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Chapter Text

It was one of those days were Washington wished to have a shower more than anything else. Sure, he couldn't really expect much for a volunteer army which had limited supplies and a bunch of issues to attend. But, as much as he kept reminding himself that, he couldn't help but despise the smell from his own soldiers.
It was way too disgusting for him to smell their blood combined with sweat and, sometimes, even urine. There was certainly a lack of hygine in their camp, perhaps if they installed it near a river it would've been better than this.
Although, he couldn't expect much from a buncj of soldiers who were trying to defend their nation from tyranny. And he valued their effort and dedication to the cause, but sometimes their peculiar scent overcame his pride and joy.

"God damn.." He mumbled to himself, walking around the camp as he covered his nose every once in a while. "Sometimes I forget why I thought this was a good spot for a camp.

Even if he knew more than anyone else why this place had been chosen, he couldn't help but forget about "the bright side", as Alexander called it, of stuff. To be honest, he felt like he was isolated from people, like he could go crazy any moment now and no one would actually question it if they all did. The fact that he had been here for almost years now was terrifying. All the bloodshet and violence eventually took and tool on him, unlike some of his young recruits who seemed too careless to even think about the British ambushing them any moment now. He could've continued to think about it, and just get lost in all of those thoughts, but, as he was about to, a voice called out his name.

"General Washington." A man in the same uniform spoke. "Another letter arrived from Congress, sir."

"Really? What is it this time?" Washington asked, looking down at the soldier as he raised an eyebrow.

"It's confidential, sir. I was told not to read it or open it." The man replied, putting the letter on Washington's hand as he tried to keep a poker face, hidding his curiosity about the contents the letter could have.

"Hmm, strange." The general scoffed, holding the envelope in his hands, a small spark of hope running through his veinte as he looked down at it. "You may go now."

"Sir, yes, sir!" He said, saluting Washington as he quickly left him by his own.

At this point, all Washington could hope for was some news about the Congress giving them more weapons, or perhaps some medical supplies, which they lacked off. But, as much as he wanted to believe that, he knew it was probably just some dumb strategy of theirs. Those were never useful, or so he thought.

Later that day, at evening and after finish all of his duties, he decided to finally read the contents of the letter. He prayed for it to be good news, or at least not another letter preassuring him to attack the British.

And so, he entered his tent, feeling a small relief as the cold air was blocked by its fabric, and his body grew used to the warm, and somehow comforting 'safety' of his own tent, and his 'home' for years.
His hand reached out of his pocket, taking out the letter and placing it on the wooden desk in front of him. Washington couldn't held but let his thoughts go wild about this piece of paper, since the soldier called it 'confidential', which he hadn't heard from the Congress before. It could either be some secret they found from the British, or just some sort of bad joke they were pulling on him.

Either way, he went ahead and began reading the letter:

"Dear sir.

We hope this letter finds you and your troops in good health, as we might request your batallion to fight against the British army soon enough.
This might sound as some regular battle, such the many you've been a part of before. Therefore, this is nowhere near our previous strategy.

After a long discussion and a loads of stress, we've come to a decision which could help us to gain advantage over the the British troops. It might sound like we'd be getting risky, but, we require you to surrender in the next battle, or perhaps let yourself be captured by the 'redcoats'."

Washington stopped reading for a few seconds, taking in the whole thing he had just been requested. It was well known that, in the last few battles, the orders had been clear for him and his troops: avoid being captured. So, why would they ask him to do something as reckless as trying to poke a bear with a stick? This didn't make any sense.
After a few seconds, when the shock wore off, he continued reading, hoping there was a good reason for such a stupid idea;

"As careless as this might sound, after a small research of the last few letters you've sent, we've thought about a strategy: if we the British finally capture you, we have the chance of the king being sent to interrogate you. This would certainly be helpful, as he could send a small group of soldiers to find the British camp, and wait for the king's arrival to ambush him. If we root out the problem, it will be easier to exterminate the pest.

Of course, if you don't want to risk your life in such a way, we can continue with our first strategy and see how that goes.
We hope we get your response soon after the letter is delievered.

Sincerely,
The Continental Congress."

Well, that wasn't certainly what he was expecting. Nor he could tell of those were good or bad news for him and his troops.

"What if.. I don't make it?" He thought to himself, sighing heavily as the thought of dying sank in. Even worse, leaving Martha behind along with her children.

Washington had always told his troops that dying with honor was way better than living in submission. But, he couldn't help but feel a strange sensation crawling up his spine as he gave it a further thought. It was terrifying to consider this could end up catastrophically wrong. What would his troops do of he died? Would he be remembered as a failure or as a brave man who died for a rather fair cause? He couldn't seem to answer that.

A few minutes flew by, as he thought what he should do. He need to help people. Backing out wasn't an option. And so, he picked up a quill, before he began writting his response. It took a few attempts, but he finally accepted this proposal. He had to show people what a real leader was: someone willing to sacrifice their life for what they believed in, and for the sake of the people and their needs, rather than his own wishes and desires. At least, that' what he thought.

Chapter Text

July 28th, 1778.

It was the day. After a few days of planning and discussing the plan over and over again, it was time for them to take the first step, which was trying to get Washington captured by the British, being careful as to not get him killed while doing so. Even if most of the soldiers still felt unsure about this whole ordeal, they knew they had to at least try.

Washington was almost as nervous as his soldiers, but after he read the letter over and over again, he understood this was his duty, that he had agreed to sacrifice his life if necessary to free the people of America from the hands of tyranny, from the oppresion the British goverment had put upon their people. Backing out would be like betraying that people the same way the insufferable king did. It would be like taking people's hope out of their hands and let them wander in the dark until they starved, like letting them die in fear.
He didn't like the sound of that. So, that morning, he prepared himself mentally for what was about to happen. The general was completely aware of how dangerous this was. After all, he would have to stay in the red-coat's camp six weeks, as a minimum, before the king arrived. The Continental Congress had warned him that the British could be ruthless when he was under their custody, and he was well aware of their methods to get information. So, he had prepared some false information, just in case they would try to interrogate him.

All he could do was wait for his troops to get ready, as they had to go as soon as possible. This battle would take place in New Jersey, mainly because they decided this would be a good location to fight and put their plan into action. And even though Washington had prepared himself and accepted the risks of this, there was someone who hadn't done it just yet. Alexander Hamilton, his right hand man.
The general was well aware of how stubborn that boy could be. He appreciated his worried state a lot, as he understood he meant a lot to the boy. But, as much as he had taken that boy under his wing and grew attached to him, Washington knew he would most likely object to the plan. That was worrying. Alexander often denied his attachment to Washington, probably because some of his traumas. But it was clear as day that he saw a father figure in his general. Washington had always been patient with the boy, although, he would have to tell him why this was necessary.

So, when his troops were finally ready, he walked over to Alexander's tent, sighing heavily before he finally got in the tent. The general looked up, just to be met by the sight of his right hand man sitting on his desk, just writting some correspondence. Almost immediately, he noticed how tense the man was, just by seeing his left leg trembling and how he was biting his nails in nervousness, which were signs of stress and anxiety.

"Alexander," Washington spoke up, watching as his aide-de-camp lifted his head up. "are you busy?"

"No, sir. Not at all." Alexander answered, in a low tone of voice, sounding tired as always. Maybe he hadn't slept last night.

"We have to go, but.." Washington paused, taking a deep breath as he fixed his tricorn hat. "But I want to have a word with you. About the plan. Do you have a minute?"

Alexander didn't seem to answer for a few seconds, seeming quite upset about the mention of this 'suicide plan'. "You know it's a bad idea, right?" The younger man mentioned.

"I am well aware it's dangerous, but it's not a bad plan at all." Washington interruped him, his expression hardening slightly.

"We are walking straight to the lion's den! How is that a good idea?" Alexander exclaimed, as he stood up, his eyes having a mixture of fear and anger.

"You have to understand, son-" Washington tried to explain, but he was soon interrupted by Alexander.

"Don't call me son." Alexander mentioned, even if he had told Washington the same thing over and over. "Also- What are we gonna do if they kill you?!"

"They won't, Alex." Washington answered, seeming a bit irritated. "They have strict orders on capturing me. Nothing else."

"What makes you sure it's true? They are British! We cannot expect them to act like civilized people!" Alexander argued, seeming to grow more anxious by minute.

"Alexander, please." Washington stopped him, stepping closer to him. "I am aware that this might be the death of me. But I have always been willing to die for what I believe. And if that's what's going to happen, so be it."

After that, there were no more words coming out of Alexander's mouth. For a few seconds, they were just awkwardly staring at each other, nothing else was heard besides a few soldiers outside the tent and their own breathing. And, after what seemed like an eternity, Alexander nodded his head.

"Fine.. Just- Stay safe, old man." Alexander mumbled, trying to lighten the mood by calling Washington 'old'.

"I will, Alexander. I promise." The general reassured him, before he took a few steps foward and spread his arms open.

The younger man hesitated for a few seconds, processing what Washington was offering him. He said nothing, but, slowly, he walked over to his general, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace. They stayed like that for a few more seconds, or a minute maybe, before they pulled away.

Later that day, Washington and his troops were finally on the way to their destination. Every single one of them hoping they could make it back to the camp alive, in hopes that, once this whole ordeal ended, they could go back to their loved ones. To Washington, it was hard to believe that fighting for your ideals could led many men, men with a future, hopes and dreams, to their doom. Why did they, as leaders, sent innocent men to fight for a cause, instead of just solving it like adults? Why did other people have to sacrifice their lives just for the sake of old men having conflicts? All of those doubts had no real answer in the end, at least, not for now.. how unfortunate.

The dirty mud was staining his boots, along with pretty much everyone else's. It was something he had grown used to in the end. But, it was still quite a task for them to remove those bits of dry mud after the battle. Not to mention how some of their coats ended up torn apart, burnt or just full of blood and gunpowder. Most of the soldiers had just learned how to clean their own stuff, since they all had wives or female relatives who did that stuff for them before the war. They had learned quite fast, though.

"Men, stop marching!" Washington yelled at his troops, as they all stopped death in their tracks. "We are here."

The tension in the air increased as soon as those words left hia mouth. Mainly because they all knew they could be ambushed any moment now. All of them just prepared their muskets, taking deep breaths as they hoped this wouldn't be their last battle.

Chapter Text

Bloodshet. That was the one thing Washington had grown used to because of the Revolutionary cause after months of seeing it first row.

However, that didn't mean he felt disgusted each time he saw his soldiers being blown, shot and killed in cold blood by the redcoats. He had always feared being the next one on the floor, being stomped on and then burned like he was nothing but trash. Still, he knew that his honor was more important in the end. After all, he was a general, and he had to be willing to die for this cause, for his beliefs and the people he fought for. That was the most important thing for him.

Obviously, this brought consequences, like any other thing he did. Washington had never grown used to the anxiousness he felt when he put a foot in the battlefield. It was like it gave him shivers just by smelling the wet mud under his boots. Mainly, because he knew the grass and dirt would get covered by blood in no time.

He was right on that. As he finally snapped back to reality by a gunshot rosing his shoulder, making him let a small cry out of his lips as he lifted up his faze. Once again, finding before him the chaos of war: his men being slaughtered, cannon balls flying across the field and exploding against some men. Men with families who wouldn't live to see the sunrise. It was disturbing to think about them. To think these people were just like him, and were full of life before it was taken away by either a bullet or a blade piercing their flesh.
Yet, he couldn't stop to think about that. He needed to keep running through the battlefield, and stop being such an easy target. And even if he felt bad for his men and the British men on the other side of the war, he couldn't just keep piting them. After all, he knew they probably didn't feel the same.

For the next hours, he forgot about his mission, just focusing on surviving, cutting down redcoats and protecting some of his soldiers if possible. It was overwhelming to hear the blows, the blood falling to the floor and the explosions all around him. Each time he heard something nearly similar, he flinched, maybe as a way of keeping himself safe or as a trauma that would continue for years and years.

The general felt like a disaster, like everything he was doing was going downhill, even if it wasn't. Maybe he was just afraid of failing, and sending men into their deaths without any reward whatsover. And yet, he was reasued by his soldiers once they came back to their camp.

But he wouldn't get that this once, now, would he?

Washington knew it. He knew he would have to allow those men to capture him and bear their behavior around him while he stayed. But he wouldn't disappoint the congress. He had done that many times before, and he couldn't bring himself to do that again.. could he? After all, the whole army had their expectatives high on him. Either he was a great general, or a failed hero, like any other in the bunch. Which would certainly be something that would haunt him forever if it even happened.

And so, once he localized the group of soldiers that was supposed to follow him once he was captured. He proceeded to let a bullet hit him, making sure it hit a leg or an arm, just to avoid an inccident. And damn, that hurt like hell. Just the feeling of the metal piercing his skin, digging deep into his flesh, made him scream out in agony. That was good, since some redcoats immediately noticed the fact Washington was shot down and approached to either capture him or finish him off.

"Stay down, you filthy rebel!" One of them yelled, in a strong British accent. The other two also getting closer, and grabbing him by the arms.

"Careful, you idiots!" Washington exclaimed, hissing in pain as one of the soldiers put his hand over the wound on his shoulder. "I can't even fight back, there's no need to behave like animals!"

"Yeah, sure.." The other one said in a sarcastic tone of voice. Seeming to hold the general even rougher. "Like we didn't know who we are dealing with."

"You certainly don't seem to know." He scoffed, as he tried to cooperate with them, as they began dragging him across the battle field.

"Shut up! You've got no right to talk right now, you scum." The first one spoke up again, his voice barely audible through all the gunshots and screams in the battlefield.

To be fair, he didn't expect the British camp to be far. But he was proven wrong when, after the battle, in which his troops retreated, or so he heard from a british officer, he was tied and put on a horse along with other soldier. Now, that was a problem.. As far as he knew, the squad that was supposed to follow them to the camp wasn't provided with any horses. So, it was possible they lost him. That was not good at all. But he kept it to himself, as he still had some hope.

The ride was pretty long, or it seemed like it for him. Maybe an hour passed or a little more. The general wasn't really sure on how far they had gotten from the battlefield. But, what he did know was that he was being taken to the main camp, not the one where the soldiers resten. That was not a good sign.

After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the galloping come to a halt. When he lifted up his gaze, he was met by the sight of a small camp, where probably the high ranked officers rested. He didn't have much time to think about it, though.

"Get on your feet, moron," The soldier that brought him here spoke up, before he threw Washington off the horse, shoving him to the ground. "the king is waiting for you."

"What?" The general muttered, seeming confused for a few seconds before his blood went cold.

"The king! Get going!" The man exclaimed, lifting Washington off the floor and forcing him to start walking.

God, he was in trouble. The squad was most certainly lost, and, even if they weren't, they thought the king would arrive six weeks later. So he did. Why was the king here to begin with? Wasn't he supposed to be back in England until new notice? This was a disaster. What could he even do now, though?..

He was completely alone. In the enemy's camp.. Washington was definitely doomed.

Chapter Text

After the guard revealed him he was going to see the king that same day, he felt a shiver go down his spine. It even made him forget about the fact he was injured.

How could the congress have not thought about that? It was obvious the king could've been sent here and kept a secret because of the risks he could run if he was allowed to fight directly. But, there wasn't much he could do now, was there? He was already in a small camp hours from the battlefield, and the squad that was supposed to follow him an rescue him once everything was ready was nowhere to be seen. It felt like a nightmare, but he had to find a way out of this. Even if he had no idea on how to persuade the king into letting him live.

Washington didn't have much time, though. As the British officer was already dragging him into a tent in the middle of this secret camp. He made no effort in struggling, as that would only make the situation worse. All he could do now was pray he found a way to get out of here and this situation. There was no way he could just run away; he would be caught in seconds. Sneaking at night was not an option either, as he was injured and taking a horse would be too risky. The only way out of here was the king, but how could he convince such an stubborn man to let him leave?

He would have to act as things happen. And he did. As soon as he was shoved back onto the floor, he got up, just holding his hands up as the British officer spoke:

"Get in there, don't try anything or I'll shoot you down." The general just nodded, and started stepping into the tent, which was, by the way, better than his own back in the Rebel camp.

Once inside, he was met by the sight of a tall figure, standing next to a desk along with another man, Howe. God, he was a dead man.

"Howe, I might need you to go for a few minutes," The blond man, who seemed to be shorter than him, began speaking. "I've got some matters to discuss with our guest."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Howe answered, bowing respectfuly, before he left the tent.

An overwhelming silence took upon the tent, as the man in front of him looked up at Washington, trying to analize his body language, and almost looking at him with disgust.

"So, General Washington, is it?" The king asked, not really sounding happy to see him here.

"Yes, sir. That's me." Washington answered, glaring at the king involuntarily.

"I must admit. I thought it would be harder to actually capture you." He mumbled, sitting down at his desk and looking down at the map he had been observing for the last few minutes. "Do you understand the mess you've created, General?"

"I wouldn't call it that, your Majesty." The general interrupted, mantaining his firm tone and trying to hide how nervous he felt.

"Oh, but it is a mess." The king mentioned, "You, my good sir, have commited treason. You've betrayed the Crown." his gaze now looking Washington up and down, almost judging his appearance.

Washington paused. Hearing the word 'treason' seemed to have triggered something in his mind. "I don't think anyone would've stayed loyal to an oppresive goverment such as yours, 'Your Majesty'." He put an emphasis in the title, wanting to mocke the king at least a bit.

"Don't you dare question my choices upon the goverment I've been managing. You wouldn't know how hard it takes to lead." George raised his voice, sighing heavily after he did. "I've done what I considered necessary to mantain this empire stable."

"Stable? For who? For upper class men? You should be thinking about the working class." Washington argued, walking closer to the king.

"And who are you to judge me regarding that topic?" The king questioned trying not to feel intimidated by the fact Washington was basically towering over him. "You are a slaver, general. You are in no position to judge me."

"Oh, you're playing innocent? Are you gonna tell me you own no slaves at all?" The general asked.

"Exactly. I've always thought slavery was inhumane. What is your excuse?" The king exclaimed, standing up and looking up at Washington. Gosh, he wished he was taller.

Washington just stayed silent, knowing it would be better if he just shut his mouth. After all, he was under the British army custody. He was a prisioner right now.

George just took a deep breath, before he finally calmed down. "Now, back to the whole capturing you matter.." He continued. "I'm sure you've got quite a lot of information regarding the strategies that are about to be used against my army, am I right?"

"Yes, I do know what the Revolutionary army is planning." Washington answered, before looking away. "But I wouldn't tell that information to a tyrant, now, would I?"

"I knew you would say that," The king chuckled, reaching out for his scepter, swinging it at Washington. "however, you cannot stay silent forever, can you?"

The general's first reaction was trying to dodge the hit, which wasn't possible for him, because of the place he was standing on. Then, he tried to put a hand over his head, feeling a throbbing sensation over the place the scepter hit. "Oww, shit..-"

"Now, you know I need that information. And I'm expecting you to cooperate, unless you want this to be worse than just a scepter hitting your head.." George threatened, a small smirk forming in the corner of his mouth.

"I am no coward, your Majesty." The general mentioned, feeling upset now that the king was actually being more rude towards him. "An empty threat is not enough to get me talking."

"I should've guessed you Rebels would be stubborn.. But I've got my own ways of dealing with it, you little cockroa-" The king was about to continue, but he was interrupted by Washington, who decided it was a good idea to just grab him by the collar of his shirt and lift him up slightly.

"Listen here, you fucking bastard." Washington mumbled, his eyes full of rage as he tightened his grip. "None of my men are near cockroaches or any insect you can even think about. If anything, the redcoats are the only animals in here. So, I'll ask you to treat my men as such."

"My my.. Aren't you short-tempered? I should've guessed a man coming from a farm would be nowhere near proper." George teased, taking a deep breath before he started yelling: "Francis! We've got a problem with the prisoner- He's getting violent!"

Now, that was something Washington should've thought about before he even tried getting physical with the king. Of course the man had a guard nearby in case anyone tried such a foolish thing. But, he couldn't let this escalate more than it had already.. not knowing he was alone here.

"Shut up! If you even try, I'll break your neck!" He threatened, to no avail, as the king continued yelling, trying to sound terrified, even if he could see the cockiness in his eyes. "You little-"

Washington hesitated, taking a deep breath before he looked around, trying to find any way to shut this man up. There wasn't anything that wouldn't get him in more trouble. So, he could only resort to one last thing:

"Francis, please hurry up! This damn animal is trying to-" George continued his acting for a few more seconds, before his voice was muffled by a pair of lips on his own. If anything, he would've expected Washington to knock him out or something, anything but this.

To be fair, this was rather a weird situation to be in. The general realized he could've just put his hand over the king's mouth and shut him up that way. But hey! At least he confused him, right? No one should ever be able to guess your next movement.

Washington was certainly questioning his life choices, as he continued to kiss the king, his damn enemy. He wasn't really thinking about the consequences of this, he was only thinking on what he would do once this stopped. What could he even tell his enemy? This was yet the weirdest thing he had done in his whole life, not to mention he thought the last person he would ever show this sort of 'affection' to was George.

As Washington was distracted by his own thoughts, the king was just frozen in shock. Of all the things he had witnessed, this was just stupid. How could Washington even think about doing such a thing?! Even worse, with another man. Yet, at the same time.. he felt like his body wasn't really reacting to this in the way he expected. He had just gasped at first, but besides that, he had done nothing. Washington's rough, warm lips were gently brushing against his own, which weren't really soft, but weren't as dry as Washington's.

"Mmh-" George whined, not really knowing whether he should push Washington away or stay in place.

Eventually, Washington just pulled away, after he realized what he was doing. None of the men spoke a single word for a minute or two. They were just staring at each other with a mix of confusion, disgust and surprise. Depending on how you looked at it, there were a few reactions you would expect for each men.

"What the actual fuck..?" George mumbled, feeling like he was going to throw up or something. That was clear. The thing was deciding if it was out of disgust or something.. different.

Washington just looked down at the king, wondering what he could even say to excuse himself after this whole thing. "Shit-" He exclaimed, before he just turned around, not wanting to face shorter man now that they both processed the whole thing.

This was going to be hard to explain if he even had the chance to go back to his camp, that's for sure.

Chapter Text

God, please, forgive me.

That sentence was the only thing he could possibly think about. Besides, of course, what the actual fuck.

The king found himself in an awkward situation when he was supposed to crack Washington so he could finally give up on this dumb revolution. Yet, it didn't seem like he was lucky enough to archieve the one thing he was asked to do, now, could he? Didn't really seem like it.

After the whole thing, he had just done what he knew how to do. Run away and hide until he 'forgot' about it. He had left a guard watching over Washington, tho. He wasn't that stupid either. Just enough to have a complete mental breakdown over what seemed to be an attempt to escape an interrogation.

As a person who belonged in royalty, he had been warned multiple times about things such as this one. He couldn't really disappoint anything in any sense, unless he wanted to make this situation even worse for himself and his kingdom. The Revolutionary cause was enough of a scandal. An affair, as he called it, would make it impossible for him to live through.

George found himself sitting down under a tree, not far away from the camp, but just enough to be left alone with his own feelings and the thoughts running through his head. He was sure this didn't mean anything. It meant nothing for Washington, and it shouldn't be a problem for him either.

"But why else would he do that?" The monarch asked himself, holding his head in his hands as he closed his eyes.

He didn't really know how much time he spent thinking, but once he opened his eyes, he noticed it was already evening. Did it really matter? It wasn't really a big deal compared to the fact he didn't even pull away. Gosh, he felt nauseous just thinking about it.

A sigh came out of his thin lips, his mind aching the foreign warmth of his enemy's lips. The feeling of the man's saliva was still present in his flesh, almost. This feeling was both terrifying and comfortable. For a reason he still couldn't understand, he felt like he had enjoyed it. As if a woman had kissed him. Except he didn't really enjoy any of the million kisses he might have received from any lady back in England.

"No, that.. this isn't right. It's not proper at all." He repeated for what seemed to be the thousandth time.

The constant reminder of his reputation, his political position, kept holding him back. Because, after all, who would ever think the king of Great Britain, a man of power, could be a 𝗳𝗮𝗴, as they called them. Who would even understand it? Or accept it, for the matter, if not even the Lord could accept such an abomination. Who, in their right mind, could bear the sight of two enemies, two men, sharing such an intimate moment, like a woman and a man should?

Just as he was about to continue, he felt a warm drop running down his cheek. Then another one, and another.. Was he really crying over this? He was not gay. Not in a million years.

"I can't be possibly considering it.. I'm married- I have children!" George thought, trying to convince himself that he would never fall for a man. He then looked down at his hands, his wedding ring was there.

Did that piece of metal mean anything for him? Anything at all? He had always been faithful to his wife. Never, in the 22 years of marriage, he had thought about cheating on her with another woman.
Yet, Washington was no woman, was he? That's what made it so wrong. If only he was a woman.. if only Washington was a woman.. this wouldn't have been such an offense for humanity.

So, once he understood the problem, he did something he had never really seem as necessary.

"Father, forgive me for I have sinned.." The monarch began, talking to no one but the darkness within the old trees surrounding him.

This was wrong. Wrong in many levels..

Chapter Text

God, he had officialy fucked up.

Or at least that was went through his mind the night he decided to kiss the king to shut his pompous ass. And he had certainly gone through that memory over and over again, considering what the possible consequences he could end up receiving for that stupid decision he made in the heat of the moment. Damn, even a punch in the face would've been way better. Yet, he had plenty of time to think about a plan to get the fuck out of the British camp before they sent his head in a basket to one of his officers.

As he sat on the cell, a chill ran down his spine with the slightlest breeze of air that managed to get through the metal bars that held his freedom down. All the things he fought for seemed to vanish along with the hope he had left. Just think about it; he was being held in a secret camp away from where the lower ranked soldiers were resting, and he knew that, if anything, his men would only manage to find that camp, and when they found no sign of him, they would just assume he was dead or in another state already. It was quite disturbing to think his men could give up on his search so quickly, but he understood it. They lacked staff and supplies for a good search party, and, if he was honest, he wouldn't have thought this camp existed, let alone guess it was in the middle of a forest near the battlefield. It was just hard to imagine, now, who would figure that out?

"I am doomed.." Washington muttered to, apparently, no one, not knowing if he should be ashamed or pity himself.

NO. He had no time for tears or stupid thoughts that would do nothing besides making him mire hopeless. He was a general, a man known for his bravery and bright iddeas. He couldn't let theenemy take him down like a small mouse who ran at the slightest sound of danger within his range of sound. There had to be a way to get out of this, of the claws of the enemy that he saw as a monster.

And so, he began scanning his surroundings, looking for any chance of freeing himself from this cage, for lack of better words. The despair could almost be sensed in the air, the smell of blood still present on his uniform, which would certainly need to be washed once he had the chance to do so. There weren't many hidding spots, so, even if he somehow managed to leave the cell, he wouldn't be able to run away without being spotted. Not to mention, there was a fair amount of guards around the place. Which led him into the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to sneak out of here, not without some help to do so. That thought made him pause. How could he ever befriend a Brit, when all of them seeemed to see him as a filthy sewer rat? That was certainly something that made him feel rather disappointed in himself. But as he thought about it even further, and re-considered the choices he made today, he finally had an idea.

"What if.." He wondered "What if I try to use the king..?"

At first, it seemed like some of the regular intrusive thoughts that wandered around his brain when he was desperate enough to even consider them. But it wasn't necessarily impossible, it was just risky, since the king might not like men at all. But he doubted that a straight man would've run away as soon as he was kissed by another man, and besides, he had nothing left to lose. If this worked, he could be free.. yet, a part of him knew this was wrong, wrong in many levels. Not because he thought it was wrong to be gay, of course. But because he didn't really feel anything or the king, and it would be basically making him fall in love, risking them both to face execution for it, just to be freed. At the same time, if he looked at the bigger picture, he knew that if he was prisioner or was hung for treason, the revolution could fall apart. That would mean the death of many men would be in vain, that the blood they shed would just leave a path of violence in history, and that he would've failed as a leader, as a soldier and as a man.

Sometimes soldiers had to make sacrifices for the greater good, right? It was a part of his duty, he had to ensure the succes of his cause no matter what it took, no matter if his life was on the line or how many men of the other side of the conflict died. This would be just like aiming his gun and pulling the trigger, like any other battle he had fought, taking awa something precious from another person and then using it to his advantage. But, would it be just the way he could take a person's life in a second? This was not about the physical weakness any human being had, it was about discovering the way one specific person's mind worked, how their brain assimilated certain events going around the man he had to conquer.

"Guess I have hell of a lot to plan.."

Chapter Text

The camp wasn't really the best place to be at right now.

Alexander had quite a lot of time for himself after the battle of Monmouth, and the only thing he had learned was how much of a coward 'General' Charles Lee really was. He almost couldn't believe the idiot chickened out right away. And what's even worse, Washington hadn't been there to witness that brat piss himself in battle.

Lafayatte had managed all the battle, and they surprisignly won. Which was almost a relief, considering the odds were reduced by the 'retreat' Lee ordered. Like the rat he was, Lee had decided to start acting bitter towards Lafayatte, and even started talking shit about him to whoever decided to listen, or had the bad luck of not being able to get away before that idiot started going over and over about how he was removed from office right away, which was reasonable.

Now, he didn't really want to admit it, but maybe Washington was right about him being reckless most of the time. Perhaps it was because Washington was 85% of his self control? Or maybe he was saying it because he might or might have not gotten a little upset at Lee's bullshit about Lafayatte and tried to duel him. I mean, what else was he supposed to do? Ignore him? Yeah, like he would've even thought about that as a possibility.

And yes, he TRIED. If it wasn't for Laurens, who offered to duel Lee instead of him. Don't get him wrong, he was grateful for Laurens' kidnesss and the way he worried about him.. but he was still salty about the letter he didn't answer. That was his excuse to be upset. But he also didn't want Laurens to end up dying, despite knowing that man had a hell of an aim and would most likely win. Yet, the day of the duel, he didn't really want to let Laurens go. Out of fear.

"You don't have to do this, you know that.. right?" Alexander mumbled as he pushed the flat of Laurens' tent and stepped towards him.

"I know. But I want to do it." Was all Laurens said, a duel gun placed on his desk, almost shinning with the little light the tent didn't manage to cover them from.

"I could've done it!" The young secretary exclaimed, taking a few seconds to think about his next words. "You're gonna go ahead and just- risk your life?!"

"I've got nothing left to los-" Before that phrase could even be finished, Alexander spoke up.

"What about me?" Three words. Those three words were enough to cause an awkward silence that stayed there for a minute. Maybe two. He wasn't really sure if he lost track of time out of anxiety. "You just.. you can't act like I'm nothing to you. That we are nothing."

"I never said that." Laurens clarified rather quickly, the only sound after his words was his quill being pressed against the paper upon the tabble. "And you know we are not really sure of what we really are."

"That's because you don't wanna make anything official."

"That's not it, Ham!"

"Then what is it?" Alexander questioned, his tone as sharp as it had been the first time they tried to solve this. Which didn't work. "What is it that keeps you in denial about this whole thing we have going on?"

"I'm just not sure yet. I mean, I enjoy your company and all that.. and I've certainly never felt that way with Martha," Then, the young man paused, lowering the tone of his voice, barely above a whisper. "or anyone for the matter."

"Then what is keeping us as.. friends?"

Those words hung in the air. No answer was given. At least, not one that came from Laurens' thin lips, which he had the luck to kiss more than once, and which he would taste again as if it was a sacred temple he wasn't supposed to touch or see. The only answer he received was a silence that felt like a rope tied around his neck, taking the air from his lungs as he tried to seek relief in the arms of a lover.
Laurens was now looking at Hamilton, holding his quill loosely while his mind searched for something, anything. While he knew how much they were risking for this adventure of theirs, deep down, his heart ached for something else. For them to stop calling it an adventure. Because he knew that it was not that. It wasn't just something they decided to do because they were bored or curious. They had somehow created a bond between themselves. And as much as he wished they could scream it in everyone's faces, he knew for a fact they didn't want to be shot because of a simple thing such as loving each other.

"The law, probably." Laurens finally answered. Which didn't really satisfy Alexander's wonder.

"Screw the law, John! We've been breaking it for years now. That is not the reason, I know it." He objected, as he stepped closer. His chest ached for Laurens' embrace, praying he would held him tightly and didn't let go of him. "I want us to figure out what we are. I cannot bear to keep on calling ourselves friends, knowing what we've shared, what we've learned together."

Laurens didn't know what else he could say. There were many things he still had to figure out. He knew for a fact he didn't care about his wife. But, did Alexander feel the same about Eliza? Ever since they got married, he felt like he was losing him. Like their forbidden romance was over and that he might never really archieve what he wanted for him and Alex. Yet, Alexander had never really showed any signs of forgetting about him. That's what made him doubt.

"Then, what are we, Alex?" He asked, standing up from his chair and facing the secretary.

"Lovers." Alexander let his words sink in for a second. "We are lovers, John. Nothing less."

For a moment, Alexander felt like crying. As he was still not sure if Laurens felt the same about him. Or maybe he did, but not with the same intensity. Sure, he knew the other man wasn't affectionate. But, sometimes, he felt like he didn't care, or didn't even bother to think about the feeling behind all the poems and letters he wrote him. In which he had put all his heart.
Those doubts, however, were dismissed as soon as he felt a soothing hand on his shoulder, gently massaging him. Obviously, he tensed up, as he had not expected the Lieutenant to do that.

"If you say that, that's what we are."

Then, Alexander let his hand go up to Laurens' hip, just resting there for a moment as they looked each other in the eye. Not saying or doing anything. Just enjoying each other's presence.

Now, he wasn't really the type of man who liked getting physical after feeling vulnerable. But, once he had Laurens' lips on his own, he couldn't help but melt into his touch. Into the embrace he had been praying for. And he was sure that if there was really a God out there, then, he was the one who allowed this to happen.

Their lips just brushed against each other's, not really caring if anyone walked in. Despite the risk it brought. If it meant being able to taste Alexander's mouth, then, Laurens would gladly be shot. He just let his hand grasp Alexander's messy hair, which he could tell he hadn't brushed in a while. He didn't care about that, though. Just being able to smell the man's scent, was enough for him to give up every piece of his logic or sense of danger.
Laurens could almost taste the coffee his lover had managed to drink this morning as his tongue brushed against Alexander's bottom lip, bitting down on it gently and earning a small gasp, which almost made him chuckle against his lips. Then, he pulled away, wanting to see just how flustered Alexander was.
And, yes, he found what he was looking for. Laurens couldn't help but find the blush over Alexander's cheeks rather cute. He looked like the time they decided to take a mid-night walk and were chased by someone's dog. It wasn't romantic, but Alexander ended up red in the face when trying to catch his breath.

"You're laughing at me." Alexander complained, a slight pout forming on his face.

"I'm not." The Lieutenant denied, yet, a smile in the corner of his lips gave him away.

"Suure, and I'm straight."

"Aww, c'mon! You look like a fucking tomato!" Laurens giggled, his hand brushing away a lock of hair off Alexander's face, and placing it behind his ear. "You cannot expect me not to laugh."

"I'm 'bout to kick you in the nuts, I swear!" The secretary threatened, in a teasing tone of voice.

"Nah, you wouldn't dare. You love me too much for that." He replied, before he found himself gasping when Alexander decided to move his cravat a bit and bite down on his neck. "Son of a- Hey! No bitting, you dog!"

"There are no rules when you're being an a-hole." Alexander mocked, before he pulled back. "And I'm not a dog! I'm like- a vampire."

"A gay one."

"Oh, shut up! Why is it even relevant?!" He asked in, sounding rather annoyed.

"Because it'll turn me gayer..?" Laurens suggested, not really knowing why he said that.

"The only thing it'll do is turn you on." The secretary teased, looking down at the cravat he had just 'stolen'. "Your horny ass can't take a bite."

"Do I look turned on?"

"I mean, you could be." Alexander mumbled, mockingly.

"We have to go to the duel in like an hour. It ain't a good idea to do anything.." He mentioned, sighing heavily as he did. "I mean, I' the one who's gonna shoot anyways- No joke intended."

"Smartass.."

"But, if you think you'd be able to act like nothing happened.." Laurens suggested, before stepping closer and taking his cravat from Alexander's hands. "then, maybe, we can try."

"Wouldn't that be weird? We just became official.." Alexander asked, a bit confused about the whole thing.

"Alex, we fucked before we were even a couple."

"Touché." He admitted, still a bit nervous, but not really against the idea. A sigh came out of his mouth, letting Laurens' hand begin to slide up to his shoulders and chest.

"I love you." The Lieutenant mumbled, his other hand undoing Alexander's cravat and gently pushing him to the desk. "Remember how the bible says that if a man lays with another, they'll go to hell? Yeah? Guess it doesn't count if I bend you over the desk.”

“Let's not talk about the bible now- It gives me chills.”

————————————————————

Needless to say, Hamilton ended up limping to the duel. Not to mention, he was a nervous wreck all along, considering it was his lover who was on a duel.

Of course he was his second. Which only made it worse, as he was the one holding the letter for Laurens’ next to kin, in case anything went wrong. And despite knowing that these letters would probably end up in the hands of Laurens’ wife, he couldn't help but wonder what he would've written him in any case.

That, however, stopped being a concern once both men reached number then and the only sound they heard next was the bullet of Laurens’ pistol flying through the air and piercing through Lee's side. No wonder why everyone considered Laurens a good shot.
Normally, blood wasn't really a problem for any of them. As they shed quite a lot of that liquid during battles. But, it was different when the blood you spill is from someone you know. Someone you worked along with for a few years.

Yet, it was either Lee or Laurens.. and, honestly, it was better off if Lee was the one bleeding on the grass. So, he quickly approached Laurens, wrapping his arms around him as he sighed in relief. Almost feeling like he had been holding his breath the whole time.

“Lee, do you yield?!” Alexander yelled from his side of the field, looking at Lee, who was clearly writhing in pain after the bullet hit him.

“You shoot him in the side,” Lee's second, Burr, exclaimed, looking rather worried about the other man's condition. “yes! He yields!”

“I'm satisfied.” The Lieutenant mumbled, smirking to himself and Alexander. He was clearly proud of his achievement. If it even counted as one.

————————————————————

After clearing the field, they couldn't seem to find any other option than going out to celebrate. And, of course, they made sure to bring Lafayette along. God forbid Washington found out about this ordeal. Alexander wasn't really looking forward to being scolded and lectured about how the war had been hard enough without fighting each other.

“Ohh! Monsieur Hamilton, Monsieur Laurens!” Lafayette exclaimed, his voice sounding as cheerful as it always did. Then, he sat down along with them, enjoying the air in the same tavern they usually hung out in.

“C'mere, you french bastard.” The Lieutenant teased, wrapping his arm around Lafayette's shoulders. “We've successfully protected your honor from that pussy. Gotta give me some credit for that, right?”

“Yeah, after all, Laurens risked his reckless ass for your sake.” Alexander added in a mumble, probably because he still wasn't over the fact Laurens survived or that they had an ‘official’ thing going on. Either was equally bad for him. “We want our reward, hand it, frog.”

“Oh, pray tell, Ham. What did you do?” The french man questioned, his tone playful as he ordered 3 beers. “Besides, your reward is me paying for your drinks, so, shut your ass up.”

“Aww, what a gesture.” Laurens praised as he messed up Lafayette's hair. It was no secret the friend group saw each other as brothers. Everyone except Hamilton and him, of course. That would be weird as fuck.

The night went rather smoothly, with their occasional teasing and a lot of drunken laughter from Lafayette. Though, one of them had to stay slightly sober, just enough to take care of the rest of them. It was like a non-written rule between their gang of friends. In this case, it was Alexander's turn, who only drank two beers, unlike Lafayette, who was probably wasted to the point of not even being able to walk or say something coherent.

God, Alexander wished he hadn't stayed sober. He would've been 10 times better if he was too drunk to understand when a soldier entered the tavern. Of course, this meant bad news as far as he cared.

“Mr. Hamilton,” The soldier started, shifting uncomfortably in place before he cleared his throat. “I have.. bad news.”

“Please, tell me Lee's ass is resting..” Alexander thought for himself, hoping it was a minor issue with supplies, or someone got themselves hurt with something. “What is it?”

“I am sure you were aware of the General’s plan.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I.. uhh.. we might have lost track of him when he got captured.” The soldier admitted, lowering his head and wincing as soon as he heard Alexander's reply.

“You what?!” The young secretary exclaimed, standing up from his chair as the realization of how serious this was sank in. “How the hell do you lose a man like Washington? He's like a fucking giant!”

“Well- The British took him away on a horse and we kind of got distracted by the gunshots and-”

“No, don't come up with your stupid excuses!” Alexander interrupted him, looking back at his drunk friends for a second, before returning his gaze at the soldier. “How are we gonna find him?!”

“We have six weeks to find him!”

“Six weeks to find the camp we've looked for years. Yeah, we'll surely be able to find it before the fucking king arrives, right.” Alexander answered sarcastically, as he tried to calm himself down, knowing getting upset or panicking wasn't going to help him at all.

For now, he'd have to worry about getting both Lafayette and Laurens back to their tents and hope they fell asleep as soon as they laid down on their uncomfortable beds.

————————————————————

Alexander found himself looking down at a map, crossing out the places they had already been to. Finding the British camp would be a nightmare. And finding where exactly Washington was being kept at would be even more difficult.

He knew he was probably not fit to organize a search party for his boss. That he was not nearly as good as him. He never was. He knew he only was an orphan who had the luck of being trusted with a rank in the army just for being able to steal cannons with Mulligan..

“Wait. Mulligan..”

That's when an idea finally came into his head. Mulligan was sent as a spy. Maybe he he heard something about the camp's location and if the king was already on his way from London. Yet, he knew he would have to wait for his report, which should take about a week. It was quite some time, but it might be worth it. There could still be a chance to find Washington before the six weeks the king would take to reach the thirteen colonies.

Oh, if only he knew where the king really was..