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Alexander Hamilton found out why Benjamin Tallmadge couldn't look at the sky on a starry night.

17th Century CE RPF, American History RPF, American Revolution RPF

Relationships: Nathan Hale (1755-1776)/Benjamin Tallmadge, Alexander Hamilton/Benjamin Tallmadge, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens

Characters: Benjamin Tallmadge, John André, Alexander Hamilton, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Nathan Hale

Part 4 of the Early American History | Stories They Won't Tell series

Word Count: 6,384

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"Among the extra ordinary circumstances that attended him, in the midst of his enemies, he died universally esteemed and universally regretted."

- Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, October 11th, 1780.

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October 2nd, 1780.

The sun rise just peeked over the tops of the mountains, scarcely brushing the leafless trees at the edge of the valley. Benjamin Tallmadge arched his shoulders stretched them back before raising a hand to rub his heavy eyelids. In the circular motion, he revolved his tongue in his throat, running it across his chapped lips, cracking from the cold in a seemingly endless winter. Every few minutes he’d shut his eye- just for a moment- his body would jolt just before he collapsed onto the floor- catching himself just on time and resuming his position. Ben shifted his weight and winced, a stiff and sore back from being seated for the entire night. He blinked his eyes, liquid registering to them as they watered from sleep deprivation.

His vision was searching for something to keep him occupied in the prison cabin that was still exasperated in the darkness, for the moon had folded into the sun and sunk below the horizon. The bister of his watch caught on a spinning trail of crimson wax that had dried and turned cold as it hit the surface of the table. They followed it up to the candle holder and of course, to the candle- in the wick he could still see the ghost of the flame as it danced and nicitated across the wooden walls. It had been out for hours. Ben sat up straight and felt sleep stretching the corners of his eyes down to his cheeks. He revolved his neck finding the desk chair still occupied by John Andre’s seemingly life-filling form. Andre hadn’t shut himself all night- and Ben tell that the window was not yet tired from having the Englishman regard painting the glass with different shades of misery.

Benjamin turned his neck, running a hand along the back of his skin and fluttered his glare over the corner where a cot was occupied. The man who took the spot was curled up against the wall, legs lounged out in front of him and his cocked hat drifting a shadow across the slant of his face. Ruby hair poking out and sticking to the man’s forehead. What a strange sight it was to see Alexander Hamilton in such a peaceful state. Even from across the room, it was unmistakable to trace the silhouettes that had shredded into his cheeks from last night. Perhaps he fell asleep in the arms of a dream so beautiful it caused tears to contaminate his bones on the surface of his ivory skin and in the flecks of flames scattered across the hues of his freckles.

Ben almost contemplated waking him up but before he could there was a shudder and Hamilton spread his arms around him and sat up, tapping the brim of his cockade up out of his face, lids half drawn. The major didn’t fear sleepless nights; nobody knew how lengthy the dark lasts when you cannot close your eyes to it. Although he was clearly breathing, his chest felt hollow as a bird’s wings, only in contrast he could not fly- kept down on soil by the water swimming weight in his lungs. A sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, barely able to see through the mist of fog that was clouding his dreamless tinges of the leaves. The moon, vacant from the sky had retreated to solitude while the sun hadn’t risen yet to meet the day in celebrating illuminations.

His eyes had just began to drift into slumber once again when the door to the cabin busted open. Hamilton’s boots sunk to the floor and he took off his hat setting it beside him, and Ben just adjacent, lifted his chin off the palm of his hand and stretched his eyelashes across his forehead in confusion. His vision cleared and Ben almost stood up- perhaps it was General Washington. The familiar tight set of the hips and a lean, childish figure stepped into the room. The visage, not cursed in an unparalleled wrinkle, or a minuscule marking or scar was pure as snow and they immediately spun their concentration towards the the prisoner who was seated at the desk.

A sleepy voice buzzed across the room, “Gilbert?” Alexander inquired.

This permitted a slight smile.

Ben, struck with familiarity careened back in his chair and widened his legs. “Ah, Lafayette.” a smooth greeting and the Marquis perked his head and gave him a nod, some what boosting the corners of his lips in interest. Striking stance, awkward footing- pressure more on his left leg to fade the barely noticeable limp that a bullet had burrowed into the flesh of his calf three years prior. Delicate fingers rubbed the calluses across his knuckles.

Andre spun his chair and the bags underneath his lashes smeared gray in contrast to the rest of his tone. They hung like bruises and wandering shadows without a destitute. His cheeks lit up, “Marquis, ‘tis an immense pleasure to meet your acquaintance once again”, his forehead slightly inclined to a bow.

The Frenchman nibbled at his bottom lip in response and their was an unmistakable blush of rose coloring the tips of his ears, stepping back to acknowledge the two other rebel soldiers in the room. There was a loss of words that colored the silence in dusk of the deepest maroon.

Alexander pressed his cockade into his lap and lifted his inspection up towards the character who had just entered the room. “What’s the time? It is still dark.”

Lafayette yawned, pink lips widening, “Nearly four, I suppose?”. Ben noted his French accent thickened the English he was speaking when he was under the blade of impending sleep.

Out of the corner of his perception, Andre peeled over to Tallmadge and paused there, “Does the General have a message?”.

Flashing numerous times, pouting before pivoting his foot, bouncing his knee where he stood, stalled as there were no more seats to be occupied in the space. “General Washington sent myself to…" recess, "...stay with Andre, for the remainder of the night.” Everyone caught the click of his tongue- steering clear from certain words.

It was then the Lieutenant-Colonel shot off the cot to his feet, “No, no!” he began and Ben stood as well- slower to his feet than that of the Immigrant, “Tallmadge and I shall spend the remainder of the morning here.” a hint of defiance in his lyrics and deeper marks impregnated the communication.

“Hamilton and I have been here all evening- why the sudden change?”, Tallmadge questioned stepping closer to the Marquis.

Lafayette murmured, slouching his posture, shoulders tumbling from exasperation- it was not mistaken- Lafayette willed himself a time with Andre before… “The general does not wish two of his most important men look in such a…” he waved his hand, attempting to formulate words not yet in his vocabulary.

“Haggard?”, Hamilton suggested. Piecing together his own demolition and it almost caused Ben to chuckle slightly.

The one of ginger locks snapped his fingers, jumping a little out of excitement, “Oui, especially in the morning’s wake…” Silence permeated the room, sentences caught in all of their throats and got buried within the depths of their coat pockets. Drinking in the silence like liquor that destroyed them in a sip of guilt.

“For my death.”

Six eyes turned their examine to the man at the desk. Andre’s glazed scrutiny didn't switch towards them, fingernails picking at a drip of cracking wax that was bedded into the corner of the shredded desk. They all hesitated, straightening. Ben swallowed, his mouth becoming dry, tongue turning to thick sand, sucking in every little thought.

Hamilton decided, “Please, Gilbert-”.

“Non.”

There was a growl from Tallmadge’s right and he respited to even look at Hamilton, “Pourquoi! Pourquoi ferais-tu ca pour etre!”, frantically waving his arms around. Lafayette stepped back, clearly alarmed by Hamilton’s sudden outburst. “J’ai ete avec lui toute la nuit!”. Tallmadge took a few steps away, noticing that this was not his battle to fight and cast an anxiety ridden semblance meet his own as Andre looked towards him. “Et ou t’as ete?!”. There was a dazed and perplexed expression patterned across the edges of the Marquis’s optics, Hamilton raised a finger shoving it into Lafayette’s chest. “Si tu voulais etre avec lui, pourquoi n’est-pas tu venus plus tot?”.

It was almost as if they did not believe that Benjamin Tallmadge could understand them, holding him in an inferior nature as a one sided argument commenced with Hamilton’s grievances. Lafayette glimmered like he was fearing Hamilton and replied in a timid voice, “J’etais avec le General.”

The immigrant raised his shoulders, narrowing his eyes, greed penetrating the corners of his eyes and a place of envy- anger molded in. Raising his chin to meet the taller one’s alert. Lafayette was viewed almost as prey and Hamilton the predator winding up for kill, flickering his fangs and winding up for the kill. “Toujours le petit garçon de papa?”.

Oh no.

From several meters away the chains that curled around Lafayette’s broad shoulders and trailed down his spine snapped. Fuming, the Frenchman flung himself forward, curling his pale fingers into a fist, striking and aiming towards the center of Hamilton’s face. Ben was as shocked as Hamilton, he had never seen Lafayette snap. There was a sickening cracking of bone and Hamilton stumbled back, hands flying to his nose. Andre rushed up, the legs of his chair scraping deafeningly against the floor, catching Hamilton just before his rear smashed against the desk, the candle holder tipping over, rolling before crashing to the floor. A stream of papers ripped up through the air and fluttered to the ground.

Andre jumped to the side, grabbing Hamilton’s waist and heaving him closer. Ben couldn’t tell the difference between the fire in Alexander’s hair and the blood that practically glowed in the darkness, streaming from his nose, nauseating him. Lafayette showed no signs of rest, attempting to step forward, Ben forced his legs to step towards him and he pressed his palms in the Major-General’s shoulders. The fury, came off in a less than gentle puff that burned through his hands and he almost had to force himself to let go. Soul burning so bright, he feared he’d catch fire. Marquis, ignited by passion, consumed by the light. Ben pulled, feeling his biceps strain as he held the taller man back with much strain. The toe of Lafayette’s boots slid against the ground and Hamilton screamed, attempting to throw himself forward onto the Frenchman. The Immigrant’s arms restrained, kicking out his feet, held back by Andre’s fists on his shirt, his heel colliding into Lafayette’s shin and he cursed loudly.

“Descendez de moi!”, stranded in a stage of numb complications, Ben didn’t hear the French in time and Lafayette zipped his elbow back. The rough corner of the joint pierced into the flesh of his lip and he groaned, shutting his eyes letting the copper taste of blood settle on his tongue, digging into the crack of his teeth. He didn’t realize he had let go of Lafayette until he opened his eyes again, blinking. Alexander, still with Andre’s grasp on his shoulders struggling to free himself. Ben breathed heavily, the lieutenant-colonel’s legs wrapped around Lafayette’s waist, raising his fists, slamming them into Lafayette’s chest. Lafayette rolled, throwing Hamilton off of him, he skidding a few inches away and Lafayette did not hesitate to swiftly blunder to his feet and climbed on top of him, grabbing his wrists and restraining them above his head.

“Get the fuck off of me!”, Hamilton spit, clenching his jaw through the combat and hurling his knees into the air, hitting Lafayette in his stomach and he crumpled for just a second, wincing, giving Hamilton the perfect opportunity to thrust his fist forward, it collided into the bottom of Lafayette’s jaw and he choked on the smell of his own blood, drowning in the noise of his teeth slamming together. Ben saw Andre’s one second glance across the room and tripped forward, entangling his arms around Alexander’s stomach in an attempt to rip him off of the taller male. It was evident to catch the burn of desire written into the turquoise of his eyes, rage flickering like flames in his eyelids, tantalizing and dangerous. Lafayette’s leg kicked out, Ben’s ankle catching on the bone and he slipped, his own boots slithering, losing gravity and sincere weightlessness stole its place. Falling back, his wrap still around Hamilton’s waist.

The corner of the desk was more near than it seemed before he leaped himself forward. His hold of Hamilton’s hips released when the back of his head collided with the edge of the desk in an excruciating crack, not even enough time to make a sound or to move as darkness pooled dark and deadly at the edges of his vision. Tumbling back, falling to the floor. Nebulas collided behind his eyelids and a star less night clouded over the firmament of his desired sleep. He couldn’t see and he crumpled like paper to the floor. Eyelashes fluttering, struggling not to fade to the inky darkness, he lost and his head tossed to the side.

________________________________

“Tallmadge?”

Ben groaned.

“Benjamin?”

His eyelids twitched, barely parting to accept the obscurity in.

“Dieu merci”, a familiar breath of French accent whispered.

The silence blessed his ears once again, the ringing in the hollow cavity caused him to race a hand to his ear. Ben moaned in the pain and parted his glimpse a little further. There was blood still stained into his gums and he gritted his teeth running his tongue across his bottom teeth, panting. He pursued to sat up, the room spun, bolting an appendage to his forehead and shutting his eyes again. There was a throb hidden deep behind his eyebrow and he rubbed in an circular motion to relieve the tension piercing like a the prick of a needle close to this skull, sinking against the base of his cranium.

“Don’t try to sit up too quickly”, although the voice was soft, welcoming and melted gentle on every syllable, the throbbing in his ears still grew louder and pulsated agonizingly in rhythms. He opened his eyes once again, limbs feeling like rocks and his hearing watery, washed out. It came back like subtle tides on salmon sandy beaches. He was already mostly sat up by the time that this was said:

“Here, help him up.”

There were hands on his back propping him up and widened more. Too blurred to make out the three faces- why should he? He already knew who they were. Even as his optics were opened they still were met to the gloom of the night, the veins throbbing, pulsating; it hurt. He willed only for the amiable, warm voice to envelop his ear, comforting him. He sat up now, and this vision distilled for after a few.

The room spun again and his stomach lurched, “What happened?”

“Your head was hit”, a thick French taste lingered on their tongue.

“Can you see?”

“Are you alright?”

Two questions came at the same time and he buzzed, arms coming underneath him to stand him up. Ben stepped, his knee flaking out and he stumbled, gripping the back of desk with white knuckles. A new more pleasing pair of arms came for support, “It is okay, Ben, you will be well.”

For a second he believed the Englishman.

Lafayette turned his glare towards Hamilton, both attempting to hide guilt complexions, “I believe it is best, you get him out of here.”

Hamilton did not argue back, giving a nod at Andre before pulling Ben’s arm across his shoulder and placing a hand on his hip for support. There was a hand on Ben’s forearms walking him away, his eyes met Andre’s when they leaned over, breath hot on his ear, “He’s always with you- know that.”

Benjamin blinked, caught. He nodded, chin tipping down in a simple bow, Andre returned the gesture, letting go of his arm, the rose curve of his lips seemed to match his eyes and Ben’s head spun.

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How could it still be night and no stars in the sky? Ben found himself clutching the railing to the stairs as he stumbled down the steps, Hamilton right behind him, waiting to catch him. He left behind the misery of the night before, he left behind the trees at the edge of the valley scraping new scars into his skin and he stared at the sky for the first time in a very long time. For every golden fleck he had ever seen in the nuit, every constellation were spots of gold raining down from the heavens. A surge of pain flickered through his chest and suffocated his heart, restrain. Every little star twinkled back at him, in the most brilliant auspicious flecks that ever crossed the horizons. Why should he look up at the sky to watch something he cannot have?

The sky tantalized him, he remembered a specific boy with hair that held in the sunshine in the strands, at night he’d curl the locks around his fingers and remark teasingly how all the stars wished to shine as brightly as that boy did. Perhaps they all noticed how he kept staring at the ground on starry nights, the stars were all trapped in Nathan Hale’s hair- but he was gone.

So, how could the sky survive now?

“The waves are trapped in your eyes, and the stars are stuck in your hair.”

“What a truly tragic thing to say, Damon.”

“How, Pythias?”

“It is dangerous to make a world out of someone.”

Ben never knew what that meant.

The midnight shifted in the atmosphere, pearling gray clouds reverberated, puffing across the night matching his gentle breath that hung in the air, frozen, distilled. The frozen earth beneath his feet caused his foots to crunch across the stiff, rigid soil. Dew drops from the dead grass rubbing against ankles. Ben raised a hand to his lip, wincing as he pressed down on a cut that sealed itself under the fuchsia flesh of his lower lip and bridged into his jaw. He twitched his cheek, a purple bruises beginning to form on the bone. There was an unwavering lull coming from his side, Hamilton laced his own fingers in front of his stomach, running his cracked nails across his knuckles. Ben shivered, it ran up his shine and fused with the base of his neck underneath his braid. He rubbed the sheath of his hand across his forehead to brush it out of his eyes.

It was still dark, early morning, the sun hadn’t even began to bless the meadow in its sullen glory, and the clouds hadn’t yet lightened to make its way to the birth of a new day. October 2nd would be a day the sun regretted rearing its head, an ugly birth, cursed with the death of a milky eyed redcoat with a future expected to be of silver. Ben lamented, flickering reminiscently, the tents were still in shadow, and phantom of candle flames swayed waveringly in the twilight. Nobody was awake across the field where the soldiers lay and the general rested. Where to head now but to his own tent. He turned, jutted his shoulders back, leaving Hamilton where he stood in his petrified conflictions, not looking back.

Ben would return to his muted cot, with a paper thin blanket just to remind himself about how lost he truly was and how the person who once lived in his heart had painted the walls in the brightest cobalt and left. He’d fall asleep with the ghost of another's touch pricking his shoulders and the weight of his absence that left gritty bruises across his body. The absence of him, waking him now, tossing and turning on the cold sheets so painfully aware that there will never be another who fits of shape of his dream so well. Every night it was another punch to his gut, curling up his legs so tight keeping both spots warm as if he might reappear in a hallucination and slip beneath the sheets to comfort his fears.

Ben would never tell another that he could only admire the sky on starless nights when the clouds consume the gold, that every time he saw them they would reach their arms out he could feel that warm breath on his neck, and the presence of another against his chest, swaddling their airy arms out. But like the moon, the closer he got the further they seemed; Nathan wasn’t gravity, but he still felt his touch. Regret blackened the pit of his stomach, he would leave Hamilton behind on the wooden steps, leave behind the dead figures would danced in the flicker and wane of the candle light, leave behind the wings he imagined John Andre would sprout and leave behind the recollection that he was never to bare witness to anything closely as beautiful as Nathan Hale’s everything and his all. The trees shivered from this revelation and the death of the leaves that once lived on their branches.

A deep breath, he turned away from it all, he would leave it all behind and breath it all in remedies with the tears he’d hold back in the inky smoke that suffocated him; he’d never admit it.

A familiar hand on his shoulder barricaded him, and he flinched, “Tallmadge- wait.” The major deviated around to face Hamilton, falling subtly into the trap of Alexander's freckles as they spilled across his nose like a waterfall and lapping against his shoulders in ashy caresses. “I’m sorry- for everything.”

Unconsciously, Ben drew a hand back to the indent on his lip and dragged the pad of his finger down across his chin, “Cuts heal.” On the surface, yes, they do he answered matter-of-factly.

Alexander nibbled on his lip, his wonder decreasing to the ground, “Your injuries, I apologize”, his chin tipped up again to attempt to meet Tallmadge’s eyes which resisted contact, finding instead no solace. The Immigrant raised a finger hesitatingly, letting his tips press soothingly against the hollow skin of his cheek at the bruise that lay its formation. The madness marked onto his exterior, “The winter air might be remedy for the pain.” Alexander saw the clear wince that fined the creases of Benjamin’s face and he lowered his hand timidly back to his side.

Tallmadge headed away, brushing Hamilton’s intimate touch away, bowing over his shoulder, “Goodnight, Hamilton.”

Alexander swallowed, his mouth dry and sentences drained, running away and dragging all of his memories with him. Desperation hit him, stepping forward to follow Tallmadge, he trailed the man’s silhouette as he began to fade into the dusk and shifted away against the fog. “I never told you I was sorry.”

Ben interluded, his shoulders rising to the bottom of his ears, “You just did.”

Alexander treaded forth, “No, Ben- I didn’t”.

Ben remained still, gulped hard, in that moment Alexander wished to know every twisted frightened thought he’d ever had, yearned his eyes to crack his bones, will of his words to tear his skin apart. Alexander would never knew Nathan like he did, he never knew the boy who used to smothering his laughter in the library, the boy who threaded his fingers through his hair and bit his nails, the boy who pinched Ben’s skin playfully and questioned why he was so pale. Anger stimulated, Alexander was the one who got the message from the redcoat under white flag, he was the one told of the fate in New York.

The edges of Ben’s eyes blurred, his chest shuddered and he could feel Alexander’s eyes licking his back in many shades of anguish. He nictated, “Don’t say that.” He cannot see you. His fists curled.

Alexander’s eyebrows met at the center, he crossed his frozen fingers and twitched his red nose, stiffening the curve of his spine, “Nathan Hale was a brave and a honorable soldier-”

“Shut up!” Ben snapped, he revolted, flaring and stalking through the brown grass towards Hamilton, “Stop talking as if you knew him”, he sneered, the bends of his lips firmed and he threw his arms up. Alexander took a step back, taken by Tallmadge’s outburst. Ben incremented a digit, “You didn’t know him, he didn’t know who he was, you didn’t know anything about him! ” he gasped violently and Alexander saw the veins in his throat were bulging, “You didn’t know him like I did!” the end of his sentence wavered, pitch inclining. Ben crumbled, the tips of his ears fuming, faltering back into silence and regret. The fake mirror of fury that shone over the glass of his eyes shattered, a soft complexion took their place. His voice lowered, “Nobody knew him like I did.”

For the time time that entire conversation, their set of orbs met in the center and Alexander saw it. He caught a glimpse of Ben’s naked soul, he saw him undress his heart and he saw how much it hurt. He saw that glint of hidden fear and the mask of departed sadness. He saw Ben was unable to starve the loneliness that had devoured him, the damaged complexion and his salty eyes told so many stories, Alexander felt his own lion heart weep, they sung them tales with sad endings. The auburn forests he had only revealed to one, eye contact was such a dangerous thing. But oh so lovely, lovely and it was such a beautifully tragic thing to be lost in another eyes, drawn to the stories he collected with his own. In those forests he found two boys, amoured by the secrets they had to keep.

Alexander Hamilton saw the shadiness of chestnut and the most electrifying tinctures and the map from his eyelashes leaving a trail to the forsaken catacomb of Ben’s humanity. It was so truly tragic to find someone who once had so much life in their eyes become so desolate. Perhaps he thought he had the answers to why Ben never looked at the sky, or grazed his fingers across ponds, such beauty was so possessed. In those earthy tones on that Autumn night, he stole a glimpse of his soul; he found the most calumnious secrets that were hidden in the most unlikely places. Alexander found something else; confirmation. Ben once had someone who tore a hurricane in his life and he was still on the mend, someone who had once brought out the storm in him. There was a truth across the glint that described how much love one can leave behind the moment they accept all the pain they have lived.

Ben hated mysteries so much, yet he had become one. Alexander knew what he saw, he saw love. Nathan Hale had bitten at so much of Ben’s existence that he now was less than half of a whole; one heart they once both shared and they both once memorized the rhythms of each other’s heartbeats in their chest. Their eyes met at the center. Memories snuck out of Ben’s occulus and rolled down his cheeks, illuminated in the darkness. Ben was once in love, he was once so in love that he had memorized every dimple, freckle and scar on another’s skin. Alexander saw the shades of the tears, his mouth widened; they were in love . Ben loved Nathan and Nathan loved Ben. So caught between life and death and he finally understood the peculiarity of it all- they had fallen through grace and circumstance and a most brilliant illusion of choice. Nathan was now gone and Ben was suffocating in the seconds beneath the moment where magic and stillness collide. He never went star gazing because every time he looked at the stars, he was reminded of how it once felt to feel alive.

Ben turned his head, and in the dim morning light, Alexander saw that his eyes had once again closed off from his soul, they were only mahogany now, Alexander was stuck not seeing answers but recognizing that certain kind of silence that begged to be understood. Maybe Ben did beg so desperately to be understood, to have someone view his naked soul and know of his sadness.

Alexander’s mouth was dry, “Ben… I-I didn’t know.” Unconsciously, a hand drifted up the side of Ben’s jaw, sliding down the stubble and cupping his cheek. The pad of his thumb swiping against the bottom of Ben’s heavy eyelids. Scraping away all of the misery he could.

They met again. Ben drew a hand up to pull Alexander’s palm off of his cheek, brushing away the longing that itched in Alexander’s fingertips and ignited like tiny sparks of desperate comfort. “You weren’t suppose to know.” a hiss extended the edges of his sentences, the words were not spiked with venom and his lyrics wavered as a sob nestled itself in the auburn male’s throat. He held it back. “Nobody was suppose to know”, he pursed his lips, a tongue of bitter intentions licking at the corners of his mouth. Without another word, Ben stalked off.

Alexander breathed, following a hand to his figure, “Please, Ben-”

“No!”, Ben narrowed his brows attempting to maneuver his arm away, “You don’t get to know about us, you don’t get to know anything about us!”, his expiration hitched, lower lip quivering, and he faded from his rage again. “I-I can’t, you can’t make me speak about him- I can’t.” he hiccuped, dizziness clouding his vision, covering his mouth with his hand and shutting his eyes as his eyelashes shuddered, he stepped back, falling to his knees, hands shrouding his eyes.

Benjamin tried to leave his memories behind in a search for freedom, but they still followed him around as a trekked towards the future without any legs. He was only a few seconds ago so tall, and now Alexander seeped down at the male as he kneeled in the dirt. Alexander leaned down, placing a hand on his shoulder, Ben immediately bucked it off, “just stop .” he growled and the Immigrant followed the silhouettes that had imprinted on his cheeks.

It was a particular scene of suffering that he was experiencing because he loved something greater than himself. He was taking every step to be closer to him, and yet he was so far away. Shade took him over, the sickness pulled him in, blown out like a candle. Tallmadge was so helpless and Alexander spent time contemplating the right words to say to him, but no combination of twenty-six letters could’ve been put together to accurately capture even a sliver of what he was feeling.

Cautiously, pacing back and forward with his wrist he sloped down on his heels, putting both of his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “Get off!” he screamed back.

Alexander didn’t listen, through the struggle and through Ben snapping his fists to throw the shorter man off of him, his feet shifted, wrapping his arms around Tallmadge’s waist and tugging him closer. Ben struggled, fight to get away, to get Alexander off of him, but he could not. Sobs reverberating off of his cracking ribs, frail and fickle form, after all he had once been, he would never be the same. Shaking tendencies, Ben’s mind crawling towards his own, still sailing on bitter seas, wandering anxieties, floating winds. As much as Alexander wished to believe Ben’s lies, he couldn’t, he couldn’t no more and they became no more. Holding Ben as he struggled to be freed in his arms, holding back bundles of tears in his eyelids no more and they collided with his cheeks in a splash of gray.

Alexander could feel Ben’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips holding a life beyond his veins and out of his control. Ben filled the empty space in his arms, he kicked, he screamed, he punched but Alexander did not let go. Before a while the screams he’d mustered out were now masked by sobs, the tight clench of his body pushing against the other crumpled and Ben felt practically weightless in his arms. Eyes shut tight as he gripped the back of Alexander’s uniform in his fists, leaning a head against Alexander’s neck and choking on all of memories and they caught in his throat. Something calling him from the inside, a sweet purr that curled around his fervent heart with delirious desire that shouted in his dreams and engulfed him in flames. Endless breaths.

Alexander laced his fingers behind Ben’s back feeling the shaking man in his arms in the dirt of an Autumn meadow. Arms wrapping around him, his fingers clinging to the fabric of his clothes. Holding him almost as if he might blow away, he could not help feel the top of Ben’s brown curly hair tickling his throat, hair spilling across like a canvas on his back. It was so much easier for Ben in four years to pretend as if none of this mattered, to wear a glass smile than to confess he couldn’t stop replaying his last moments for Nathan Hale on repeat until they shattered, scattering when he tried to move on. Without meaning to, Alexander disarmed him, with a touch that soothed him. In arms that were terrified to calm him.

The side of his neck was wet with the salt that painted it in the misery from Benjamin Tallmadge’s sobs. Ben’s nails on the back of his arm piercing rips in Alexander’s skin, he shuddered and inhaled shakily, restraining another choke and striving to gape his mouth, but naught came out.

“You don’t need to speak”, Alexander hushed him. What would it be like to lose John Laurens? He was so trapped, between if he’d fall apart or close himself off. There was blood across the stretch of his lips from when he bit down too hard from worry. He had respired John’s entire existence, and he didn’t know if there were any other type of oxygen.

And Ben didn’t. He didn’t go on to describe how the sunshine played with Nathan’s hair, or how the universe halted just for him, or the waves that collapsed on his cheeks, or the moons that lived inside of his skull, not even how it was like to fall asleep twirling edges of gold between his fingertips or how the legs tangled underneath the blankets. Why should he explain things that Alexander already understood? Alexander had seen the depth of his soul and the coves of his mind. Without saying a syllable, Alexander gathered it all when he pressed fingers against his cranium and held their bodies together. Never uttered a assonant about the guilt. He didn’t speak a word about it.

“It’s okay, Ben… It is okay.”, even Alexander knew his own lies. The thing about chaos is that it destroyed them, forced hearts to roar in a way they secretly despised.

Ben knew the lies too, he mumbled softly, incoherently and his eyelids grew heavy with disgrace. The saddest thing to him was when he realized that some will never understand how he always held sorrow in his bones, and how it swirled around him until he could no longer stand. He leaned the top of his head against Hamilton’s chest, pressing against his ribs, worrying that the tears would never stop.

“You have the sadness too, Alex.”

“What?”

“You hold everything in your chest."

"Hold what?"

"The sadness of having a love no one will ever understand.”

Alexander sucked in a breath, stroking a hand over Ben’s hair gently, painstakingly his fingers scraping at his scalp soothingly, tears still leaking out of the corners of Ben’s eyes, as if he was making up for four years of quietude.

“I guess you could say, I do.”

Ben lifted his head off of Alexander’s chest, strands of his hair hanging in front of his eyes like thick trees of vines. Their eyes met and it was oh so familiar. It was the silent connection of understanding he’d been looking for his entire life.

He found it and his heart felt heavy. “Maybe you’ll be fortunate not to endure such a loss.”

The Immigrant hummed, he couldn’t imagine loosing John.

The sky, beginning to clear now shone with the light of day, bestowing upon the valley in a shed of light. Side of Ben’s cheek pressed against the silver buttons that lined themselves on Alexander’s breath, down to his stomach, sifting in his scent softly. His soul was leaving traces on his shoulders, his whole life smelling like that in his moment and it will take time to unravel himself from him. Burring his agony in Alexander’s chest, uncontrollably weeping. The frozen tips of his fingers brushed Ben’s hair off of his forehead, standing up and letting a lone hand down to him. “It’s time to go.”

They both sipped their grief in sync; it was John Andre’s turn. Both softly recognizing they had gotten themselves lost in people that could be taken away. Tears consecrated the soil beneath their feet, Ben looked towards the sky to watch the fading stars. Once again lost in the golden flecks of the atmosphere, they winked at him, and he swore their galactic arms reached down towards him as he crossed the path towards his tent. Those same golden flecks faded from the inky night; the worst goodbyes were the ones that were never said. The grief would never end in Ben’s heart, but it changed that night, from passage to a place to stay. Recognizing the pain, was never a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith, but, the price of love.

Ben recognized finding another Nathan would be like trying to find gold in a jar of swirling, black ink. Eventually Ben would be swallowed by the abyss, as they strangled their fervent arms around his neck. He was attempting to make gold from straw, while Nathan was in the clouds, dark and heavy, waiting to fall like rain.

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