Chapter 1: One
Chapter Text
[February, 1778]
The cold bites harshly at the revealing skin of John Laurens' face. It blows with so much intensity his scarf is fluttering wildly and aimlessly from behind him — The fog of snowy haze dusts the view of the camp, but it's worse with flicks of blonde strands scattering his eyesight. Tucking them behind his frozen-cold ear is futile as the flurry pushes them out once more stubbornly — While John distantly swore he would never complain of the heat again if they make it out alive of this frosted dreaded storm.
He is swept with relief to see the Potts house arising through the mist of the blizzard. He craved the warmth of the hearths, and to shed himself of his soaked attire. Which that had been painted in several layers of snow — A blanket of furr would be much more comforting to wrap himself within instead. Even though he knew he had to work on the stacks of intelligence that awaited him, he hadn’t cared a bit; if it meant the shelter of fire to warm his trembling fingers in.
His hopes are granted as the door swings open with more force from the wind than his actual push. He is sharp as he pushes his body against the wood to shut it close before the house is filled to the brim with snow — John sighs when he's successful and lays limply there for a period with a thoughtless mind, and rather just enjoying the spare time to breathe — His bones throbbed anyway, he was in no rush to disturb himself from his content resting spot.
Though to that idea's demise, his senses reunite when he hears the familiar clatter of his fellow aides chattering happily. Supplying him the motivation to lift himself from the door, and untangle the mess of layers, that he's confined himself in for the sake of avoiding frostbite.
John hangs his scarf, that's damp from the snow that's melted upon the wool — And shakes his coat so the frost can dry on the floor and let his uniform hang. When done, He makes his way to the office, a smile creeping onto his features when he sees the men all in fine spirits. Though he questions why they are huddled together in awe of a particular letter Meade holds.
"It is read here, he will arrive on the twelfth," Meade says, scratching the stub of his chin subconsciously, a known habit of his.
"Whom?" John inquires as he steps in. The room shifts their attention to him, having been too distracted by whatever they were reading have heard the ruckus of an entry he had made. He doesn’t miss, nor disregard, the fond smile that slides through Hamilton’s lips — He returns the gesture wishing to peck him on that same mouth right then, if only not for the other men occupying the room.
"Friedrich Wilhelm Ludolf Gerhard Augustin von Steuben, Baron Von Steuben." Lafayette beams as he says it. He pronounces the name like it's the title of a famous man, and they are blessed by gods to have heard it. Though the name resounds no bells for Laurens, as he can’t recall a name ever like. Nor a rememberable one with how long it was. “He's a Prussian man, he is said to have European education of soldiery.”
"What is he to be assigned for?"
"Not sure. All that's made word is that Congress has appointed him to the continental army, and he is expected in the next few weeks." Hamilton says as he reads the letter over Meade's shoulder. John is a little surprised to see them with such interest in this one man.
"Quite absurd, since when is Congress recognizing the army's needs?" John lends his hand outward, and it's received with the letter so he may see for himself.
"It is rather, Benjamin Franklin's doing. He suggested the man to Congress with appraising talk of his military background." Harrison explained.
John hums lightly, he knew of Mister Franklin. His mind danced absently to the memories of his time in Europe, where he had gotten to meet the bizarre man of talents — He hoped that whoever he had damned the army with, it is to be a man of some quality worth his stay.
"Any idea what he is to do when he arrives?"
"I reckon something useful with his martial artistry. Though I truly ponder what, as Greene has taken quartermaster, what else may we need?" Tench ponder aloud. They stand around their tables, stacked full of work and papers aglow, though admittedly they bear no motivation to fix any of it. "We already have plenty of generals. What we truly need is more soldiers, but the Baron isn't anywhere near fitting for that position for it to be likely."
"What does Washington say?" Laurens now questions as he returns the letter, Harrison taking it now to briefly run over any missed details — But to their disappointment, he mentions none. So the letter is returned to the general’s stack of correspondence he is doomed to have to read. Pity to the man, when Laurens hisses lightly at the disaster of responsibility he must take when he returns.
"None, he's as silent as one may be. I can't find what he sees in this newcomer." Harrison answers as they start to return to their respective seats, deciding the day is getting later and later, and they must begin what work remains stacked. Laurens sitting beside his fire-headed lion with an affectionate smile — Its truthful intentions are imperceptible to the others thankfully. He pulls out the translation he is to write and sets up his quill and ink, he is slow and paced — Partly delaying his work to enjoy the warmth of the room thawing his shivers.
“Didn’t you meet with Doctor Franklin once, John?” Alex inquires as he writes his upon his parchment. Eyes never darting up, but his tone is genuine curiosity nonetheless.
"I did, yes. Interesting man, he was.” John says, but his words are a trailing trance. Before he shifts and says with more prominence for more of the whole room than just Alexander, "If Franklin has recommended him, he must be of some talent. Lest he intends to damn this army with another mouth to feed."
The air is thick within the dark cabin. The only light, and consistently long-lasting sound, is the fire that crackles within the hearth. It tints the cabin shades of oranges and reds, and sometimes a between mixture. It is quiet, yet not anything peaceful. Neither Laurens nor Hamilton have spoken since their working hours. And that has caused a loud drift between them as they settle for bed — It feels loud, but it’s so soundless. It worries John all the more, Alexander was not a man of content silence. Whatever burden that possessed his obnoxious mind was one to fret for its severity.
John has to force his attention on the scar that has faded upon his palm. He tries his hardest to spare his mind from the awkward instrumental sounds that are all the log house is filled with. Though his mind refuses his wishes, the sounds become more prominent against his will — Wind howling outside the log hut, and the splashing of water as Hamilton washed off from behind him. As he chucks handfuls of water from their basin to rinse his face and upper half clean.
"Your tense," John says shortly, an unsaid but heard inquiry as to why. Though unfortunately for him, there is no explanation, only the silence as water has stilled and Alexander doesn’t even sound like he’s breathing until there’s a sigh. And John knows the redhead well enough to foresee the fond shaking of his head like he’s being ridiculous.
“I am not.”
"Why do you lie? Have I caused it?" John now turns so he may read the expression of his boy, but it's unveiled to be an indecipherable tempest of thoughts. Alexander sits crouched to the basin as he watches the water that shadows his hands blue, but his mind truly lies elsewhere more puzzling than the mundane details of water.
"No, my dear. It's just- Well it's nothing." He shakes his head once more, seemingly dismissing the thought of discussing it — It does none to ease the concern. He walks, lightly in sound or disturbance, over to the boy, who still keeps his attention to the bucket. John crouches from behind, so he may caress his arms around Alexanders’ bare torso. He isn't freed of any worries, but Alex does lean back to embrace the warmth.
"Dear boy, if it has blessed us with the silence of Alexander Hamilton, I must inquire as to the severity.” John is soft and tender as he warms Alexander’s chest in a hug from behind, he kisses the cheek he can reach before resting his chin upon his shoulder. “Now you must tell me, or I may fear hell has frozen over alongside Valley Forge.”
“Humorous,” Alexander quips, it’s an evident dodge tactic in the hopes it will differ the subject. How poor, Alex knows him well enough to know he won't fall for that.
“Alexander, please tell me, my only is wish to help.”
“There’s nothing you may do,” He sighs, but knowing how barely satisfying his response is, he continues. “It’s the Baron. He may bring some worries.”
“Why is that? Is he not loyal to our cause?” John asks as his hand travels further up Alexander’s chest, warming the cold, fair, freckled, skin with his body heat in affection.
“No, not as in that,” In emphasis of words and meaning, the ginger's hands now lifted from bathing in the water, but then clasp around Laurens’ calloused hands. “ Us, John.”
“Oh…”
The meaning is heard, why Alexander felt the need to be rather secretive with words of their love when they were alone, wasn't. But he was patient and let the boy take time to speak of his worries, he only hummed when a response was necessary.
“I was curious, as one might be when the credentials of a supposed officer are unspecified when enlisted. But to my own demise of fortunes, I have driven too far for what I had hoped to find. One may disregard words of slang or slurs, but his erupt dispatch has my doubts in hand.”
“Is the man a criminal?”
“In a sense.”
“Whatever has he done-”
“He’s a sodomite, John.”
John doesn’t vocalize the ‘Oh’ on the tip of his tongue. It’s futile, the distress is partaken and known amongst them both — Like a tidal wave, a swarm of emotions flood, and now John apprehends the threat at hand. It wasn’t as though they were disgusted by the man, hell, they were the same sinners. But it worried them what was to come if perhaps Steuben were to hear of their bond and let it slip loose — It was vital information, that if lent in the wrong hands could be the same that tied that dreaded rope around their throats.
"It was nothing more than some slander, but I fear it has its truths."
“He wouldn’t… If he’s the same, then he is understanding, yes?” John couldn’t correlate where his suggestion lies, or where it ends. He is rather striving to gather the little assurance they had, that had meant they were not at their ends just yet.
“That’s not my worry. What if he can read us? What if he is too careless and spreads the word?” Alexander’s grip on his lover’s hands tightens as he trails on with worry. Anxiety wrecked his veins with a tremble as his pupils dilated — John could feel the heat as his grip became loose. “John, Washington mustn’t know! I can’t, he’ll never forgive me. I can’t bear to see you hung by my side even! All it takes is some eavesdropping and our names are to through the mud, and we're sentenced to the gallows!”
“Alex, worry not, Dear. We have protected this secret with our lives, we are just to be more reserved.” It’s weak, and John knows it. But he can’t promise what lies unknown until the future, he can only vow to attempt its prevention. “Trust me, sweetest, if God toys with fate, we are to make it out alive in spite.”
“How can you be so sure…” His heart throbs when he feels the drops of salty tears fall to his hands held closely at Alexander’s chest — He is no fool to confuse them for the washing water. He can only huddle closer, as if the tighter the embrace, will strengthen some shield to yield the assault of possible threats.
“My love for you is the strength I can repel with and ‘tis is the strongest I may acquire.”
Days prior, Washington had ridden out with a few men to go and greet Von Steuben before his official entry. When he had returned, he was in a knot of emotions that he hadn't quite properly correlated to the aides despite their queries — Whatever had left the general so mystified was unbeknownst to them all, but they hadn't prodded further when he lastly didn't even acknowledge one of their questions. Afterward, they'd decided it must have just been a long day. Though Hamilton and Laurens remained weary of the man all the same.
The day of Von Steuben’s arrival is haste in its coming. And before they could even discern, the morning had arrived and they were out in the cold, standing in attention to the right of the general to welcome the man. The weather must have pitied them as the blizzards have passed and for once, Valley Forge is peaceful and still, lacking its usual rain of hail — Though they would have been more pleased if it was not so early in the morning that their eyes felt pounds heavier with exhaustion.
Laurens and Hamilton were shot awake by the distant cheers of fifes and drums playing from afar. But as the chorus arose with capacity, a march came along into view. The resound of flutes and drums with the vibration of strong marches rumbled the quiet camp — It came as no surprise when the closer they had come in proximity, it was revealed to be, Friedrich Wilhelm Von Steuben, alongside him, were his aides and a gray odd-looking dog.
They appeared like royalty when compared to the rags of sad men that made up their milia. Wigs freshly pondered and kept, uniforms clean and with no spot of wrinkles, fine and fed stallions they rode upon with properness — They could have been confused as kingsmen when besides the men who were dressed in the brown civilian clothes, and missing shoes.
The chant had seized in its melody just as abruptly as the march of men stood straight and center in unity. The barons’ horse yelped as her reins were guided to a halt, and surely, there on her back was a tall yet round man, hair in a queue and pondered silver-white, his uniform professional all the same — His expression was firm, yet no anger behind so, somehow reminding them of their stern Excellency himself.
“Grüße General Washington.”
It felt as though the entire camp had gawked, whatever language that was upon Steuben's tongue; it was not well known amongst them. And they had enlisted men of several origins, French, Dutch, but this was not of familiarity. Not even Laurens or Hamilton could decipher it, sharing confused looks for a split second wondering if one could translate.
“Du Ponceau, sprich mit ihnen für mich.” The Baron now turned to order something to one of his aides. A man of slightly short stature, who is presumed to be named Du Ponceau, nods curtly and steps forth to the side of the Barons' horse so he may be in ears range — He has dark hair, black seemingly, is short, and barely goes below his ears. His nose is pointed and stubby, but his face is much like a square, with firm cheekbones.
“The baron greets you warmly and wishes you good health, Sir.” The short man says though he appears awkward and timid — As if he is intimidated to have been in such close quarters with Washington. Hamilton couldn't say he was surprised, his father kept a solid and professional, yet not too cold unless needed, persona for the public. If Ponceau knew anything about him, he had decent thinking to swallow hallowly.
“I wish him the same with his arrival.” Washington nods softly but had paused so the man may translate before he proceeds any longer. “Will the Baron have the time to join us for dinner? We have much to discuss.”
Du Ponceau turns to talk with Steuben, though it cannot be heard through the natural breezes that holler, they do see the old man somenly nod before looking straight ahead once more. Every movement Steuben made had shaken John the wrong way — Though deeply he knew of the ridiculousness his emotions were being, he couldn't lay his finger upon the conniving demeanor Steuben had reflected.
“The baron would be delighted, though he must unpack for his quarters.”
“I will see to it.” The general responded with a tip of his chin before he turned to his aides who stood by his side. When realizing they were under notice, they quickly turned to the general with haste. “Laurens, assist his men with their luggage. Hamilton follows me.”
“Yes, Sir.” They both said, resisting the need to protest as to why they must be separated. But they do share side glances with shared confusion, before riding off to their assigned duties.
“Careful there, Sir.” Ponceau gasps lightly when he hears the struggle of the trunk Laurens carries tripping from his grasp briefly. The stairs in the Potts' house are long and steep and have made their trips of carrying cargo a struggle to master without breaking anything. “The baron carries many treasures from Europe. He be quite dismayed for any of them to shatter.”
“Whatever it may be, it weighs as much as a fussock would,” Laurens mutters with labored breaths as he shifts the crate in his arms. This whole ordeal reminds him nostalgically of his beginning days in the army.
“I’m afraid to disappoint, but there's much more that awaits.” The other laughs at the filter of manners, or rather lack thereof — Laurens had been nothing but a gentleman the entire time, it was almost comical to see the attitude drop from his character when he was too exhausted to care.
Luckily, they may struggle less as they reach the hallway, that leads to the room that will be Stuebens quarters. They still hold onto the luggage despite the ache in their bones threatening to snap — But at least they would have less to wrestle with now that the stairs are out of the way, for the time being at least. It gives some peace to chat with Du Ponceau, now that they may correlate their words with less fatigue.
“Do you enjoy the Baron’s company?”
“Not as much as his ‘most favorable aids’, but he is a man of good qualities and I admire him greatly.” Ponceau off-handley chuckles at his own remark. He sounds as though he harbors a grudge for the favoritism but it has dulled now with time, though the quotation makes Laurens’ eyebrow raise.
“Most favorable as in how?”
“Quite like your Hamilton and you-”
Ponceau gasps and whatever else he was sputtering were muffled by the gloved hand trapping his mouth hurriedly — But his struggles to rip it off were trivial in such as Laurens, in a panic, had abruptly dropped the trunk and dragged the man into a nearby room. Only then is Ponceau freed and whirling into the room, he stumbles, having very little time to react and comprehend anything.
“What on earth-”
“How did you know?”
Ponceaus’ protests and growing accusations had silenced themselves quickly with the deadly glare that had now shadowed the blonde’s complexion. His tone is hard and dark, leaving the thought of anything but answering truthfully cowering away from ever reaching his tongue. Yet his tongue didn't feel like operating, as the younger one stared wide-eyed and trembled back some — Far too shaken to get any clear coherence to sound or mind.
“Who told you?!”
“I- Sir please, it was the Marquis!” Ponceau quickly explained when the raging man had marched towards him with boiling wrath piercing his eyes. He treaded back further in retreat, having reached the foot of the bed, and grappled a tight grasp onto it quickly, to stabilize himself if attacks were met. “Marquis! Marquis de Lafayette briefly spoke of you and Hamilton.”
John's eye shrunk suddenly with a halt in his breath at the name. Unbeknownst to Ponceau as to why but he knew now was not the time to ask — Though to John, he felt his head falling light on his shoulders, his stomach feeling as though it would spew from his mouth any minute. How did Lafayette know? And how could he tell others so freely?
Had Gilbert already sentenced them? But they were all on good credits this morning! When was he told? What would happen?
“Sir, I assure you, this is no stranger to men on the Barons’ staff.” Ponceau stutters out, he isn't sure what to say or what to do. But he can see the panic that arises when the man has a hurricane of thoughts that abuse his mind — As his once stampeding rage had dissolved into a hysterical panic in a matter of seconds.
“What do you mean?” John hisses, he doesn't sound exasperated at the shorter anymore, but the nauseous is evident in his raspy tone — As his hands' quiver and card through his honey-colored locks in a stressing spasm of terror.
“The Baron himself, he uh, fancies men in ways that are beyond friendly affections…” Laurens doesn't respond, he doesn't know how all of sudden. And Ponceau senses the confusion so he proceeds wearily. “Even, I have favored men.”
“I…”
“Am I interrupting something?”
The two that had become close in contact during the flood of mood swings, Laurens having leaned too close as to be a few inches away from Ponceau's face — Not the perfect picture when there stands, Alexander, at the doorway of the room. And judging by his tone, which is that of bitter passive aggression — And the stature of his arms upon his hips in a tight grip to conceal his flaming rage. He is not pleased.
“A-Alex- I…” John internally scolds himself for being rash and not locking the damn door. As in their haste of finding privacy, any sort of thought of company being present was forgotten.
“Right, don’t mind me, I’ll leave you two to it.”
Hamilton is swift with his turn to leave, it's so curt the cape of his coat flaps some, and his braid of curls slaps the air. But despite his words carrying courtesy and politeness, his tone is all to the contrary. Laurens had his breath stolen from him too many times to correlate anything of reasoning before the redhead was disappearing down the hall, but his legs are faster as he is running after the blistering boy — He didn't even care if his running shook the house and their dispute was made aware, he only cared to catch hold of that blue sleeve before it was out of sight in seconds and beyond repair.
“Alexander, wait!”
“Why? Don't you have some other man to toy with while I’m busy?” Hamilton spins around when a hand dares to clamp his shoulder. He is harsh as he rips it away and shouts right in Laurens' face. He, himself, is also seemingly apathetic to the idea of being overheard, his anger possesses any senses or modesty he obtains.
“It’s not like that!”
“Oh really?” Hamilton chuckles airily like he's heard some joke, and is left speechless in disbelief. Though his brows remained furrowed projecting his remaining anger. “Then, explain my dear , what the hell was that ?”
“It isn't, Sir! We were discussing, I promise you.” Ponceau had managed to trail behind them and follow after their chase, though he seems confused and isn't sure what he's exactly defending or starting. But only worries he caused a sort of conflict.
“Alexander, please, we were only talking.” John nods curtly, but the other remains unconvinced and spiteful with glares.
“And what about that requires you in a room alone and so close?”
“He- He knows, Alex.” Laurens forces out, grasping onto Hamilton's hand to emphasize his meaning — Partly also cradling it in a prayer for forgiveness. And judging by the boy's quiet gasp, it's heard. “Gilbert knows. And told him.”
“Oh.”
“I swear by it Sir, what he says is true. I am of the same.” Ponceau says as he hurries closer — He is panting with labored breath similar to Laurens, whether it is because of their racing hearts, or the mild run they made, it wasn't entirely researched as they had far more important affairs at hand. Alexander does spare him notice but it quickly locks back the blondes' sapphire eyes.
“So my research exceeds my judgment,” Alexander says lowly below breath, sounding as though it was majorly to himself. But he looks at Du Ponceau once more, almost in consideration of something but it's unbeknownst to them of what. “Not only the Baron but his men.”
“Yes, but we have far greater issues. Gilbert has known, somebody has told him!”
“I should hope so, as I’m the one who did,” Alexander states with a partly raised brow. Having been inhumanely calm for such a confession, It has Johns' own brows furrowing.
“Hamilton! You can't just tell people-”
“I am not telling people, John. This is Gil. Honest, you think he hasn't noticed by now?”
John recoils at that, knowing how open they have been in front of their dearest friend. It wouldn't be unlikely for them to have done anything while drunkenly silly in front of the man. It still didn't mean…
“If he is to go around and tattle, our heads are to be chopped.”
“Pierre is a sodomite, all the same.” It takes a moment for John to register the name that belongs to Ponceau. Who remains idly standing aside watching the dispute, he merely waves when they both glance at him briefly. “This is Lafayette we are referring to Jack, I trust him to not overshare in the wrong hands.”
There is no argument left to make, but John simply tells himself he's too tired to fight — He sighs with a hand rubbing the stress from his temples, ever since Steuben's arrival, he had been stressing over getting caught most foolishly. Still, some anxieties remain — But ultimately decided to press on and trust Pierre to not say anything reckless. They were more likely to get caught if they continued to worry like fools when an opportunity arose.
What a hazard these coming months were to be...
Chapter 2: Two
Summary:
Yet, Laurens had barely seen himself with the aides anymore, as he had practically been assigned Steuben's gofer. As time aged with the coming weeks, he had found himself by his aid more frequently than the last time. And though he was beholden to Steuben's effort and benevolence to the army's calls, he was still leery and distant to the gentleman.
Notes:
Big thanks to my friends who helped proof read this for me !!
Chapter Text
The days flew by, and accommodating to the army with the Baron's branch was one addition that was going to take greater time to grow familiar with. The newly arrived fellowship was sufficient in the healing of the pitiful state that had abused the army’s morale the prior months — Many of the Barons' men had been rushing through the general's office during the day, and there were tenfold more translations than what was usual — Yet, Laurens had barely seen himself with the aides anymore, as he had practically been assigned Steuben's gofer. As time aged with the coming weeks, he had found himself by his aid more frequently than the last time. And though he was beholden to Steuben's effort and benevolence to the army's calls, he was still leery and distant to the gentleman.
Hamilton and Laurens had at least befriended his secretary, Pierre Du Ponceau, or rather Stephen Du Ponceau — But he insisted that Pierre was still the name they referred to him by — He was a rather placid man and never spoke bluntly, but he had his moments of witty reflect. The lad was quite young as well, younger than both him and Hamilton. Presumably, the reason he had fondly stuck by their sides, that he was likely deterred and in need of men near him in age — John could sympathize understanding how alone he felt when he had first enlisted and was environed with strangers. Needless to say, they had found him as a fond company with great agility.
Though it wasn't the same for Steuben, truthfully Hamilton hadn't minded the man — In fact, he seemed to be brimming with gratitude for his service and charity to the continental army. Laurens had not — Anytime Steuben had so much as grinned with endearment, it prompted Laurens' brows furrowing with reprisal. Something about the tall broad man had made him sick with untrusting air.
" What in god's name is that?" The Baron abruptly had stopped his steps to gawk at the carcass of a horse that laid soulless in the snow. The odor was gag-worthy like everything revolting in the world was freed, and it wasn't a particularly elegant sight to admire either.
The Baron had been grimacing at everything in the camp, complaining of the lack of shoes, yelling at the men who had fallen asleep at posts, and more. It wasn't as though Hamilton or Laurens didn't agree, hell they had lived through the horrors he was admonishing — But this walk was primarily meant so he would know his way through the encampment, not to endlessly scrutinize it. Yet he persisted like he was a grade school teacher correcting their late exams — Having already caused a migraine to pulsate Laurens’ head throughout the charitable stroll.
The two were specifically chosen for the tour due to their fluent French. Although French was still a foreign tongue for Von Steuben, it was the best to be managed. But mentally Laurens prayed, to whatever gods, that they could soon be replaced and be freed of the man's presence.
" Ah, that's a soldier's horse, Sir. Unfortunately, she could not be consistently fed ." Hamilton explained, bearing the least of any sadness or worry in his inflection. Mostly due to being insensitive after witnessing it throughout the winter on several occasions. War could tarnish the purest little girl with its tragedies and sins — Many young boys had envisioned it as a sport, where they could battle to become honorable heroes, and dream of glory and a legacy as their destiny. While Alexander had been one of those foolish souls once upon a time, having bared witness to the cruel and unforgiving heartbreaks firsthand, he was quite insensitive in the result.
" You just leave her there to rot? "
" To speak frankly with you Sir, after carrying three horse corpses a day, anyone would get tired, " Laurens appended, and even though he knew his tone of temper was bordering on disrespect, he hadn't heeded to change it — Not as long as the bitterness for the man still swelled below in his gut, while his teeth gritted in restraint.
" This 'army' is just torment to all these men, " Steuben rubbed his eyes as if that would massage his headache away. He had seemingly ignored Johns' remark, but unfortunately, Alexander did not and curtly jabbed his elbow into John's side. The blonde merely glared but nevertheless, they picked up their pace once more — And continued down the dirt path, and through the troops occupied with their duties or activities. " It is in dire need of proper training. Whoever thought this could win a war is a fool. "
The restrained rage flamed, Laurens having gripped his knuckles white at it. Toppling stress boiled to a storm of hate, it's the coal to the flames of his pent-up rage and frustration. Laurens was already accentuated and had been biting his tongue to keep from snapping at him, but then the Baron had come charging in while making endless demands — It had brought forth a sort of appalling fury Laurens' had usually restrained to thoughts. They had stood frozen in knee-deep snow, while he had partied off in France. Torture it was, but it wasn't as though he ever bared it.
" To inform you, we have made it on quite nicely and with triumph. I think we may proceed, with or without, your needless statements of what's ever so obvious. "
John felt like clamping a hand over his jaw when he had registered what he spat — Realization only sank further when Hamilton quickly shot him a deathly striking glare, and the Baron turned with an expression of appalment. He was only grateful Washington was not present to demote him on the spot, or a fate more graver — Whatever beast inside had taken the reigns of his tongue, but his common sense to apologize seemed to have vanished into thin air as well.
" Yes, well look where it's landed you, boy. "
Remorse was gone in a flash, Laurens felt like leaping, and throwing whatever he could at that sanctimonious, exempt man — Steuben was nothing but self-righteous ignorance, whatever size of his ego allowed him to think he had the right to stand there in furr, shoes, and layers this army would die for. But instead to perch his nose high and scoff at their struggles, like he was holier than thou. He practically lost any control like he was in a bar brawl; when he dared to step forward and open his mouth to spit more venomous words — Though any words he was ready to slander with, had fallen deaf with Hamilton's piercing glare.
" Sir, if you please excuse us momentarily. I must speak privately with Colonel Laurens briefly, please look around and get acquainted. " Hamilton is with haste as he draws a hand to prevent Laurens from his charge. He cracks whatever believable smile he could muster for Von Steuben before harshly gripping the others’ arm, and hauling him away hurriedly — The blonde could feel the steaming of heat as Hamilton radiated rage like a boiling kettle. He led him to a nearby hut they could stand beside, with enough privacy to glare at each other with spite.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Once they are alone and free of the Baron's ears, Alexander is swift in dropping his facade. He still grips John's arm despite them being at their destination and is rather to dig his nails into his arm in an almost admonishing way.
"What are you doing? Letting this man trot all over us, like he has the right to chide what we endured!" John is wild in his hand gestures, his face twisted in rage. It's evidently clear he's offended by the fact his lover isn't agreeing on his behalf — After everything they had suffered through together, Alexander should be one who is just as irked! How could he be just so illusional?
"He's trying to help us! He committed none for you to be so pointless resentful!"
" None ?" John feels like laughing hysterically from the ridiculous comment. But when Hamilton doesn't reveal it was all a joke, he feels his veins boil with blood as he jerks his hand away from the other’s grasp — Like he can't stand to be touched by the man. "He danced away in Paris while we starved, suffered, and you were at death's door from ailment! And you dare defend the man."
"Because he can be the key to reviving this army, John! And you're going to blunder it with your unnecessary enragement!" Alexander hisses as he jabs his index finger like a dagger into John's chest repeatedly.
They don't dare yell above a hissed whisper to not disturb the camp, but they are frank with words knowing even if the Baron had listened; none of it would be understood — Yet, Hamilton is swift as he turns a glance to check on the Baron momentarily before John could spit another remark. Thankfully, Baron is oblivious to any sound they may make; As he is much rather busy shouting German, uselessly, at some men who were asleep this late in the afternoon. Despite orders to keep him from distracting the camp, he made no move to break it off — As long as Steuben was entertained, it would buy some time for them to handle things before Laurens would go and make a mess with his irrationalities. Though when Alexander turns back, he is unimpressed to see his friend still rigid with a scowl and crossed arms.
"You're about to go ahead and trust this man?" John asks like it's a challenge as he squints with narrowed brows. But despite his energy that remained blistering his temper, Alexander had eased his own and merely sighed.
"Not trust him entirely, but he is of important use. Now, whatever ill feelings you hold against the Baron will do no good for this cause, Dearest."
John couldn't decipher whether he's just too tired to argue any further or if Alexander sympathizes with him partly. Regardless, he doesn't plan to fight any longer, for the time being — He reaches up to cradle his cheek that's dusted red from the chill, but it doesn't do much to soften the tight grimace that scorns his face still.
"We'll discuss this later," Alexander says with ocean blue eyes that promise it. The stunning sight has the blonde's brows loosening some, and his frown softening — He would be a fool to think he could remain cross with his lover. But the moment of peace dies swiftly, as they both are returned to reality when shouts in Germen can be heard from the distance. They are quick in their sprint from the cabin to retrieve Steuben from his verbal lashing at the men. "Sir, please. We should continue on—"
Whatever Alexander had said to smooth the Baron from his flying arms and raging yells of whatever he was hollering, Laurens didn't care, he had toned it out in stubborn spite for them both. The fact Alex was too naive and allowed Steuben to boss them around like dogs was just a log into the flames of his agitation.
But it didn't sound like Alexander, his beloved was a genius, he could read through the best-fabricated disguises. It wasn't his usual to ignore these details. Though he lingered on the promise of a discussion to hear the reasoning.
The night arrives and Hamilton barely mutters a word to John. The little contact they engage in is the short glances but holds barely any affection or meaning when they were so brief. Laurens knows he shouldn't be irate, but admittedly, envy surges whenever he catches the redhead talking engagingly to some men who've been hired as Stueben's aids — Succesful answering his prays to be replaced.
John hasn't heard of them very much, though Pierre talks of them fondly. Benjamin Walker and William North, was it? He briefly wondered if they too were "the same" , however, the thought is shaken away just as fleeting as it had occurred — John was exhausted, military activity having been revived in the wake of the morale-less winter ever since the Baron had arrived. And much was to be done if they were going to make it out of this Jack Frost curse — So that being said, he decided his mind was better off focusing on the army and their agenda rather than the pointless hopes of familiar men. It would just leave him spiraling in worry of discovery.
Instead of the usual dinner that they share, which is; to rummage whatever scraps they could muster, mostly being stale bread, and maybe some cheese after they had sliced off the mold, or a bottle of milk they share. They now sit at the same table but with a different company, and a larger meal has been sacrificed to please said, guests — As of now the quiet tranquility and talking back and forth like brothers are gone. Now reinstated with chattering resounds of the new addition of the Baron and his aides joining them, along with Martha Washington to her husband's side.
"How has the Baron felt about the Americas since his visit?" Martha inquires, as her posture is with all the grace, even as she slices through the piece of pork upon her plate. The Baron had responded but of course, Pierre does the real talking, as he listens intently and then turns to clear his throat and tries to muster up the same formal tone the Baron had formulated.
“The Baron says the colonies are very diverse with every location or region, not one very common in the nations of Europe,” Pierre explains with a shy grin, it’s apparent he’s worried for his next words as he fidgeted and spun his fork. “He also admires the cultures. Such as, uh, the common practice of sharing sleeping quarters with familiars of the same sex. It is unusual for European standards, but one he will adjust to soonly.”
The meaning is rooted in unlawful meanings, though the Lord blessed them with the luck of the implication flying right over everyone’s head. Well, almost — As a select few chuckle at it, those who, being Alexander, North, and Walker. They who sit across from Laurens and Alex, now being so close Laurens could already notice their adoration of a bond for each other. As they often side glanced at each other, and would briefly flush at one another before posing it as a cough. Something about it made a shimmering feeling crawl through Laurens' skin.
"Try to enjoy yourself, Laurens." Alexander whispered just enough so only the blonde heard. John realizing he was glaring at his plate when brought back to consciousness.
"This is ridiculous."
“You are mistaken, Sir, since July eighth we’ve declared these colonies as official states.” Washington corrects, but with good humor as if bragging. The louder chat has over shadowed the banter between the aids. Though it is successful in its rise of laughter throughout the table — Yet Steuben doesn’t laugh until it is repeated to him in French by Pierre.
"Baron agrees, and honorably vows to assist in America's triumph. Though he says so parchment and ink of the Declaration are not to be wasted." Pierre renders with his own chortle, as the Baron smiles behind his glass of wine to his lips.
“Yes, I hope. Though I do fret to say, the army doesn’t match that same spirit with our stay in Valley Forge being exceedingily disheartening. Yet hope rises once more with you, Sir.”
Laurens feels his blood boil to the brim, his stomach swirl, his hands shake with resistance, tongue bleeding between the tight clasp of teeth — All while he watches the way George fondly grasps Steubens’ shoulder and gives it a firm shake to emphasize his solemnity. It’s nothing, it should feel like nothing, but yet it burns all the same. The way everyone praises this man, while he has done little to deserve it. It’s just a privilege granted to him on silver or gold, whatever he pleases to demand.
He can’t restrain the way his hands grasp the wooden corner of the table, his muscles refuse to cooperate with his mind screaming to stop now, even as his legs push and he’s made a scene with his erupting stand — The whole table seems to have jerked their notice to him as dishes clatter and the chair sneers across the floor. But John is frozen in place without any reasoning for his rash actions rising to the mind. He’s dumbfounded and is making a fool of himself.
“I, um,” John fixes his cravat, feeling as though he’s suffocating in the thick air, with looks centered to him causing some heat to fluster him. “Excuse me for my lack of manners, but I must depart for the night. I feel not well, I must be coming down with something.”
“Oh dear, would you like me to send some soup to your quarters—”
“A-Ah, no. I am sure it’s just the usual fever.” John is racing in rebuttal, it almost hurts to see the shock upon Martha’s features with his crudity. She was such a tender woman, it burned him in every instinct of a gentleman’s virtue to apologize at the knee — But he withdrew, to instead give a small bow of the head and slid his chair back in adjustment. “Let me not disturb you, gentlemen. I wish you all a fine night and to dine to your heart’s content. Um, goodnight.”
John is too hurried in his leave to spare a glance to see how Alexander reacted. He spares no time whatsoever and only watches as his feet lead the way out of the Potts house — And to their cabin without any correlation of what had just happened, or what he had just done. He’s sure he is to be scolded for it when the morrow arrives, what improper etiquette he had conveyed in front of the Baron, and Washington with his wife. But there is no consideration, only the mess of thoughts that whirl his head. He doesn’t even dust his uniform off as he falls to their bed, he just sits, watching at nothing.
“What in God’s name of a mess I’ve become…”
“You wish to discuss earlier?” Hamilton snaps with annoyance. It is bizarre, and unexpected, throughout the late-night Alex was silent. Sure, his silent treatment was already a bad sign, but his outburst was out of nowhere — Even managing to cut John off guard, as he untied the blue ribbon that confined Hamilton’s untamed curls. Though despite the projection in his tone, he remained still, a little tense on the shoulders, but unmoving as he stayed crouched. The blonde sat on the bed to get a better view of the braid he was doing, while Alexander sat between Johns’ knees — It's a nightly routine they had begun so Hamilton’s hair would be less of a tangled disaster every morning.
“Not really.” It wasn’t wit, but genuine honesty as John would rather burn the entire memory of dinner altogether and forget its existence.
“Well, I do.”
Despite the certainty in the boys’ voice, its only response was idle silence. Evident he was being ignored as John continued the braid but discussed no further — It did a great deal to build the growing annoyance that was Hamilton’s anger.
"I’m serious, John.”
“Then go discuss it with North and Walker, you seem to adore them so much you’ve spent the prior days majorly with ‘em.” It wasn’t entirely the issue. Yes, John did hold a minor grudge against the men, he’s hadn't even spoken to; because they were harbored most of Alexander’s scarce time. But his truer resentment lied with Steuben — He was rather just trying to bore Alex out of the discussion.
“Is that what this temper tantrum of yours is about? You’re upset because I got acquainted with the Baron’s aids?” Alex turns to now face John to see if his answer is true, knowing the other wouldn't be truthful in verbal response, he looked for an expression to read. Though John tries hard to leave his character neutral so there would be nothing left to debate with — It was idiotic to assume Alexander couldn’t read him thoroughly. “No, it’s not. Be honest.”
“It’s all of them. The way they walk around and act they deserve to be here.” John shatters his facade, crossing his arms loosely to glare at whatever he could catch in the distance. “I wish them all to hell and to never return. But you just keep trailing after them!”
“What in heavens have they done to deserve your hatred, Laurens? Give me one damn reason and I’ll see them fitting for our distrust!”
John laughs like there’s scrolls worth of their crimes, but none come to his mind just as fast. In fact, none, in general, make it to his mind. It’s like a destroyed city after a horrendous hurricane has swept through, with all of his spiraling emotions, nothing is left to blame for it — It’s empty, whatever cause there was, it is lost in the aftermath of his outburst.
“I can tell you why.” Alexander huffs amused almost at the pitiful quiet that falls from Johns’ tongue. He acts as though he’s already gotten a read on the man before he could grasp his own intentions — It only spites John more, as he’s offended at the notion he’s an open book to be read as he himself is too naive to realize.
“Oh, really?”
“You hate them because they’re just like you.”
He wished to disguise the way his mouth had gawked, the way his eyebrows raised just the lightest to convey the subconscious answer. Alexander was right. Whatever spectacles he had worn for this, had revealed his true self even to his eyes.
“I am not—"
“You haven’t accepted yourself truly, so you resent them for being just like you. Because it still disgusts you.” Alexander continues mercilessly, glaring gravely into the denying blue eyes.
“No—”
“You can't stand that they like men just like you! Does that mean you hate yourself? Do you hate me all the same, Laurens?”
“Stop!”
Laurens is grasping tightly onto Hamilton’s nightgown sleeves like it’s only the only lifeline to hold as he hangs limply to his death — His breathing is labored, he can’t correlate why, he isn’t exhausted, but he pants like he’s running. Head hanging limply, he doesn’t dare lookup. His skull feels heavy, full of nothing, but weighs him down nonetheless — He is lost. The mayhem of sentiments has vanished with no trance, only desolation of anguish.
Soundlessly, a hand comes to trace through honey-colored strands. It’s a wordless apology for prodding so cruelly — But by his stance, Hamilton remains somewhat firm, disapproving even, but apologetic all the same. for a while nothing is said, it doesn't seem like there's anything to be said. Laurens didn't have a word in mind, he didn't want to realize he had become just like the people he feared all his life, but it was the undeniable truth — Here he was, scowling at sodomites like he was not one of them. As if they were the dirt, and he was somehow above them. Everything he thought the Baron had been was just his projecting.
“My dear, this is part of you.” Another arm is tender as it affectionately embraces Johns’ trembling figure — While the other remains carding gently through his hair, impossibly gentle and slow. As if cradling a helpless creature that is frightened by the unknown. “It is a beauty and shall feel no shame. You are not a disgusting sinner, you are my beloved.”
“Alexander, I…”
John’s voice is broken in heavy sobs, heaving when he isn’t spilling salty tears that fall into a dark spot upon Alexanders' shirt. He should be scolding himself for crying, what man was he to be sobbing like a sensitive child? But he couldn't find it in himself to care — He craved the warmth after such a sentimental mess he had become. he feels selfish for ignoring his father’s lessons about toughening up and not shed tears in front of others. Though after some repetitive hiccups, he is stable once more to murmur.
“How could we ever love, Alexander? If not to burn in the unforgiving flames of hell, we are cursed in endless fear of the ropes in the gallows.”
“John, look at me, dearest heart.”
His chin is lifted, but he didn’t refuse. He only gaped at Alexander’s own misty vision that is teary-eyed. The grip under his chin trembles in its grasp, but it didn’t weaken the meaning any less.
“I love you too damn much to spare any care for what society has to say, even his lord. Damn them all if we are to be penalized for what we cannot control.” Alexander declares with emotional veracity — As if he is far too maddened with love to care for what constituents as a sin or the good-hearted. “God can torture me, hang me, kill me, burn me even. But it is worthless, my love for you will always prevail.”
“You are a bloody fool to curse yourself for my sake.”
“Perhaps. But if there’s one thing, and one thing only, I may promise, it is that my heart will never give up on yours.”
“We’ll be each others’ forever.”
Not_A_Normal_Human (Guest) on Chapter 2 Sat 27 Aug 2022 12:41AM UTC
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