Yes hello it's almost five in the morning and I can't sleep, so have some sick Hamilton and Washingdad.
Sorry this is not formatted or edited and I'm really tired. Enjoy!
The entire household breathes a sigh of relief when the fever at last releases Hamilton. After weeks trapped in its devastating hold and Washington told to prepare for the worst, the doctor steps out of the cloistered room and declares the fever broken. Somehow the boy lives.
"He needs rest, Your Excellency," the doctor chides gently as Washington rises from his desk. He must see Hamilton for himself. Over these weeks the doctor has kept everyone away, for fear of the fever spreading. Washington's had only glimpses into the room.
Washington brushes past the doctor and opens the door, steps into the room and instantly feels the lingering vestiges of fever. The room is hot, stuffy, and reeks still of sick.
But there on the bed, tucked under a thin blanket, is Hamilton. The poor boy is drenched in sweat, shivering and restless. Washington approaches the bed, picks up a damp cloth left on a nearby chair.
He sits, the chair creaking, and reaches to dab the cloth at Hamilton’s forehead. The boy moans, turns his head, and after a long struggling moment, opens his eyes.
"There you are, my boy," Washington’s relief is immediate. Much as he tries to swallow any extreme emotion, his voice cracks. He watches as Hamilton’s bleary gaze searches the far wall before slowly coming to settle on Washington, and the general can't help but softly smile. "You gave your family quite a fright," he thinks of the letters he's sent to Laurens and Lafayette, trying to downplay the severity of the boy's illness. "But the doctor says you'll be well again soon. The fever is broken and with rest you'll mend in no time."
Hamilton blinks slowly. Washington sets the cloth aside and reaches forward, cups the back of the boy's neck. He gives a warm squeeze.
He is not yet fully awake and so he does not pull away. For a moment Washington feels he can impart some comfort when he has been helpless to provide any relief to Hamilton’s suffering.
"I'll have a bath drawn. Some food brought in."
Hamilton’s brow furrows, exhaustion clinging to his features. Yet somehow he lifts his head from the bed. "Sir?"
"It's me, yes," Washington smiles again. "How do you feel?"
Hamilton’s brows twist together quizzically, an expression Washington’s seen before when he contemplates serious issues. Slowly he shifts further back on the bed, picks at his damp shirt.
"Very," Washington draws back his hand and watches the boy with a keen eye. Something prods at his senses that perhaps not all is well, but he cannot put a finger on-
"A bath," Hamilton mutters. His brow furrows again. "I need a bath." He frowns and sluggishly lifts a hand to an ear, presses the heel against it.
"Yes, I'll have a bath drawn for you, as I said. Hamilton-"
"Sir?" The boy's eyes flick back to him, sharper, more alert.
And Washington knows him well enough to see the alarm lingering just behind.
"What is it? Do you still feel ill? I can summon the doctor back if you need-"
"You move your lips but don't speak," Hamilton interrupts. "Why?" Another frown, deeper, and the alarm breaks through. He presses against his ear again. "Am I speaking? I do not… I'm not sure."
A cold fear comes over Washington as he watches the boy move his jaw, press against both ears at once. All at once he draws in a sharp breath and turns his head to face him, eyes going wide. A pale, frightened child.
Hamilton’s looking to Washington for an answer, but he has none. He is stunned, almost frozen.
Washington snaps himself out of it, reaches forward and grasps the boy's arm. He squeezes, maybe a bit too tight, and leans in close. "I will get the doctor, " he says each word slowly.
Hamilton seems to understand, fear plain in his gaze now as realization settles in. He nods slowly. Washington rises from his seat and it's all he can do to walk calmly and not run out of the room to call the doctor back.
