what are your thoughts on a au where Davies kidnaps ham and Washington at the end of waiting
That would be disastrous for a few reasons. If Davies had Washington the war could end immediately and there’s no independence. And Davies would gladly hand Washington over once he made sure he witnessed him breaking Alexander completely. Of course Davies also might to try to keep something like this on the downlow, so he can take his time. @accidentally-a-writer anything to add?
i have a davies question! did something happen to him to make him so... wrong in the head or is he just a natural born bitch
He was born awful. His parents were wealthy British aristocracy. They were older when Samuel was born, and he was their last and only surviving child. So you can probably imagine he was given free reign to do whatever he wanted as a boy.
When he was very young he shoved a servant's child down a set of stairs and the child broke his leg. When the child's mother went to complain to Samuel's mother, Samuel denied pushing the other boy. His mother fires the servant.
So, very early on Davies realizes he can get away with things, especially where his parents are concerned. And his parents, being very upper class, were basically untouchable too, so there were no considerations even for the worst possible behavior.
Heya! It's InkAndFire from Ao3. Ya know, that slightly annoying writer who keeps bugging you and Avie about your character since you gave me permission to write him? Aaanyway, you said you wrote backstory for Davies, and I wondered if you had more than you said already in one of your responses? I also asked something on Avie's tumblr, and idk if got through, (I never use tumblr) but I don't wanna be annoying about it... I'm just curious, and I want to make sure I'm writing Davies well. Thx! 😁
I sat up way too late one night last week coming up with Davies’ backstory. Most of this stuff is not in the story itself, but @accidentally-a-writer and I might work in some more backstories. Here are the big points:
* Davies was born in the fall of 1738. We haven’t picked a date, but he’s a Libra. I looked up bad things for each zodiac sign and found bad qualities for a Libra to be that they can be manipulative and liars.
* He is an only child. His parents lost several children before he was born, so he was doted on his whole life and never had any sort of restrictions put on him.
* Being from a wealthy family, his father purchased him a commission (an officer position) in the British Army when he was seventeen. He volunteers to fight in the French and Indian/Seven Years War in 1758, but after being disappointed and not seeing much action- the French surrendered before his only battle, Davies ended up going from post to post around the Americas.
* Davies spends about ten years in the Colonies, Caribbean islands, and South America. Somewhere in this time he becomes interested in herbs, plants, drugs that can alter the mind, and he starts to experiment.
* Unfortunately for a few dozen people, his experiments aren’t always successful, so there are a trail of bodies or permanently damaged people left behind at each of his postings.
* At some point while in the Caribbean he purchases a slave named Rena, who helps him perfect dosages and how to deliver the drugs he uses. Davies pays her master three times what she’s worth because he considers her that useful. She also realizes her former master’s daughter is pregnant, and she warns Davies. They return to England.
* After returning home Davies finds his mother has passed away- natural causes, she was older, after all, when he was born, and now he’s about 30. He marries a young woman, the only child of another wealthy nearby family. This sets Davies up to ultimately inherit the property of his wife’s family, in an already remote area.
* Davies and his wife, Jane, have a daughter named Lydia. She is born in late 1771.
* More people in Davies’ circle die- his father, Rena, Jane’s parents. Maybe they’re suspicious deaths, maybe not. Before Jane’s parents die, they mention to Davies that something seems strange with their daughter. While Jane used to be vivacious and a perfect hostess, she now seems withdrawn and barely speaks.
* Davies absolutely has been experimenting on her. When they try for more children, Jane continuously miscarries.
* Sometime in late 1777, higher ups in the British Army recall the mysteries that followed Davies when he was last in America, and they approach him with an offer to look the other way, let him do as he pleases with General Washington’s secretary, so long as he provides sufficient distraction to Washington himself and keeps him from efficiently leading the Continental Army.
* Waiting in the Wings starts about six months after that.
why does Washington pay Davis in the latest chapter? is it something to do with what Davis did to Hamilton?
I assume you mean the doctor where you first said Davies? Washington paid him to keep quiet about more sensitive findings. So, it's implied that Davies indeed did bad things to Alex.
Welcome to Part Two of Past Patiently Waiting, brought to you by @accidentally-a-writer and myself! This fic is going to be a great deal longer and darker than Waiting in the Wings, so strap in for a long ride!
Read it on AO3 Here
Read Waiting in the Wings Here
Didjaknow you can come scream at us on the Hamilwhumps discord?
***
Chapter One: ever favourite object of my heart
In Greek mythology there is a set structure to all their tragedies; it begins as it ends, with a stasis. The normal of the beginning however is never the same normal as the end, with the in between bits full of heroic sacrifice and tragic misfortunes and the like. It changes what constitutes normal.
This, Washington supposes, is their new stasis.
Hamilton’s recovery is going as it was predicted to go, it’s slow and painful and will probably never be complete. Every wince and clenched jaw and sharp inhale is a cruel reminder of what happened, what Washington allowed to happen.
But it becomes normal. Hamilton has to live with the pain of his wounds and Washington has to live with the pain of his inadequacy.
Alexander tries to hide it, he’s so desperate for that old normal, when he could work for hours upon hours on end and be fine to start again in the morning, but it just isn’t possible anymore. Washington cannot, in good conscience, allow the boy to work through his agony.
Ordering his aide back to bed has yet to be well met.
It is not slamming doors or casting icy glares, anymore, but it seems Washington cannot make any suggestion without the boy bristling in irritation.
He understands that Hamilton was a fiercely independent boy, that the circumstances of his upbringing demand he be independent and that he does not understand why Washington insists on his protective detail, or that he stay separate from the other aides, or the general’s anxiety to begin with - how could he? No one has ever cared for him in that way before.
And he doesn’t know that Davies could still be alive.
Of all things, that is what plagues Washington the most, not only because it plays a much larger threat to Alexander’s safety than the general threat of the Britsh knowing the boy’s worth, but also because Washington knows the secrecy will be seen as a betrayal and in that regard Hamilton would be right.
Two months after the incident and they’re still circling each other, closer than before perhaps, but simultaneously worlds apart, and they try and get on with their lives. Hamilton wants to move on, and Washington cannot. He cannot until he knows that it is truly over.
The sun is barely risen when Washington enters the office, and yet there is Hamilton, at his table, candle nearby, and hard at work on a draft of something or other. “Your Excellency,” Hamilton greets, moving to rise from his seat.
Washington catches the faintest flush of the boy’s cheeks, the tick in his jaw when he clenches his teeth as he shifts his position.
“No need, Hamilton,” he motions for the boy to stay where he is.
Hamilton tenses and just barely glances in Washington’s direction before he settles back in his chair. “You’re up early, sir,” he says before the general can question how he’s feeling.
Washington holds in a chuckle. This is so normal. The old normal, a state and time he’d give anything to return to. “Plenty of work to be done, Hamilton.”
“As always, sir.”
“Indeed, and yet you insist on working like the work is all for you.” Washington watches as Hamilton’s mouth pulls into a half smile. He’s seen the boy dig through incoming notes and reports. Hamilton is always the first to it and he always ensures to take the most vital information to copy before anything else.
“If I write fast enough it will be, sir.” The general tuts disapprovingly but says no more, opting to go to his own desk and begin tackling his workload for the day.
“And will Colonel Laurens be joining us anytime soon?”
Hamilton hums, mouth tipping upwards again. “I wouldn’t know, sir, but I don’t doubt it. Laurens wakes almost as early as I.”
“I’m aware, and yet you both go to sleep far too late.” Washington should know, Alexander sleeps in his private quarters nowadays and Washington has found he cannot sleep if he doesn’t know Hamilton is tucked in his bed.
“Force of habit, Your Excellency.” Hamilton shuffles his papers, looking for one in particular. “If you would just clear this draft to Congress it can be sent out with the morning messengers.” But he stands too abruptly and almost crumples in on himself with a startled gasp. Washington’s knee bangs the edge of his desk as he starts, instinctively trying to reach for Hamilton. “I’m fine,” the boy insists, daring the general to disagree.
Fine has become some new word altogether in recent weeks. It’s become Hamilton’s favorite, or just about, as he quickly dismisses any concern over a grimace or flinch. Hamilton assures Washington, Laurens, the other aides constantly, that he is fine, that he does not need help in any way. Fine means self reliance, and the boy intends to keep it that way.
Hamilton crosses the distance of the room in a few short steps to hand over his draft. An untrained eye would barely notice, but Washington sees it plain as day: the slight limp, the way his young aide holds himself to keep pressure off of his injured side.
The general has to remind himself to believe this too: Hamilton is fine, fine, fine...
Hamilton gently clears his throat and Washington glances up into his face, unsure of when he stopped paying attention. He reaches for the page and sets it on his desk, “Thank you, my boy. I’m sure this is fine and-”
He’s interrupted by a knock at the door. Washington and Hamilton turn in the exact same moment. “Come,” the general calls.
The door opens, and it’s another of his aides standing in the doorway. “Sir, there’s a man here requesting to see you.”
Washington cocks a brow, and he sees Hamilton almost cock his head in curiosity. People typically do not arrive unannounced and ask to see the army’s Commander in Chief. “Who, exactly?”
“A delegate from Congress, sir. He asks for a few minutes of your time,” the other aide looks from Washington to Hamilton and back. “And he asks that the two of you speak alone.”
There are at least half a dozen letters from Congress piled on Washington’s desk, unanswered in these last months. They should all be answered, but finding the will to focus has been difficult as of late. Washington is not eager to explain himself to a delegate. Congress knows now what happened, the whole story. Even so, he cannot turn a delegate away.
Washington stands from his desk with a heavy sigh, absently straightening his coat. He glances at Alexander with a half smile. “You’ve earned yourself an hour’s time off,” he holds up a hand when the boy opens his mouth to protest. “Neither of us have any say here, hm? I’ll send for you once we’re finished.”
Hamilton’s shoulders visibly slump, but he nods slowly. “Yes, sir,” and the boy sees himself out of the room without argument.
“See this delegate in then,” Washington commands, straightening his posture and broadening his shoulders, ever the picture of authority. The aide nods and rushes away, returning not a minute later with the aforementioned delegate, after escorting him into the office the aide wastes no time in taking his leave.
“Your Excellency,” the man begins, tipping his head in respect, “I hope the day finds you well.”
“I wouldn’t know sir,” Washington extends his hand, the delegate takes it easily enough, “I’ve not yet found out.”
“Yes, I apologize for the abruptness of my visit, and the hour, but the matter at hand is one of some urgency.”
“Oh?” Many matters of Congress are of some level of urgency, but they are rare to send a delegate. “Please, have a seat, Mister…”
“Brown. Thank you,” the delegate sits opposite Washington, and reaches into his coat almost nervously.
“I do apologize for the tardiness of my replies to Congress… there’s been quite a backlog the past few weeks and-”
“That is not why I am here, General. Congress understands that there were far more compromising circumstances taking your attention at the time.” Washington does not like this man’s tone at all, there is a however coming and he can feel it. “However, as of late there’s been concerns amongst the congressmen regarding… mishaps in correspondences sent from your office to ours.”
“Errors?” Washington is diligent with what he signs his name to, what he allows the aides to send to Congress, for there to be errors made frequently enough to send a delegate is a curious thing.
“Yes, Your Excellency, in the past three weeks or so.” That’s when Alexander returned to work. “It is no slight against you… nor any of your aide-de-camps actually,” the delegate is quick to amend, hastily pulling a bundle of missives from his coat. “But the mistakes being made have become too grave to ignore. It is understandable, of course, that his work would decline after what happened-”
“He?” But Washington already knows, he can feel it. The general hears his heart pound against his ear and feels ice pool in his stomach but betrays nothing on his countenance.
“Alexander Hamilton sir, he- it is only his messages which have been found to show such errors.”
Washington blinks, once, twice. Hamilton. They’re here about Hamilton; Hamilton making mistakes specifically, and that thought is hard to comprehend. Alexander provokes Congress sometimes, his writing too blunt and quick to portray his anger at their inaction, but- he doesn’t make mistakes.
“Surely there is some mistake, Colonel Hamilton is one of my best aides.”
“Yes, your primary aide, correct?” Brown’s fingers thumb nervously at the papers. Washington nods his confirmation, a bit more curt now, his eyes a little more icy. “It is just his handwriting sir, I have a few here.”
Brown opens the parchment, offering it to Washington. There is no malice behind his eyes, but there is hard determination which bodes ill for Washington. He takes the offering and scans it as Brown continues speaking.
“The boy was copying notes and reported two hundred soldiers, there were two thousand. If you had had men act on this there would have been a bloodbath and a devastating loss of resources.”
What the delegate says is true, Washington can see that it’s so. He doesn’t know what to say. He scans the letter again and again as Brown continues.
“He’s reported supplies tracked to the wrong towns, incorrect counts of men and arms protecting our cities. I’m certain Colonel Hamilton does not mean these mistakes, Your Excellency, but they could cause significant damage, or even doom our cause. Surely sir, you examine his reports before they’re sent to Congress.”
Washington opens his mouth, and abruptly closes it again. He hasn’t needed to check the boy’s work in ages. Weeks after convincing Hamilton to join his staff the general realized he had a knack for writing his exact intentions in the very way he meant to say it. The boy is brilliant. He doesn’t make mistakes like this, and yet the proof is in Washington’s hand right this very moment.
“I think you’ll agree sir, with the potential cost a mistake like this could inflict upon our cause,” Brown trails off and clears his throat.
“Yes?” Washington lets the letter drop to his desk and looks up with a knot of dread building in his gut. He knows now exactly where this is going.
“Some congressmen agree, sir, that perhaps Colonel Hamilton has returned to his work too soon. No one doubts his integrity, but this cannot continue to happen. Some men suggest that perhaps Hamilton take more time to recover, or if not…”
“What?”
“An honorable discharge.”
“No.”
Washington knows he responds too quickly even before Brown quirks a brow. He’s too protective of the boy, especially now. If he refuses to do anything about this, he knows the rumors will start to fly in Congress. There’s been talk before, that Washington spoils Hamilton, treats him like a son, doesn’t rein him in even when the boy speaks to gentlemen who vastly outrank him.
And now those rumors will turn to Washington protecting the boy, shielding him from his own mistakes while ignoring his own duty to their cause. That cannot happen. Talk will turn to replacing Washington because of an inability to focus on his duties while so driven to care for the poor orphan boy at his side.
That cannot happen either.
“General Washington, please understand that Congress, while sympathetic, does not take mistakes such as these lightly. If the boy’s traumas are too much for him to be able to properly do his work then the only course of action available is relinquishing him of those duties.”
“Colonel Hamilton is an excellent worker, his use of the English language-”
“Was formidable yes, and we know that you two are… close.” There it is, maybe as close as this man will get to insinuating Washington cannot be objective. “But the efforts of the war outweigh the desires of one boy.”
“I’ll not discharge him for-”
“Men are discharged for war injuries frequently, there is no dishonour in it. Hamilton sustained severe injuries on your behalf,” Washington’s fingers tighten against the arm rests, “and on behalf of the cause, and there is a great deal of respect for a boy so young to endure so much. He’ll be compensated, it will be a comfortable life, but we cannot allow mistakes like these to continue.”
“I understand that but Hamilton had a promising future within the ranks, I’m loathe to even consider taking that from him.” Perhaps it is saying too much, but the idea of firing Hamilton, sending him away from the army after everything he went through in its service is unfathomable.
Washington knows how Hamilton will see this, if he is sent away the boy’s ambition will shatter. Finding a legacy for himself is all he’s wanted since he was a boy, by Alexander’s own omission.
And it won’t be safe; Davies is out there somewhere and the only thing keeping Hamilton safe is the protection of the base, of Washington himself, if he loses that then it will be far too easy to simply take him. Take him like he’d wanted to out in that clearing and do what he’d threatened with the talk of games and playing and screams-
“I’m sorry to be blunt, Your Excellency, but Congress demands you do more than consider it.”
Washington quashes that growing panic in his chest and tightens his jaw. “I will address Colonel Hamilton’s mistakes, and chart a course of action to rectify his process in the future, but he will not be discharged.”
“If he is incompetent-”
“I assure you, he is not.”
“You must understand that the Commander in Chief to the army cannot have a primary aide who cannot do his work correctly. If you do not want to discharge him that is your decision, for now, but Hamilton will not continue to work until he can do so at a level befitting your office. If you give him leave, as is your only option besides discharge, and he returns and is still unable to do his work then Congress will discharge him ourselves, and other repercussions may fall to you. So please, give it some thought.”
Brown stands, it’s the end of their conversation and they both know it. Washington follows and offers his hand to shake, but he does so with a stony disposition and hardened gaze. Brown takes the hand and steps back, bowing to Washington.
“Please offer my best wishes to Colonel Hamilton’s recovery.” How dare he end this meeting with well wishes to Alexander when he all but threatened Washington to fire him.
“And give my regard to Congress,” Washington grits. Brown nods and takes his leave, escorted by one of Washington’s guards.
The general heaves a great sigh and collapses back into his chair, drumming his fingers over the missives which were surely to be the cause of many a headache; it is true that if any other man made these mistakes they would be fired immediately, but not Hamilton.
Maybe Washington pushed too hard, even inadvertently, for everything to just go back the way it was and Hamilton wasn’t ready. It’s alright though, everything is fine fine fine, he will simply insist that Hamilton take a few more weeks to recover and begin checking his work more closely when he does return.
Hamilton might resent it but that’s fine, Hamilton will accept it if he wants to remain a member of staff. He has to.
Because if he doesn’t and he’s forced away from the army, from Washington, and Davies finds out-
He will. Everything will be alright. It will be fine.
Fine.
…
Hamilton, despite his previous assurances, is sleeping like the dead when Washington ascends the stairs. After the conversation he just had, Washington does not want to simply send someone to collect the boy, he needs to see him for himself.
He opens the door slowly, expecting the soft, rhythmic breathing that has coaxed him to sleep the past few weeks. Alexander lays on top his covers, on his good side, and looks completely at peace. He hasn’t looked at peace, even in sleep, for seven weeks.
Washington debates letting him rest, and leaving the unpleasant conversation to come for later. In the end, he decides to just let him sleep, but ever in his Alexander way, the boy chooses the opposite.
His eyes blink open naturally, without hurry, and he doesn’t start awake like he might’ve in the first few days of him staying in Washington’s quarters. Instead he groans and blinks away his sleep in its entirety before sitting up.
“You might feel so refreshed if you rested more than three hours a night,” Washington comments light-heartedly, pouring Alexander a glass of water and then one for himself. “Or if you more oft took my advice and retired for an hour throughout the day.”
Alexander sips his water without comment, but his lip pulls into a little grin against the glass, which is comment enough for Washington.
“I’m not yet of the age that I require daily naps,” Alexander grins, the unspoken like you hanging in the air.
“Cheeky,” the general tuts, content to watch the boy at ease for a little while longer. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And always will be.” Hamilton shifts towards the edge of the bed, but stays sitting atop it. He can’t stand for long lengths of time. “What did the delegate want?” Washington’s mirth abruptly dissolves, which does not escape Hamilton’s notice, his brow furrowing in concern. “Is there a problem within Congress, or-”
“It was about you, Hamilton.” Washington watches the moment the words hit the boy, the moment they sink in.
“Me?”
“Yes,” the general swallows heavily, “they believe you may have returned to work prematurely.”
Hamilton’s face flushes. “And who are they to say so?! What basis do they have to make such a claim?!”
“You’ve made mistakes Alexander, you’ve made grievous mistakes which could have had devastating effects on the army.” The words feel like lead in Washington’s mouth.
“What?” Hamilton’s eyes grow wide, and Washington can almost see his breath stall. “What mistakes? Your Excellency, I double check all of my work, there must be some misunderstanding.”
“I… I saw the missives, son, in your handwriting and- and there were errors.”
“Then there must have been errors in the original notes I transcribed because I copy them perfectly, I know I do.”
It irks Washington a bit that the boy refuses to take responsibility for his mistakes. He’s made it clear that he’s not angry with Hamilton. His chief aide can be irritating, arrogant at times, and having seen the missives, it cannot be dismissed now.
“No, Alexander.” Washington sighs. “It’s okay to make mistakes, maybe I pushed you too hard, or allowed you to push yourself too hard to return to work, but you have to take accountability-”
“I do! Let me see the missives, I know they are correct to the notes I was given! Sir, if I thought I was unable to do my work I would have retired myself.”
“Would you?” Washington snaps. “That’s not your regular habit Hamilton, you work until you drop and don’t seem to have enough sense to know when it’s too much.”
Hamilton looks as if he’s been slapped. “You’re not listening to me; I keep the notes, if you just allow me to show you-”
“No, Alexander! The Congress called for your discharge, how you made the mistakes are neither here nor there, what matters is that they cannot happen again and I cannot be seen doing nothing about them.”
“Discharge? You’re discharging me?!”
“No, I’m not. You’re being placed on leave for a few more weeks, but I stalled your discharge from the ranks.”
Hamilton sputters and abruptly stands, knocking the air from his lungs as he does so. Washington’s hands rush to steady the boy on their own accord but are angrily shaken away a moment later.
“So you’re going to believe some unknown delegate over your primary aide-de-camp?” Is that all Hamilton is? Neither of them know, maybe that’s part of the problem. “You’ll believe them without even allowing me to try and prove to you I’m not inept at my job?”
Washington produces the papers from his coat, much the same as Brown did not an hour ago. “Here are the missives in question, Hamilton. You wrote them and there are mistakes. Now it is understandable if you cannot focus as you once could, but at the end of the day it still means you are not ready to return to work.”
Hamilton snatches them, quick eyes fluttering over the words on the pages and the annotations made by Congress of his mistakes.
“I have my notes from these missives, I’ll show you them, you’ll see that what I wrote was true to my knowledge-”
“Enough.” Washington’s voice is low and authoritative, he’s had enough of this conversation. It’s a dismissal and he can see by the look on Hamilton’s face he knows it.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” There’s a hurt in his eyes which Washington recognizes from two months prior. “I’m telling the truth, I- I know the mistake wasn’t on my part.”
“Congress already believes I favour you, if I try and refute these claims they will have my head. I’ve heard enough for now Alexander, we’ll speak more later.”
“I don’t understand why you won’t allow me to at least-”
“I said enough! You weren’t ready to return to work, that blame is on me, but you can try again in a few weeks after you recover a bit more, maybe by then you’ll have learnt to ask for help.”
“I don’t need your help! I’m tired of your help!” Hamilton bellows it at the top of his lungs, his fragile hold on his temper broken. “You believe me a fragile, cracked piece of porcelain, nothing more than a damaged thing for you to fix, I’m not! I’m just as capable now as I was before Samuel Davies shoved a dagger through my chest or shattered my ribs! You don’t listen to me, even still!”
“I’m just trying to protect you, Alexander!”
“I never asked for that! All I ask for is your trust-”
“Do not accuse me of distrust, son.”
“Don’t call me that! You are not my father!” That certainly halts any rebuttal either of them were about to say. To be quite honest, it stops Washington’s heart in his chest. Hamilton gulps down a mouthful of air, eyes widened, and rushes out of the room.
…
Washington doesn’t see Hamilton for hours after their argument, doesn’t see him for the rest of the day in fact.
He heard Alexander race down the stairs, slam the door to his office and then reemerge a moment later, he heard Laurens’ worried call for his friend to stop, slow down, and then both their footfalls retreated down the hall, away from Washington.
Washington cannot avoid camp inspections that afternoon, and by the time he returns it is nearly dark, and he is exhausted. The general starts first toward the workroom, expecting to find Hamilton at work despite their conversation and his order for the boy to stand down. He stops just outside. There is no candle lit, no one in the room. With that he turns back and heads up the stairs to his quarters.
Hamilton is not in the room.
Washington is not surprised. Had he been in Hamilton’s place as a young man he supposes he would not have appreciated a talk like this either, but accountability is accountability. Hamilton will understand eventually. He’ll calm down by tomorrow, in a few weeks return to his work, and Washington can imagine the glares he’ll get when he has to scrutinize the boy’s letters and reports.
At some point the general falls asleep. He wakes before dawn as he usually does. When he sits up and lights a candle he looks to Hamilton’s bed. It’s untouched.
Washington is not surprised to find the bed empty. Over these last trying weeks, months, when Hamilton’s frustration or temper gets the better of him, he often leaves these quarters to share with Laurens. The two have become even closer since… then, and Washington knows that Laurens came as close to losing a brother as he did a son. The first time he woke to find Hamilton missing Washington all but panicked, tearing the place apart until he found the boy asleep in Laurens’ bed. Now he accepts it that Hamilton must still be in camp. He’s safe.
It’s fine.
Once he’s suitably dressed and prepared for the day Washington makes his way to the workroom. He’s the first one there. Not unexpected, since he’s ordered Hamilton to take more time to recover. A servant has already been by, there’s a fire going in the hearth.
Washington sits at his desk with a brief glance at the stack of letters from Congress. He needs to respond to these soon. He can ill afford a rumor that he’s unable to maintain his office, his position, and manage this war.
On the other side of the desk sit Hamilton’s letters brought from Congressman Brown. Underneath them lie scraps of parchment. Washington almost chuckles to himself. These must be the original notes Hamilton had copied his letters from. Mistakes on the letters correspond with circled words in the notes. The boy went through and found every one of his supposed mistakes and pointed…
Washington’s breath abruptly catches in his throat as he lifts one of the scraps. The writing is familiar- he’s seen it before. He still sees it in his sleep most every night.
Do you really think you can keep him safe every hour of every day?
Before he even consciously decides to move Washington is on his feet rushing for the stairs. He bursts into the other bedroom without even pausing to knock.
Laurens is alone in his bed, still asleep. Washington can’t breathe.
Hamilton is fine, fine. He has to be. The boy wakes early. It’s fine.
Washington still rouses Laurens. Perhaps he knows where Hamilton’s gone so early. The boy blinks his eyes open, fixing on the general with groggy confusion.
“Sir..?” Obviously he’s not fully awake, having failed to leap out of bed to salute.
“Have you seen Hamilton? He isn’t… I need to speak with him.”
Laurens shakes his head sleepily, and Washington feels his heart shatter in his chest. “Alex wasn’ here las’ night.”
It’s fine. Hamilton is fine.
Washington desperately wishes he could believe that.
Davies' main storyline- the Past Patiently Waiting-verse, has spiraled into so many other AUs. @accidentally-a-writer and I get talking and oop, there's a new AU idea. Since they're always AUs of the PPWverse, Davies is the villain. I think we've done at least six AUs from that storyline. The magic AU is the most prolific, followed by a cop/political thriller AU. Those two we hovered around for like a month, and then there are slightly shorter others.
