How about a little post-war Charles Adams and John Mulligan fic?
Alexander Hamilton signed the letter, folded it neatly, and set it on a pile amidst several other piles of correspondence on his desk. He ought to be heading home, he reasoned, it was late, and heâd kept his dear Betsey waiting long enough. His family had probably already finished dinner without him, though no doubt she was waiting up for him, reading or sewing or some such. With the thought of her in mind, he gathered his coat from the rack in the hall and made for the door of his office. He had almost made it across the threshold when he heard the faint scrape of a chair across the hardwood floor of the clerksâ office just off the hallway.
Thatâs odd, he thought, brow furrowed, Adams and Mulligan hardly ever stay in the office this late.
He set his coat down on the hallway table, closed the door, and walked back towards the clerksâ room. Whatever project they were working on, they were certainly doing so quietly. Hamilton moved to open the door.
âI just thought it prudent to warn you that I am bidding you goodnight, and if you could be so kind as to lock the door on your way out it would be greatly-â he stopped dead in his tracks.
John Mulligan leapt in terror from where he had been sitting on Charles Adamsâ lap, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Charles, blushing beet-red, hastily scooted his chair back towards the desk and attempted to make it look like he was reviewing a letter, only the letter in question was upside-down. Nobody said anything for a long moment.
âBoys,â said Hamilton quietly, âMy office. Now.â
They entered in a tumult of frightened voices.
âMister Hamilton, sir, we can explain-â
âSir, we wonât do so again-â
âPlease donât inform my father-â
âSir, whatever you saw-â
âEnough,â said Hamilton, seating himself atop the desk. He gestured to two chairs he typically reserved for clients. âHave a seat,â he said.
âAdams, Mulligan, do you know how dangerous that was?â he asked. They said nothing. âWhat if it was someone else who had interrupted you? What if it was another clerk, or a client?â
ââŠIâm sorry, I donât understand,â said Mulligan. God, thought Hamilton, did I look that young when I was his age?
âWhat I mean to say is,â said Hamilton, âDiscretion is the only thing standing between you and an unpleasant trial. Secrecy is the only thing keeping you safe. So whatever just happened cannot happen in an office, of all places! There are woods and inns and locked rooms and the right sort of dinner parties if you happen to get an invitation, but by God, Iâll not see you put in harmâs way by kissing in my office!â
âBeg your pardon,â said Adams in disbelief, âBut youâre not going to tell anyone?â
âTell anyone? I hope you donât think me that cruel,â said Hamilton. The two clerks sat back, visibly relieved. Hamilton was struck, once again, by how few years twenty really is to spend in this world, but how many it seems when the world presents such a danger. He wished he could be kinder, but the only kindness he could offer was in caution and safety. He shook his head. âJust take some care, my boys,â he said. âThatâs how I got by, and itâs all I can offer you. Now, best we head home.â Before they could protest he opened the door and headed back down the hall, collecting his coat as he went. He could hear Mulligan whispering behind him how I got by? What does he mean by that?
Hamilton held the door open for his two young clerks and they stepped out onto the street together. âGoodnight, gentlemen,â he said.
âGoodnight,â they replied, turning to cross the street.
Hamilton pulled on his coat as he continued along without them. We were never quite that foolish, he thought to himself, were we?
âHey!â Charles called. Hamilton turned to see where he and John had crossed the street and were walking in the opposite direction. âThanks!â both boys waved in his direction. He waved back with a smile.
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