Chapter Text
When he left the stable, there was no one loitering around, as the day had already ended. Still, he circled the camp to avoid running into anyone. Soon he arrived at the small shelter designated for messengers.
He stayed there for hours and hours. Sleep caught up with him repeatedly, but shortly after, he would snap awake. Each time he regained consciousness, a deep pang of desolation settled in his chest.
He remembered everything all over again, from being on the road. The way they looked at him, the damp sensation, everything Charles had said about him.
Tears welled in his eyes again.
He remained in that cycle, ruminating in his mind amidst bags of despondency.
He thought of Washington. Surely sooner or later he would find out, and what would happen? He couldn't predict the inexorable reaction of his general. And his friends? John?
Laurens loved him, something inside him screamed that it was unthinkable for Jack to think poorly of him, but still he couldn't help fearing it.
It was three in the morning. He knew from his watch.
Before, he had been so tired, but now he couldn't even fall asleep.
He couldn't stop his mind from wandering.
Not being able to sleep ended up being maddening. The desperation led him to make a dangerous decision.
There was no point in staying longer in a place where he was despised.
It took him a few more minutes to convince himself.
At approximately four in the morning, he gathered all his personal belongings, opened the tent, and left, determined to go at that very moment. He went to the stable once more, untied his steed, arranged everything, climbed on, took the reins, and departed.
Leaving in the middle of the night, in the darkness, was still dangerous, but he didn't care.
A few hours later, dawn broke. The return journey was hell. He couldn't get those images out of his head.
At several moments, he had the impulse to let himself fall from the horse. Of course, he didn't.
He was grateful not to encounter any redcoats, as in his condition he wasn't sure if he would have fought for his life.
He knew that being seen arriving so much earlier than expected would be suspicious. Still, at that point, he didn't care.
Much later, in the morning, near noon, he returned to his camp.
An ostler received him, tending to his horse and helping him dismount.
Alex shuddered the moment the Ostler leaned over to take his supplies, right where the still-damp clothes were.
He didn't notice anything and passed them to Alexander. He grabbed them, wishing to do something with them as soon as he could.
If the ostler noticed anything out of place in Hamilton's expression, he didn't say anything.
Alexander prepared himself to have to give his report to George Washington. He knew that postponing it further wouldn't be much help. Anyway, Washington shouldn't know anything yet. It was too soon for the possibility of a letter already delivered.
Hamilton decided to get it over with as soon as possible.
He approached Washington's tent.
Immediately, the scent of coffee, paper, and wax reached his nostrils. It was a familiar smell and caused the tension to lessen a little, but not enough.
"General, report," said Alexander, aware of how small his voice sounded. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't have been so brief, but he was broken and exhausted.
Washington looked up, meeting the gaze of a Hamilton who, for some reason, looked miserable. Dark circles were settled under his eyes, which were still glassy and irritated.
He looked as if he had been crying all night.
Washington looked at him, puzzled. He wasn't supposed to return until later. It wasn't possible that he had arrived so early unless he had left in the early morning, which was not reasonable.
Not even under the most extraordinary conditions should it have been possible.
"Proceed, Hamilton."
Alexander couldn't meet his gaze. He knew Washington didn't know anything yet, but he was incapable of making eye contact with his general after having dishonored himself as he did. George Washington, of course, noticed.
His gaze softened, prepared for whatever his right-hand man had to say. He couldn't know if something had gone catastrophically wrong and had to be prepared.
"The letter was delivered. He convened his war council. They asked me to stay.
They didn't seem to address the content, and there was no clear resolution," Alexander spoke, contrary to what might have been expected. It was what he believed happened. It didn't explain the deteriorated state of his future lieutenant colonel.
He paused. He observed Alexander, who was still looking at the floor.
He was fidgeting with his hands, one of the signs he had identified as nervousness. He would have to discover what happened.
"Very well. You may withdraw." Alexander flinched at the last phrase. Washington narrowed his eyes with suspicion.
"Rest, Alexander."
Alex sighed. He gave a slight bow before reaching the exit and disappearing.
Washington was not stupid. He knew Hamilton like none of his other men, and it was evident that Alexander was not well. Either something had happened or something was happening.
Soon he began to draft a message request to one of his trusted men. Alexander wouldn't have to know he was investigating.
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Hamilton left, only wishing to lock himself in his tent and not come out for days. To force his body to sleep long enough for the matter to be forgotten.
To his misfortune, he found himself facing his best friends: Laurens and Lafayette were smiling, conversing animatedly about something. They stopped when they saw him. Alexander tried to flee, but they stopped him.
"Mon ami! It has been an eternity without your presence. Washington must start sending second-rate messengers and not colonels like you."
Alexander didn't have the strength to point out the fact that he was still not a colonel. After that day, he didn't even believe he would ever become one.
It hurt to see how happy his friends looked at his presence.
"I imagined you wouldn't arrive until late, Ham. How have you arrived with the sun so high?" asked Laurens, attentive to him as usual.
Hamilton locked eyes with Laurens. His sky-blue eyes flashed, and he knew he had sealed his fate with that look. John's face darkened, and his jaw tightened.
He had communicated, without meaning to, everything Laurens needed to know.
"I only needed to deliver the general's missive. That was all. The road was suitable." Hamilton made as if to continue walking. Lafayette and Laurens exchanged looks, confused by their best friend's evasiveness.
"Ham?..." said Laurens, in an attempt to stop him. Alexander interrupted him almost immediately:
"I am exhausted and need to unpack."
Laurens opened his mouth to speak again, but Alexander was already gone.
Hamilton threw what he had packed onto the ground. He didn't bother to unpack, not yet. He didn't want to confront what to do with the clothes yet.
Instead, he lay down on his camp bed, turning over into the darkness. A throbbing in his skull tormented him further, enduring both head and eye pain.
He decided to stay there, wishing to disappear.
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"Something has happened to our petit lion," Lafayette gazed into nothingness, thoughtful. Laurens lifted his cup of coffee and brought it to his lips. He swallowed the sudden anxiety that pierced his chest.
"Hammie doesn't seem willing to address it. We'll have to find out another way," opined John. He knew that, even so, it would be complicated. They couldn't be sure what had happened.
Both young men remained, formulating possibilities and thinking about how to get Alexander to decide to talk.
He was obstinate and stubborn, now more than ever evasive. They doubted that, at least for now, he would decide to open up to them, despite being their best friends. To avoid them like that, only something he truly didn't want to talk about could have happened.
They decided the best thing was to give him his space, as they didn't want to overwhelm him. He was exhausted and perhaps just needed to sleep.
Hours passed, night fell, and Alexander didn't come out of the tent he shared with Jack even once. Laurens could do nothing but worry.
Chatting with Lafayette near a campfire, his ears caught something that interested him. Captain Hamilton. The name and title of his best friend.
John signaled to Gilbert with a quick gesture to be silent.
"... and you wouldn't imagine what has been spreading. Rumors have begun about the latest events within Charles Lee's detachment."
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Laurens was furious.
"Mon ami, we cannot be sure that what has been said is true. We must keep our composure," said Lafayette, taking John by the arm. The other man was breathing agitatedly, pacing back and forth.
"Whether they have foundation or not, I shall not tolerate Alexander's name being treated with such insolence. If what is circulating were true, I swear on my honor that I myself will take care of digging the pit where General Lee's body will be deposited."
They had begun to hear the rumors coming from everywhere. It seemed to be the only thing people had started talking about.
The versions varied, but they shared the same common factor.
John kicked a bush.
"My dear friend, Ham needs us as his best company. If something like that truly happened, he does not need our unfocused anger," said Lafayette in an attempt to calm him. It didn't have much effect.
Laurens covered his face, letting out a groan of frustration.
He was clear that, one way or another, he would duel Charles Lee as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He would kill him.
"What have they done to my Alexander?"
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Hamilton managed to sleep a couple of hours. Upon opening his eyes, Laurens was by his side as usual.
His hand was resting on his red hair, so Alexander guessed Laurens had been stroking his head.
He observed him. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, his breath almost on his neck.
He felt a stab of guilt, perhaps for what had happened or perhaps for how he had behaved with him.
Hamilton sat up, taking extreme care not to wake Jack.
He got up, sitting on the edge of the bed.
The swelling around his eyes had subsided a little, and the pain was no longer so sharp, but he felt strange and floaty.
He got up, knowing he had to get rid of the clothes at that moment. He began to unpack quickly, his heart beating at full speed at the possibility of Laurens waking up. He pulled out the tangle of clothes and left his tent, but not before verifying that no one else was awake.
He would never wear those clothes again.
He headed to one of the campfires, lit it, and prepared to leave nothing but ashes of that attire.
As he brought his hand close, ready to drop the bundle, a visceral hatred ignited within him.
He threw it into the fire, full of resentment and bitterness.
The heat consumed every fragment of fabric. Soon it became part of it, burning in an intense, vibrant orange.
The light reflected in Alexander's eyes.
He sat on the edge, curled up, watching the scorching heat do its work and destroy the clothes he had once worn with pride.
He felt it as a metaphor for his current fate. He thought about how he should resign after that, before being exposed to more humiliation, to Washington's opinion, and that of his best friends. Resign.
He began to walk back to his tent. The idea of presenting his resignation had gained strength within him. He had no idea what he would do afterward, where he would go, or what his future would be, but he believed there was no point in staying there with an outraged image.
He clenched his fists, vibrating from the intensity of red-hot emotions. Fresh tears came to his eyes again, and though he thought he had already cried enough, he also thought they would be the last tears he would shed there.
He would go straight to draft his resignation.
Upon opening the tent, the first thing he encountered was Laurens standing, observing in the half-light.
He was wearing his linen nightshirt, and his hair was loose and disheveled.
He looked as beautiful as always. Suddenly he couldn't bear the idea of not waking up next to him.
He moved towards him. His breathing had become ragged, and he made a conscious effort not to break down once more.
"Ham, my dear boy..." whispered John.
Hamilton closed his eyes and took a breath. He did it again, and again. Soon, taking a breath turned into a whimper, and the whimper into a sob. He turned, looking toward a small table in his tent. Crying again.
Jack approached with slow steps.
"I'm sorry," Alexander ended up saying between tears. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a sudden need to apologize.
John encircled him, holding him tightly in his arms.
Alexander's nervous system took it as a tacit invitation to break down, and so he did.
Laurens's shirt soon became damp from the tears. He held him tightly, tracing circles on his back.
"Everything is in order, Hammie. Everything is fine."
Hamilton continued crying, his voice escaping in moans and gasps.
Laurens guided him toward the camp cot. Both sat on the edge, John holding Hamilton as he cried on his chest. John traced soothing movements through his hair.
They said nothing more. The only thing heard was Hamilton's sobs. They exchanged no other words. Laurens remained silent beside him.
There was nothing more to say. He already knew everything.
Alexander sighed, aware that he would have a headache once more. He closed his eyes. Beside him, he believed that perhaps it wasn't the end of the world.
He ended up not drafting any letter and, on the contrary, John surrounded him with everything he had for the rest of the night.
They slept curled up, Laurens holding Hamilton as if trying to protect his body.
Listening to John's heart beating was what finally lulled him enough to be guided by sleep.
He still didn't feel like himself, but at least he felt his Jack. That was a first step.
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"General, there is... an unpleasant matter circulating about Colonel Hamilton.
I would not give credence to rumors, but... I fear it could lead to adverse effects," the man sent by Washington to gather information explained timidly. It was obvious he didn't know how to approach the topic well.
The truth was that Washington no longer needed that man's service. He had spoken with his dear Lafayette.
Still, he listened to everything his messenger had to say.
Washington felt anger swirling within him once more. The bitterness of the situation, knowing that a misfit like Lee had outraged his young favorite in the worst possible way.
It wasn't reasonable to act out of spite, but he knew there would be long-term consequences.
He knew it wouldn't be reasonable to talk with Alexander. He knew the young man well enough to know he would prefer to leave the topic alone.
Still, from the shadows, he would not allow the situation to continue escalating. He would protect his right-hand man.
"I appreciate the report, Colonel. That is all."
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"Mon plus cher ami, petit lion..."
Laurens, Lafayette, and Hamilton were in their tent, spending time as they were accustomed to. They had avoided the topic, but Gilbert still wanted to ask if things had happened as they were said. John knew it wouldn't work.
"Laf, Non," Hamilton replied immediately, knowing where things were going. Gilbert sighed.
"Ham, mais..."
"Non, Laf. Il n’y a rien à dire. S’il te plaît, ne fais pas ça."
The change of language made the conversation more manageable.
"Il t’a fait quelque chose, n’est-ce pas?"
Alexander looked at the floor, biting his lip. His face had taken on a darker tone.
"Ça n’a plus d’importance maintenant."
"C’est vrai, Hammie?" Lafayette concluded. It was time to end the topic.
Alexander didn't answer, and somehow that was answer enough.
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The rumors spread like wildfire. The next day, he could assure that all the detachments had heard. Messengers came and went with letters.
The task of Alexander's friends was to protect him at all costs.
Even one of his dear friends, Tench Tilghman, heard about the situation. Everyone had already heard it.
His three friends reprimanded anyone who began to speak about the situation.
Anyone stopped talking about it as soon as any of these four appeared.
Washington also began to reprimand at the slightest hint of conversation about it.
They didn't quash all the rumors, but at least the situation seemed controlled in front of Hamilton.
The trio of best friends remained isolated and perhaps overly protective.
Both Laf and John were prepared to jump to Alex's immediate defense.
Of course, they didn't let Hamilton see it.
The revolutionary would have been too proud to accept it and would have felt more humiliated and childish.
Therefore, they kept it as a tacit pact of protection among themselves.
In general, a strong feeling of sympathy for Hamilton had spread. Attacking such an important member of their camp was taken as a direct attack by Lee on Washington.
A feeling of remorse was created within the community and a visceral dislike for the members of that other detachment.
Burr watched the situation from afar, analyzing. He thought about how impulsive Hamilton was, imagining that he had brought it upon himself.
He didn't say a single word, but he observed.
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Alexander was beloved in his own camp.
That was an advantage, as not long after everyone found out, a protective feeling began to form around him.
It was common for soldiers among themselves to silence any kind of conversation about it.
Talking about it soon began to be seen as disrespectful even to the cause.
"It is not a transcendental topic, Colonel. Lee is undisciplined, and that is all we need to know," was one of the many phrases heard.
Hatred toward Charles Lee became the central topic.
Still, Alexander had trouble returning to his usual character. He was seen much less, and whenever he was seen, he was accompanied by Lafayette and Laurens.
"Not much longer and it will all be over," he told himself.
It was a traumatic experience, but he regained his character. He redoubled his efforts, still with the feeling that he had to prove that he was not only the same man but better.
If all that transformed into a half-healed wound, only Alexander needed to know.
Very little time later, news shook the entire camp: the British had captured General Charles Lee.
Due to his refusal of Washington's request, the British had found him. To worsen his humiliation, they captured him in his underwear. Now he was in enemy hands.
Alexander felt immediate satisfaction. In truth, everyone did.
Washington made no attempt to save Lee after that.
No one did, for he deserved it.
That news ended up being more significant than his, and they ended up forgetting what had happened.
At the end of the day, it was Lee who was in British hands, and Alexander was in his camp, surrounded by people who loved him.
He had the last laugh.
"Finally, he did something useful, mon ami: teach us how not to avoid the redcoats," Lafayette joked.
Hamilton hugged his two best friends. That night, they celebrated greatly.