Chapter Text
"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.
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“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.