?”  She was blushing again. 

He smiled at her and cupped her cheek.  “This,” his thumb ghosted across her cheek again.  “That night when I so boldly winked at you, you blushed fantastically, just as you are doing now.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”

She looked down sheepishly, but with a smile.  Alex smiled too.  Apparently, talking to girls, well, to this girl, wasn’t as difficult as he had thought. 

December 1780

Alex stood in front of the dressing mirror staring at himself.  He was only dressed in his trousers, his shirt laid out neatly over a chair.  He was getting married today.  God, what was she going to think when she saw this? Several of his scars were still a fading purple or red.  He was definitely a sight to behold. 

He glanced over at Laurens in the opposite corner as he dressed as well. 

“Well, it is what it is…”  Alex commented, motioning to his reflection.

Laurens shrugged.  “It’s a mark of bravery.  You got them in service to your nation.  In the battle for her freedom.”

“I suppose.  What do you think Eliza will think of them?  Do you think they will repulse her?”

John laughed out loud.  “Have you seen Eliza Schuyler and the way she looks at you?  She’ll probably think that they make you even more attractive because they’re battle scars.  She adores you, Alex.  Don’t be nervous.  You’re too smart to be self-conscious.  As painful as it may be to accept, they're probably never going to heal completely. They're a part of you now, and you should never feel ashamed of them. Own them for what they are: a testament to your survival.”

Alex nodded.  “Thanks, John.” 

There was a soft knock at the door and Washington was asking to come in.  Alexander huffed a breath.  He may as well get used to living with the scars and people occasionally seeing them. 

He opened the door a bit and looked out.  His soon to be Father-in-Law was with Washington. 

“May we come in for a moment?”

“Certainly, your Excellency.  I’m just about to put on my shirt.”  He left the door open and allowed them in. 

George shut the door behind him and Philip once they were in the room.  Washington let his gaze drift across Alex’s bare skin.  He’d caught fleeting glimpses of the marks that littered his flesh, but he’d never seen the full extent of it.  Alex had his back to him and Philip.  He noted a particularly livid scar that ran diagonally across the full length of Hamilton’s back.  He glanced at the Major General and caught his wide-eyed expression of horror.  Schuyler met his gaze and Washington smiled sadly and then shook his head minutely, conveying a message to not react. 

The next moment Alex had pulled his shirt down over his torso and was tucking it in.  The sight hidden beneath the neat fabric. 

George saw Philip carefully school his expression before Alex turned back towards them.  Messaged received then.  Good.  He wouldn’t want Hamilton to feel awkward about being in his own skin on his wedding day. 

“How can I help you gentlemen on this best of days?”  Alexander asked vibrantly. 

Washington smiled brightly.  Alex was going to be ok.  His joy and excitement were contagious.  And why shouldn’t they be?  He was marrying the woman he loved and gaining a family.  Washington thought back to when he when he’d feared he’d lost Alex for good and how there would be no family to notify.  Alex would have a family now.  God, please don’t let me ever have to notify them.  Please keep him safe.  He’s already been through so much.  Let him have his happiness.  

“I have a letter, from Eliza that she asked us to deliver to you.  Apparently, it’s a sort of pre-wedding tradition?”  George smiled at Alex. 

“Oh!  Yes.  John!  Do you have my letter for Eliza?”

John flashed him a smile and took up the neatly folded letter from his dressing table. 

Philip handed the letter from Eliza over to Alexander while John handed Hamilton's letter to Washington. 

Alex sat in the chair and opened the letter. 

“Read it out loud,” John demanded.

“No!” Alex spat back playfully. 

“Come one.  It’s not like we’re not all married men around here.  Read it!”

Alex huffed.  “Fine!”

The easy interaction between the two men made George’s chest feel warm. 

My dearest Alexander,

Today is the day we have been waiting for.  I cannot wait until I am Mrs. Alexander Hamilton.  I am so very glad that you winked at me all those months ago.  I can’t imagine my life without you, and I can’t wait to see what incredible adventures we will have together. 

You are an amazing man with a keen intellect.  I am certain that there are great things in store for you.  I am glad I get to be on the journey beside you.

            Your soon to be wife,

                        Eliza Schuyler Hamilton

 

George listened as Alex finished reading the letter, his voice thick with emotion by the time he was done.  He watched as Alex wiped a tear from his cheek that had just fallen passed his lashes. 

“She’s perfect for you, son,” he whispered, setting a firm hand on Alex’s shoulders.  “Hold on to her.  She’ll keep your hurricane of a personality anchored and moving in the right direction.”

Alex could only nod his agreement.  George looked over to where Philip Schuyler was standing, eyes shining. 

“My daughter is a singularly loyal person.  I’m very impressed with her decision to accept you.  I have no doubt the two of you are well matched and will make a fine pair.  Just don’t be too long in keeping grandchildren from us.  My wife is most anxious to be bouncing one or two on her knee sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.  Thank you.” Alex replied with a laugh, genuinely touched by the man’s words. 

“Now.  I believe we have a letter of our own to deliver and you need to finish getting ready.  The ceremony starts in less than an hour,” Washington concluded. 

Alex’s smile lit up his entire face.  It was evident that he was incandescently happy.  George couldn’t believe it when the young man rose and actually pulled him into a hug.  He’d never done that before.  Alex was normally very reserved.  It took him a moment to return the affection, but he did. 

“You’re a good man, Alexander.  I am so glad that you are happy.  I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Yes, sir.”  Alex stepped back from him and again wiped his eyes and returned to his task of getting ready. 

Angelica opened the door for her father and General Washington. 

“May we come in, we have something for Eliza from her intended,” Washington spoke, his tone warm. 

“Yes, of course, she’s already in her dress, so we are all decent.”

Eliza looked at her father, her smile radiating just as much as Hamilton’s.  Washington did indeed think them a well-matched pair.  She would be a calm balance to his whirlwind. 

Eliza was sitting in a chair, facing a looking glass as her mother combed through her hair, sweeping it up into and elegant and intricate design that framed her young face beautifully. 

Angelica fretted around her, helping to pull strands that tried to escape back into place.  George watched this complicated dance that the women put on with fascination.  He almost felt like he was intruding, but he had a job to do. 

“Here you are, my dear.  Here is the letter Hamilton has written to you on this joyous occasion.”

“Ooooh, read it out loud,” Peggy demanded, coming over from the adjacent room where she had just finished getting into her dress.  Her hair was already coifed into a fetching updo, pulled back away from her face. 

“No!  It’s private.”

“Come on!  Please,” Peggy pleaded. 

George almost laughed as Peggy batted her eyelashes at her sister and put on a phenomenal pout.  Women! he thought.  But then he remembered the ribbing that John had given Hamilton.  He just smirked and shook his head.  Young people. 

“Darling,” Philip interjected.  “Colonel Hamilton read your letter out loud.”

“He didn’t!”

“I’m afraid he did,” Washington concurred with a soft smile. 

Eliza sighed, knowing she’d lost her argument and, opening the letter, she began to read.

               My dearest Eliza,

I know I will never feel as though I deserve you.  I am so very pleased that you have accepted me.  You know I have been without a true family for so very long.  I look forward to starting one together. 

I am certain that we will have moments where we disappoint each other, or where we say or do the wrong thing.  But I am also convinced that we will be each other’s best advocates for our passions.  I only ask that we be honest and patient with one another as we embark on this journey together. 

I know I’ll be a better man with you standing by my side.  I am so very glad that you snuck into that meeting all those months ago and that I was rash enough to wink at you. 

I hope you never stop blushing.  You have already saved me once.  I look forward to a lifetime of us saving each other. 

                  Your soon to be husband,

                              Alexander Hamilton

Eliza had handed the letter to Angelica halfway through, for her to finish reading it to the group, so overcome with emotion that she had been unable to carry on.  Angelica folded the letter neatly and placed it on the table with the hair brushes, wiping her own eyes and smiling sweetly at her sister. 

“Looks like you found quite a winner with this one,” she said quietly to her sister.  “He’s clearly very taken with you.  I am so happy for you.  For you both.  I think we will all get along splendidly.”

Washington watched the two sisters embrace.  Eliza moved from her sister to her father, warmly embracing him as well.  Her father held her gently, patting her head.  Washington felt the familiar pang of sadness at not having any of his own true-born children. 

And then Eliza surprised him but pulling him into a hug.  “Thank you for saving him and bringing him back to me.  I didn’t even know he was to be mine at the time.  But thank you.  I know he admires you greatly.  I’m sure he is the man he is because of your influence.”

Washington was stunned.  Like with Hamilton’s embrace a few minutes earlier, it took him a moment to react to the sudden show of emotion.  He hugged her back.

“You’re most welcome, my dear.  Alex is very… special.  I know he can be a handful, but your sweet character will be a good balance for him.”

Eliza nodded briefly against his chest and then stepped back, returning to her mother. 

He met Philip’s eyes and the two men shared a familial smile.  Washington didn’t quite know what to do with the warm feeling spreading through him. 

Alexander bounced on his feet as he waited, his splint and sling finally gone from his arm.  The woman he had dreamt of for so long now was to be his wife. Washington and Laurens smiled at him from where they stood at his side.  Lafayette and Mulligans smirked from the other side of the parlor.  His brothers were here for him once again.  They knew how happy she made him.  Joy radiated from every face around the room. 

Washington reached over and straightened his coat for him, a look of fatherly pride on his face.  It was still a bit too big for him.  Alex smiled back and mouthed his thanks. 

The music changed and everyone stood.  Alex would have much rather they stayed seated.  He had to wait an extra couple of minutes before he could see his bride walking towards him on her father’s arm.  He gasped as he saw her, breath leaving him completely.  She was more beautiful than ever, her enraptured expression shining through her entire being. 

He felt like he couldn’t smile big enough.  Like his face, couldn’t accommodate how happy he was in this moment.  Like he would burst out of his own skin if there was one extra drop of bliss added to his core. 

And then she was standing in front of him, both her hands clasped in his as they gazed into each other’s eyes.  He was aware the minister was speaking, but he did not really hear any of it.  Eliza squeezed his hands every so often and he found that some part of his brain was paying attention and he could say the things he was supposed to say and repeat what he was supposed to repeat.  But he couldn’t tear himself away from Eliza’s eyes, and hers never left his either. 

At last, they were both saying, “I do.”

Alex only closed his eyes when he leaned in to kiss his wife.  He was cognizant of the audience, but he didn’t care.  He didn’t want to ever take his lips off of hers.  He felt her break the kiss and lean her forehead against his with a satisfied hum.  They both giggled softly and then turned to face the world as one. 

Chapter Text

April 1781

The battlefield was utterly and eerily silent, and yet distinctly familiar.  Washington walked through the misty field.  As he trudged forward, the fog enveloped him, surrounding what he had just passed and only allowing him to see as far as the next step. At the edges of his vision, he could see more and more bodies, broken and piled on top of each other. They littered the field, more appearing with every additional step.  Some of their faces he recognized, some he didn’t.  The battle had been devastating.  His boots were slick with blood.  Every step made a squelching sound as he walked.  He glanced down at his hands and found they were dripping with bright, fresh, crimson blood.  

Just ahead of him, a body loomed out of the smoggy soup that covered the whole area.  The body which lay just before him was fairly small in stature, especially for a soldier.  No, not just a soldier, an officer, curled in on himself, his back to the General, face hidden.  He drew closer, his heart hammering in his chest.  The soldier’s hair was pulled back into a neat tail at the nape of his neck.  The coat that the young officer wore was so blood soaked that the color appeared to be a dark plum, instead of a bright blue.  

George inherently knew he did not want to get closer to the still form on the grass, and yet his legs stepped forward as if of their own volition.  He knelt next to the officer.  With horror, Washington realized that the person was breathing, but only barely.  With each breath, more blood seeped from indeterminate wounds.  His hand drifted to the shoulder of the young man.  He rolled him over to see his face.  

He didn’t want to see his face.  The head lolled towards him.  Washington felt, rather than heard the cry of agony that was ripped from his throat as Alexander’s blood streaked face stared up at him accusingly.  No! No!  It can’t be.  He can’t be here like this.  He pulled the body into his arms as blood poured from Alex’s mouth, nose, ears, and even his eyes.  

Hamilton’s breath rattled, mouth open with one final, pitiful moan.  

And then, silence replaced all the sound.  The field was utterly still once again.  There was no more breath coming from the corpse in his arms.  Just blood, so much blood, still streaming from wounds that would never heal.  

Washington stared into lifeless eyes.  He choked back a sob as he reached to gently close Hamilton’s glassy unfocused orbs. No!  He can’t be dead.  Not Hamilton.  Not his precocious, brilliant, controversial, eloquent Alexander.  Not his boy.  

Suddenly, a voice, Alexander’s voice, echoed across the field, though the young man remained absolutely motionless.  

“You let me die.  You sent me to die.  I thought you cared what happened to me?  Now I’ll never have a family.  You are responsible.  This is your fault,” the voice echoed.  

No!  It seemed George was incapable of saying anything else, of forming any coherent argument against the scene in front of him.  And how could he.  He’d been here before, countless times.  The fog began to clear as Washington sat in the blood-soaked grass.  Now, everywhere Washington looked there were bodies he absolutely recognized.  Every young man he’d ever sent to his death was there.  How many battlefields?  How many wars?  How many dead?

“Always your fault.”  Now it wasn’t just Alexander, but all of the dead on the field.  Every single corpse turned their faces towards him with ghastly, macabre movements to stare at him in allegation.  

Washington felt his heart racing, overwhelming despair threatening to drown him. He couldn’t breathe-  

Washington woke up suddenly, panting quickly, trying to catch his breath. It took several seconds of glancing around his room for him to finally bring himself back to reality. He was in bed, in his quarters. They were safe in their camp. He was safe. Alexander was safe. Resisting the fatherly impulse to go check and make sure that his aide was still alive, he stood and poured himself a glass of water. He considered getting back into bed.  The sun wasn’t up yet.  

Washington shuddered, finding it hard to shake the images that had haunted his sleep.  No.  He would not return to bed this night.  He got dressed for the day and pulled his coat around him.  It may have been spring, but there was still a chill in the air before dawn.  

He made his way to the dispatch tent to see if the sentries on duty had received any new missives for him.  He could have waited; Laurens or Hamilton would have brought him any correspondence as soon as they reported for duty.  Still, he needed air, and the cool wind gusting around him felt refreshing to his tired mind.  The soldier on duty handed him the night’s correspondence.  Washington flipped through them all as he walked back to his office, quickly prioritizing each.  

He stopped when he recognized the familiar penmanship of Philip Schuyler.  He flipped it over and broke the seal, anxious to read it.  

To the Honorable Gen. G. Washington

While the outside of the letter was addressed formally, as any normal correspondence between the generals should be, Washington knew, from recent experience, that the inside bore a much more familiar tone. From one father to another. Quickly closing the door of his office behind him, he began to read. 

General, 

I write to you with a new sense of urgency. In understanding the shared feeling of responsibility we have discussed in regards to the young Col. Hamilton, I have some news to convey, which I hope you will understand to be of great importance to his future position. 

It appears that after your and Col. Hamilton’s visit of late, my darling Eliza is carrying his child. 

Words cannot express the amount of joy that this news has brought to me, especially in these dismal times. My first grandchild! I am sure you share in this joy nearly as much as I. However, I must confess I mourn at this news as well, knowing my beloved son is again in such danger. Should my darling daughter marry only to become a widow? Shall she bring forth a son into the world, deprived of ever knowing his father?  

Of course, I know, more than most I’m sure, what perilous conditions haunt us in these times. I know that we fight for freedom, and it can only be purchased through the currency of blood. But I entreat you, your Excellency, hasn’t our boy shed enough for the cause? You have seen, as well as I have, the permanent vestiges of the violence he has endured, forever marring his skin. 

I know we cannot save every man, but I beg you consider: is there naught we could do to save this one? Our son?  

I know our dear, driven Col. Hamilton would not think of leaving the fight, but perhaps if you could consider reallocating your aide to my own staff? Truth be told, I would profit much from a man of his unique talents- wouldn’t we all? That said, I would never think of requesting his displacement from your family, were I not so desperate to preserve my own.  

I pray you consider my proposal and send him home to us. Allow him the chance to live long enough to see his child born. I know he will not understand, he will likely be quite angry. Still, I am willing to suffer the consequences of his anger if it means that my grandchild is to be born with two parents. 

I have confidence in your judgement regarding the young Colonel, as I am certain you love him at least as much as I. 

Anxiously awaiting your reply, 

                          P. Schuyler

Postscript: As with previous correspondence, I trust you will keep this news between us. Hamilton does not yet know the news of his wife’s condition. She felt it unkind to worry him while so far away.

Washington sunk into his seat with a sigh, the parchment floating from his hand to the desk in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he furiously rubbed at his forehead, as if somehow either action could make processing this new information or making this decision any easier. If he were being honest with himself, the General already knew what his decision was. He had known what must be done as soon as he read those fateful words: Eliza is carrying his child. 

So young Hamilton was to be a father. 

Like Philip Schuyler, Washington was overwhelmed with an unsettling mix of emotions. He was overjoyed, proud that the man he considered a son would soon become a father, himself. However, he, like his counterpart, could not help but feel awash with dread. It seemed that fate had always had it out for Hamilton, death closely nipping at his heels in every phase of life. Surely it would come knocking again with a renewed fervor upon the boy’s first glimpse at true happiness. 

“Now I’ll never have a family.” Washington shivered in spite of himself as the voice of the mutilated Alexander of his recent nightmare echoed through his mind. No. He could not allow that to happen. Alexander was going to survive. He was going to make it safely home and be a father. He wouldn’t miss out on the joy of becoming a father like George had. No. Not if he could help it.  

Of course, the General knew that mortals could not really change the course of fate, but maybe, just maybe, they could alter it just slightly. If they could just keep him safe long enough to meet his child. That would be enough. 

Besides, this wasn’t a half bad idea at all. Hamilton was incredibly intelligent and well taught in matters of finances, military strategy, and politics- not to mention his natural eloquence. Truth be told, he was almost overqualified to be merely Washington’s aide. He could almost hear Alex begging well if I’m so overqualified, give me my own command! No. They could use a man like him in Schuyler’s corner of the war. Someone to more directly communicate with Congress, someone with both the smarts and field experience who could convey their requests to the politicians and make progress for the war. And it would only help Alexander’s political career- being in a position of authority at the very center of the nation's new government. 

Yes, he decided.  Alexander would be perfect for this post. And safe.  

Washington was startled from his deep thoughts when the door to his office suddenly opened to reveal a perhaps even more startled, John Laurens. 

“Your Excellency! I’m sorry! I didn’t think you were awake yet- I was just going to get an early start on some of the messages from the night and...” Laurens babbled. 

“It’s quite alright, John. I’m sorry to have startled you. I... couldn’t sleep... and decided to get an early start as well.” Washington calmed him, warmly. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then, sir.” Laurens replied, nodding. “Let me know if you need anything.” He quickly moved to excuse himself from the room. 

“Oh! Laurens!” Washington called after him just as he stepped through the door.

“Yes sir?” John stepped back into the room. 

“Please let Colonel Hamilton know that I’d like to see him at his earliest convenience.” Washington paused, then continued with an afterthought. “But don’t wake him now. It’s not urgent and God knows that boy doesn’t get nearly enough sleep as it is.” 

Laurens gave a knowing chuckle. “Indeed sir. I’ll see that he gets your message.” 

Chapter Text

Alexander Hamilton was bored, and a bored Hamilton was never good.  Maybe bored was too juvenile a word for him to use, but it was true.  He felt idle, listless.  Washington had not let him return to full duty.  It had been months.  Alexander was fully recovered physically.  The only lasting sign was the ache in his left wrist at any change in the weather.  It was a minor annoyance on his non-dominant hand.  There was no excuse for how Washington had coddled him over the last three months.  

Hamilton had argued on at least four different occasions that he was the perfect candidate for a mission and Washington had refused to hear it.  He sent men of lesser rank.  He sent Laurens.  He sent Lafayette.  

Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever have a chance to distinguish himself again.  Yes, he had been made a Colonel.  However, he was still without a command and, even more infuriating, Washington rarely let him leave the camp.  Not even to deliver local missives and directives.  Alex could feel himself going stir crazy.  

The only reprieve he’d been allowed was to accompany Washington two months ago on a state visit to Philip Schuyler’s house.  He had been ecstatic to spend some much-needed time with Eliza, and once they were reunited he felt comfortably more at ease for the duration of the trip.  Until they had pointed their horses back towards the camp.  At this rate the war would be over, and he would never have a chance to show his true mettle in battle.  

It was little things that had started to irk him recently.  Washington refused to let him handle certain aspects of his personal correspondence, something he had always trusted him with prior to his capture.  Specifically, he was not allowed to handle any correspondence to or from his own father-in-law. It wasn’t like they were new, spoken rules either. It was all just subtle dismissals or non-answers when he would have ordinarily been included. There seemed to be no reason for it, and none was given to him by Washington.  

He stared at the ring on his finger.  Perhaps, in hindsight, he should not have taken a three-and-a-half-week honeymoon with Eliza.  Washington had said to take his time.  It was supposed to be an extended recovery as well as a honeymoon.  Eliza had been a Godsend, as she always was.  But since his return, nothing had been the way he had hoped it would be.  

When the General had promoted him, he thought he was on the cusp of getting his own command.  Instead he had languished under the General’s constant and careful watch with no opportunity to advance any further.  It was maddening.  

Alexander took a deep breath and tried to calm his internal rage.  Washington had sent for him and he needed to be professional.  He would be professional.  It didn’t matter how familiar his interactions with the General had often been.  Alex was determined to show him that he was a true soldier.  

He entered Washington’s office and stood before his desk.  “You wished to see me, Your Excellency?”

“Yes, Hamilton.  Sit down.”  Washington motioned to the seat in front of his desk.  Alex caught a glimpse of the now familiar handwriting of Philip Schuyler scrawled across a new letter on the general’s desk.  Alex tried not to let his annoyance show.  He felt like he was being purposely kept in the dark about something.  

“I have new orders for you.  You have proven that you have a brilliant mind.  Major General Schuyler is in need of assistance in much the same way that you have served me here.  You know he is much more politically involved than I am.  You are the natural candidate for this position.” The General hesitated, before continuing with finality.  “I am assigning you to his command effective immediately.  I trust you will work as hard to prove yourself for your father-in-law as you have for me?”

Alexander blinked at him. His lips opened slightly, then closed again.  Alex could not believe it.  He was literally at a loss for words. Am I being… dismissed? Is the General actually dismissing me?  Why?

“Alexander?” the General prodded, gently. 

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” He responded, finally. 

“On the contrary, Alexander.  You’ve excelled here!  This is a task that I truly believe you are uniquely suited to.  You are phenomenal with numbers and adept at politics.”  

“But, you’re sending me away?”

“Alex, I know you want to be something great after the war and I know you can be.  I’m looking at your strengths and I think this will help you get what you want if we can manage to win this war.  Your father-in-law is well connected.”

“But, I’m… I don’t understand.  Why now?  I know you haven’t trusted me since I was captured.  Not really, but why now?”  Alexander felt his face growing hot.  He felt a familiar sting in the corners of his eyes.  He grit his teeth and refused to look at the General.  It wasn’t fair.  All he’d ever asked for was a chance to lead men.  He should have known that Washington would never give it to him.  

“Not at all! You have it all wrong, Alexander. It’s not that I don’t trust you!  You are a man of highest honor.  I don’t think you realize how highly I value your contributions, Alexander.  But, I have to make the best decisions for the army as a whole.  You must be able to understand you are wasted here as things stand now.  I am trying to help you.  You are perfect for this position with Schuyler.  Please see reason.”

“As things stand now...” He repeated, bitterly. “I see.  Fine.  When should I report to my new post?”  Alex just wanted the conversation to be over.  I can’t believe he’s actually dismissing me.  Alex could think of nothing that he could have done differently.  They think I’m weak.  They think I can’t handle myself in a fight.  

Alex never could recall the exact events of his capture.  He guessed that he’d either been knocked over the head pretty hard or fallen off his horse and hit his head.  The one thing he knew was that he must have been unconscious when they took him.  Alex could fight.  He’d had to on many occasions.  But they refused to see it. This wasn’t technically a demotion, but it still stung like one. 

“You can leave anytime you want in the next three days.  I know you will want to spend some time with Laurens and Lafayette.”

“And will I require a babysitter on the way there?”  Alex couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.  

“I’m sure you are more than capable of getting home on your own.  Just be careful.”

“Huh, I wouldn’t have believed you thought me capable of doing anything on my own after the last few months.”

“Alexander…”

“Forget it.  I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Son.”

“I’m.  Not.  Your.  SON!”

There was a stunned silence in the room.  Alex had never raised his voice to Washington in that way.  They both knew he had crossed a line.  

“Go home, Alexander.  Go see Eliza.  Perhaps, when you do, you will see my reasoning.”

“Just… Did you ever intend… Were you ever going to trust me with a command?  What do the others have that I don’t?”  Alexander’s voice left him.  He’d lose it if he tried to say another word.  

“Alex, you’re the best of my men, and because of that, I need you alive.  I need your mind to help us succeed.  If we win, we’re going to need you after the war. I’m going to need you after the war.  I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s for the best.  You will see that in time.”

Alex shook his head and turned for the door.  

“I don’t think you’re weak, Alex,” Washington said softly.  “I know that’s what you believe of me.  But, I don’t.  If you were weak you would never have survived Brant.”

“But you won’t let me prove that I can lead, either.”

Alexander opened the office door and left without another word.  He was glad his back was to the general when the first hot, angry tear slipped down his cheek.  He dashed it away with the back of his hand before anyone else that might see had a chance to witness it.  

A few minutes later, Alex’s room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane.  It matched the sentiments that raged inside him.  Hurt.  Betrayal.  Loss.  The unfairness of the whole situation.  Alexander had played over the events of his ambush and captivity a million times.  He could think of nothing that he had done wrong or a step he could have taken differently.  There was the added continual irritation that he couldn’t actually remember how he'd been captured.  He threw another ink bottle and watched it satisfyingly shatter against the wall, spewing its contents out like blood spatter.  He’d already snapped two of his best quills.  He shoved some more of his meager belongings that he’d brought with him to the camp into the leather saddle bags he’d take home.  Most of his things had been left with Eliza at the Schuyler residence.  Schuyler!  A water glass met its end against the opposite wall as Alexander’s thoughts were once again directed to his new posting.  

John could hear the cacophony of sound emanating from Alex’s quarters.  What the hell had Washington told him?  John knew Alex would never admit it, but the General was like a father to him.  He knew that Alex held him in the highest esteem.  He decided he had better go and find out before Alex hurt himself.  

He opened the door to Alex’s room and ducked as a boot was hurled in his direction.  

“Woah!  Hammy!  What are you doing?” Laurens asked.  

“Packing!  Maybe you should have knocked.”

John held his hands up to Alex.  “Easy, brother.  I’m not here to fight.  What’s happened?  Talk to me.  We can always talk, you and me.  What happened between you and the General?”

“His Excellency,” Alexander spat the title out like a bad taste in his mouth, “is sending me away.  I’m being reassigned to Major General Schuyler.”

“Your father-in-law?”

Alexander simply grunted his assent as he continued shoving his things into an already overstuffed bag.  

“Did he say why?”

“Apparently Schuyler is in need of my brain.  I’m too smart to remain here.  But, really I know he just thinks I’m weak and incapable of leading.  He’s getting rid of me.”

“Alex, I don’t think-”

“He’s never trusted me.  Not since… not since Brant.  I don’t know what else I could have done.  I’ve played it over and over and over again in my head.  I didn’t divulge a single secret.  Not one.  I don’t understand why he no longer thinks I’m good enough to be in his family.  He’s… He’s throwing me away.”  Alex launched another ink bottle.  This one nearly went through the window, but instead splattered the window frame and sill, irreparably staining the wood black.  

“Alex! Stop it!  Don’t you see what he’s doing?  He’s setting you up for a position of influence after the war.  Isn’t that what you wanted?  You’ll be able to do so much more for us there than you can here.  You’re so perfect for this role.”

“I don’t care about politics!" Alex thundered.  "I can fight!  I want to fight!  It’s all I’ve ever wanted.  Do you know my happiest moment in this army?  It was when Washington agreed to let me go on that mission to New York.  Don’t you get it?  He’s never going to let me do that again.  If only I hadn’t gotten caught.  It would have been perfect!  But Brant!  He had to ruin EVERYTHING!”

John stared, horror-struck, as Alex’s face crumpled and he turned away from him, shoulders shaking, breath heaving.  He’d never seen Alexander like this.  He felt bad for him, but also relieved.  He’d known that the last few months had been exceptionally difficult for Hamilton. Maybe if he spent some time at home he’d finally be able to move on?   

“Alex, you’ve not been happy here for months.  I’ve seen it every day.  Perhaps this new posting will help; will be better for you.”

“You sound just like him.  If I’m not happy here, whose fault is that?”  Alex’s words were thick with emotion.  He’d barely been able to get the argument out.  

“You and I both know that Washington thinks the world of you.  He wouldn’t have promoted you if he didn’t.”

Alex did not turn around to face him.  He remained stubbornly staring in the opposite direction.  

There was a quiet knock at the door and then Lafayette entered the room.

“Mon dieu, Alexandre.  Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici? Tout le campement peut vous entendre!” 

“Alex has been reassigned to Schuyler’s command,” John answered for him.  

“Ah.  I see.  And our petit leon doesn’t want to go,” Lafayette inferred.  

“Don’t call me that!  I can fight just as good as anyone in this camp!”

“No one is saying you can’t, mon frere.”  Lafayette responded gently.  “Schuyler is well connected.  This may be a great opportunity for you.  You are more than suited to the task.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him-”

“That’s what the general said,” Alexander and Laurens spoke at the same time, talking over each other.  

“Alexandre, you know how highly his Excellency thinks of you-”

“Do I?” Alex spat.

“Don’t be like that, you know he does.  He has to make decisions that are best for the whole army.  Not just him.  I’m certain he wouldn’t send you away for any other reason.  Nous sommes une famille- You know that.”

Alex gave a strangled, disgusted cry at that point.  John watched as he snatched up his bag and faced them, heading for the door.  His face was red and stained with a combination of tears and ink.  Everything about him was in shambles, his normally pristine uniform was also spattered with black ink.  

“Not anymore,” Alex concluded with finality.  

John and Lafayette watched in stunned silence as he left without giving them another look.  

The General watched from his window, dumbfounded, as Hamilton stormed from his quarters, threw his saddle bags on his horse and galloped away. He didn’t even say goodbye. With their recent falling out weighing heavily in his chest, the General stepped away from the window and turned back to his desk. Ideally Hamilton’s new commanding officer should know of their arrangement before his new chief of staff arrived, but then again, everything Alexander did was unconventional. Washington dipped his quill and brought it to the fresh parchment. 

To Maj. Gen. P. Schuyler

I write to you, having received your recent letter, regarding the joyous news of Col. and Mrs. Hamilton. You have my congratulations, dear sir. 

While I join you in your joy, I join you as well in your fear for them. 

I have had the pleasure of helping to raise my beloved wife’s children, and while I adore them as my own, I confess to you that I will never cease in my regret as to never having sired my own. I would like to think I have been a father to them, and, in a way, to Col. Hamilton and the others in this time, but I will never know the joy it is to hold one’s own child. 

I will not let Alexander know that same grievance. 

Rest assured, sir. Our boy will see the birth of his child, so help me God. 

I concur with your recommendation and am henceforth reassigning Col. Hamilton as Chief of Staff under your command in Albany. I have just informed him accordingly. Unsurprisingly, the young Colonel reacted poorly, but at the end of the day he is a soldier, one of the best, and he will do as he is told. I gave him 3 days to collect himself and make his farewells before journeying north, but it appears as though Hamilton has already left, without so much as a goodbye. I had very much hoped to speak with him again before his departure, but I can understand how he must feel. I know how hard it is to be shuffled about in war times, especially considering how fond he was of the men here. 

That said, I should think he would be at least a little pleased. Most men with Alexander’s political interests would view this assignment as a promotion- a highly coveted position. Not only will it be the perfect job for him, but at every moment he will be within reach of his beloved wife. I only wish the same misfortune would fall on me! 

Alas, as he has departed so quickly, I’ve no doubt he will reach you before this notice does. Still, please send word when he has arrived. It is quite a lengthy journey, and you are aware of the extent to which I worry about dear Hamilton, especially in light of the events of last fall. 

The General hesitated, ready to end the letter there, caring but professional. But, with another thought nagging at his paternal heart, he dipped his quill again and penned one last sentiment. 

I beg of you sir, take care of him, for me. Protect him from his greatest enemy. Guard young Mr. Hamilton from himself. I am sure the presence of the charming Eliza will help, but in my experience, Alexander is quite quick to disregard all sense of not only safety, but personal wellbeing. Of course, it is a war, and an undersupplied one at that, but do see that he does not overwork or over-tire himself as he has a habit of doing. All of our plotting would be for naught if the boy were to catch his death before meeting his child, would it not? 

Convey my regards to your family. 

Respectfully, 

              G.  Washington 

A soft knock at the door brought George’s attention back into the present moment as he set down his quill. He groaned softly to himself. What could anyone possibly want now? This was shaping up to be one of the worst mornings in recent memory. 

“Come,” he barked. 

“Am I interrupting? I can come back later…” An abnormally timid-looking John Laurens appeared halfway through the doorway. 

“My God, Laurens!” The General gaped at the disheveled officer before him. “What happened to your uniform! You’re all covered in... in…” 

“It’s ink sir.” 

“Ink?” 

“Yes sir… It was Alexander.” 

“He… spilled it on you?”  Washington blinked at him, utterly confused 

“Um.  No, sir.  He threw it.  All of it actually.”  Laurens shuffled awkwardly. 

“Hamilton threw an ink well at you? Why!?” 

“No- well. Not at me, sir. He told us of his new assignment. He was quite angry. I found him tearing apart his quarters. He threw the ink at the wall, I just got in the way.” 

“I see.” Washington took a deep breath, trying to calm his mind. “Is there something you needed, Mister Laurens?” 

“Just to report that Alexander had left.” 

He eyed the uncomfortable aide, inquisitively. “There’s something else.” 

“Sir… If I may.” Laurens hesitated. “Why did you transfer Alexander?” 

Washington glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “Are you here to question my decision as well?” 

“No, sir! Not at all. I’m sure you had good reason to do so. Lafayette and I agreed that it seems perfect for his political leanings and talents. But it’s so sudden- I just...” John stammered 

“Eliza is pregnant.” 

The younger man stopped speaking instantly, his mouth rounding into a silent “oh”. 

“I trust you can keep that information to yourself? Even Alexander, himself, doesn’t know that he’s about to be a father.”  Washington sighed, tired of explaining his actions. “Major General Schuyler wrote to me both requesting assistance and informing me of the happy news. I made my decision. That’s all I’ll say on the matter. Now, if you’ll please, this morning has been extremely trying and I need some time alone.” 

“Of course, sir.”

The General relaxed and allowed his gaze to return to the letters on his desk before once more having his attention diverted away. 

“And sir?” 

“Yes?” Washington answered, tersely. 

“Not that it counts for anything, but I would have done the same.” 

He looked up again, this time pleasantly surprised by this sudden display of empathetic solidarity. 

“Thank you, John. Truly.” 

The younger man gave him a small smile, a short nod, and left, gently closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Alex had a lot of time to ponder what had transpired while he made his way home.  The ironic thought occurred to him that it was a good thing no one attacked him on this ride. He would have had no trouble killing anyone in the state he was in when he left the camp.  But now, three day’s hard ride later, as the city lights came into view, Alex just felt tired.  He wanted a bed and Eliza.  His new assignment didn’t begin for another four days.  He needed time to process his emotions.  He didn’t like the way he’d left things with John and Lafayette.  He told himself that he didn’t care about how he left things with Washington.  He knew it was a lie.  

He was just so angry… so hurt.  What else could he do to prove he was worthy of their trust and belief?  This same thought process had circled through his head dozens of times on the journey home.  He had failed Washington.  He didn’t know how, but he must have.  It was the only thing that made sense.  Or he’s trying to protect you and simultaneously trying to give you what you want, whispered a tiny compliant voice in the back of his head.  Alexander stomped on that tiny voice.  He didn’t need protecting.  

As he neared home, he felt all his frustration and anger settle into exhaustion.  His whole body ached, and he realized he had not ridden this far, this hard since the previous September when he’d been on his way back to camp from New York.  By the time he handed his horse off to the Schuyler’s groomsman and slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, he was bone weary. 

He looked up as light spilled out of the door onto the front steps.  Eliza.  He took a deep breath and melted into her arms.  He held her tight as he felt the emotion rising in him.  

“Alexander?  What are you doing home!?” He didn’t reply, so she continued, a bit more panicked. “Alexander, are you alright?  Are you hurt, my love?”

“No,” he managed to gasp out.  “Just tired.  And… and disappointed.” And angry and hurt.  

“Disappointed?  With whom?”  Eliza guided him into the sitting room just off from the front door.  He saw her shawl resting on the chair by the window, which made him smile.  

“Myself.  Washington.  The list is rather long at the moment.”

“Washington?  But you adore him and he, you.”  

“Apparently that is not the case.  He has dismissed me from his service and sent me… Well, he’s sent me here.  To your father. I’m to be his new chief of staff.”

“Oh!  That’s wonderful.  You’re so perfect for that role.  He must be setting you up for a position of influence after the war.”

Alexander looked at her utterly dumbfounded.  They were the exact same words that John had said to him.  Why did everyone think he wasn’t fit for fighting?  But then he stopped and looked at Eliza.  Really looked at her.  Her cheeks were fuller than normal.  Her dress was tighter around the middle.  Her shoulders more softly rounded.  And… And she was positively glowing, her hand resting on her abdomen.  

“Eliza?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Eliza, is there something that I should know?”

There was that lovely blush again that made his heart feel like it would stop beating.  

“Well… Not enough that we need to announce it to the world yet.  Mother and Angelica said I should wait for at least another month before we make it official.”

“But… But… But you are… You’re with child?  My child?”

“Yes, of course your child, you silly man.”

Alex picked her up by the waist and swung her around before quickly but carefully setting her back down.  “I’m sorry.  Did I hurt you?  Are you ok?”  

“I’m fine, Alexander.  We’re fine.”  She went up on her tiptoes to give him a gentle kiss.  

They remained standing, his hands on Eliza's narrow waist and her arms wrapped around the back of his neck.  

“How long have you known?  Or at least, suspected?” he asked breathlessly at their parting.

“A month or so.”

“Why didn’t you write to me sooner?”

“Well, these things don’t always work out and I didn’t want to worry you.  I know how important the war is to you.”

“You should have told me.”

“I would have.  I was just hoping that the war would be over sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, well.  I’m here now.”  There was an edge of bitterness to his voice that he couldn’t hide.  

“Alexander, this is a great opportunity for you.  I know you feel like you’ve been banished.  I can see it all over your face.  But please, take a moment, a few days even, and try to see the opportunity for what it is: a chance to advance… to be part of something great.  You’ll be in a prime position to mold this nation once the war is over.  

“I’m just…” 

“Hurt?” Eliza finished his sentence.  

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not to everyone, I’m sure.  But it is to me.”

How does she do that? he asks himself.  They had not known each other all that long, and yet, she could read him as if he were an open book.  

“Why do you believe in me when no one else does.”

“I don’t think your assessment of the situation is at all correct, Alexander.  I have known my father and the General all my life.  They both think very highly of you.  They do not think you are less than, or weak.  They are trying to use your strengths to the best of your abilities.”

Alexander made a noise as if he were going to protest.

“No.  Hear me out,” she insisted.  “You may be a good fighter, but you are excellent when it comes to words, to organization, financial prowess, and yes, even politics.  Your ability to fight and be brave in battle really is beside the point.  Give it time, my love.”  She pulled the ribbon out of his hair so she could run her hands through it.  

Alex sighed and leaned his forehead against hers.  Her touch always seemed to soothe him.  

“I know you want to fight, Alexander.  But this is the best place for you to fight.  The place where you can truly do the most good.  With your pen, not your fists.  I know it’s not what you had hoped for, but it is still where you will be of the most use.  I promise.”

“I will try.  It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“I know.  But, on the plus side,” her lips brushed his again, “You have me.”

He hummed against her in response, smiling.  

“Come on.  Let’s see about getting you something to eat and then a bath.  You must be exhausted.”

Alex let Eliza lead him through the house to the kitchens to the promised meal and bath.  

Mid-August 1781

It had been four months since Hamilton had been dismissed from Washington’s service and sent to work for his father-in-law.  It had been a challenging assignment indeed.  He hated to admit it, but his brain had enjoyed the exercise and the work.  He had managed to secure alliances and supplies at Philip Schuyler’s side much easier than he had when writing from the field.  

Governmentally, he had learned a lot.  Politics was a complicated game, a dance even, and Alex had proven to be quite adept at it.  It helped that he was singularly gifted with a pen, but he had already known that.  What he had found was that politically, people were more easily persuaded if they could hear him speak in addition to simply reading his words.  

He sat in his office, writing out another letter addressing the need for their continued alliance with France and the benefits thereof.  He would be going before congress to argue this very point the day after tomorrow.  He was good at arguing too.  Another thing, he had known, but now had been able to put to some real, positive use in a tangible way.  

He looked up at a knock on the open door of his office.  “Hello, Major General.  What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to let you know that General Washington will be arriving for an official visit to Congress in a couple of days.  He’s been invited for dinner and I would love it if you and Eliza would join us.  I’m sure he is eager to see you.  And I know you think very highly of him.”

“Yes,” Alexander responded slowly.  “I suppose Eliza and I could attend.”  His tone was less than enthusiastic.  He wasn’t sure he was ready to see Washington.  He had thought about him a lot over the past few months, but he had not forgiven him.  It still hurt.  He still felt deeply betrayed.  

“Wonderful! That’s settled then.  I will let Mrs. Schuyler know you and Eliza will be with us.”

As Philip left, Alex let out a slow breath.  He was distinctly not ready to face the general.  But it appeared, for matters of state, he would have too.  Great.  

When he got home, Eliza could tell something was off.  He was short with her and snapped at the servants, which he almost never did.  Alex dropped into a chair in the kitchen and huffed out a frustrated groan.  

“Alexander, what is going on with you?  You don’t seem yourself.”

“We have been invited to dinner with your parents… and General Washington, the day after tomorrow.”  Alex put his head in his hands.  

“Well that’s wonderful.  Oh, wait.  Are you still upset with him?”

“Of course I’m still upset!”  Alex took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.  I do not mean to snap at you.  Yes, I’m still upset.  I don’t know that I’m ready to face him.”

“But you’ve been so happy lately.  You’ve thrown yourself into your work and you’re- you’re really good at it.  Even Father has said so, on many occasions.”

“You don’t understand.  I didn’t even say goodbye when I left, to any of them.  I was so hurt and so angry.  I still feel like I will never measure up to what Washington wanted of me.  He saw me broken and I was never whole in his eyes after that.”

“I do not think you are reading this right, Alex.  Perhaps the General was overprotective, but that’s only because he thinks of you like a son.”

Alex nearly growled at this.  

“Alexander.  He is not your father.  He’s not the man who abandoned you.”

“No, he’s the one who threw me out.”  

“No, he didn’t.  He sent you where you could be the most useful.”  She held up her hand at his protest.  “Regardless, you need to talk to him.  You need to get all this out in the open between the two of you.  Perhaps there will be time after dinner.”

“I don’t know.  I don’t want to go.”

“Alexander, you are many things, but a coward is not one of them.  You can’t let this fester between the two of you.  You both think too highly of each other.”

Alex pursed his lips.  There was no winning an argument with Eliza when she was being this logical.  

“How about this,” she continued.  “If you can’t make it through dinner, or don’t think you can confront him and say what you need to say, then we will excuse ourselves early under the guise that my condition has made me tired and I need to retire.  No one will be any the wiser or think any less of you.”

“Okay.  I will try.”  Alex rested his hand against her growing belly. 

“You can do this, my love.” She said as wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, fingers playing lightly with his hair.  “It’s one evening and you are a very gifted orator.  I’m certain you can hold the conversation for just a few short hours.”

The start of the evening found Alex standing dutifully next to Philip Schuyler, with Eliza at his side. They stood in the foyer of the large house, waiting to receive Washington and his small delegation which was to mercifully only consist of Laurens and Lafayette. Alex was grateful for their visit, at least. It would be very good to see his friends again. He only hoped they could put their last conversation behind them. 

Alex tried his best to carefully school his facial features into passive aloofness.  

The arriving party disembarked from the carriage one hour before dinner was set to be served.  Washington had addressed the congress earlier that day, citing plans for the war effort and what resources they were expecting to arrive from France.  Lafayette had also reported on this.  Alexander had managed to avoid being in the same room with them.  

Washington proceeded up the front steps, Laurens and Lafayette flanking him a step behind.  He shook Alex’s hand warmly.  

“Good to see you, Hamilton.  We have missed you.” Whose fault is that? Alex fumed silently.  “I’m so glad you could join us this evening.”  

“Thank you, Your Excellency.  It’s good to see you as well.”  Alex knew his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.  It was the best he could do.  

John and Laf embraced him warmly.  “We have indeed missed you so very much, Alex.  You look great.  Eliza seems to have finally helped you get some meat on your bones,” John marveled.  

Alex smiled warmly and replied, “Pregnancy has agreed with both of us.”  They all laughed, and Alex felt his tension lessen as John unreservedly embraced Eliza.  

“Tu es radieuse, ma chère Eliza,” Lafayette cooed at Eliza, going in for his own embrace.  “Alexandre, you simply must tell us what she has done to get you to gain weight!”

Alex laughed out loud.  The first time he’d felt truly happy since finding out that Washington was coming for a visit.  

“Well, there’s plenty of food here in the city for one and also it’s much better quality that what you get in camp… If you can even call that food.”

“It suits you, mon ami.  I like this domestic version of you.”

Eliza patted Alex’s arm.  “Why don’t the three of you take a few minutes to catch up in the parlor.”

The three young officers moved towards the front sitting room.  Washington and Schuyler had already secluded themselves in the study.  Hamilton knew they would be in there for a while, probably until right before dinner.  

Alex took the chair by the window, while Laurens and Lafayette shared the settee.  

“So, how have things been?” Alexander asked, trying to maintain a neutral expression.  

“Bien. Les choses se sont bien passées.”  Lafayette laid his head back against the top of the couch.  He looks tired, Alexander thought.  Both men looked tired.  And thin.  

“Still a lack of food in camp, I see,” he remarked.  

“Yes, we’ve not been able to live it up quite as well as you have in this cushy appointment.”

“You know I didn’t choose this,” Alex responded defensively.  God, I would give anything to trade places with either one of them!  Don’t they know that?

“Non, mon ami.  We’re only teasing.  We’ve missed you.”

Alex looked away.  “Have either of you tried to talk to Washington.  To see if he’ll let me come back?”

“No.  But, then, why would you want to?  You get to see your wife every day and you have a child on the way,” John replied calmly.  

“You know as well as I do that countless soldiers in this war, in my exact same circumstances, die in battle every day.  Why should I be treated any differently?”

“Alexandre, you cannot tell me that you have not enjoyed every day of your posting here.  You were made for this assignment.”

“But I don't want it.  I want to fight,” Alex retorted.

“You are fighting.  We have more supplies and stronger alliances ever since you took up this assignment.  Even the French have noticed your talents.  That can’t go without saying,” Lafayette replied.  

“It’s all fine for you two.  You both still have a chance to distinguish yourself in battlefield glory.  That’s the kind of thing that people will remember after the war.  Not the fact that I wrote some cleverly written letters far behind friendly lines.”

“Alexandre, maybe it’s your pride getting in the way of your brain, but you have a very significant misconception of history.  France has gone through many wars.  Soldiers are not remembered.  Statesmen are.  We are on the cusp of history here.  You know what writes history?  Pens.  And you are incredibly gifted with yours.  Stop selling yourself short.”  Lafayette’s French accent was thicker than normal as he spoke forcefully.  He was impassioned, that much was obvious.  

Alex did not want a lecture.  “You don’t understand.  I’m a bastard who came from nothing.  I’m not even a true American.”  Alex stopped.  He felt stupid.  Laf wasn’t an American either.  “What I mean is that, you're a titled noble, Marquis de Lafayette.  I’m nobody.”

“Your talents were hand-picked by Washington.  My father had to write a letter to get me on his staff,” Laurens interjected.  

“Yes, and then he dismissed me.”

“He sent you where you could do the most good.  Honestly, Alex, we are going around in circles.  I can’t believe after all this time you can’t see the reason in his decision.  He thought you would be happy.”

“But he didn’t ask me what I wanted.”

“He doesn’t have too.  He’s the commander in chief, or have you forgotten?  You’re the one who is always pointing out that he’s not your father.”  That was a low blow, even for John.  The words stung at Alex's heart.  

“I would have hoped that you two would have been on my side.  But perhaps you don’t think I’m fit to fight either.”

“Mon petit leon, you know that is not true!” 

“I told you not to call me that!” Alexander snapped, bitterly. 

“Why do you think we called you that in the first place?” Lafayette continued, patiently. “You are a great warrior, with the heart of a lion.  But there is no denying that as good of a fighter as you are, you are a better statesman.”

Alexander growled in frustration.  This was not how he’d wanted this conversation to go.  He could feel his anger rising.  Why was no one on his side?  

“Alex, no one thinks you’re weak.  I know we’ve said this before, but it’s still true,” John stated quietly.  

“You know he didn’t send me on a single mission after I was captured.  Not once.  I feel like a fraud.  I sit here with the rank of Colonel designated on my shoulder, and I don’t think I really earned it.  I feel like he promoted me out of sympathy.  There were several missions that I could have led.  Many less dangerous than the one that got me caught in the first place.  But he wouldn’t give me the chance to redeem myself.”

“There was nothing to redeem yourself from, mon ami.  Your mission was a success.”

“Then why did he never trust me again after that?”

“I think you mistake the general’s trust for his fondness of you and his desire to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting.  That’s my point.”

The door to the study at the end of the hall opened and the men could hear Washington and Schuyler chatting amiably.  

“Alexander,” called Eliza, “It’s almost time for dinner.  Would John and Gilbert like to wash up?”

“Oui, madame.”  Lafayette stood and squeezed Alex’s shoulder.  “Perhaps we can continue this at another time, non?”

Alex nodded and followed his two friends out of the parlor.  He needed to freshen up a bit himself and he needed a few moments to calm his mind.  The anger continued to boil just beneath the surface.  He knew what they said made sense, but he couldn’t shake the sense of frustration and betrayal.  

He felt a hand on his shoulder.  Eliza pulled him in for a kiss.  “Stop fretting, my love.  It’s just dinner.  Remember our deal.  I know you feel like the world is against you.  But it’s not.  If you won’t believe anything else, can you at least believe that I am on your side?”

He took a deep signing breath, inhaling her scent and letting it wrap around him like armor.  “Always.  Thank you for that.”  He took her hand and offered his arm.  They turned and headed for the dining room as one. 

Chapter Text

Alexander swirled the wine in his glass, staring fixedly into its red depths.  He had been uncharacteristically quiet through most of the formal dinner at the Schuyler’s.  He couldn’t bring himself to meet Washington’s gaze.  The more he tried to quash his ire, the more it tried to rear its ugly head.  He still felt angry and betrayed at his dismissal.  Alex tried his best to hide the fact that he was seething on the inside, but he had never been very good at moderating his emotions.  Eliza laid a gentle hand on his arm, bringing him out of his fury filled reverie.  He set his wine glass down

“Alexander, perhaps we should retire early?” she whispered so only he could hear.  

“No, my dear.  I’ll be fine.  I just have to get through it.”  He tried to focus on the conversation.  He glanced over at Lafayette and Laurens.  Lafayette was eagerly contributing to the talk of strategy and policy.  Laurens was eyeing him warily while watching Eliza pat his arm soothingly.  Alex dropped his gaze.  

He was glad to see them, of course, but none of them had spoken up on his behalf when Washington had sent him away.  Did they all truly believe that he wasn’t capable of handling himself in battle?  That he was no longer strong enough to be part of their family?  He had always thought of them as family.  Washington had said that his military boys were his family.  And then he’d sent him away.  

He knew Washington often referred to him as his son, but he did the same with Lafayette, who had not been dismissed from his service.  That left the only reason Alex could think of: Washington thought he wasn’t capable of fighting, worthy of fighting.   They had denied it, of course, but he couldn’t help but wonder.  Things just hadn’t been the same since that ill-fated mission. 

He’d given him the assignment to New York, and it had nearly killed him.  So, he held him back to prevent him actually being killed.  But, the two things that bothered Alex in this regard, were that: one, he wasn’t afraid to die; and two, his capture was random.  It was an unplanned ambush, Brant had said as much.  

No one was out to get him.  It could have been any Colonial officer that they had come across, it could have been Laurens, or Lafayette, or any other aide.  There was nothing that could have been done differently or that Alexander had done wrong.  So why had Washington coddled him and refused to let him try again, other than the fact that he didn’t believe he had it in him?  

Alex had felt just as betrayed as the day his father had walked out on him.  He returned his gaze to his crimson wine.  I’m not weak! He argued with himself.  I’m not!  I’ll find a way to prove that I’m just as capable.  

“Alexander,” Washington spoke from the other end of the table, “domestic life seems to be suiting you.  Philip says you have been a true asset and that it is down to you that we have been able to secure as many supplies and foreign aid as we have recently.”

Alex didn’t think he’d trust himself to respond to Washington directly addressing him.  He nodded curtly.  “I suppose I have been of some use here.  Though it is a quiet posting.”  He kept his tone neutral and polite, though he couldn’t keep the tension from his voice.  

“I knew you would thrive here and would be an asset to Philip.  I knew you would do so much better here than in the field.”

Hamilton felt his pulse quicken.  He felt his blood pound in his temples.  “I’m… I was no good in the field?”

“No, Alexander.  That’s not what I meant.  I just-”

“Oh, I think you were clear enough, General!”

“Alexander,” Philip interjected, reprovingly. “General Washington has done you a great-”

“This doesn’t concern you, Philip!  This is between me and His Excellency,” another title spat out like an insult.  

Eliza laid a hand on his arm.  He knew she was trying to give him a way out, but he refused to take it.  

“Alexander, please, we should go,” she spoke softly, but he simply spoke over her protest in his rage, his voice growing with every attempt to stop him.

“You sit there like another king George, dictating to everyone around you-”

“Alexander!” Washington’s tone was quiet, but the warning obvious.  “This is not the time nor the place for this conversation.  Please lower your voice to an appropriate level before you say or do something you’ll regret.”

“Oh, am I talking too loud?  You know in my weakened state I have to be careful about getting over excited.  I guess that’s why you sent me to my wife, so she could act as a nursemaid to my infirmities.”  He heard Eliza hiss next to him at his overly cruel words.  He didn't have the mental capacity to apologize at the moment.  Though, in the back of his head, he knew he would have to pay for that later.  Both Washington and her father rose from their seats at his words as his rant continued.  

“Maybe if you’d actually ever listened to someone other than yourself, you’d know that in the almost year that it’s been since I was captured, I’ve done everything everyone’s ever asked of me.  Just like before.  My ordeal never affected my ability to do my job.  But do you know what did?  You! I don’t need protecting.  I never needed you or anyone else to tell me what to do.  

“Hamilton!” Washington’s use of his surname caught him off guard and got him to pause.  “This is not the place for this conversation, Colonel,” the General stated firmly.  

“Then where the hell is?” Alexander spat out across the dinner table.  He felt Eliza press her hand to his arm once again.  He yanked it away from her touch.  He was shaking with fury.  

“Meet me outside, in the garden.  We need to have a chat, just the two of us.  It is apparent that it is long overdue.”

“Fine!”  Alex shoved his chair back from the table and stormed out of the dining room.  A few seconds later he banged open the back door and stalked out into the Schuyler’s back garden.  The servants had lit the lamps, it was a pleasant evening and the party had been planning to spend some time enjoying the last of the summer warmth.  

A few moments later, Washington joined him, alone.  Though Alexander was certain Laurens and Lafayette were not far away.  

Alex turned to face the much larger man.  He was aware that this was the commander and chief of the entire army.  But now, in this moment, he was the man he’d idolized only to have that thrown back in his face.  The General would always see him as weak and incapable.  

“Alexander,” Washington started.  “This is not like you.  It’s clear that you’re upset, but you need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down like I’m a toddler about to have a tantrum.”

“Well, son, maybe you should stop acting like one.”

“I’m not your son.”

“Hamilton, why are you so upset?  I honestly thought you would enjoy your posting here.”

“And how many times did I ask you to send me here?”

“Well, you never asked me, son-”

“Don’t call me son.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed Laurens and Lafayette quietly emerging out of the house and into the garden in order to position themselves nearer to him.  Perhaps they sensed that he was not calming down and believed an intervention might be necessary.  Let them try...

“Alex, I’m not going to give you a command.  You’re about to be a father.  Your wife needs you.  This is absolutely not the time.  We are on the verge of victory and I’m going to need you after the war.”

“But once the war’s over, there won’t be a chance for me to distinguish myself in battle.  No one will know what I’m able to do.  How am I supposed to show my abilities if I never get the chance?  I’m not afraid to die.  Haven’t I proven that to you?  Just be honest! You don’t want me around anymore because of what they did to me.  You think I’m WEAK!”

“I’ve told you on multiple occasions that I.  Do.  Not.  Think.  You’re.  Weak!” Washington spoke forcefully at the continued attack on his character.  

The General sighed.  “Alex, you’re the strongest man I know. And your willingness to die is not the issue.  No one doubts your bravery, son,” his voice softer than before.  

“CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME!”  

Alexander stood as tall as he could, right in Washington’s face, pulling his fist back as if to strike the General.  Before he could bring his fist forward into Washington's shocked face, John and Lafayette were on him.  They each seized an arm and held him back.  

“Alex, stop!” John hissed in his ear.  

“Alexandre, arrêtez cet instant.   Pensez à qui vous vous adressez.” Laf growled in his other ear.  

Alex felt the words rushing out of him.  He was not about to stop now.  He needed to say this.  

He pulled at the arms that were holding him back from flying at Washington in a blind rage.  Laurens and Lafayette were absolutely not going to let him go and succeed at getting himself court martialed for attacking a superior officer, let alone General Washington.  So, Alex continued to scream at him.  

“I went through hell! And you never trusted me again!  Why!?  I almost died!  I didn’t reveal a single secret.  Not one.  I was tortured, beaten, burned and sliced up within an inch of my life.  I was threatened with rape throughout my confinement, and still I didn’t talk!”  

Washington gasped at this revelation.  Alex hadn’t meant for that to come out, but now that it had he didn’t see a reason to stop.  

“And still it wasn’t enough to prove that I was capable of handling a command.  I didn’t talk for three days! And it was still not good enough for you! What do you want from me?  What could I have done differently?  I’ve reviewed my ambush and capture over and over and over and I can’t think of one damn thing I could have done differently.  It could have happened to anyone.  No one could have prevented it! I’m not broken!  I’m not weak!  I survived.  We stopped Arnold.  But you never treated me the same after that!  You threw me away just like my father! Why was I never good enough? What does everyone else have that I don’t?” A small angry sound like a sob escaped Alex as he pulled in a breath.  

“Alexander, you were always good enough.  You are the best of my boys.  And I couldn’t lose another boy… another child.”  Washington’s voice was barely above a whisper.  

Another convulsive gasp of sorrow, anger and frustration escaped Alex.  “But I’m not your son.  I’m nobody’s son. And I’m not a child.”

“I know that you’re not a child.  And I apologize for treating you like one.  Alex, this is my fault.  I should have listened to you.  I didn’t mean to make you feel unworthy.”  The General’s face bore the distinct expression of deep regret and grief, his eyes overly bright in the soft moonlight. 

Washington continued in a slow and deliberate tone, barely above a whisper, “I can see that you’re upset beyond your ability to reason.” He paused, as if considering his words and swallowed.  “I think you should go with your friends and calm yourself down.  I… I’m so sorry.”

He cleared his throat uncharacteristically as if he was going to say something else, but no more words came.

John began to steer Alex towards the house.  

Washington held up his hand for one last brief statement.  “Please know, Alexander, that I have heard what you said.  I have a lot to consider.  I will think about it and then we’ll talk.  I promise.” He nodded reassuringly, his look almost pleading.  

Alex watched as Washington passed his hand over his face and turned to exit the garden.  He was leaving.  Alex felt all his anger and energy drain from him.  He hung his head as shame flooded through him.  John and Laf wordlessly tugged him towards the door of the house, still pinning his arms at his back.  

Alexander was further horrified to see Philip Schuyler standing by the back door.  His expression reflected deep disappointment, but also there seemed to be something else.  Alex couldn’t tell what that other look was.  It left him questioning.  He wondered if the evening could get any worse.  Then he saw Eliza, watching from their upstairs window.  Yes.  It definitely could get worse. 

Chapter Text

Alex was gently but firmly drawn away from the outside garden by his two friends.  They deposited him back in the sitting room while Washington took his leave from Philip Schuyler through the side garden.  

Laurens brought him a glass of whiskey and made him drink it there on the spot.  Now, he sat in the same chair he’d occupied earlier with his head in his hands.  

“That was… quite a display, Alexandre,” Lafayette started.  “I knew you were upset; I didn’t know you were that angry.  Do you really think we all thought you were weak and not worth keeping around?”

“Yes.  No.  I’m not sure what I thought.  It just… It just hurt to be sent away like that.  I thought I could get over it, but I couldn’t.  I thought the General didn’t want me around, that I had just been getting in the way because he saw me as useless.”

“Alex, Washington never saw you as useless.  He loves you.  You are probably the closest thing he has to a son.  You and Lafayette.”  John’s gaze was steady as he spoke.  Alex knew he was telling the truth.  The General had called him son enough times.  

“I’m such a fool.”  Alex sniffed.  

“Yes.  You are.” John had a faint smile on his face at this comment.  “But I don’t think, now that Washington knows why you were so upset, that he will dismiss you from the army all together.  It’s not like you disparaged him in public and called his ability to lead into question like that oaf, Charles Lee.  Your issue with him was intimately personal.”

Alex grunted his agreement with this.  

“You are uncharacteristically quiet, mon ami.  What are you thinking?” Lafayette probed.  

“I’m just tired.  Exhausted really.  I haven’t been able to sleep for the last few days, worrying about what I was going to say when I saw him for the first time since I left.”

“Well, no more need to worry about that.  I think it went about as badly as it could have, short of you out-right punching him.  But, it’s over now.” Laurens still had a smirk on his face as if he found the whole thing somewhat amusing. Alex huffed because he knew he probably did.  He would too if the situation were reversed. 

“Alexander?” Philip Schuyler poked his head into the sitting room.  

“Yes, sir?”

“We need to talk,” Philip stated.  “Lieutenant Colonel, Marquis, the general is waiting for you in the carriage.  He said he would wait for you to make your good-byes, but not to take too long.  You will be starting back for camp at first light.  Hamilton, meet me in my study when you're done seeing the gentlemen off.”  Schuyler took his leave of the three younger men to wait for him.  

Alex paled and swallowed hard.  If he’d have been a younger man, he would have thought that his father-in-law was about to give him sound hiding.  

The three friends shook hands and embraced.  

“Be careful.” Alex implored.  “You know I wish I was there with you.  I’ll continue to do what I can to help from here as long as I’m allowed.”

“You have made your wishes very clear this evening, mon petit leon,” Lafayette responded with his hand on Alex’s shoulder.  

“Indeed, Alex.  And I don’t think you can go any lower.  So, hold your head up.  I know the general learned something tonight, but did you?  Try to see how you can only go up from here.  Perhaps we can all leave the events of tonight a little wiser?”

“Hmm.  Yes.  If I still have a job after tonight.  I attacked the General!  What if they court martial me?  What have I done?  Oh, God!  Eliza.  What am I going to say if I get dismissed from the army altogether or if they charge me with the attack?”

“Relax, Alexander.  I don’t think you are going to get dismissed… Or court-martialed.  At least, not by your father-in-law.  That would be Washington’s call, and I don’t think he’s willing to go down that road where you are concerned.  As I said, you’re no Charles Lee,” John spat out the man’s name.  John rationalized.  “Besides, your disagreement with him was personal, not professional and you have not quarreled with him publicly.

“I hope you’re right.  I can’t take back tonight, and I’m not sure I want to.  I just wish I had been more in control.”

“It will be alright, Alexandre.  We shall see each other again soon,” Laf reassured him quietly.

Alexander walked them to the door and waved good-bye.  He couldn’t tell if Washington was watching from the carriage or not.  

He turned and squared his shoulders to go face his father-in-law.  

He knocked on the door of the study before he entered.  Philip was sitting at his desk, sipping on a glass of whiskey.  There was another glass already poured and waiting for Alex.  Philip motioned for him to take a seat across from him.  

“Am I to be taken to the woodshed?” Hamilton asked the Major General as he took the proffered chair.

“Do you think you should be?” he replied.

“Maybe… I don’t know.  Perhaps?”

“Hmm.  Perhaps you are wiser than you seemed earlier tonight.”  Philip swirled the brown liquid in his glass, a thoughtful expression on his face.  “I think there is something I need to tell you.” He fixed his gaze keenly on Alex, as if making sure he had his full and undivided attention before beginning.  “You have not treated Washington fairly.”  He raised his hand to silence Alexander’s dissents.  

“Let me speak, I think you have done enough talking for tonight.  You may shout that Washington is not your father, but you cannot make the same objections to me.  I trust you will give me more respect out of your love for my daughter.”

Alex sighed, properly chastised.  “Yes, sir.”

“Washington did not initiate your dismissal.  I requested it.  You have been aiming your anger at the wrong man.  When you married my daughter, I was presented with an unintentional glimpse of the scars you bear as a result of your ordeal.  You must know that I love you as one of my own children, which has only grown deeper over the course of our close working relationship these last few months.  I wanted nothing more than to protect you and, by extension my daughter, from the heartache of loss believing that you had suffered enough.  

“It was most likely folly on my part, but when I learned that Eliza was with child, I was afraid for you and I wrote to Washington in my weakness.  I explained that Eliza was pregnant and that I did not wish for my grandchild to grow up without a father.  In my determination to see you safely through the war, I cited your captivity and your scars as reasons that you had suffered enough for the cause.  I begged him to send you home.  Washington, in his fatherly affection for you, deigned to agree with me.  

“He might have explained some of this to you, but you left without giving him a chance.  However, when you arrived here, you conducted yourself professionally and you went above and beyond what I expected of you.  I foolishly thought you had adapted to your new position and were happy here.  Tonight has made it clear that you have not been happy.”

“Huh.”  Alexander slumped into his seat, dropping his head into his hands.  That was a lot to process.  He’d been so wrong.  So wrong for all these months.  How could he have misjudged the General so completely?  Alex, you knew he was right to send you here.  You let your pride and your own selfish desires get in the way.  “I have… been happy,” he said, barely above a whisper.  “I didn’t want to let myself admit it, but I have been glad of my time here and my time with Eliza.  I see that now.  I was just so angry at the way I was dismissed.”

“I took you from your family so that I could spare my own.  It was not my place and I should not have done so.  Washington is guilty of wanting to protect you and giving in to an old friend’s pleading.  Nothing more.  I do not think you will face any consequences for your actions from either of us tonight, though I’m certain you deserve it after that display in the garden. We are two old men who underestimated how much the young people in our lives thirst for glory and a chance to prove their mettle.  We had forgotten what it was like when we were young.  For that I am deeply sorry.”

“Then that’s why he wouldn’t let me handle the correspondence between the two of you?  You were negotiating for me to come here?  I thought he didn’t trust me and was working behind my back.”  If Alexander could have hung his head any lower, he would have. 

“Yes.  I asked him to be discreet.  Washington and I have been friends for many years, even before I had children.  You were always his most trusted aide.  How could you not know that?”

“Do you think the general will forgive me?”

“I am certain he already has.  Though, I do think you owe him an apology.”

Alex didn’t know what to say.  How could he have been so wrong?  He wanted to be angry with his father-in-law, but he couldn’t.  He had spent all his anger on Washington.

“I suppose that I do.  They leave at dawn.  I’m not sure when I will get the chance.”

“Well, at your next opportunity, I suggest that you do.  There is a war on, and no one is guaranteed tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, I believe you have one other person tonight that you need to speak with.”

Alex groaned.  He was not looking forward to explaining himself to Eliza.  

“Go on up, son, and face the music.  Get it over with.  That’s what I’ve learned.”

“Yes, sir.”  Alex got up to leave.  As an afterthought, he picked up the whiskey glass that had remained untouched and downed it in one go.  

Philip smirked at him, raising one questioning eyebrow.  “Liquid courage?”

“Exactly.”  Alex opened the door but stopped with his hand on the casing.  “Sir, thank you, for telling me.  I’ll promise I’ll do a better job to make you proud of me.  I won’t let you down again.”

“I’m already proud of you, son.”

For once, Alex believed that someone actually thought of him as a son.  Well, two men really, if he were honest with himself.  He’d spent so long resenting his biological father that he didn’t know how to process what Washington and Schuyler truly felt for him.  But, perhaps, when he held his own child, he would begin to understand.  

Washington sat in the carriage deep in thought.  Laurens and Lafayette were silent as well.  Perhaps they both felt as emotionally drained from the evening as he did.  

George played Hamilton’s words over and over in his head.  He knew the boy had been badly physically abused by Brant.  That would have been enough on its own for Washington to want to kill him.  But...  I was threatened with rape throughout my confinement.  That was what Alexander had said.  Washington was certain the boy had not meant to reveal that to him.  Still, the statement would not quiet in his mind.  That went so far beyond physical torture.  That aspect added an entire other layer to the trauma the boy had endured.  Had survived.  It made him even angrier at Arnold’s betrayal because it meant that he hadn’t been able to be there for Alex and he should have been.  Alexander had needed him and instead, he was off dealing with the traitor.  

“Did you know, either of you?” George finally asked his young aides.  “What Alexander said, about Brant threatening him.  Did you know?”

“Oui, Your Excellency.” Lafayette answered, hesitantly. “Alexandre told us about a week after his recovery.  Well, he told John first.”

The general fixed Laurens with a piercing gaze.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my story to tell, sir.  Alex only told me, told us, because he was having such terrible nightmares.  We were there for him every night.  It got pretty bad at one point and… and I was finally able to talk him into explaining why it had been so bad.”

“The morning that I returned?  He’d told you by that point? That’s why you were in his bed?”

“Yes, sir.  Well, he told Laf a few days later.  But that is essentially around the time that we found out.”

“You should have told me.”

“Sir, he was insistent that we not tell you.  He didn’t want you to think him any weaker.  I told him that was ridiculous, but he wouldn’t allow it.  I was honestly shocked that he brought it up tonight.”

“I wish I had known.  Why do you think it affected him so?  He doesn’t usually let words, or threats, get under his skin.”

John and Laf shared a meaningful glance, but neither moved to speak.  

“Gentleman, I think it’s time I knew the whole story, for Hamilton’s sake.  He’s floundering and I need all the information to be able to help him.”

“Sir, please understand we can’t tell you everything.” John looked to him, imploringly.  “The choice to tell you belongs only to Alexander.  Perhaps he will, one day. I can only say that it relates to an incident when he was much younger.  Now as far as Brant is concerned, I will say that he wasn’t successful in actually doing anything to him, but he was able to push Alexander in ways that merely torturing him would not have accomplished.   That monster is apparently very accomplished at reading people’s fears and he read Alex like an open book.  It’s part of why he stopped speaking while he was being held captive.”

Washington pursed his lips at these new details.  “Huh.  That is very… informative.”

“General, knowing this, would you honestly have done anything different?” Lafayette asked.  

“I don’t know, but I wish Alexander would have trusted me enough to tell me in the first place.”

“You know he was already having a hard time dealing with the fact that he thought we all assumed him to be weak.  He wasn’t about to reveal any more of the trauma he went through to anyone else,” Laurens replied, his voice very quiet.  “I’m not even sure he’s told Eliza about that aspect of his captivity.”

“I need to think.  We will speak no more of it for now.  Thank you both for sharing this with me.”

“Are you going to take any action against him, for tonight?” Laurens asked cautiously.  

“No.  No, I don’t think I will.  If I know Alex, he will beat himself up enough on his own.  And there is also the matter of Philip and Eliza.  I doubt very much that they will let him get away with his actions without voicing their own opinions.”

Washington noted that both boys seemed to release a breath they had been holding.  They were relieved. 

Alexander climbed the stairs to his and Eliza’s living quarters.  They had a bedroom and a little sitting room of their own at the top of the house.  The young colonel had not yet been able to find an affordable house for them yet, and the Schuylers had happily offered for them to stay there until they did.  

Eliza was waiting for him when he entered the room.  She crossed the space and immediately put her arms around him.  He sank into her embrace.  God, what did I ever do to deserve this woman?  Who am I kidding?  I absolutely don’t deserve her. 

“Are you alright, my love?” she asked quietly, with her face pressed into his chest.  

“I am.  God, I’ve been a fool.”  He couldn’t help but quirk his lips upward when he felt her nodding in agreement against his chest.    “Can you forgive me for my outburst tonight?”

“Yes, but I don’t think that I’m the one to whom you need to be apologizing.”

He sighed.  “I know.  Your father just told me the same thing.  Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know that Philip was the one who requested my transfer.”

“He did?  No, I did not know.  I’m so sorry.  Are you angry with him now?”

“I feel like I should be, but I’m not.  We had a good talk.  I was a little worried he was going to give me a tongue lashing, or maybe a birching,” Eliza snickered at the fear, “but he didn’t.  It was rather enlightening actually.”

“Well, you did put on quite the obnoxious show tonight.  You absolutely would have deserved a good thrashing.  Were you really going to hit General Washington if Laurens and the Marquis hadn’t held you back, like some silly schoolboy?”

“I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I’d like to say that I wouldn’t have, but…” he shook his head.  “I’m just glad that it’s out in the open and over with.  Though I am fairly certain that I will never have a chance to serve under Washington again.  I just hope that I have an opportunity to apologize to him at some point.  I have truly thought the worst of him over these last few months.  I don’t know how I let myself become so blinded.”

“Huh, finally figured that out, did you?  You and your stubborn pride, Alexander Hamilton.” 

“I’m so sorry for what I said about you.  You’re no nursemaid.  You’re… you’re my sanity.  My equal.  My soulmate.  I don’t know what I would have done without you during all of this.”  He couldn’t meet her eyes.  He still felt so ashamed. 

She stroked his cheek affectionately and then took his hand and led him to the bed so they could sit together.  She was already in her night dress.  “Come on.  You're tired and it’s late.  Let’s go ahead and get into bed.”

Alex took his boots and stockings off, then his breeches and waistcoat before climbing into bed.  He pulled Eliza close to him, curling against her and laying his head on her chest.  “I thought for sure you were going to have it out with me as well.”

She carded her fingers through his hair and was quiet for several moments.  “You would warrant it if I did,” she finally responded. 

“I would.  I do.  But I’m glad you are not.”

“Hmm,” she hummed and planted a kiss on the top of his head.  

“Why are you so good to me?  You always seem to know what I need in order to get your point across with as few words as possible.  How do you do that?” He gently caressed her ever expanding stomach, where their child nestled. 

“I just figure that you have enough words for both of us.  You’re the whirlwind and I’m the calm at the center of your storm.” 

“You know, Washington essentially said the same thing on our wedding day.”

“He’s a smart man.  Perhaps you should listen to him more often?” She tugged his hair, finally making him look up at her, her expression heavy with meaning.  The unspoken phrase between them: I told you so. 

“And… there it is,” he replied with a groan.  They both laughed.  

Chapter Text

Late-August, 1781

Lafayette stared at the communique from Mulligan regarding Rochambeau.  This could work.  This could actually work.  They might be able to actually beat the British empire.  He knew that France had done it before.  The back and forth between Britain and France had gone on for centuries.  But the Colonies?  Defeating the great British Empire.  That could be a turning point in human history.  He could already feel the weight of it.  

“What are you reading, Gilbert?” Washington asked from his desk on the other side of the room.

“General, I think we can end the war.”

“What?”  George took off the glasses he had started wearing.  

Lafayette handed him the missive.  He watched George’s face as he read and then reread the letter.  

“My God.  I think you’re right.  This changes everything.  The tailor certainly out did himself this time.”

“General.  We could really use Hamilton in this.   I know things were bad when we left, but I also know he feels awful about what happened.  You know he more than deserves to be involved if this is to be the end of the war.”

Washington sighed.  “Do you really think he’s ready?”

Lafayette fixed him with a steady gaze.  “Do you really think he isn’t?”  He held the general’s eyes.  “You were the one that apologized, even though Hamilton was ready to strike first.  You’ve never explained why though.  I know you regret sending him away, but you also never called him back.”

“I don’t regret sending him away. I do miss having him at my side. However, I did not consider his feelings in the way I dismissed him. I thought he would be happy to be closer to his new bride, especially knowing she was pregnant.  I truly misjudged his sentiments on the matter.”  

“Well, wouldn’t this be the best way to make it up to him?  Give him a chance at the battlefield glory that he wants so desperately.  Give him a chance to prove himself to you?”

“He doesn’t need to prove himself to me.”

“But Alexandre thinks he does.  He will never be satisfied until he can.”

“But he could die.”

“But he could also do something great!  He deserves it.  He needs it.  Give him a command.  He’s waited long enough.” Lafayette paused, trying to think of what else he could say to persuade Washington.  “You picked him to be your right-hand man.  You need him back,” he added softly.  

Washington sighed heavily.  “I know.”  George was thoughtful for a moment.  “He does now outrank you; you know.  And Laurens.  Will you be willing to serve under him?”

“I would be honored to serve under him.  And I am certain John would as well.”

“Fine, but you boys keep an eye on him.  I’ll write the letter to Schuyler explaining why I’m recalling his son-in-law and I’ll write to Alexander.  That letter should come from me.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Why don’t you go and tell Laurens that Alex will be returning to us.  I’m sure he’ll be eager to hear it.” 

Lafayette smiled widely at this.  “Yes sir!”  He left with a hasty salute to tell John the good news.  

September, 1781

Alex stood in front of Major General Schuyler’s desk.  They hadn’t spoken very much since the dinner party that ended so disastrously.  He was very glad he had not been dismissed.  He also knew the only reason he hadn’t been court-martialed was because the party had been a private affair and he’d not actually succeeded in hitting anyone, especially the General.  His talk with Philip afterward seemed to be all that needed to be said until he could find a way to apologize to Washington.  

He felt bad that he had let himself not only get so riled, but that he had shown such poor character.  The hurt he had felt had been so deep.  Still, at least it had all come out in the open and Washington seemed to have finally understood where he was coming from and how he had taken the dismissal.  Even with Laurens and Lafayette holding him back, Washington had been the one to apologize.  Alex had felt his anger melt away at the softly spoken words.  

Still, Alex knew his actions had not warranted further trust.  He had probably ruined any chance at the General taking him back.  He had proved to be too volatile. 

“I have a letter and a new commission from General Washington for you,” Philip Schuyler addressed him with a professional deportment, but his gaze was fatherly.    

“What?  Where?  When?”

Philip handed him the papers.  “I would start with the letter.  I think you will find it explains why he is sending you new orders.”

Alexander read the letter through a few times, trying to make sure he had read it correctly.  

                        Dear Alexander,

            I am writing to you to explain myself in these new orders.  I regret that I so greatly grieved you at your parting from us all those months ago.  I never meant to offend or slight you in any way.  I truly felt that I was helping your career along.  I did not account for your past experiences and how you would view your dismissal.  I am afraid that this underestimation on my part was the cause for our falling out at the recent dinner party.  Please accept this new commission as an olive branch from both myself and Major General Schuyler.  We both think very highly of you and genuinely believe you are ready to command your own battalion.  See that you do not waste this opportunity.  We are of the belief that the plans you will find detailed in your commission will lead to a swift end of this war.  

           And please son, for God’s sakes, be careful. I must tell you that having to write a letter informing Mrs. Hamilton of your death would truly be more than either of us could bear. 

                        Looking forward to your return,

Alex tore open the commission papers.  He was being given a battalion.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.  He read through the details of the assault that was to take place.  He’d be commanding 400 men.  Both Laurens and Lafayette were to report directly to him.  He smirked.  That was probably Washington’s compromise.  He was certain he would have ordered them to keep an eye on him in the battle.  He didn’t care.  He’d finally have a chance to prove himself.  He’d get a chance to apologize to the General.  He had to tell Eliza!  He jumped up from his seat and made for the door, his hand on the jamb before he remembered where he was.  

“Thank you, sir.  You won’t regret it.  Either of you.  I promise!”  He shook Schuyler’s hand vigorously.  

“Just promise me you won’t get yourself killed.  My daughter needs a husband and your child needs a father.”

“I promise.  I swear I won’t do anything stupid.  Besides, I’ll have Laurens and Lafayette with me.”

“That is well planned, then.  Good luck, son.  Go and tell the good news to your bride.”

Alexander turned with a nod and sprinted from the room. He dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  

“Eliza!  Eliza!” He called as he raced to their room, banging open the door.  He regretted startling her up out of the bed, realizing he had woken his pregnant wife up from a much-needed nap.  

“Sorry, love.  I didn’t mean to startle you.  But I have news.”

“What?  What’s happened?”

“Washington sent me new orders.  I’m to finally lead a battalion in battle.”

Eliza stared down at the commission papers Alex had thrust into her hands.  She recalled the words her mother had said when she was a child and had lost at a game.  ‘I’m happy for you, but I’m sad for me.’  It described her emotions perfectly.  

“Alex… This is… This is everything you always wanted.  I’m so happy for you.”  She could see him searching her eyes.  

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“I’ll be terrified for you until you return.”  She swallowed hard.  “But, you have to go.  You will never be satisfied if you don’t.”

He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles.  “Will you be alright?”

“I’m going to have to be, aren’t I?”

“I’ll miss you every day.”

“And I, you.  I knew when I married you that you would have to go into battle.  It’s who you are.”  She lowered her hand to her abdomen; she had started to feel the baby move recently.  Alex’s hand followed hers.  

“I promise I will do my best to come home as quickly and as safely as I can.”  He knelt down in front of her, placing both hands on either side of her abdomen.  As if on cue, Baby Hamilton gave a fluttery sort of kick and they both gasped at the feeling.  “I promise,” he whispered, before gently pressing a kiss to her middle.  

Eliza signed, her hands running through his hair, cradling the back of his head, holding him against her.  She knew she had married a hurricane and there was no containing him.  All she could do was hold on for dear life and pray that he could make it back to the safe harbor of her arms.  

“I'll be back before you know I’m gone.”

Eliza laughed sadly, “Well, that’s not likely.  Just stay alive, Alexander.  That’s all I ask,” she pleaded again, kissing the top of his head.  

He lifted himself up to her level.  “I swear it, my love.  I may not be back before he’s born, but I will be back.”  He kissed her then, pouring all of his earnestness into it, all of his love and affection, in an attempt to convince her of the truth of his statement.  They stayed together, lost in each other's arms for the rest of the afternoon.  

Hamilton was exceptionally anxious as he neared Washington’s camp, more so than ever before.  This used to be home.  His home.  Now he just felt like… an outsider.  Again.  He had rehearsed the conversation he was going to have with the General over and over again in his head on the ride to the encampment.  

Alex kept thinking and mentally writing and rewriting his apology to the general even as he stabled his horse and took his things.  He reported to the quartermaster to find out about his lodgings.  

“Colonel Hamilton, great to have you back in camp,” the young man greeted enthusiastically.  

“Yes, well, thank you,” Alex wasn’t sure how to respond to this.  “Sorry, it’s been a long ride here and I still have to speak with His Excellency.  I’d like to get settled and wash up first.  So, where will I be staying?”

“Where will you be staying?  The general never filled your quarters.  You’ll be in the same room as before.”

“He… didn’t?  Why?”

“Not sure, you’d have to ask the General.  He insisted that the room be left vacant.”  

“Right.  Well, thank you.”  Alex took his leave of the young officer and headed for the main house in the middle of the encampment.  

God, he hoped he didn’t see anyone first.  He just wanted to get to his room and collect his final thoughts before he met with Washington.  

He pushed through the door and headed to the familiar room.  Upon entering, Alex was violently reminded of the circumstances of his departure.  Dark ink stains splattered nearly every wall, the floor, and the ceiling.  Someone had swept up the glass and other detritus that he had left behind in his haste to leave.  

Alex tossed his bag on the bed and sat down, dropping his head to his hands.  He had been so stupid and prideful.  Why on earth would the General call him back?  Why would he trust him with a command after this obnoxious display?

He scrubbed his hands over his face at a knock at the door.  A young soldier he didn’t know poked his head in.  

“Colonel Hamilton?  The quartermaster said you’d like to wash up.”  The young man, god, he couldn’t have been more than a teenager, came in carrying a wash basin and pitcher with fresh water in it and several towels draped over his arm.   

“Yes, thank you.”  Alexander wasn’t used to being deferred to.  

The young man saluted him and left the room after setting down his load.  This was definitely going to take some getting used to.  Alex crossed to the pitcher.  He poured some of the water into the basin and splashed his face.  He undid the cord that bound back his hair.  He wet his hands and ran it through his hair before pulling it back into a fresh queue.  His hands shook slightly as he retied his cravat and adjusted his uniform.  It definitely fit better than the last time he was here.  

Alex, don’t be a coward.  You’ve delayed enough.  Buck up and go see him.  Alex took a deep breath and headed for Washington’s office.  He paused outside the door.  The last time he’d seen the general, he had tried to hit him.  Alexander squeezed his eyes shut and took another deep steadying breath.  He knocked on the door.  

“Enter,” came Washington’s familiar voice from the other side.  

Alex shouldered open the door and crossed the threshold.  

He couldn’t meet Washington’s eyes.  “Colonel Hamilton, reporting, Your Excellency.”  He continued to stare at the floor.  

“Hamilton, come in.  We need to talk. Have a seat.”

“Yes, sir.”  Hamilton approached the desk and sat.  He moved his gaze from the floor to the desk.  There was a brand-new sword and scabbard laying across his desk.  

The two men sat in the stillness of the room for several moments, each feeling the other out.  Someone had to eventually break the silence.  Alexander never liked the quiet.

“Your Excellency, I’d like to apologize for my conduct during our last meeting.  I… was out of line.  I made assumptions that were very wrong about you and I’m sorry I let it get the better of me.  I did not conduct myself the way an officer should.  I should have shown more control of my actions.  I should have known that you wouldn’t try to hold me back.  I should have known that it wasn’t about you not trusting me.  You were trying to help me, and I couldn’t see that.  I… I just…” Alexander stammered, unsure of how to voice his next thought. 

“Yes?” Washington probed. 

“Sir. I simply do not understand why you would give me a command now when you never would before.  I attacked you.  I should be under court martial, not being placed in command”

“Do you wish to be court martialed?”

“No, sir.  I very much do not wish to be court martialed.  I just don’t understand why I’m not.”

“Alexander, as I said at our last meeting.  I underestimated how much having a command would mean to you.  I transferred my own desire for a family onto you.  I assumed that you would take your orders with difficulty, but I thought that time with your wife and the news that you were to be a father would temper your disappointment.  And Philip Schuyler is uniquely situated to help you advance in both politics and influence after we win this war.”

“Yes. I-”

“Please, I do wish you would not interrupt me, Alex.  I would really like to answer your numerous questions and statements.”

Alex nodded, with an apologetic expression, “Yes, sir.  I’m sorry, sir.”

“As I was saying.  I also did not conduct myself as a commanding officer should.  I showed abject favoritism where you are concerned.  Should I court martial myself?”

“No. Sir. That’s-” Alex didn’t get a chance to finish before Washington began talking again.  

“I sent other men to their deaths.  You could have gone.  It’s true.  I did hold you back, because I was desperate to keep you alive.  I have not and will never have my own children.  But I have you boys.  For some of you, I take a particular interest in your well-being, possibly too particular of an interest.  If I were being honest, you should have been given a command by this point.”

Alex gasped at the admission, but studiously kept his mouth shut, for once.  

“When I carried you out of that cellar and placed you in the back of the cart, and then had to immediately ride off to deal with Arnold.   I thought I was never going to see you again.  I rode away dreading that you would be dead by the time I returned.  The entire time that I was away, I could not shake the horrific images of you lying in the cellar, barely clinging to life.  I swore that I would do all I could to ensure that if you survived, I would keep you from ever being hurt like that again.”

Alex met Washington’s eyes for the first time.  Washington’s expression was far away and bore a tragic smile.  

“I did not think you weak.  If either of us was weak, it was me.  And then you were getting married.  I became even more determined to see that your wife did not become a widow.  We already have too many young widows in this nation.”

Hamilton felt his throat tighten.  He’d never heard the General be this honest, with anyone.  

“I knew I was holding you back and I rationalized it.  Then I received Philip Schuyler’s letter, informing me of your impending fatherhood.  He proposed that you be transferred to his command, and I saw no good reason not to transfer you.  Except that in all of my reasoning, I failed to see how you would view it.  You see, I had forgotten what it was like to be young and on the brink of glory.  I am so desperately sorry.”  

“Sir.  I… I don’t know what to say.  I was so wrong.”

“Your anger was not misplaced, but simply uninformed as to my motives.  I deeply regret that you have spent all these months believing that I thought less of you or that you doubted your own worth and value to this revolution.”  

“So, what happens now, sir?”

“You take command of your men and distinguish yourself in battle as you always hoped you would.  I will expect nothing less than the best your keen intellect can muster,” he smiled truly for the first time since Hamilton had entered his office.  

Alex felt warmth spreading through him.  He couldn’t believe what was happening.  Washington stood and picked up the sword that had been on his desk.  

“Hamilton, it has been my honor to present new commanders under me with a new sword when they are given their first command.  I am once again honored to present this to you.”  Here, he handed the finely crafted weapon over to Alex.

Alex could barely speak, his voice thick with emotion.   “Thank you, sir.  I won’t let you down.”

“You never have, Alexander.  Now, I believe you have a couple of subordinate officers that are extremely eager for your return.  You should find them about to report for their duties.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”  Alex stood to leave.

“Oh, and Hamilton?”

“Yes, sir?”  Alex paused at the door.

“I think the owners of this house, who have graciously put up with us for so long, would really appreciate it if you would whitewash your quarters before we relocate closer to Yorktown in five days' time.  See that it is done.”

Alex felt his face flush.  So, Washington knew about that little show as well.  “Of course, Your Excellency.”

Washington smiled at him and nodded his dismissal to him.  “Go, lead your men.”

Alex gave him a giddy smile, reflecting the excitement of his age and then left the office, feeling lighter than he had since before his ordeal with Brant. 

Chapter Text

October, 1781

Alex was riding his horse through the countryside.  He felt at ease.  His messenger bag was slung comfortably at his side.  The early autumn weather just transitioning from summer, left a cool breeze drifting through the leaves that were on the verge of changing.  The woods were quiet as he headed for camp.  The terrain had become familiar.  He was close to home.  That was good because he was losing the last of the light.  

A shot rang out.  Alexander was thrown from his horse.  He suddenly felt hands on him.  Cool hands.  They were yanking him away from where his horse lay dead on the forest floor.  He couldn’t see his attackers.  There were more than one of them.  His head hurt.  The many hands, all bearing the same glacial touch pinned him to ground.  They were covering his body, holding him in place so that he couldn’t move.  

Frigid fingers closed over his mouth and nose.  He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t move.  Hands reached under his shirt before dipping below the waistband of his trousers.  Alex screamed into the palm covering his mouth.  He writhed and twisted away from the grips holding him in place.  No!  This was not happening.  It couldn’t be happening.  Not again.  He had to get away.  He screamed again, louder.  He pulled roughly at the arm that was touching his face.  

“Alex!  Alexander!  Hamilton!  Wake.  Up!”  Washington’s voice thundered through his consciousness.  

Alex woke with a start, sitting bolt upright on his pallet.  A scream still in his throat.  Washington’s face loomed above him in the still gathered darkness just before dawn.  Alex realized he was clutching Washington’s arm in an iron grasp.  His breathing still ragged from the terror of the nightmare.  

“Are you alright, son?  You were screaming and thrashing.”

A moment later Lafayette and Laurens tumbled into the tent that Alex was sharing with the General.  

“It’s alright,” Washington said softly.  “Alex just had a bad dream.  Go on back to bed.  I’ll call you if we need anything.”

They both looked at Alex with concern, taking in the fact that Alex still had Washington’s arm in his grip, but he nodded at them and they left without a word.  He could hear them settling back down in their tent, immediately adjacent to his own.  

He let go of Washington’s arm and flopped back onto his blankets with a huff, his breathing still elevated and shallow.  

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really.”  

“Are you worried about the battle tomorrow?”

“No.  No, it’s not that at all.  We have a good plan in place.  I’m confident that we can win.”

“Was it Brant then?”

Alex looked up sharply at Washington.  “Why would you say that?  Did I… did I say something in my sleep?”

“No.  Nothing coherent.  It was just obvious that you were in distress.  I… Well…” Washington paused.  He looked as if he were about to say something but could not quite find the words.

“Sir?” the younger officer prompted after a moment’s silence, instantly knowing he would regret it. 

“Listen, my boy, you don’t have to tell me, but you did mention it… before, back at Schuyler’s.”

Alex paled.  He knew what the General wanted to ask him about.  He had hoped that he hadn’t caught that particular admission, but how could he not have?  He took a deep breath, resigned.  No more secrets.  It didn’t help.  And besides, they were going into battle tomorrow.  Who knew if any of them would survive.  

“You said that you were threatened,” Washington encouraged.  

“Yes, I did say that.”  Alex paused and collected his thoughts before telling Washington about that aspect of his ordeal.  He told him everything.  He told him about his frustration that he couldn’t remember how he’d been ambushed, the cool fingers constantly touching him, the cold whispers and continuous threats breathed in his ear. And he told him about the man that had hurt him all those years ago back in the Caribbean.  

Alex dashed the tears from his cheeks as he finished speaking.  He sat on his blankets with his knees pulled up to his chest.  Washington sat across from him on his own bedroll.  He hadn’t interrupted as Alex had choked out the whole story.  

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you were recovering from your ordeal.  I wish I had been.  Perhaps you would have shared this sooner if I had.”  

Alex shook his head.  “I don’t think I would have.  I would have been too worried that you would have just seen me as even more broken and unworthy of command.”

“Alex, you could never be unworthy.  Don’t you see how strong you are?  Look at all that you have overcome.  I am certain that you are going to be an even greater man than you already are after this war is over.”

The camp was beginning to stir outside the walls of their tent.  The sun was rising steadily.  The two men could see each other easily now.  

“What do you think will happen once we’ve won?” Alex asked.

“I know that the hard part will only just be beginning.  But we have some brilliant minds on our side that can hopefully develop a free government, make good laws.  But it will be a long time before we get it all straightened out.  It may not even be in our lifetimes.”

“If you were forming a government, how would you do it?”

Washington and Hamilton sat for another hour discussing politics and government policy.  They were finally pulled from their stimulating discussion by Lafayette telling them that Rochambeau was in place and the attack would need to begin soon.  

“Hamilton, you are going to be great.  You have phenomenal men under you,” he glanced at Lafayette.  “I am certain the battle will go in our favor.  Just be prepared that it may not be over in a day.  Worthy victories, the ones that history remembers, they are not fought and won in a day.”

"Yes, sir.”

“Alright boys, let’s go.  We have a nation to win.”

Alex fired his long gun at the advancing line of the British.  He saw the red-coated soldier he had aimed at fall.  Alexander’s expression was set in a line of grim satisfaction that matched the face of every man under his command.  This was what he’d wanted after all.  A group of men that he could lead to battlefield glory. There had been a steady back and forth: attack, retreat, attack, retreat, for weeks now.  Every inch of ground gained was hard-fought and blood-soaked.  The air stank of it: blood, gunpowder, and death.  Cries of the wounded and dying.  He knelt to reload his gun, letting the man behind him take his shot.  

He heard the high-pitched ululation of the Indians that fought with the British.  They were savage, as the Americans knew well, since they had some on their own side.  Still, Alex glanced in the direction of the sound.  A tall and imposing man with a British red coat and Indian headdress sat astride a stallion as they advanced from the woods to Alex’s left.  Alex didn’t recognize him and was about to turn his attention back to the stretch of British troops that were directly in front of him, his gun now reloaded.  But then the man spoke.  

Alex felt a chill run down his spine as the tall man with the headdress ordered his men, all Indians, to form up.  He would know that voice anywhere: cold and unfeeling.  Alex swallowed hard.  The man must have sensed Alex’s gaze on him, because their eyes met, and he smiled a full, toothy grin at Alex.  Alex’s mouth went completely dry and the blood drained from his face.  

He glanced around for his friends.  Laurens was fully focused on the battle at hand and was unaware of the new troops that had come out of the woods.  They were not his responsibility and Laurens was a single minded, focused soldier.  

Lafayette was several yards beyond Laurens also focusing on the portion of the battlefield for which he was responsible.  Washington was even further beyond that, on his steed, directing the battle and dodging bullets.  No one had noticed them yet.  

But Alex had.  Alex broke ranks when he saw the man who must be Captain Joseph Brant direct his men towards Alex’s troops.  Anger flared inside of him.  No!  This man would not take anything else from him, especially not his men. 

He raised his weapon and aimed.  Brant’s smile faltered for a moment and he jerked his horse to the side in order to dodge the bullet that Hamilton fired at him.  It caught the horse right in the neck, just above its halter.  The horse screamed, Alex hated that sound, and dropped under Brant, who leapt off of it at the last moment.  

Damn it!  Brant was up and moving toward Alex in the next second.  Alex charged at him with gritted teeth and a yell of his own.  He moved his grip to the opposite end of his weapon and raised it above his head.  He wouldn’t have time to reload it.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laurens was directing his forces to combat the new threat of the Indian regiment coming in from the left.  

That was the last thought he gave to his friends because Brant was on him a moment later.  He swung his rifle at Brant with all his force.  Brant pulled up and leaned back, out of the way of the blow.  Hamilton screamed with frustration.  Brant matched with a blow of his own that had his fist driving into Alex’s side, knocking the air from his lungs.  Alex reeled back, adrenaline pumping through his battle focused mind.  He gasped and stumbled several paces, but just managed to get his feet underneath him.  Brant was already there, in close and punching another blow into Alex’s opposite side.  

The back to back blows left him gasping for air.  He coughed and nearly retched.  Brant was a big man as he now recalled.  However, there were ways that Alex could use his smaller size.  He lowered his head and drove his shoulders forward into the taller man’s center, trying to push him off balance.  

To Alex’s sheer frustration, he heard his enemy release a familiar laugh as they tumbled backwards together.  Brant brought his elbow and all his weight down on Alex’s spine.  Alex would have screamed, but the blow rendered him temporarily silent as he dropped to the ground at the other man’s feet.  Brant reached down and grabbed Alex’s hair and began to drag him.  

What the hell is he doing? Alex wondered.  With a sudden shock of understanding, he realized that the Captain was dragging him toward the woods.  Oh no! No!  He grabbed at his captor’s wrist, digging his fingernails in.  He pulled and yanked, but Brant’s grasp on him was like an iron vice.  Alex tried to find purchase with his feet, but they were moving too rapidly.  His feet kicked uselessly at the dirt.  He raked his nails down the back of Brant’s hand.  He vaguely heard the man hiss, but his grip didn’t loosen, if anything it tightened.  

Before Alex could believe it, they were in the woods, the sound of the battle muted by the thick trees.  Brant didn’t stop at the tree line though.  He continued going deeper into the forest, dragging him into a clearing where he carelessly dropped Alexander to the ground.  Brant delivered a brutal kick to his already bruised ribs, causing Alex to twist in on himself in an effort to protect his midsection from any further blows.  The next kick was to his back.  Alex screamed and arched against the blow.  Brant’s foot connected with his shoulder, sending him onto his stomach.  Brant dropped on top of Alexander, his knees on either side of his hips.  He dug his fingers back into Alex’s hair, shoving him hard against the ground.  

Alex felt panic overtaking him.  Brant was on top of him, pinning him to the ground.  He tried to wriggle out from underneath him.  Brant held his face in the dirt by his hair before he pulled back on his head and shoved it hard into the ground.  Alex’s vision swam.  Brant shifted and put his knee in between his shoulders.  Alex couldn’t breathe, his lungs could not take in any air.  He tried to roll in an attempt at knocking the other man off balance.  The Captain responded by slamming his head into the ground again.  He felt the hot blood trickling down from the side of his head.  He groaned and lay still for a moment, hoping the dizziness and pain would subside.  In Alexander’s moment of stupor, Brant seized his wrists and wrenched them behind him.  The young colonel cried out as the bigger man pulled upwards, threatening to break his arm. Alexander could feel the movement above him as Brant slid off his belt and used it to bind his wrists together.    

“I’m going to finish what I started with you all those months ago.  I made you a promise, did I not?”  

Alex once again felt the cool touch stroking the side of his face, down the column of his throat.  The unwanted fingers fumbled with Alex’s cravat, gently loosening it.  Alexander suddenly became hyper aware of what his aims were.  

“No!  Help.  Help!” he screamed.  He knew he couldn’t escape without assistance.  Please dear God, let someone hear me.  Please.  Anybody!  

His cries for help were cut off as Brant yanked at his cravat and shoved the knot of it into his mouth.  He used the excess ends of it to tie around his head.  He couldn’t spit it out.  Alex continued to thrash and scream into the gag.  

Brant moved off of him and flipped him onto his back and then once again straddled his hips.  He took the strap from his gun off.  Alex watched him, still struggling, not sure of what he was doing.  He laid the strap next to him and then started to undo the buttons of Alex’s waist coat.  Alex felt a new flood of panic as the memory of cold fingers on his skin washed over him.  A sob of sheer terror broke from him.  

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” The older man said as he moved the fabric aside and untucked Alex’s shirt.  He rucked the material up towards Alexander’s neck and then ran his cool fingers down his chest, tracing the scars he’d left there a year before.  Alex growled in frustration, renewing his thrashing beneath the bigger man.  

Brant withdrew a knife from somewhere on his person.  He leaned forward over his prey and placed the tip of it in the middle of Alex’s chest.  Slowly, methodically, he drew the tip lower, carving a red line across his flesh.  Alex arched his back and screamed at the flash of burning pain.  

Brant smiled above him.  He set the knife against Alex’s throat.  Alex’s eyes went wide at the horribly familiar feeling of the cold metal against the tender skin of his neck.  In Alex’s mind’s eye there was a flash of a warm bed and another, bigger man holding a knife to his throat.  

“Shh.  Don’t fight me or I’ll hurt you more.  Be a good boy, and I’ll give you a quick end when I’m finished.  Anything else and I’ll hang you myself the way you should have died back in New York.”

Leaving the tip of the blade, pressed against his Adam's apple, Brant picked up the gun strap and moved toward Alex’s head.  He had only seconds between realizing Brant’s intentions and his actions.  He screamed desperately again as the strap was tied over his eyes.  Alex’s breath came in short desperate gasps.  He was bound, gagged and blindfolded, literally beneath his enemy.  

Brant leaned in close, nearly chest to chest over Alexander.  Alex once again felt Brant’s tongue move along the outer shell of his ear before the man’s cold whisper invaded his mind.

“Perhaps, when I finish with you, I’ll go find your sweet wife.  I heard she was expecting.  Now be still, pet, or I’ll make sure she’s never able to give birth to your child.  You know what I am capable of.  Could you imagine your little family in my hands?”

Alex sobbed, utterly defeated.  Brant was going to win.  He was going to win.  He was going to kill him.  He was going to kill Eliza.  He was going to kill his child.  This could not be happening right now.  He couldn’t catch his breath.  He felt on the verge of passing out.    

No!  If you pass out, you have no chance of stopping him.  Alexander!  Breathe.  You’re not out yet.  Fight him!  Fight him until your last breath, he screamed at himself.  

Alex laid still for only a moment to take a deep satisfying breath through his nose.  He could feel Brant’s fingers as they started trying to undo the buttons of his breeches.  Alex bucked and twisted.  He used all of his might to try to get out from underneath the bigger man’s weight.  It was a losing battle, but he was going to fight it anyway. Alexander had been faced with countless losing battles in his life, the Revolution perhaps the greatest of these, and he had beaten the odds every time. If he could just hold on, just keep fighting, maybe he could win here, too. 

And so, he continued to struggle.  A chance.  That was all he needed.  Just a single moment of weakness from Brant.  Please God, let me just get one shot to land a blow, make a move, anything!  Then maybe I can get away. 

Chapter Text

Laurens looked over at Lafayette a few yards from him.  The British were in retreat.  It was probably temporary, but there was no way to be sure.  Both of them were smattered in blood and gore.  They were both breathing heavily.  The fighting had been hard, but he felt like something may have shifted.  He felt… hope.  They might win.  They had to win.  

He looked around for Alexander.  He didn’t see him.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lafayette doing the same.  Their eyes met again.

“Where’s Alexander?” they both called to each other at the same time.  

Lafayette ran towards him and Washington rode up next to them on his charger.  

“Where is Hamilton?” he asked.  “I haven’t seen him for some time.  I was looking for him on the other side of the field.  Have you two seen him?”

“No.  He was here about a half hour ago, but I’ve not seen him since the Indians showed up,” Laurens replied.  

“I have not seen him either, sir.” Lafayette replied.  “I thought I saw him run towards that part of the field over by the trees, but I did not keep my eyes on him because the fighting was so heavy.  That is the direction that the Natives came from.”

“Indians?”  Washington’s expression shifted from thoughtful, to dread in half a second.  “We need to find him.  Now!”  Washington dismounted to assist them with their search on foot.

The three men made their way over to that section of the battlefield.  Laurens’ stomach was in knots.  He searched the face of every fallen Continental he saw, relief washing over him alongside grief as each motionless, bloody body proved to not be Alexander.  So many.  They had to win.  All this death would be for nothing if they didn’t.  

“Alex!” Laurens cried, hoping he would answer.  

“Alexandre!” Lafayette called next to him.  

The three men roamed over the whole of that part of the field, relieved that they had not found his body, but distressed that he was not there.  

“Hamilton!” Washington’s voice boomed out over the battlefield.  

Laurens stopped.  “Shh,” he gasped.  Not stopping to think about the fact that he had just shushed General Washington.  “I think I heard something.”

After a moment of listening, the noise came again:  A muffled cry from off in the woods.  Laurens was certain of the source. He had spent far too many nights during Alexander’s recovery, attentively listening through thin walls, to not recognize those as the same cries.  

Lafayette met his eyes with recognition.  The two men darted towards the sound from the woods, both screaming his name.  Alexander was in extreme distress.  His shrieks sounded like a wounded animal.  It sounded like it had all those months ago when he would thrash in his sleep and wake in a cold sweat.  

Brant!  Laurens was willing to bet money that Brant was here.  Brant had Alex.  No!  He glanced to Laf, running by his side.  In the back of his head he could hear Washington’s heavy footfalls just behind them.  

“Brant!” he gasped.  “I think Brant is here and he has Alex.  It must be him.  He’s the only one that could make him sound like that!”

“Mon dieu!”  Both men quickened their pace.  

“Alex!  Alexandre!” They all continued to shout and scream his name, hoping desperately that he would hear them and know they were coming for him.  

Suddenly they stumbled into a clearing in the woods.  Both of them had their long guns in their hands in an instant, bayonets down and pointed at the back of a man kneeling over a prone, but violently struggling and screaming body on the ground.  

“Stop!  Get off of him!” Laurens shouted.  

Brant turned to meet the threat, rising from Alex in one swift movement.  

Alex’s panic and struggles were in full force.  He desperately prayed for an opening to get away.  He felt Brant stop tugging at the buttons on his breeches.  Alex’s chest was heaving with effort when he felt Brant turn and stand.  His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out every sound in the meadow.  This was it.  His one shot.  

He wriggled out from between Brant’s feet.  He thought he heard more footsteps approaching.  Given his recent luck, it was probably the British or Brant’s Indian troops.  Keep fighting, Alex.  

He put his feet together and lifted his legs.  He kicked at Brant as hard as he could, not pulling any of his power.  He felt his feet connect with Brant’s backside.  There was a sharp, shocked cry from Brant that suddenly broke into a pained gurgle that coincided with a sickening squelching sound.  

Footsteps ran toward Alex.  Just a single set, not many.  

Large hands grabbed him, and Alex thrashed, bucked and twisted, trying to pull out of the grasp.  He screamed in frustration at being so helpless.  

“Alexander!”  Alex recognized that authoritative voice.  “Alexander! Stop fighting.  I’ve got you.  You’re safe,” Washington spoke above him.  Alex felt the blindfold being undone and then light flooded his vision.  The blurry face of the General swam into view.  Alex blinked several times.  Washington pulled the gag from his mouth.  “You’re alright, son.  I’m pretty sure you’ve killed him.”  

He lifted Alex gently into a sitting position so that he could cut the leather belt that bound him.  Alex could see Laurens and Lafayette’s stunned faces.  Brant was impaled through the chest on the end of both of their bayonets.  

In a matter of seconds Washington had freed his hands.  Alex automatically began rubbing at his wrists.  He looked at George.  “How did you find me?”  

“You kept fighting.  You were fighting so hard that we heard you.  Well done, son.”

Alex felt tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, but he blinked them away, taking several deep breaths, concentrating on Washington’s strong, reassuring hand on his shoulder.  It was over.  It was really over.  

Brant was on his knees, held up by the angle of the guns, now braced against the ground.  Laurens and Lafayette had backed away from the gruesome scene.  

Washington helped Alex stand to his feet.  Suddenly, as they stood, there was another loud, ugly gurgling sound from Brant.  Alexander looked around and found his musket, discarded in the withering grass.  He took another deep, shaking breath as he picked it up and walked towards his tormentor.  He swayed slightly as he moved, plagued by the throbbing that continued to pound through his head.  Brant wasn’t dead yet, but he was dying.  Alex kept his eyes on him, wary, as he stepped closer, one foot in front of the other, slowly.  Everything seemed to be going in slow motion.  He saw a large drop of blood drip off the end of the bayonets.  Blood pumped from the wounds, staining his red coat a deeper, darker red.  

Alex expected to see the face of a demon, some inhuman, soulless being.  This man, dying in front of him, had haunted his dreams for over a year now; had been present in his every waking nightmare.  Faceless.  Now, he really looked at him for the first time.  

Blood and scarlet foam seeped from his mouth, covering his chin and dripping down the front of his white shirt.  Alexander swallowed hard but met the man’s gaze.  He found he was pleased to see the expression of shock and terror in his face.  Just a man.  Brant’s hands were wrapped around the ends of the two rifles that speared his chest.  The twin bayonets pierced him to the hilt.  

“I finally get to really see your face.  You’re not a monster, you’re just a man.  A man who will shortly meet his maker.  Just a man.”  

Brant didn’t speak, he couldn’t speak.  With each breath he took, more blood pulsed from his wounds.  Alex very calmly lifted his weapon and aimed it point blank at Brant’s forehead, just like he’d been trained.  He took a deep inhale and then, eyes never leaving Brant’s, he squeezed the trigger as he exhaled.  

He saw Brant’s head snap backwards; he felt the red mist wash around him; smelled the coppery tang of blood mixed with burning gunpowder.  And then Brant’s body toppled over and moved no more.  Alex dropped his gun and collapsed to his knees.  Laurens and Lafayette were there in a moment, arms around him.  Alexander risked a look at Washington, who met his gaze with kind and approving eyes.  He tipped his head toward Alex.  It was a just death.  Perhaps even a kindness to quicken what would have been a slow, agonizing end. Washington approved.  Alex closed his eyes and leaned into his friends.  

After a few minutes of just breathing.  Alex heard the drums in the distance.  The battle was resuming.  But it felt as if the war was already over.  They’d won.  They would win.  

Alex took a deep breath, squeezed his friends around their shoulders and then rose to his feet.  Washington handed him a cloth and helped him to start cleaning the blood from his face.  

“Sir," he stated as soon as this was done, "about that trouble we’ve been having with the trenches and those last two redoubts?  I have an idea…”

Chapter Text

February, 1782

Eliza waited anxiously on the front porch.  Philip was wrapped in his blanket and sleeping soundly in the crook of her arm as she scanned the horizon.  Alexander was due home any moment.  He had sent word a few days prior that he was to be arriving home today.  After all this time, the war was finally over.  They’d won against impossible odds.  They were finally free.

She looked up at the sound of a galloping horse approaching.  Her heart skipped a beat as she saw her husband for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Alexander looked just as dashing in his uniform as he did that night at the ball, minus the sling of course. 

Her smile widened as he practically jumped off his horse and ran to her and the baby.  He caught them both in a gentle embrace and spun them around in his arms.  Eliza’s laugh was stifled when Alex bent down and captured her mouth in a hungry kiss, one arm wrapped around her back, the other on her hip.  When he pulled back and their eyes met, she saw the intense smoldering look that he gave her.  Her stomach dropped just like when he gave her the same look before riding off to the battle at Yorktown. 

“I missed you,” they both spoke at the same time. 

Alex broke the gaze first, moving his eyes to his sleeping son.  Eliza’s heart swelled as she saw the tears glisten in her husband’s eyes. “And who’s this?” He cooed, gently tracing the infant’s cheek with his thumb. At the new contact, Philip’s eyes fluttered open, staring widely at the stranger.

“Alexander, meet your son, Philip.” Eliza shifted and held the baby higher up so he could clearly see the newcomer. “Philip, this is your father.”

“So beautiful,” Alexander whispered, his trembling voice betraying the tears he was evidently trying to push down. “He’s grown so much already!”  He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the child’s head.   

“Here.” She gently passed him the little bundle and he cradled him close to his chest. 

“I’m so very pleased to meet you, Philip. I’m so sorry that I was not here to greet you sooner, but I had to make sure the world was ready for you. Don’t you fret, little one, from now on, every day will be dedicated to you.” He looked up at his bride. “And you.”

He took Eliza’s hand and they walked into the house. 

Later that night, Alex lay staring out of the window at the stars in the sky.  Eliza was pressed, skin to skin against him.  She was idly tracing her fingers along the myriad of scars that crisscrossed his body.  Her warm touch felt so good.  He thought back to their wedding night. 

He had been so nervous to undress in front of her, self-conscious of his scars almost to a fault.  Eliza had turned down the lamps and blew all the candles out, leaving them both painted in only soft moonlight.  She’d taken his hand and guided him to their bed.  She kissed him, distracting him utterly, as she pulled his shirt over his head. 

Her gentle, warm caresses and kisses had wiped away every nightmare of unwanted cool hands on his body.  She took her time with careful determination to caress and sooth every mark he’d ever had on his body.  She was so good for him.  Every moment of pain he had endured, she had made sure to cover it with tenderness and care. 

He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head as he continued his self-reflection. 

It had all been worth it.  They had fought so hard, lost so much, but had gained what they were ordained to have.  They all had scars.  His more physical than others, though he had mental ones as well.  But now, in this moment, bathed in moonlight, he finally felt it.  Freedom.  It was real and tangible.  No one could threaten him or his family again.  There was no king to step in and destroy his household or livelihood on a whim.  They were truly, finally, masters of their own destiny.  He swiveled his head over to the bassinette at the side of the bed.  He breathed a deep sigh of contentment and again kissed Eliza’s hair. 

She stopped tracing his scars and rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him.  “Penny for your thoughts?” she queried. 

“We won.  We fought, killed, bled, suffered and died for what we have right now.  I know it has to be better than what we rebelled against.  This,” he motioned to Philip in his little bed, “this was what the whole fight was for.  A better world for our children than what I grew up with.  Freedom from tyranny.  Freedom for him to grow up and be whatever he wants to be.”

I promise, I’ll make the world better for you, he thought as he felt Eliza press a kiss to his chest. 

He thought of Merced for the first time in a long time and smiled.  John and he had successfully argued for his freedom and Washington had relented.  Merced, out of loyalty and gratitude, for their kindness to him, had stayed with Alexander throughout the war.  Alex had paid for his crossing back to St. Croix.  Merced had always wanted to return to the island in hopes of finding and freeing the rest of his family. 

Alex smiled at the thought.  They had a long way to go before everyone could reap the benefits of freedom.  But Alex was confident that they would get there as a nation one day.  When that day came, it would truly all have been worth it.