Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the shores of a small island of the West indies lie the few remains of the destroyed lives of Nevis. Scattered in the surf are the bits of cloth and wood that didn't sink into the ocean and among this lies a tiny survivor.
Alexander Hamilton, a five inch boy who rode the hurricane, lies curled within a wooden carving box that had miraculously stayed in one piece. With him are a multitude of papers of different sizes covered end to end in small, frantic writing.
Alex lay starving and bone tired. He'd used all his energy writing and hadn't eaten in the days he'd spent thrashing in the storm. So he lay in the box, thinking to himself that he hoped someone found his story after he died.
For an insane moment, Alex feels the box move and imagines that he's drifting out to sea once more. He panics and screams, using the last of his energy to tense up and beat on the lid.
The box lifts up and up, then stops. He holds his breath and rethinks the situation. Someone must have found him! They'll read his story and know what he went through! But that also means they found him alive. A human, obviously, by how far he felt himself lifted. A human finding him alive was definitely not ideal.
The lid scrapes open, pouring in sunlight and fresh air, both welcome but startling. Alex curls in on himself and whimpers at the onslaught.
“Oh! Are you ok in there?” a woman's voice, no doubt a local picking through the debris. He tries to answer, but can't muster more than another whimper. He's truly spent, unable to do more than cringe away from invading fingers. “Shh” He hears. “It's alright. I'm going to take you home with me.”
Alex's eyes are already squeezed shut, so he's not sure at what point he passes out.
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When he wakes up, there's a warm fire and someone cooking. In his delirium, he thinks someone is preparing to eat him. He untangles himself from the nest of blankets and crawls blindly until a large hand wraps around him.
He gives a startled scream that dies in his throat. He still can't fully open his eyes, despite the dim lighting thanks to the hearth, so he thrashed weakly with no idea of where he is or what's going on.
After a few seconds, he's settled against a large chest. A booming heartbeat reverberates through his whole body, which is soothing and odd at the same time. He settles quickly, though he continues to shake his head and whine. Another hand reaches up to pet his hair. Within a few moments, he's back to being drowsy and limp. He's finally able to open his eyes without it hurting and takes the opportunity to look up at his captor.
It's a young woman who smiles when they make eye contact. “There we are. Sweet thing, you must have been so scared. I found your papers. Took the liberty of putting it all together in a dry box.” Alex blinks up at her, shocked that a human was treating him so gently. “Don't go to sleep just yet. I need to get some broth in you.”
Alex finds himself in the little nest once again, sitting up and able to see his surroundings. He was on a table in the middle of the house with a cot against the wall in front of him, a hearth to his right, and a splintery wooden door with a few cracks to his left. The woman found two bowls and filled them at the fire where a large black cauldron sat on a metal grate. She turned back to him and dipped a wooden spoon in, then left the spoonful to cool on the table.
“that'll be yours when it's not so hot.” She explains. “my husband will be back shortly and I'll be sure to have him read your papers. I can't read, unfortunately, but he runs an accounting business at one of the docks. He should be able to look through it.”
The woman sits on a box repurposed to a chair, then leans on the table to look at him. She smiles and reaches out to lightly touch his head. “I've heard of little people, but no one has seen them. You lot keep well hidden, don't you?” He's not sure if she wants an answer and feels no need to respond. “I understand if you want to leave to go find more like yourself. I don't want to keep you here against your will. If you'd like I can take you out to the forest once you're feeling better. If there are any on the island I bet they'd be out there.”
They fall into silence after this. Alex dwells on her words. He almost dares to hope she means it. Humans who found their kind weren't well known for “letting them go”. His mother told him horrible stories to warn him against making contact. But this woman seemed kind. And sincere.
“What's your name?” He asks after a while.
She didn't expect him to speak and startles a little. She quickly recovers. “Victoria.”
Alex holds out a weak hand and waits for Victoria to extend her hand, then leans to kiss a single knuckle and smiles. “It's nice to meet you, Victoria. Thank you for taking care of me.”
Victoria laughs and blushes at the small kiss. “I couldn't just leave you out there.”
He's about to say something in response when suddenly the door bangs open and a loud, bushy-bearded man bellows “Victoria, that stew smells wonderf-” everyone freezes as he takes notice of the tiny bundle on the table. “My dear, what have you found?”
Alex scrambles back from the large man, but ends up backing right into the woman's hands. She cups them around the startled boy and lifts him to her chest once more. “Hugh, this is… ah, well I didn't catch his name, but he was in that horrible storm. He washed ashore this morning and I found him in a box with a whole stack of papers he wrote. I can't read them, as you know, and I was hoping you could read them aloud.” her hands are trembling, which frightens Alexander. What reason does she have to fear her husband? Will he beat her? Kill him? God, he wished he wasn't so fatigued.
The man stares with intense dark eyes, then smiles kindly and reaches out to grasp the tiny. “well, let's see the young lad! Don't hide him away.” Victoria carefully untucks him and holds him out on her flat palm. The large man doesn't try to grab him, but gets very close. “hello, wee one. My, you must have had quite a journey. You're so small!”
Alex blushes and reaches out a hand once more. “h-how do you do?”
Hugh grins. “and you speak!”
Alexander grows a bit more bold at this indignity and uses the last of his strength to shake his hand. “I can write as well. Those papers are a letter to my father about the hurricane.”
Both humans show surprise at this. “your father? Was he not in the storm?”
He shakes his head. “He left our family a few years ago. I've heard a few rumors of where he is working and I was hoping to reach out to him.”
Hugh stares at him intently, scratching his dark beard. “You are a smart little thing. Probably very useful to have.”
Both Alex and Victoria tense at this. “Sir, I'm not-”
“Hugh, I told him I'd-”
“Now now. I am the man of the house, Victoria. And this is a great opportunity.” He holds out his hand, which Victoria hesitates to place the tiny on. Once he has him, Hugh lifts him to eye level. “young man, I run the finances of an export business. I realize you have dreams of getting back with your father, but I think this could be a good chance for you. Would you like to work in my office for food and lodgings here with my family?”
Alex is quaking, unable to get steady with his fear and exhaustion. The man takes pity and sets him down on his nest once more.
“give it some thought, lad. I think you'll see it as a great opportunity.”
Alex lays in a fetal position, hidden in the blankets. Too much was going on. He just wanted to be alone and safe somewhere.
He was so scared and tired he completely forgot about the stew.
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He wakes long enough to hear snatches of conversation and be lifted to drink a mouthful of water or stew, then he drifts out again. The next few days are nothing but a haze of these instances, muddled between nightmares of the hurricane.
After a particularly bad dream where his little box began seeping water from all sides, he was woken by a soft hand petting his forehead. He realized with little thought that he'd been mewling pathetically and twisting his sheets, making him feel too hot and trapped. Victoria gently untangles his limbs, then feeds him more stew and he drifts again.
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After four days of this, Alex finally awakens.
Victoria and Hugh are still sleeping, which gives him some relief. He probably would take the time to escape, were he not still weak and trapped on a very tall table.
With a huff he sits back down and thinks. He could work for Hugh and have a little lot in life, he could go looking for his father who may or may not be dead, or he could go in search of a better life. Somewhere far away from here.
An hour or so into his thoughts, Hugh awakens and untangles himself from his wife. He pours himself a tin of water and goes to stand at the table. Alex tracks his movements like a cautious rabbit.
“So, wee thing. What say you of my proposal?”
Alex gives him a weak smile. “I've given it much thought, but…” Hugh's face drops into a dangerous glare. Alex hesitates. “I… I think I'd like to get going before I overstay. And I was hopeful to make my mark somewhere.”
The man stares for what feels like forever before smiling and saying “nonsense! You're welcome to stay here forever. And you'll make your mark just fine at my office.”
Alex blanches. “sir, I really would feel better if I could get going as soon as possible. I thank you for your hospitality thus far, but-”
“but nothing, boy. I thought I'd made my case quite clear. I can change tactics if necessary.” He clenched his meaty fist on the table top, letting Alexander see how big it is compared to him. Alex gulps.
“I read your papers. They're incredible.” Hugh says with a hint of affection. Alex continues to stare at the fist in front of him. “I plan to publish them to the paper. It'll get your name out there and maybe your father will see it. I'll also be telling them that you're working for me. And I'd hate to be made a liar.”
The tiny nods numbly.
Hugh huffs a laugh and pats his head with little care. “Good lad. Now, why don't we eat some stew and I'll show you the office today?” He doesn't wait for a response before turning to the cauldron. Alexander releases a shaky breath, calming himself with the thought that Hugh will slip up soon. Then he can escape.
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Hugh definitely likes showing him off. They'd made at least seven stops in this tiny village, which leads Alex to believe that he's just popping in to every store. So many large humans staring down at him is setting his nerves alight.
“What a cute little thing!”
“Where did you find it?”
“That's incredible! I want one!”
Alex was sure he had sores on his stomach from how many pokes he'd recieved. These people had no consideration. He already misses Victoria and wishes he were back with her.
After a few more stops and prods, they step into a small shack on the shore of a large dock. Alex is held tightly in Hugh's fist as they make their way to the back room. Inside is a small, expensive looking desk, mountains of paperwork, and a single chair with a poorly sewn cushion on the seat.
“Let's see what you can do, little man.” Hugh says as he releases Alexander above the desk. He lands on a small stack of folded papers.
Alex looks around the room, trying to memorize everything he sees and look for escapes, but there are none that he can reach while he's on the table. He looks up at Hugh, then back to the papers around him. At random he picks up a large sheet and reads it. It was a messy scrawled table of monetary conversions.
“This will be your job, if you prove useful. You will track the exchanges and make sure we aren't being jipped.”
Alex listens with half an ear as he reads through the sheets in his hands. It seems simple enough. As long as they write down the money types being exchanged it'll be easy to calculate. But when he picks up the top paper on a large stack to his left he just sees numbers.
“How can you keep track of conversions when you don't know the value?” Alex asks. Hugh huffs and replies with a calm, unworried voice. “The companies we trade with always use their mother-coin. We just memorize which ones they typically use. And it takes time away from trade when we write down the symbols for everything.”
“well it takes MORE time to look up who uses what. If you want me to work with this, I need them.” The tiny trembles a little, remembering the fist the man had displayed that very morning. “just put it on the top of the page for me.”
Hugh grumbles, but nods and takes his seat and prepares his quill. Alex sat and watches as he carefully dips the point into his pot of ink, then slowly makes each symbol on the top left corners of the pages. It was a snails paced venture, but it was done and Alex's work was going to be much simpler.
Hugh wipes the stylus clean, then stands and clears his throat. “I'm going to go out to the docks and chart today's exports before they ship off. Get started and I'll be back to check on you in about an hour.” Suddenly, he slams a fist onto the table and gives the tiny a toothy grin. “And don't go runnin’ off. There's dangerous things out there for someone your size.”
Hamilton gives him a terrified nod. That seems to be enough. Hugh nods back, uses a single finger to ruffle his hair, then closes and locks Alex in the office.
After a few moments where Alexander gathers his thoughts and sorts through the papers, the boy begins calculating conversions in his head. It's on his second page that he notices an error. After finding the first it's much like a dam opening as more and more inaccurate numbers are circled and set aside. By the time Hugh returns, there are about 15 pages in a stack to the left. Alex is sitting in the center of the desk, looking as innocent as possible.
Hugh looks suitably impressed as he closes and locks the door again. When he picks up the papers Alex decides to make another bargain. “I have a proposition.”
“hm?”
He licks his lips and says “This was about the speed I can work at on a steady pace. If I work like this for the next month and get all your money sorted and get you on track again I… I want you to let me choose whether or not I stay.” At this, Hugh turns his large head and pierces Alex with his fiery gaze. He doesn't know where he finds the strength, but he continues. “I-if you don't, I'll work much slower. I'll be useless and have no will to continue.”
There's a moment of tense quiet before Hugh let's out a chortle and takes a step towards the boy. Suddenly he loses all his vibrato. “What a mouth you got on ‘ya. But’cha didn't really think it through, see. Cus I don't take orders or haggle with tiny things like yourself. If you don't work I'll make you regret it. See, I'm giving you a home and nice, steady meals. And I know you're quite fond of my wife. You two already formed some kind of friendship.” Hugh once again lifts his meaty fist and studies it, like it's a new weapon. “I'd hate for her to get involved should you disappoint me.”
“That's barbaric! She's your wife!” Alex finds himself shouting before he can stop.
“aye.” He agrees. “A wife that can't produce children. Not much use, is she?”
There's so much he wants to say, how she was such a kind human, that she was so much more than he expected when he washed on shore and he would thank God every day that it had been HER who found him. That this troll didn't deserve her. But anything more would sink them both further into this problem.
Hugh nodded to himself. “Besides, I think you like working here. It's good work, a nice window to view the sea-” Alex didn't mention that the sight made him shiver with cold sweat and fear; the memories too fresh. “Plus you'll be making me very happy. Making me happy is a very good thing.”
The little felt numb with fear and anger. Everything was laid out in front of him in a horrible ultimatum. Either he played pet for this ogre of a man or he lived with the guilt of being responsible for Victoria’s beatings. And he couldn't ask or accept help in escaping, lest he get her beaten even worse.
Alex knew he needed to lay low, but what then? Wait for a chance to escape? With Victoria? Would she even go? No, he needed to wait for a chance to convince the lumbering ass to release him. It had to be HIS idea or it wouldn't happen.
And if he thought about protecting Victoria, then it wasn't so bad. Yes, he hated Hugh and wasn't looking forward to working in this musty beachside office, but it would be livable if he kept her in mind.
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Alexander was already rethinking his earlier opinion and it had only been two days. Between the threats and open hostility when he “slacked” in his work, the heat in the office became unbearable by midday. Alex had already taken off his shirt, feeling very exposed but too hot to care, and was contemplating taking off his pants when Hugh unlocked the door and came crashing in. Alex scrambles back as far as he dares.
“Tiny Alex. How is your work coming?” He asks in a loud, cheerful voice. The man picks up the papers Alex had been kneeling on, then frowns. “little man, this is not much for the hours you have been in here.”
The tiny scrambles to explain himself before he grows angry. “I’ve just been so hot. And you didn't leave any water for me. And the window is closed and let's in no breeze but traps the sun's heat. I cannot work when I am dizzy with thirst.”
Hugh nods and smiles, as if this were not troubling. “My poor little writer. I didn't take care of you, did I? I'm sorry, little one. I will do better in the future.” He pats Alex's head, unaware of how each comment on his size made the boy more upset. “Don't you worry. I've got a surprise for you.”
He scoops the boy into his large hand, tossing him into the air and catching him to readjust his grip. Alex let's out a startled yelp and clings to the meaty fingers.
Hugh takes them out of the office and onto the dock. Many sailors come and go, unloading boxes and tying ropes, but two men in fancy uniform stand out the most. They are tall with their hair neatly tied back against the nape of their neck. They stand straight backed and proud, chatting amicably with a shorter man in glasses. All three stop and instantly lock their gaze on the tiny boy held tightly in Hugh's fist.
“What on earth is that?” The blond asks in an unfamiliar accent. He speaks english, which was common on Nevis, but the way he speaks is odd and new to Alex.
“Esteemed gentlemen, this is Alexander Hamilton, my writer. He was recently hired to do the money translations for our dock. Smart little thing, you wouldn't think it by lookin’ at him, but he's already become a great addition to the office.”
Alex shyly peeks up at the men and goes absolutely rigid when Hugh opens his hand and dumps him into the strangers waiting grasp.
The blond studies him, gripping his arm and examining his chest, then flipping him around and grabbing a leg. “So tiny.” He comments, then hands him off to his companion with brown hair and gaps in his teeth. “and you say this little thing can write?”
“I can talk too, you ass!” Alex wriggles away from the finger poking his stomach. “I'm a person, just like you.” He gives a heated glare, which makes the brunette chuckle.
“I like him. How much could I pay to take him off your hands?”
Alex whips his head around to look at Hugh, blanching when he sees that he's stroking his beard, thinking it over.
“He's been very helpful with the books, ya see. I think I'd make more money keepin’ him than sellin’ him.”
“Oh come now. Such a little thing, scurrying around your office? I'm sure you'd get better results from a full grown man. Heavens, I'm sure a child could give you good results, as long as they can read. I'll pay you 400 for him.”
“400? My, you do like him, ha ha. Alright, then you've got a deal.” Hugh and the brunette happily shake hands on it, ignoring Alex's protests.
The man turns to the shorter fellow with glasses and says “fetch my coins, will you? And a small bag for my new pet.”
“NO!” Alexander thrashes, uncaring if the man drops him. “I am not a pet! You have no right to buy and sell me! Let me go!”
This time the blonde laughs, giving his friend a pat on the shoulder. “You sure picked a fiery thing. It's very human-like. Wherever did you find it?”
Hugh begins telling the story of how his wife found him half dead on the beach, nursing him back to health, and seeing the letters he wrote. The boy continues fighting against the hand until he has no energy left and he goes limp, panting and red-faced. The man strokes his hair fondly, clucking his tongue at him, then goes back to the conversation. Alex moans and fights back tears once more. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't even get to say goodbye to Victoria. This wasn't fair! They couldn't do this!
The man in glasses returns with a small sack made of fine material, which the tiny is dumped into and the top tied securely. Alex let's out a wail at being trapped in a small dark space, sudden flashbacks of his time at sea coming to him. He's jostled when a large hand pats him through the bag, then he's ignored once again.
The men carry on with their conversation, then the two strangers begin walking along the dock. After a few steps he feels them begin an incline up a thinner wooden plank, then sway on the deck of one of the many ships. Alex desperately wishes he could see, that he could know what was going on.
“Begin preparations to set sail, Leroy. I wish to make it home by next month.” his captor says, then walks until they reach a door. Pretty soon Alexander is dumped out onto a nice writing desk.
The tiny scrubs at his red cheeks, trying to get rid of his tears. Suddenly, a hand reaches down and gently tilts his face up to lock eyes with the brunette. The man smiles and tuts at him. “Poor little thing. I know you're probably scared by all this, but I'll take good care of you. I have a man on board who's pretty good at sewing. He can get you a nice little outfit to wear.”
Alex feels more tears spill down his cheeks. “please... I'm not a pet. I'm a person.” He tries to reason, but is quickly shushed.
“it'll be alright, my tiny friend. You'll see. I have a beautiful home in the country with a large garden, many slaves, a beautiful little river. You'll be very happy there. And I just know my wife will dote on you like you were her child. She's a wonderful woman with long golden hair. We had three children, you see, but one died just two months before I left to join this crew.”
Alex just shakes his head miserably and thinks of his own mother, as well as the childless Victoria. He feels so alone and confused now, unsure of his place in the world. He doesn't want to be a pet. He doesn't want to be on this ship. He feels sick.
The man must see this and gives him a pitying look before taking off his ascot to bundle into a nest. “Here, little one. Sleep it off. You'll get your sea legs soon enough.”
The man takes off his boots and begins reading through some papers next to Alex's nest, which leads him to believe that he won't be left alone for a while. The tiny settles and thinks to himself that there's no way he could sleep.

Chapter Text

“-you going to name him?”
“The dock man said he goes by Alexander. I like that name. He can keep it.”
“Bah, you're too soft on your creatures, Vincent. A dog bites at your fingers and you call it ‘spirited’.”
There's a soft laugh, then the feel of a finger stroking Alex's hair. In his half-sleeping state, he'd consider it nice.
For a moment the two men don't speak, then the blonde from earlier huffs and says “Alright, I'll admit, he is charming. Do you think there are others around this island?”
“I'm not sure. Perhaps we can return to collect more. Bring them to Europe and sell them to the highborns.”
No, they can't sell his people! Alex has to think fast, but it's made harder with how tired he is and with the soft petting of his hair. “No…” He whines, then shifts to knock the fingers away from him. After rubbing his eyes, he looks up at the two towering humans seated in front of the desk he's on. The blonde gives him a long, hard stare, but Vincent, his captor, smiles and shushes him. “Go back to sleep, pet. You don't have to worry about anything.”
“No.” Alex repeats like a petulant child. He bats away the hand approaching him. “There's no others on the island.”
Vincent draws his hand back and frowns. “And how do you know that?”
“Because… because our people keep in contact. On my island we had close relations with the other British territory islands. No messages ever come from this one. And my mother and I were the last two on Nevis, but she died and I went in search of my father.”
“So there are tinies on the other islands?” The blonde butts in.
Alex shakes his head quickly. “They would have all died in the hurricane. I might be the last one.”
There's a moment where he worries that they see through his lies, that they decide not to take his word for it, but Vincent slaps his friend on the shoulder and beams. “Lawrence, I might just have the only tiny in the entire British territories.”
His blonde friend gives Alex another critical once-over, then says “It does sound that way, yes.”
“Excellent! Oh, my wife will be so happy.” Vincent stands and claps his hands. “Why don't we introduce him to the men, hm? I'm sure they'd love to see him.”
Lawrence stands as well. “Vince, what if they hurt him? He's a tiny thing, probably easily broken.”
Vincent scoops him up and cups him between two hands. “If they touch him I'll have them thrown overboard.”
His friend laughs and opens the door. “Tough man. I'd like to see you force Ned off the side.”
Alex squints in the sunlight, taken back by the busy bustle of the deck compared to the calm state of the cabin they just left. Large men come and go, setting the sails, mopping the deck, carrying things. It's enough to make little Alex dizzy.
Vincent comes to the uppermost deck where a stern man grips the wheel. He greets Vincent with a nod, then glues his eyes once more on the horizon.
“Matthew, this is my new pet. I received him on the island we just left.” Vincent lifts the tiny to show him.
Alexander freezes as the burly man glances at him. For the five seconds they lock eyes, Alex can see that one eye is milky and unfocused. He also has a long scar running from the edge of his lip to his eyebrow, crossing almost through the middle of his bad eye. Looking into it makes Alex shiver.
“I only seen one other like him before. She didn't last long in the care of humans.” He frowns deeply and looks at Vincent for a moment, completely serious. “You best be careful with how you treat him.”
“Oh, I will be.” He beams, then sets off to find more people to tell. He's so excitable it reminds Alex of a young child or a dog.
They stop to meet with almost everyone individually with Vincent allowing Alex to be poked and examined with a careful warning to “be gentle”. No one is, but Vincent seems too giddy to notice.
“Isn't he precious? I plan to give him to Claire. She must feel so lonesome with only the young ones around. Little Alex here will be a good companion.”
Alex was tired of being passed around and cuddled. So far, everyone was ignoring his screams and bopped him on the nose if he tried to bite. After his 17th pass around he settled for glaring at anyone who touched him. It figures that hardened men like these were incapable of being gentle, but this was ridiculous.
After a few more passes and annoying fingers touching him everywhere, the crowd suddenly stopped. The chatter died completely and all eyes turned to the stairs that led below deck, a steady thumping reverberating through the crowd.
A man unlike any he'd met so far appeared at the top of the stairs, his hair shorn almost to his skull, his body so big with muscle that he almost couldn't fit through the doorway. His mouth made a firm line across a leathery, tanned face. Everyone gave him a wide berth as he stepped towards the little still resting in a strangers hand.
It was when he was only a couple feet away with no one standing between them that Alexander took note of the iron clamped around his right ankle, the thick, broken chain dragging after him. The tiny returned his gaze to the face of the hulking human that was now right in front of him.
The giant extends a single finger, not touching, but holding it nearby. Alex was confused at first, then understood this was to be like a handshake. “h-how do you do?” He lightly grips the finger and moves it up and down. The man's mouth curves up at the edges in what could almost be considered a smile.
“N-now hold on! You're s-supposed to be below deck in your cell. Get away from my pet.” Vincent tries to say bravely, but his shaking voice and pale face just make it pathetic.
The man doesn't move, but let's his gaze wash over the man before sliding back to Alex. “wanted to see what the fuss was about.” He muttered gruffly. He took his finger back and gave the boy a single nod. “where are ya from, little man?”
“That is none of your concern, Ned. Now shoo! Back to your cage. We'll get the spikes if we need to.”
Alex wanted to turn and tell off his captor for speaking to anyone like that, but Ned just nodded along and turned to go back down into the dark belly of the boat. A few sailors followed after him to lock him back in. Once he was out of sight the deck collectively gave a sigh of relief.
Vincent took the tiny back and sealed him in the hated bag once more. Despite being securely tied up, he still felt fingers wrap around his middle. The man must feel like he almost lost his pet. Alex groaned at how hot it was already getting.
Vincent stayed long enough to complain about “that ruffian traitor” and how he didn't even have the decency to stay locked up. Alexander felt a strange fondness for this Ned. He was the most considerate of the crew thus far and would be the only one to understand his plight. He knew then and there that he wanted to talk with him again before they got off this ship.
Once Vince was done complaining, he locked them both in his little cabin and removed him from the bag. Alex swept a hand through his dirty hair and glared. “I hate that bag.”
“I'm sorry little one, but it let's me know you're safe.” He sighs and reaches out to pet the boy. “That fool really could have hurt you.”
“If he's so dangerous, why is he on the ship?” For once, Alex sat still and allowed the treatment, else he might not get his answers.
“He was sending British secrets to some frenchmen off the coast. We were charged with retrieving him while we took stock of those little islands. When we get back we'll ask for a private audience with the King to see what he wishes to be done with him.” Vincent suddenly decides he doesn't wish to talk about that and would rather discuss his new little treasure. Alexander just rolls his eyes but, with nothing better to do, humors him and answers his questions. He asks a few in return to get a better idea of what kind of ass is holding him against his will.
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Hamilton quickly got used to the pattern of life on a ship. Vincent would wake him by softly petting his hair which, Alex would never admit it out loud, felt great. And Vincent was a kind enough man, despite the constant reminders that he was considered a small pet. He would feed Hamilton three times a day, sneaking him bits of fruit and bread for midday snacks. They would walk around the ship in the morning, then spend the hottest part of the day below deck to take inventory of the multitude of boxes filled with trinkets and oddities.
“Most are gifts for the king.” Vincent told him with a smile. It became gentler when he added “and a few are for my wife.” In these moments, Vincent would tell him stories of his home, how his son learned to swim in their river, how his oldest dreamed of being a captain for the kings army, how his wife loved the lilac flowers that grew on the edge of their property and they'd stroll together every day to get a few for their dining table.
Hamilton grew an odd fondness for this gentleman. True, he still viewed the tiny as less than human, but he was considerate and took great care into making sure he was entertained. He still used the velvet bag when he was tired of Hamilton's ‘whining’ and needed him out of the way.
It was on one of these days that Alex decides to escape the bag and explore on his own.
Victor is busy counting the dessert forks of his silverware set and carelessly sets the sack down on the box behind him. Once Alex feels that it's safe, he struggles his way out of the bag and climbs down to the floor. From there it's easy to scamper out into the hallway and-
Hamilton stops and freezes. He can hear movement to his left, near a hole in the wall. For a moment, nothing happens, then a twitchy nose peaks out and sniffs the air, accompanied by a few quiet squeaks. Alex gasps and looks for a hiding place. There are none. There's the stairs that go up to the deck, the stairs that go down to the deepest part of the hull, and the path where the cat is stalking him.
He knows it'll take too long to try and climb up and he can't turn back around, so he starts bounding down the stairs, flying down them as quickly as he can on his wobbly land-legs.
The rat is quick on his tail, swiping occasionally and preparing to pounce, but seemed hesitant to do so while coming down the stairs. Once they reach the bottom, Alex takes a hard right and bolts as quickly as he can. The rat pursues, but stops to sniff the air.
Alex has enough time to register this before a hand twice his size lands in his path, which he trips into with little grace. The fingers wrap around him, caging him in and lifting up, up, up to the face of the “ruffian traitor”. Alex gasps and tries to find a way down.
“Shh, shh. I'm not gonna hurt you.” The man sits with a crash down onto the floorboards, then sets Alex on his knee. “Just looked like you were having pest problems.”
The boy was shaky from adrenaline. He took a few moments to crouch on the mans leg and appreciate the rescue. After he had his breath back he was able to notice that he was in a dank cell in the darkest, most forgotten part of the ship. There was just enough light from the stairway go make out features, but Alex could easily hide down here from his captor. Didn't look like there was any food. Or water. And there were rats, but… maybe he'd think of somewhere else.
“Where are you from?” the mans deep voice rumbled through Alex's chest. It was frightening and soothing all at once.
“Nevis.” He says. “there was a hurricane. It destroyed most everything. I… ended up on an island and that's how Vincent found me. I plan to escape him and go find my own people.”
The man grins. “Big plans. Sounds like you're full of fire.”
Alex sits more properly and cranes his head to look up at the giant. “So, why are you here? Where are you from?”
“I'm from North America. We're trying to gain freedom from the tyrant king in England. Obviously the king isn't happy with that, so he slays any traitors he finds. I'm to be sent to his court, along with a few others.”
“ALEX!” Both prisoners jump at the sudden noise, then look to the stairs where Vincent is making his way towards them. Once the man locks eyes with the tiny he says in relief. “Oh, pet. I was so worried!” he stops to notice just where his pet is and seems to lose all confidence. The man is terrified, but two guards who were most likely supposed to be on duty and startled at the yelling, come rumbling down the stairs with spears at the ready. The prisoner sighs, looks at the boy on his knee sadly, the scoops him up and hands him over. The guard grips him tightly, making him yelp.
“careful!” Vincent admonishes, then opens his hands to accept the boy. Once he has him, he checks him over. “Poor little Alex. Are you alright?”
Alex swats his hand away. His chance of escape was squashed as quickly as it was conjured. Now he was just frustrated and sweaty and tired. Vincent, at least, could see the last one written in his body language. He carefully made his way back upstairs, promising him a cool bath and a nap.

Chapter Text

Alex is deposited in a golden bird cage, rounded on top with a handle. There is nothing inside, but it's spacious. This is obviously meant as a long-term confinement for a fancy pet. Or a mouthy tiny.
Alexander immediately jumps to his feet, but the guard already pulled his hand away and locked the little door. With a huff, he starts looking elsewhere for an escape. Maybe he could pry a bar loose or-
“My, you are a smart little creature. I can already see those cogs turning in your head, looking to get away.” The king tuts and rattles the cage, knocking the boy off his feet. “It's a waste of effort, but it will be fun to punish you should you manage to get out of the cage. Then there's the bi~g heavy door, then there's the guards right outside, then there's the winding hallways and dead ends. My, my, I'd say you're in quite a pickle, little man.”
“I don't want to be a pet.” Alex says. “I… I know a lot of things. They could be useful to you.”
“Oh?” George leans down to rest his head in his hands, elbows on the table in front of the cage. He looks highly amused. “Please, tell me all of your little tricks.”
“I can read. And write. I can do any kind of math you need. I… I have a good memory. But I'm tired of cages. Please, just… give me a chance to be of use to you.”
The king throws his head back and laughs. “You don't seem to understand, mouse. I get to decide what you are. If I want to show you to the court as you sit on my lap, i will. If I want to keep you locked in this cage for the rest of your life, I will. And if I want you to write, you'll comply or I will torture you into madness.”
Alex could do nothing but sit against the bars of his cage and think.
------------
After hours and hours of lonely silence, the king finally returns. He sweeps into the room with a guard trailing behind him, scanning the room and then shutting the door.
Alex waits fearfully against the back of the cage, anticipating the moment the mad king would address him or make demands, but it didn't happen. When he was sure he was going to be left alone, the man opens the cage door and goes back to fiddling with something on his writing desk. Alexander steps out cautiously and looks around, tired of being bored and ignored.
Alex squares his shoulders, imitating what he'd seen a guard do when called to attention. "I don't want to write your papers. I'm not your scribe."
The king turns to fully look at him, putting his cloak down gently on the chair before taking the last step to the table. With a casual flick he knocks Alex onto his back, pinning him with a single finger.
"Listen to me, darling, because I'll only say this once before you're properly punished." He leans in close and grins when he hears the small boy wheezing. "You are correct in saying you are not a scribe. You are my pet. A tiny, helpless little creature that I could crush-" Hamilton let's out a high pitched yelp as the finger presses harder. "with very little effort. Now, you're going to do what I say or you will be shown what it is to get on my bad side. I can have you starved"- here he let's up long enough for Alex to take a sharp inhale before he's poked in the stomach "I could have you tortured" here he pulls at Hamilton's arms until they feel like they'll come out "or you can give in. You will learn to do as I say, pet. It's up to you how much pain you go through. "
"Y-yes, like you won't torture me either way" He spits.
George laughs and releases him. "Well of course I will. You'll need reminding every so often." He puts his head in his hands and leans on the table. "Now, what are you?"
Alex knows what answer he wants. And he'd fight him, if it didn't feel like he'd been pulverized already. "A..." He looks down, rubbing at his stomach. "A ....pet."
"And whose pet are you?"
Alex glares up at him, but flinches when he sees a glint of malicious intent in those big eyes. "Y-your pet."
George flashes a toothy grin, patting him on the head. "Good boy. I'll be here to remind you if you ever forget"

~~break that we didn't fill~~

George's eyes widen with rage, nostrils flaring. "WHAT did you just say to me, you little rat?" he demands, grabbing the cage and lifting it violently to his face.
Alexander yelps in surprise when the ground under him slopes, grasping at the bars behind him and struggling desperately to stay standing with his arms wrapped around the golden bars to his sides. "I-I only meant t-that they'd be helpless!" he stammered desperately. "When the British infrastructure pulls out they'll have no government! They'll want to come back!"
The king glared in at him silently, mulling over his words, and without warning slammed the cage back into its table. Inside Alexander cried out again at the force and was tossed onto his side.
"My God, they'll be begging to come back!" he said, the tone of his voice making it clear that it was HIS idea and in no way anyone else's. "My tiny man, you always know what to say!"
As George continued to prattle about how fun it would be to watch the colonies turn against each other, Alexander pulled himself shakily up to his feet, holding steady against a cage bar, and stared out the window on the opposite wall, so close but so out of reach, always in his sight but never in his grasp. It taunted him every day.
If I can't be free, he thought, then at least they can.
-------
The guard outside of King George's room had heard tiny screams for the past year. At first, he thought he was going crazy. Other night shift guards assured him he was not. There was talk of a fabled tiny person who was found on a little island after a hurricane and brought to the king as a gift. Others say it's a talking rat that once terrorized the lower kingdom. Either way, it deeply unsettled him to hear it's shout and muffled crying.
It wasn't until the middle of his 14th month that he saw him. He was watching the hallway, as usual, when the door creaked open slightly. He thought the king wanted something, but was surprised to hear his highness let out an undignified yell, then kick the door open the rest of the way. "He's escaping! Get him!"
For a moment he didn't know who 'he' was, but when he looked down the hallway he saw a tiny flash of a red shirt. Odd. But orders were orders.
The guard raced down the hallway in quick pursuit, catching up in no time to the tiny person. He stepped in front of it to block its path, then scooped it up and examined it.
It was a tiny, shivering boy. He looked young, with his hair mussed and sweaty. "P-please" it begged, gripping his fingers and crying freely. "Let me go. Please, please..." it curled into a ball and sobbed. The guard noted the multiple scratches and bruises over its arms and back. Poor thing was shaking and terrified.
"Ah, good work." The king smiled and snatched the frantic tiny from his palm. King George peered into his cupped hands and whispered "and you will be reminded of your place!"
It was the oddest thing, but he never told anyone. He didn't know what to make of it anyway.
-------
Alex laid in his cage, dazed and weary. He was incredibly hungry and aching all over. He had a writing assignment the king wanted done today, but what was the point? George was just going to hurt him either way and he'd much rather lay on his nest than crawl over to that stack of papers.
At least, this is how he felt until George actually came back early.
“What's this?” Alex jumped and looked up to the face of his captor. “done already?” The king unlocked the cage door to grab the papers, glancing at them for a second to confirm his real theory. He smirked. Alex hated that look. “Dearest pet, you haven't done any of your writing. You know what that means.”
“I was only resting for a moment. I'll do them! I-” he's cut off by a large hand roughly grabbing him and hoisting him out of his cage. Alex realizes distantly that he's already hyperventilating, but he can't stop.
King George flips him from one hand to the other, then pinches his middle between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, now, Mousie. You knew what would happen if you didn't do what I told you. This should serve as a reminder.”
Suddenly he tosses the tiny onto his writing desk. The force causes Alex to roll and land uncomfortably on his side. He's picked up again, this time by his ponytail, and lifted a foot away.
“When I tell you to write, you write.”
He let's go and Alex yelps as he crashes back on the hard surface. His knees ache from the impact.
“You are a tiny, helpless, insignificant thing. You're nothing more than a toy.”
He's suddenly hit in the side, sending him sprawling on his stomach. George prepares to flick him again.
“You do as I say or I'll take away everything from you. I'll take away your bed, your food. I'll make you hurt worse than you've ever felt in your life.”
Alex screams as he's flicked once again. There are two large bruises forming on his side already.
“I could pamper you if I so choose. I could treat you like a sweet little pet ought to be treated. I'd give you treats and let you go outside…”
Alex closes his eyes and tries to remember what it felt like to have the sun on his face. To bask in a warm day. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“but you insist on making me mad, little one.”
George lifts him by one arm and roughly lays him on his back so he's staring up at him. He looks stern, like he's properly reprimanding a disobedient pet, but he has a horrible glimmer of joy in his eyes. Alex has to look away.
“This is for your own good, pet. So that someday you'll learn how to be good. And you'll be grateful for the comforts I give you.”
Alex feels himself being lifted once again and tries to remind himself what it was like to be free.
---------
It's about an hour later, once George has bored himself of playing with his pet, that the boy finds himself once again behind the bars of his golden cage.
He can do nothing but cry helplessly and lean against the bars. He wonders what he's done to be here, to be treated like this. He reminds himself quietly that he's not a pet, not a mouse or a toy or an object of any kind. His name is Alexander Hamilton. He's small, but he's a person.
The words feel hollow and meaningless.
-------
Alex quickly gets back on track, trying desperately to catch up with his writings, missing sleep and cringing away from every movement the king makes. He tries not to feel like he's been tamed, but it's hard to hold onto his fire when it gets him beaten. He's never felt more powerless in his life. At least he feels a bit of freedom in choosing to obey.
George looks smug anytime he checks the papers. He gives Alex's hair a couple of pets that could almost be considered affectionate if they weren't so rough. It's after about two straight weeks of this, when Alexander is sure he can't go on at this pace, that George breaks the pattern.
The king breezes into the room with a certain swagger that makes the tiny nervous. Miraculously, Alex had finished his writing a few moments ago, but he was still scared of what might happen. He let's out a squeak when a large hand reaches in and grabs him.
“my little man, I have a surprise for you.”
Alex is almost confused by how he perks up at this;eager to find out what the surprise is. Never before has the king hidden his intent by calling torture a “surprise”. Maybe this surprise is a good thing.
George holds him in an open palm and walks him out into the hallway without further explanation. Alex steadies himself by crouching as flat against the hand as he can. Everything passes in a blur that both nauseates and excites him.
It's only a moment later that they turn through a curved archway and stop at a balcony overlooking the eastern garden down below. Even for a human it would be a long drop, so for little Alexander it's an impossible height.
After a few deep breaths of fresh air, the heady newness of the situation starts to fade and Alex remembers who holds him. He looks over his shoulder at George and begins to shake. They're very high up, probably four stories, and the king holds him loosely with little care. The human smirks and strokes his hair.
“Your reward for being so good lately. I told you I could pamper you if you behaved.”
Alex almost felt like crying in frustration and relief. Why was this his life? He didn't want to be beaten or pampered. He wanted to be home. He wanted his mother. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
George gave him about five minutes to wallow in his misery as they watched the garden grow darker. The sun fell behind the castle walls and out of sight behind them and Alex couldn't hold back a long yawn. The king tutted and gripped him more firmly, then turned to head back inside. Only once they were in the hall did Hamilton notice the guards waiting by the doorway; the only witnesses to his miserable state and possibly the only people in the country that knew he was prisoner here. Alex slumps further into the fingers tightly holding him in place.
They reach the room and Alex is deposited on his nest in the back corner of his cage. He burrows into the sheets with another yawn, then drifts into a fitful sleep.
-----------

~~a snippet we wrote of a guard dressing Alex in a silly outfit~~

"Come here, cute little thing. His highness got you a nice outfit as a present. Wasn't that nice? You'll have to tell him thank you when he comes to see it, won't you, sweet thing? Oh, you're just too precious. Now, careful. We don't bite, little pet. No no! No biting!"

~~back to violence~~
He isn't usually allowed to sleep in.
That's the first thought that crosses his mind when his eyes slot open at the insistence of the late morning light spilling through the bars of his cage.
Blinking sluggishly, Alexander pulls himself to sit up. He wears only a pair of plain linen pants for sleeping, after his complaints of the summer heat and requests for a thinner nightshirt had been met with a "too bad, not my problem". His long brown hair spills past his shoulders; he'd never been able to cut it back to his preferred length of lower-neck. He blows a long sigh out of his nose and massages a tender bruise on the left side of his belly from being shooed out of the way with a heavy paperweight.
He notes with a time-weary passiveness the prominence of his ribs.
The bedroom door handle turns, and Alexander scrambles to attention, tripping over the wrinkles in his cloth nest and falling backwards just as the door opens. His fists bunch up the fabric under him and watches with wide eyes as a human walks in.
It's not George, nor is it one of the guards assigned to dress him when he's "unwilling" or give him his meals.
Instead it's a young-looking one, with bright blue eyes and pale skin. That's another thing he realizes he's grown accustomed to - his own olive complexion is foreign and "exotic" to the white-skinned people of Britain.
Alexander narrows his eyes and watches suspiciously.
"Hey," the young man says softly, taking a slow step forward. "Do you remember me?"
He does a quick scan of his memories, and feels that this face should be tugging at him, but wherever the particular memory lay it had long since been repressed.
The guard must notice the lack of recognition. "It's okay, it doesn't matter." He draws closer. Alexander scrambles backwards until his back hits the cage bars. The young man hesitates, but still keeps his approach. "Hey, it's alright, I promise. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Like he hadn't heard that a million times.
The man reaches into his coat and pulls out what looks like a small pouch and a folded note. "Here. I snagged these from the tailor's desk," he says, placing them next to the cage to free his hands. "And the note is for a buddy of mine. He works as a cook on the ships, y'know. The ones that carry supplies to the soldiers in the colonies. Someone's gotta feed the workers, I guess."
As he talks he pulls a pair of pins from the same place in his coat. He puts them in his teeth so he can run his fingers over the cage locks. He looks up, catches Alexander's eye, and gives him a lopsided smirk before pulling the pins from his teeth. "Pa was a locksmith," he says as though that explains everything. Alexander cocks his head.
The pins are inserted in the lock hole and jerked with a precise expertise by nimble fingers. Alexander scoots forward, intrigued.
The spring lifts with an audible creak, making the boy whoop with pride before remembering himself; Alexander cringes away and claps his hands over his ears. But his ringing ears are long forgotten as the cage door swings open and the bag and note are thrust into his arms.
"I can get you outside," the guard is saying, not asking permission to help but gathering him into his hands anyway. "But from there you'll have to find your own way to the docks. I told my buddy to be on the lookout. He'll be wearing a blue band around one arm. Tell him Ollie sent you."
It's all happening so fast, Alexander can only numbly pull out a shirt and jacket from the pouch - which is full of clothes - and slip them on over his bare chest.
"Why?" he croaks finally. Ollie's mouth snaps shut. "Why now?"
Ollie looks away. "Because I can't stand it anymore. Standing by while a living thing is tortured. Nothing deserves that. Now, don't move."
And then he's shoved into the red confines of an inner jacket pocket, and his empty cage is left behind.

Chapter Text

The tiny was usually jumpy, but he'd been given a thimble of alcohol and seemed to be warming up a bit. It was rainy and cold outside, so the cook decided to give him spiced ale. He looked a little young, but he figured it would help warm him up on such a chilly day.
He still hadn't spoken to him in the weeks they'd been on this ship. He didn't take it too personally, since his friends note said he'd escaped torture.
The boy looks down into the thimble wrapped securely with both hands. "...is that it?"
"kid, what are you, 19? i don't want you getting smashed." He tries for stern, but ends up looking anxious.
Still, the tiny frowns, mutters "please don't use that word", then tips it back for a thick mouthful.
By the time the thimble is empty, the little guy is swaying with the waves, closing his eyes and dozing. The cook chuckles, taking the thimble from the buzzed kid. "Time for bed, little one."
The boy moans, but doesn’t protest. He doesn't seem to have much experience with alcohol.
The cook carefully scoops the tiny up. He took a moment to be amazed at the being that usually ran from his touch. He was finally able to touch and admire.
But he didn't want to take advantage of his drunken state.
With a sigh, he places him in his little box and tucks him in.

Chapter Text

Laurens picked up the hat and shook off the snow. Wait, was there a rock in there?
"Oh, gosh!" John exclaims before clamping his mouth shut. The noise didn't seem to startle the absolutely, unbelievably tiny being curled in the hat.
This was incredible! His mother used to tell him about tiny people, but he'd never seen one. No one did!
He had to show the others.
Laurens closed the top of the hat and ran to catch up with the other soldiers.
----
"Hercules! Herc!"
The tall man turned and smiled. "Ey, you found it."
Laurens was grinning ear to ear, trying to catch his breath and stumble through his words at the same time. "I found -huff huff- a tiny boy!"
The few troops around them stopped with interest. Hercules took a step closer and held his hand out for the hat. When Laurens opens it and put it in his hands he immediately took notice of the impossibly small body curled within. The other soldiers shuffle over to catch a glimpse. Many exclaim and shove to get a closer look, but Hercules closes the hat and shoos them away.
"John, his fingers are blue. We've gotta get him warmed up." He untucks his ascot and wraps the boy in it, then stuffs him comfortably against his chest. He could feel the tiny body snuggle against him and couldn't stop his breath from hitching and his heart from flopping.
Laurens recounted the story of how he found it, going on to tell the soldiers how he had always heard that tinies were innocent and gentle and he wondered if his tiny would be like that.
"Your tiny? He's in my hat."
"But I found him!" John whines. "I want to keep him!"
Hercules throws an arm around him, keeping a gentle hold on the boy against his other pectoral. "Mate, I'm giving you a hard time. You can keep 'em."
Laurens grins so hard he thinks his cheeks might burst. He was going to pamper this tiny so much! He's already looking forward to getting to see him awake.
When they make camp and the tents are up John is quick to grab the little body and take him to the firepit. He warms up a tin cup of water until it boils, then rushes it to his tent. He huddles inside, wraps a blanket into a nest, set the cup inside, and places the tiny close without being too close. The little body shivers and scoots closer to the steaming cup.
After a couple of minutes Hercules comes barreling into the little tent and half sits, half curls around the nest in the middle. Laurens took up the spot on the other side and grins once more at his friend.
"He's so small. It's unbelievable." Hercules says in awe, brushing a few tiny strands from the little cheeks.
John nods and coos when the boy snuggles deeper into the blankets. Hercules was in a much similar state.
The two fell asleep around their tiny new friend.
-----
Laurens wakes to something crawling on his leg. Without much thought he brings his hand down to lightly bat it off, expecting a mouse.
"Ow!"
John and Hercules shoot up and look down at the boy in a heap next to their legs.
The tiny sits up and quickly turns to look at them. They make eye contact for all of three seconds before he runs for the tent flap. He makes it one step out before he's shivering once again.
Laurens quickly grabs him and brings him back in, placing him in the nest. "Whoa there. It's ok. I'm John and this is Hercules. I found you in the woods close to death."
The small boy takes this in and goes still, settling on the blankets.
"I'm... Alexander." He croaks, then coughs and goes to take a sip of the cooled water. Hercules and John keep their eyes on his every movement, noticing that he is very nervous.
"So, uhh... we don't know where you're from, but we were thinking that.... you could stay with us and the troops. We'll keep you warm and well fed."
The boy gives it some thought, then seems to weigh his options. "Are you...with the king?"
Both of the larger men blink in surprise. How did he know anything about that?
"Nah, mate. We're freeing America from his tyranny."
Hercules beat his chest with pride.
Alex looks up at them and nods. "Good. I hate that son of a bitch."

*Lafayette comes to camp and meets ham*

Alex stared up at the group of men, terrified, but trying hard not to show it.
"So, he's like a person but tiny?" Lafayette gently extends a finger, intending to pet, but Hamilton ducks out of the way.
"Laf, don't talk like he can't hear you." Laurens corrects his tall friend, then looks down at the little. "Sorry, friend. We've never seen someone like you before."
"It's nice to meet you." Lafayette says with a thick accent, looking quite pleased with himself.
Hamilton tilts his head towards him. "You sound.... like you speak french."
"Oui! Et tou?"
"Oui." Alex gives him the first smile anyone had seen thus far, making John a little jealous. He then begins babbling in French, telling the man he wasn't allowed to speak one of his native languages when he was with the king.
The group spends most of the day carrying the tiny with them to their various jobs around camp, showing him how they tie knots, scout, and check inventory. Alex takes it all in, ecstatic with his freedom and wealth of new knowledge.

Chapter Text

"General Washington, you asked to see me?"
George looked down at the little soldier entering his tent. He'd heard many of the men around camp talking about this... being... and he needed to dispel some of the outlandish claims his men were spewing.
"Yes, I've heard much about you from the troops and I have a few questions for you." He bends down to pluck the tiny up and set him on his desk. He gives the boy a second to right himself and deal with the vertigo. "My men have been telling me that you know some information about the king. I find that a bit hard to believe."
The boy flushes at the title, something George makes note of, then mutters a "yessir. It's true."
George uses his size advantage to le~ean over him, casting his shadow over him completely. "I need your full honesty, boy. This war is important."
"It's important to me too, sir. I.. I won't be able to tell you all the details of my relations in England, but I will give you all that I can." And George could see in his expression that he was serious. This young thing had some fire. George just needed to make sure it was for his purposes.
"They also say you can write. Are you very literate, son?"
Alex nods quickly with a frown. "I can read and write, but I'm not here for that."
"And what do you think you'd be better suited for? Fighting? Shooting? No offence, young man, but you don't fit our qualifications."
The boy huffs. "Sir, I've been with Laurens and Lafayette on scouting duty multiple times. No one can spot me with how small I am."
"And you wouldn't be able to make it to camp in time to tell us, would you?"
Hamilton has so much that he wants to say in response, but clamps his mouth shut and glowers.
"I didn't bring you in here to insult you. I have an offer." Washington sits at his desk chair and leans his elbows on the table, one on either side of the tiny. " I want you to be my assistant; my right hand man. You'll write my papers, dictate my speeches and letters, tell me all you know about England's plans, and be with me every step of the way as long as I have command. It'll be a move up in rank, which most young men would kill for."
Alexander was giving it thought, but he still looked torn. "What troubles you, son?"
He takes a second to answer before saying "How much do you want me to write?"
George shrugs. "That depends. Some days we'll need to send out multiples of troop commands, some days we need to ask for supplies."
Another pause. "What... what happens if I don't get them done in time?"
George gives him an odd look. "What do you mean?"
"What will be the punishment for not finishing all assignments on time?"
"Punishment? Were you punished in England for not finishing papers?"
Alex hesitates, then nods his head. "I wrote many papers for the king. Not meeting expectations wasn't an option."
George nods and strokes his chin. "Well let's see how fast you can write. We'll decide how much to give you when I see how good you are."
The tiny gives him a nod and heads to the small stack of papers in the center of his desk. He turns and asks "What should I write?"
"Write as I speak. This is a letter to Congress, so prepare the letter for its audience."
The boy didn't question what Congress was and didn't hesitate to pluck the large feather pen from the ink well, despite it being much taller than him. George was impressed so far. His delight only increased from that moment on.
Alexander was quick to swirl the title of the recipient in the top corner in neat, straight letters. George spoke as casually and steadily as he could, keeping his speech as quick as he would truly expect to dictate future letters. The boy doesn't stumble, doesn't ask him to repeat, just keeps writing furiously. When he's done, he takes a final look down at the paper and gives it a nod of approval.
"Now, sign it under 'General George Washington'. Then I'll show you how I want it stamped."
"Sir, I don't know your signature. Surely they won't accept it if they don't think it's you."
Smart lad. George gives him a smile and makes note once again how tense he gets when talking back to him. "Very well. But watch closely. I expect you to do this from now on."
Washington signs the paper, content with the fact that Alex didn't disagree with his assertion that he would continue writing for him.

~~this part was to explore his fear of Washington after dealing with the king~~

"Alexander, come on." He's gently lifted off the desk.
"N-no! If I stop he'll- he won't like it. Can't sleep. Sleeping's not good."
"Who's ‘he’?" Someone questions to his right. The person who currently holds his squirming body tells them he's talking about the king, but Alex doesn't want to hear it.
"Put me down." He orders, but the person takes the stylus from his hand and shushes him, softly rubbing his back, then flipping him over to rub his belly.
"You can feel me, Alex. I'm real and I'm not going to hurt you. You're in an American camp, remember? I'm John and I'm going to take you to bed now."
He continues with the shushing noises until Hamilton's quiet whines and whimpers have completely stopped. He goes still and boneless in the palm of his best friend, occasionally twitching and giving a soft moan. When he does, John goes back to rubbing his belly and talking in a low, gentle voice. After about an hour he settles completely.

~~and to explore his use in the camp~~

Hercules is walking back to camp when he sees a rope swinging near the trunk of a tree. On closer inspection he can see that Hamilton is struggling to climb up to a small plank in the tree where Laurens is hiding and scoping out the area. "Calm down, little spitfire." Hercules gently takes Hamilton off the rope. "John will be down in a little while. Why don't you join me and I'll let you help me patch up uniforms."
Alex loudly huffs and says "I was doing just fine. I'm on scouting duty with John. The general assigned it himself!"
Hercules makes shushing noises and pats his head. "I'll go talk to the general and have you relocated. What if you'd fallen?"
"Hercules, I realize I'm much smaller than you, but you don't get to decide what I'm capable of. I was doing just fine-"
He was suddenly smushed against a broad chest. After a second of silence Hercules spoke in a quiet, rumbling voice. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting how tough you can be." He's brought away from the chest and held out so he can look at his face. "You make me feel protective and sometimes I can't help wanting to snatch you up and keep you safe."
Alex rolls his eyes and smiles. "You're the biggest, loudest person in our group. How are you the biggest softie?" He ends with a touch of a smile.
Hercules smiles back. "Loudest? I think that goes to you, little man. Not sure how you get so worked up with such tiny lungs."
They share a brief smile before Alex ducks his head and says "I guess if you really need help with uniforms I can go with you. But you have to tell Laurens or he'll worry."
"No problem." Herc turns around and heads back to tell their friend of Alex's change in duties, glad that ham hadn't gotten as mad as he usually does when he treats him like a child.

~~his relationship with Laurens~~

“You seem off today. Is it because of your nightmare last night?”
Alex is about to retort, but Lafayette beats him by shouting “nightmare? What do you mean?!” He looks quickly between John and Alex. “You are having the night terrors? Mon chou, why didn't you say anything?”
Alexander gives his lover a death glare, punctuated by the dark bags under his eyes, then addresses the Frenchman. “Laf, relax. It's not a probl-”
Lafayette bops him on the head and shakes his finger in his face. “Anything that causes my friend distress is a problem. Alex, love, you know that we care deeply about you. Don't ignore us to fight your feelings alone.”
For a moment it looks like the tiny might cry. He reaches up to grip the finger that had been threatening him moments ago. “Laf…”
John and Lafayette reach for him at the same time, holding him close between their chests in a group hug.
“Oh, you're too cute to be sad.”
“My poor Alex. We love you so much.”
The moment lasts a few more seconds before the group hears shouting from the other end of the tents. While this isn't unusual, the most pressing issue is that the voice belongs to the general. All three share a look, then John takes full custody of the little and joins the herd moving to investigate.
John opens his hand to allow Alex to sit in his open palm, curling his fingers to act as a rail in case someone bumps into him. Alex leans forward to see what's going on. The large group collectively forms a circle around Washington and the two soldiers he seems to be tearing into. John doesn't notice, but Alex goes rigid when he sees the look in his commander's eyes.
“And I don't ever want to see you treat a civilian like that again, do you understand?!” His normally controlled voice is raised and intimidating. He uses his volume to strike fear into everyone around of him. “I will NOT tolerate this behavior from anyone! Now get out of my sight while I take care of this.” He quickly whips around and spots Alex trembling in Laurens hand. “Hamilton. With me. Now.”
Without further warning he snatches the little soldier from his perch and stomps past the gathered mass. Once he's safely inside his tent he releases a breath and drops his second in command on the writing table. Washington takes a second to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Hamilton, address a letter to the family of William Ta-” He stops once he looks down to see the state Alexander is in.
The boy is curled in a defensive position, turned away from the large man, keeping a careful eye on his movements.
"Please, please..."
"Son, I didn't mean-" But when he reaches out, Alex scoots away and tucks his face behind his arm. This only makes him more frustrated, though. He just wanted to get his letters done to send those worthless soldiers home and he had to go and upset his poor little writer. His poor little writer who was much more important to him than those soldiers would be combined.
"Hamilton, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you." He moves until his chin is resting on the table. He doesn't want to remind Alex of how big he is. This does little to help because the boy isn't even looking at him. He sighs and cups his hands around the tiny, who let's out a hiccup-yelp, then leans back in his chair with the boy resting in a cupped hand over his heart. Hamilton is completely tense, but can only hold it for a few minutes before he releases his tension and goes back to shaking and crying.
"I'm sorry I scared you, son. You're so dear to me. I would never hurt you. I'm sorry..." He continues murmuring to the little bundle in a hushed voice, using his other hand to stroke his hair as gently as he can. After a few minutes of this, Alex finally comes back to himself.
"Sir?" Washington moves his hand enough to make eye contact. Hamilton's face is a mess, but his eyes look much calmer. "I-I can write for you. I'm sorry."
George tuts and puts his hand back over the boy. "No, son. You've got nothing to be sorry for. I forgot to compose myself. Forgive my misjudgement."
Hamilton let's out a shaky breath, then nods and goes back to breathing in his generals scent, feeling very tired. George smiles and reaches up to resume petting his hair. "Good. We'll wait to write until tomorrow morning when we've both had a chance to sleep."
-----
Laurens waits outside the tent, feeling very nervous. He'd seen Alex's face as he was snatched up.
There wasn't any shouting coming from the tent, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. John didn't want to barge in, but he wasn't going to leave him there alone.
The only thing he could think to do was worry a divot into the ground with his pacing. He continued his mindless marching until Washington emerged from the tent, looking down at his chest where he held his tiny second in command. Laurens was quick to hold out his hands to receive him, discovering that his friend was asleep and red faced, the evidence of fresh crying. He looked up at his general with concern.
He looked sheepish. "I'm afraid I may have scared him. We had a bit of a talk, we're both on good footing now. I'm deeply sorry for causing him discomfort."
'Discomfort' was putting it lightly, but Laurens let it slide. He gave his commander a nod, then headed towards his own tent.

~~~~~

"I am SO SICK of everyone telling me what I can and can't do. Or taking advantage of me just because i'm not as strong as you. I don't have to write for you, or anyone! I am a person like everyone else!" Hamilton settles his most heated glare on the general. "You're just like him. Another master for me to yield to."
"You know that's not true." Washington was stern, but Alex could see the hurt in his eyes. Good.
"You move me around, pick me up! Without asking! I am not a toy! I am not YOUR TOY!" Alex furiously wipes at his eyes. "If I want to write, I would write! If I.. if I want to talk I'll talk! Do not make me silent!"
George exhales, putting his hands up in defeat and sitting at his desk chair. He studies the tiny trying to gather himself on the desk and makes a decision. "You're right."
Alex looks up.
"I don't treat you like everyone else. And do you know why?"
Alex doesn't think before spouting "because I'm small and you think I'm easy to control."
"Not exactly." George takes a second to make sure they're making eye contact. "It's because I can't do this without you, Alexander. You've become essential. You're my right hand man and I need you to stay alive. So no, I don't like you running around on your own or joining your friends on the battlefield. And I have you draft my letters to keep your mind sharp. You're the fastest writer we have. I'll try not to... handle you as much, but know that I value you highly, son."
Alex sniffs, wipes an eye, and mutters "not your son" with very little bite. Washington gives him a tired smile.
-----
Alex was feeling odd feelings after his talk with the general. He wasn't used to feeling /valued/. He wasn't used to feeling guilt for his outbursts, either. Foreboding and prepared to be punished, but not guilt and this sour roiling in his belly.
Laurens was standing with Lafayette in front of a nearby tent. With an almost sixth sense, John looked directly at him and smiled. Hamilton must have had his feelings written all over his face because his smile dropped soon after and he was quick to put his hand down on the ground for Alex to decide if he wanted a lift.
'What a difference this makes' he thought. 'No grabby hands, no fists or squeezing. This is why I love this man.'
He steps into the offered hand and sits, not at all fearful as he's lifted high into the air.
"What's wrong, Ham?"
Alex worries his lip. "Washington and I had a talk."
Laurens can see that his eyes are rimmed red and doesn't comment. "Do you want to tell me now or later?"
Lafayette sneaks closer and cooes. "My little friend, why don't we get Hercules and drink? They just got a shipment of barrels yesterday and we have not had our rations yet."
Hamilton gives him a toothy grin and bets that he can drink more than anyone in the camp. The two men shake their heads and laugh as they head to the canteen.
After a few laughs and horns of alcohol the troops are feeling boisterous and merry, most of all Alex. He knows he should talk about what transpired, but he'd rather drown his churning guilt with a few thimbles of liquor and cheer with his best mates.
He's reminded, as he stares out at the many happy faces, that this is so different from his time in England. His friends, his general, they mean well, even if sometimes the relations feel similar in unpleasant and unintentional ways. He shouldn't hold it against Washington. He never told him much about the king except for information he remembers from documents he wrote.
Laurens notices that his friend has gone quiet and still. He gives him a soft stroke on the head to draw his attention, then tells him he intends to go to bed.
Hamilton takes the hint, as do Lafayette and Herc, who all weave their way to the tent Alex and John share.
Once they all have their shoes and belts off there's a moment of confusing limbs before everyone settles. Hercules is in the middle with John and Lafayette at his sides, using his chest as a pillow. Laf is practically laying across him so he can stroke Hamilton's back, who's lying fully on Hercules' chest, nestled in John's hand.
"Goodnight, my dear friend. We all love you deeply." He mumbles in french. Alex can't help but give a single laugh and snuggle against the warm body he's on, causing Hercules to chuckle and pat his head. "Tickles, little man."
Soon, they're all asleep, happy in the warmth of their friends and love.
-----
It's well into the still hours between morning and night when Alexander's eyes creak open. Unmoving, he takes in where he sleeps, and sighs softly to himself.

He wriggles out from under John's hand and slides down Hercules' side, hitting the ground with a soft thump, and makes the sizable walk to the tent entrance, where he plops down into a cross-legged sit and stares at the stars, taking in a view unhindered by the golden bars of a birdcage. A breeze dances over his face and through his hair, cool and wild, not narrowed through a small window across the room.

In his daze he misses the rumbling footsteps, but is shaken from his stupor when someone clears his throat high above. Alexander jumps in surprise and tilts his head way, way back until he can make out John's sleepy face.

"Hey," Alexander greets him before turning back to the stars.

"Hey yourself," John mutters, stepping forward and plunking right down next to him in a similar position - far enough away that his tiny companion isn't overshadowed by his suspended knee. Alexander doesn't flinch away, but instead enjoys that he can sit side-by-side with someone and still feel their equal.

They sit in silence, both staring up at the sky, listening to crickets chirp and owls hoot.

"Still thinkin' about the General?" John says eventually.

"Hm."

"Something else on your mind then?"

Alexander doesn't reply, and John presses on.

"Does it...have something to do with where you're from? Y'know, before I...found you?" At this, Alexander's head hangs in shame, cocked slightly to the right to avoid looking at his friend.

And then a pair of warm hands are gently encompassing him, lifting him off the ground and up to John's face. "Hey. Look at me." With no response forthcoming, he lightly tilts Alexander's chin up with a fingertip so their eyes meet. He can feel the breathing hitch in his tiny throat, and the thumb brushing his chest feels the little heart speed up.

"You don't have to tell us about it," John all but whispers. "But we want to help. You need to let us help you, and we can't if you keep sneaking out to sulk."

He lowers Alexander to his knee, allowing him to perch there so they can resume their stargazing.

Alexander doesn't say another word that night, not even a protest when John eventually lifts him back up to carry him inside and snuggle back into their respective positions.

Chapter Text

"Aren't you just the cutest thing? mr president, this yours?"
George gives a proud smile and cups a hand behind his small companion. "Yes, this is Alexander Hamilton, our Secretary of Treasury."
The tall stranger nods, but eyes him oddly. "...I see. Mr.President, with all due respect, is there a reason you decided to hand one of the leading government positions to a thing like that?"
Alex balked at this, clearly furious. “Thing?!” he stomped right up to the giant man, pointing his tiny finger at him. “I am not a thing!”
The man -Jefferson- snickers. "You're kinda cute when you get all huffy. Makes me wanna take you home."
Hamilton folds his arms and guffaws. "Mr. Jefferson, we are in the middle of discussing a major political issue. Please keep your childish cooing to yourself."
Jefferson bites his cheek to keep more noises escaping. "Maybe I should keep you in my office? "
"Absolutely not!" Hamilton's cheeks heat up in fury. George merely pats his head and laughs.
"Hamilton, be nice. He's going to be my Secretary of state."
"He started it! Acting like I'm a-" here he has to stop himself before he let's his panic shine through. "I'm just as capable as anyone else."
George strokes his hair back, intending to calm him, and Hamilton has to duck and take a couple steps away. Why was the president set on humiliating him in front of the newly returned Virginian?!
George seems to catch himself and takes his hand back. He would apologize once they were alone, but for now he'd have to get through their first meeting.

Chapter Text

Hamilton rode into the office on Burrs shoulder. It wasn't something either of them enjoyed, but it was certainly easier than any alternatives. Aaron would drop him off on his desk, come back to get him for lunch if he remembered, and take him home. He once left hamilton at work overnight, which resulted in an angry Eliza and John at his doorstep near the witching hour.
Today, though, he had to come in earlier than usual. The president needed to speak with his secretaries, including Alex. That meant burr had to get up early and cart him around. He'd have to stay out of the room for the meeting, but needed to stick around to take hamilton to his office afterwards.
Once they were in the building he headed for the President’s office, and unceremoniously dumped the tiny on the desk. He was going to get some writing done while he waited.
----
Soon, though, Burr found himself drifting in and out. He'd had to wake two hours early for Hamilton's benefit and he was very tired. So, within the second hour of his wait, Aaron fell asleep.
-----
The cabinet members shuffled out, hiding their yawns and moaning about how hamilton and Jefferson had made them late to their other duties. Most everyone noticed burr, asleep in a chair in the hallway, but nobody wanted to wake him. Almost everyone knew he was a valet for the pipsqueak.
Jefferson strut out of the room, noting that his enemy's ride to his office was currently out of commission. He smirked and hurried to Madison's office to tell him the fortunate news.
-----
Alex knew not to rely too heavily of burr. So, without any other option, he made his way down the desk to start the walk on his own. He was already halfway out of the room when Washington stopped him.
"Where's your escort?"
"I don't have an escort, mr. President. I'm perfectly capable of-"
"Son, you know that's not what I meant." Hamilton drops his prideful attitude and pouts. "I mean where is the fellow that usually takes you to work?"
Alex looks to the door. "I'm not sure. I was planning on going myself this time."
George doesn't believe him and moves to stand next to his secretary of treasury before squatting to hold out his hand. "Allow me to take you."
Alexander blushes "sir, I'm not a maiden-"
When Washington's features harden he stops. His bratty tantrums, as most of the cabinet called them, were never looked on fondly by his general. He decided to hop into the offered hand to avoid conflict.
It was a short walk for Washington, but would have taken the better part of an hour for Hamilton. He gives the tiny a pat on the head once he's set down, then informs him that he'll be back to join him for lunch. Alex tries to protest, but he's gone before he can utter a remark.
Washington kicks Burrs ankles to wake him, then orders him out. "I'll be taking care of Hamilton now." He says, happy that there's no argument from the lawyer.

Chapter Text

In the morning light, Eliza wakes and sits up in bed. Often times, she wakes up alone. There are days when John is there, which seems to be happening more often as more staff is hired for his small business. It was very rare to wake and find her husband Alex and it was almost impossible to have all three of them in bed together.
So Eliza took the time to appreciate the soft moment, looking down at her tiny husband sprawled on his back on a pillow, then at John who snuggled in close with a protective hand touching Alex's foot. Both looked so peaceful and content. Eliza couldn't ask for a better little family.

*Sometimes hamilton comes to work sick and Washington will take him to his office to hold him until eliza or John can get him. Hamilton gets really upset, but Washington tells him he shouldn't have come in anyway, so this is like his timeout (because he's learned not to say punishment by now) until he can go home. Alex fusses and squirms, but will eventually settle and fall asleep. After this happens a couple times Alex learns not to come into work sick*

"Stop babying me."
"Im not."
"Yes you are! you're worse than Eliza."
John laughed and continued stroking his lover's hair. "I can't help it if I have more of a mothering instinct."
"I'm not your child." Alex said, though he was smiling weakly. John was the only person in the world that could get away with treating him like this openly. And Alexander really, secretly appreciated it when he was sick.
Alex gave a weak cough and leaned further into the pillow. "Speaking of children, where's Philip?"
"With his favorite grandpa Schuyler. They were only too happy to take him."
John gave him another drink from a thimble and made sure to tuck his blanket in. "I was able to talk with him once. I don't think I ever told you or Eliza."
Ham looked up at him with concern. "When did this happen?"
"While you were off fighting and I was gathering my black battalion. He was there for the birth and noticed that I'm the only one with that skin tone and hair type."
Alex closed his eyes tight. "Is this supposed to make me feel better? Because it really doesn't at all."
John smiles down at him and strokes his side through the blanket. "I told him. About us. About our son. I told him how much you wanted an heir and wanted to provide one for Eliza. And he saw how much Eliza loved him as soon as she held him." John lays his head down. "I should have told you earlier. I just... didn't know how."
"You waited until I was weak and ill and couldn't yell at you." Alex joked, but still looks at him sadly. "I wish you'd told me."
John looks him in the eye, then has to look away. "I know."
Alex coughs and rests a tiny hand on his. "But I'm glad it happened. He didn't approach me. He still loves Philip. And Philip is still a Hamilton. I still claim him." He uses the rest of his strength to bend over and kiss John's hand, then falls back. "I love you."
"Love you too." And Alex can't see it, but can hear the smile in his voice.

Chapter Text

"Ain't nothin' but a plot hatcher, a useless crumb snatcher, a waste of effort with a small stature!"
Jefferson slammed his empty water glass on top of the tiny to silence any annoying efforts of argument. He was met with a round of applause and Madison clapped him on the shoulder with a wry smile.
The moment was spoiled, however, when Washington himself rushed around the table and lifted the glass to scan his secretary of treasury.
Jefferson almost rolled his eyes at the theatrics-he hadn't crushed him, just maybe scared him a bit- when he got a good look at him.
First of all, Hamilton was crying and curled in an even tinier fetal position, shaking visibly. He was also loudly muttering about something, but the chattering around them and Washington trying to shush him made it where he couldn't hear it.
"Hamilton, Alex, you're alright. You're in America, remember? It's alright. Shhh. How the hell does Laurens do this?" He's trying very hard not to touch the little man but obviously wants to.
Jefferson takes a step closer. "Sir, I-"
"Not now, secretary Jefferson." The president gets visibly frustrated and scoops the man up, which earns him a terrified wail, something Thomas hopes to never hear again, and heads to the door to notify a servant that they'll be leaving early.
He stands there, wondering what he'd done.

~The room where it happened~~

"I think you should work for me for our votes"
"Thomas, we talked about this..."
"Im no one's pet, Jefferson. Not even Washingtons."
"Really, because I see him petting you a lot for your relationship to be completely professional."
"... I don't have to listen to this. Do you want the capital or not?"

Chapter Text

Setting: Washington tells jefferson to keep an eye on hamilton while he's sick. ie: make sure he gets places, goes home at a reasonable time, etc

Hamilton: *scurries down from Washington's desk*
This is outrageous. I don't need anyone to watch me, mr. President. Certainly not Jefferson.”
Washington watches from a few feet away, eyes hard, arms crossed. "Hamilton, my word on this is final," he responds, his own voice far more powerful. "Aside from you, Jefferson is the most trustworthy person I know. Regardless of whether you get along, he is the only person I can trust to keep an eye on you." On that note he turns to leave. "I expect you to behave while I'm gone. Try not to pick any fights with Jefferson. He's doing me a huge favor by doing this, and he is owed respect for taking time from his schedule." Emphasis is placed on 'respect.'
Hamilton is tempted to stick out his tongue as the President leaves the room, if it weren't for how he was already being treated like a child.
*hamilton heads to his office to get work done.*
What felt like an hour to Alex soon became seven. Before he knew it, it was 9 pm. It's around that time that the door creaks open without the decency of knocking, and Jefferson's footsteps - marked by the occasional thud of his cane - are matched with his laughing voice. "Yeah, Jimmy, just, ah, put it on my desk or somethin'. I'll make sure it gets the-- no, stop it, I ain't gonna squish 'im, alright? Imagine how bad that'd make me look. Calm down. I'll see ya." And then the door closes behind him. Jefferson takes a moment to look around, give an unimpressed sniff, and clap his hands together. "Alright, Hamilton, I don't like this any more'n you do, and I ain't gettin' paid to babysit you. So instead'a whining you better keep your li'l mouth shut, we clear?"
Hamilton continues staring at his paperwork, seemingly unaware that anyone entered his office.
"Hey." Jefferson snaps his fingers. Nothing. Sighing, he hitches his cane up and slams its spherical head onto the desk nearby. "I'm talkin' to you, pipsqueak."
Hamilton yelped and scuttled away before realizing that his least favorite person was standing over him. Despite his nerves, Hamilton managed to keep his voice steady and glare. "What do you want?"
"Be nice," Jefferson chides, taking his cane back to lean on it. "I'm a very busy man, but here I am, taking time from my precious life to babysit some whiny rat."
Alexander scowled at the 'rat' comment. "Did you take precious time out of your schedule just to complain and nearly dent my desk, or did you have a purpose? I'm very busy right now." Hamilton's eyes went back to his papers, showing Jefferson that he very much wanted to get back to his work. He glanced at a nearby candle and calculates the time, suddenly becoming tense. ‘That can't be the time.' he thought. 'I'm not nearly finished with my work. I can't go home yet.'
"Well if you were lookin' to, say, get home to your wife and kids - which, by the way, is totally weird, you ever think about that - it's apparently in my job description to do the work for you since Washington doesn't want you doin' it yourself." Jefferson shrugs and looks up. "Personally I find that hilarious, but not if it means I have to do it."
The tiny was silent for a moment, thinking over his options. He, of course, had to go home. And he'd already sort of come to terms with the embarrassment of his rival seeing how dependant he was for aid, but he really reaaaally didn't want the man touching him.
Hamilton sighed and ran a hand through his hair with a glare plastered on his face. " fine. How do you plan on doing this then?"
Jefferson stares blankly at him. "If you had any special ideas I'm all ears." In truth, he doesn't want to hold Hamilton either - it's weird, and wrong, and gross. But it's what the President told him to do, and maybe if he can piss Hamilton off in the process it won't be so bad.
"I'm perfectly capable of walking, it'll just take me a second more to get to the carriage." Hamilton started his descent to the floor, quickly climbing down the side of the desk. Truthfully, he didn't do this often. Washington or an assistant would usually help him down. He also knew it would take more than 'just a second' to keep up with Jefferson's long legs, but he'd be damned if he let Jefferson pick him up. Besides, the ass could stand to wait for him if he was so insistent on going through with this.
"There." Hamilton said, putting his hands on his hips and hoping that Jefferson didn't notice he was out of breath.
Jefferson shifts slightly to see better, then snorts. "Yeah. I'm not waitin' on your itty bitty legs or we'd be here 'til Christmas." Rolling his eyes, he stoops and snatches Hamilton off the ground.
Alex yelps and grips any part of Jefferson's hand he can. "Put me down! I did NOT give you permission to pick me up!" His whole body is tense and he knows his fear shows on his face, but he is too startled to hide his discomfort. "I said put me down, do you hear me?! You giant ass!"
Hamilton quakes and adjusts his grip with each step Jefferson takes.
Jefferson barely even looks at the squirming person in his hand as he leaves the room. "As opposed to what? You gonna walk there? I don't got all month, alright? I'm in charge and I ain't waiting five minutes for your tiny ass to walk three feet." Although, he does debate just stuffing the annoying brat in his coat pocket, just to give himself a break.
Hamilton balks at the thought of Jefferson being in control. Since the man obviously won't take his comfort into account, he'd have to settle in. With some effort he got used to the rhythm of his captors stride and was able to settle in his hold, only holding onto the forefinger lightly.
"I wouldn't have taken long." Alex muttered irritably. "You didn't have to grab me."
"Yeah, whatever." The walk through the senate house is long, and not many are still present at these hours. He does his best to look and feel casual, but Jefferson isn't enjoying this as much as he thought he would. All he wants to do is get the thing home and leave.
The hand wrapped around his middle tightened as Jefferson opened the back door to the stables. Once outside the secretary of state ordered a stable hand to fetch the carriage and hitch his horses.
"Jefferson, it's freezing out here. What is taking so long?" Hamilton rubbed his arms to get warm.
Jefferson sighs and looks around, then notices to his dismay that he can see his own breath. Well shit, no wonder Washington thought his pet might be sick.
"It's just for a minute, relax," he mutters, already exhausted.
The man's tone clearly indicated that Alex should stop talking and, for once, he took the hint. He was smart enough to take into consideration the fact that he was in a tense grip five feet above the ground and that could change at any moment. Unfortunately, he was getting colder by the second and couldn't contain his full-body shivers. Alex hunched in on himself as best he could and tried to keep warm.
‘It worked.’ Jefferson thought. And it was a goddamn miracle. Jefferson frowns, and looks Hamilton up and down. He can feel the shivers, of course, as well as the heat rapidly draining from the small body. He could care less, really, but Washington would probably be pissed if he came home to his pet dying of hypothermia.
Shrugging, Jefferson makes his decision, and dropped Hamilton into the pocket on the side of his coat.
Hamilton yelps and folds into a ball once inside the pocket. He can immediately feel the difference- no wind whipping at his face, no chill threatening his fingers and toes- just a steady feeling of warmth. Sure, he's a little smooshed, but it's something he can live with.
After another minute passes, Hamilton stops shaking and can finally relax.
The ride is silent and a bit bumpy, but Jefferson could care less. He just wants this to be over with. They reach the house, he fishes Hamilton out of his pocket and gives him to his very suspicious-looking wife, and goes home. Thank god it's over, he thinks.
The next morning is not kind to Alexander. He feels as if Jefferson HAD dropped him yesterday. Everything was sore, his nose wouldn't stop running, and his throat was scratchy. But he would be so behind if he didn't go to work today. And Jefferson would have a cow if he came all this way to be told he felt a little under the weather. No. He was going.
Jefferson arrives soon after and, after a brief argument with Eliza about whose authority it was to bring him to work, manages to make his way to the bedroom. "Alright, come on, getcha ass outta bed," he says, stopping in front of him. "I got work too, y'know."
Hamilton was dressed, but laying with his eyes closed to fight off his growing headache. When Jefferson stormed in he shot up and blinked the bleariness from his eyes.
"Jefferson, what on earth are you doing in my bedroom?" He swiped at one of his eyes to quickly chase away the groggy feeling. "Can't you have the decency to wait in the entry parlor?"
Eliza pushes her way past Jefferson then, and looks sadly at Hamilton. "You're sure you won't be coming with us?"
“I have to get this done, love. Otherwise I would.”
At his rejection, she wilts, but nods. They exchange a quick embrace, and then Eliza glares coldly at Jefferson.
"Mr. Jefferson."
"That's Mr. Secretary, doll."
Her hands twitch with a desire to throttle his neck between them, but she stiffly walks past him.
Hamilton watches her go sadly, then turns a glare to the taller man. "Don't call my wife 'doll'," he snarled with as much power as he could muster.
Jefferson scoffs. "What're you gonna do? Duel me?" He pokes Hamilton in the chest as though in a show of his relative strength. "I'd like to see you try loadin' a pistol."
The tiny fell back onto the bedspread, coughing a few times and trying to regain his feet. "I can still make your life hell. I've got a few bills I've been working on that I'm SURE you'd love to hear me read through during our next meeting." He dusted his pants, scoffing at Jefferson for his childish display. "Or you could have some respect out of common decency. I suppose that's asking too much."
With that said, Hamilton started to make his way down the bedpost, afraid that the man would grab him if he stood there much longer.
Amused, Jefferson tracks his movement, finding it almost cute how much Hamilton needs to struggle to accomplish completely mundane tasks. It's certainly hilarious if nothing else.
"I generally reserve my respect for human beings," he says casually, though he's no fool; he knows that Washington's pet has a brain that could ruin any man regardless of prestige.
Hamilton froze halfway down, a sense of disgusting anger settling deep in his stomach. Of course. Of course the person the President saddled him with viewed him that way. This definitely wasn't the first person to view him as less; usually it's because he's an orphan bastard, but a lot of it had been because of his size- but it hurt every time nonetheless.
"Eliza is a wonderful woman and will be addressed properly in the future. I don't care how you think of me, but my wife deserves better than the disregard you've shown her thus far."
Hamilton swayed when he landed on the ground, but steadied himself and faced the giant next to him. His belly roiled with more than just his illness now, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about that. Never had been, never would be.
As much as Jefferson enjoys this perspective, he doesn't much want to wait for Hamilton to walk any more than he did the day before. "What're you plannin' on doin' down there? Gonna stab me in the ankles?" God it's fun to mess with his rival.
"Ha ha. Your wit knows no bounds. Tell me, does your arsenal include anything other than size related insults?" He felt like he was getting testy and irritated, which would do him no good. He needed to divert Jefferson from the topic of personhood before he said something he'd regret and oh god, he just really wanted to sleep and ignore the man in front of him. He shook his head and tried for a cocky smirk. "Or is it that you can't insult anything else, seeing as how I'm much more handsome and intelligent than you?"
Jefferson hums to himself, standing to his full height. "You just make it too easy." Regardless, they did need to get to the carriage, "But hey, if you're so capable and intelligent, you'll figure out a way to make it there yourself." He makes a show of straightening out his velvet coat. "I hear the crows have been hangin' around into the morning this time of year."
His eyes track Jefferson as he leaves the room, disbelieving. The man was just going to leave him here?!
Alex trots a few steps to keep up without full on running. "Excuse you, we still have to go together." When this didn't deter the others path, he stopped jogging and slowed to a walk. "Fine. I'm going to WALK to the carriage and if it's not there when I make it I'll be sure to add 'incompetence and negligence' on my report to the president."
"You just never shut up, do you?" he says loudly enough for him to hear before stepping outside, making sure to leave the door slightly open. Jefferson has no plans on just abandoning Hamilton; it could cost him his job, after all. He was, however, content to sit and wait in the carriage for Hamilton to struggle his way over.
Hamilton didn't want to take all day, so he made sure to pick up the pace when he was sure Jefferson wasn't looking. Once he finally got outside he quickly made his way down to the carriage where Jefferson was sitting. It took him a couple of rather embarrassing tries to climb the foot step, but he managed to get into the cab and shimmy up to the padded seat. He was out of breath, but felt at least a bit victorious.
Jefferson pauses, looks Hamilton up and down, eyes the door he came out of, and hums, impressed.
The ride to work is quiet, with nothing to say.
Hamilton hated feeling so small in the seat in full view of his enemy. Usually he was standing in meetings or behind his desk, but now he was sitting Indian style, swaying dramatically with the bumpy road. The ride is quiet and tense as Hamilton tries desperately to keep his balance.
Suddenly, a bout of coughs wracks his tiny frame, causing him to fall forward with one hand on the plush seat and one covering his mouth. He tries to catch his breath, only to have it stolen and come out as wheezing hacks.
Jefferson is startled from the sudden break in silence, but quickly recovers and looks over with a frown. He watches, quirking an eyebrow even as the coughs turn into wheezing, gasping breaths.
"You done?" he says finally, not so much impatient - but not lacking his usual snideness either - but more as a gauge of how worried he supposes he should be.
Hamilton finishes with a particularly strangled inhale, then starts to settle once again. "Y-yes." He manages before resuming his earlier position. His strength is quickly draining the longer they ride. His headache comes in flares punctuated by the holes in the road.
He just wants to get to work and hide in his office where he can finish up his notes in peace and blessed solitude.
Jefferson blinks, then stares at Hamilton's slumped form for a few more moments as the carriage slows to a halt. He dismisses it with a shrug, then leans over. "I, ah, can only assume you're not wantin' to be joggin' across the street this time around." He's fairly certain Hamilton would puncture a tiny lung if he tries that again, after his episode.
"I've crossed the street before-" He stops, taking into account how shitty he feels and how easy it would be to just let himself be carried. He can forget who's carrying him just this once. He sighs. "But, ah, I suppose we can both get to our work if I'm not walking."
Jefferson reaches out and gathers Hamilton into a fist, trying to mind his steps this time so he wouldn't go spitting up all over his hand. The walk isn't short, much as it wasn't the night before, but now the halls are more populated.
Hamilton coughs weakly when strong fingers hoist him into the air and out into the cold. He tries to stifle them as they get into the building, but he's painfully aware of all the eyes on him. It feels almost like Jefferson is parading him on purpose, though he knows that the man is disgusted by holding him. He takes enjoyment from coughing directly onto his fingers without making any effort to cover it.
The pair are startled when Hamilton's assistant approaches the pair with deep concern. She's ignored completely as they continue on their way to Hamilton's office, though Alex wishes someone would think to rescue him from his current captor.
Hamilton is released onto his desk when they arrive, but Jefferson hardly stays. He pushes past Hamilton's secretary, not sparing her a glance and ready to start work immediately to distract himself.
The girl hurries into the room and crowds close to his desk. "Are you ok, sir? You look worse than yesterday."
"I'm alright." He sighs, holding his head and staggering to his large stack of paper. "You may go. Thank you."
Hamilton spent most of the morning sneezing and scribbling notes on a foreign fiscal plan, picking it apart and putting bits of reasonable aspects into a very short column. By noon, his eyes began to close against his will and he curled into a little ball on top of his parchment.
Jefferson pauses at the doorway. He had been checking in, as he had been instructed to do, on the hour; he had not, however, expected to find Hamilton curled in a ball on his desk. It takes him a moment to locate him at all amongst the books and papers.
He squares himself to leave, figuring he has no reason to care, but pauses. Almost on autopilot, he finds himself gently lifting the tiny body in his fingers, carrying his sleeping rival briskly to his office. In a few moments a nest of handkerchiefs is assembled with Hamilton nestled in the middle.
Rather than dwell on why exactly he's done this, he re-immerses himself in his work.
The tiny is unaware of what time it is, but he wriggles to a bit of awareness and let's out a groan that tapers off to a whine before he can stop it.
A soft voice shushes him and he feels a finger against his hair, pushing his head back into the nest of handkerchiefs. Before he knows it he's falling back asleep. He spends most of the day dozing in and out, occasionally feeling someone pet him and offer him water.
Jefferson works quietly, the silence permeated only by the scratching of his quill, the rustle of his paper, or a sigh. He doesn't notice whenever he reaches over to pet the tiny on his desk, the action completely subconscious.
Hamilton would occasionally try to squirm awake, only to be pushed back down or pinned by his back so he'd quiet into his fevered rest. Jefferson notices when doing so the drastic increase in body temperature, but can do nothing but dismiss it, even as the sky gets dark and Hamilton's sleep remains fitful.
It's around nightfall that Hamilton wakes enough to understand how awful he feels. The light of a nearby candle, the source of his consciousness, stabs his eyes and makes him whine once again. He's very startled when a hand pushes him onto his back, applying a light amount of pressure on his belly, and makes a shushing noise. Any weak attempt to sit up is futile against the hand that, upon closer inspection, Hamilton recognizes.
"Mr.Jefferson," Alex coughs. "might I ask what you think you're doing?"
"Bout time you woke up," Jefferson mutters, removing his hand when he's sure Hamilton won't try to get up again. "You passed out and I figured, 'Hey, it wouldn't do much good for anyone if you caught the pox or somethin' on my watch.” He flips the document on which he's writing. "So. You've been sleeping and whining like an infant all day."
Hamilton blushes. He's thankful for the cover of his nest to avoid his enemy from seeing it.
"I do not whine!" This proclamation is quickly followed by another bought of coughs. "Did-cough- did you say all day?" The man sat up and peered out the window behind Jefferson, then fell back and groaned. "I've wasted the entire day sleeping. Why did you let me sleep so long? Wait." He sits up again and gives Jefferson an odd look. "Why did you have me sleeping in here? And were you/petting/ me?"
Jefferson makes a face. "What? No." He says quickly. "And anyway, I brought you in here because if someone came into your office and saw you passed out like a doll I woulda been held accountable for makin' you sick or something." At least, he thinks that's the reason.
Hamilton looks unconvinced, but has no proof otherwise, except for snippets that could easily have been fever dreams.
"Are you planning on staying much longer? I feel well enough to get some work don- cough cough" once again, he is overcome with a coughing fit that shakes his tiny body.
"Yeah, alright, hotshot." Jefferson lifts Hamilton by the coat and quickly deposits him on the nest nearby. "You work yourself to death, it won't just be your funeral. I'm not losin' my head just 'cause your sick, tiny ass thinks it can write all our problems away."
Hamilton huffs, but makes no move to get up. Listening to Jefferson scribble isn't terribly entertaining so, after a few minutes, his eyes are already drooping again and he rubs at an eye tiredly. "But... I've not nearly finished *yawn* what I was.... and I've already slept so much..." At this point he is slumped forward with a hand out to steady himself. Despite his words, he makes no protests when a large hand rests over him completely and forces him to lay down. This nest is so comfortable. But he has work! and... the hand above him is warm, but....
For a couple of minutes Hamilton fidgets and murmurs to himself, debating internally until eventually the relentless hand and cozy handkerchief bed lull him back to sleep.
The day ticks to a close, and Jefferson finds himself with a dilemma. What to do now? Obviously he'd have to bring Hamilton home, but what then? Sighing to himself, he packs his things and stares at the tiny, sleeping form for a few moments before carefully removing him from the blankets and slipping him into his coat pocket.
Hamilton startles awake when he lands in a heap in his pocket, but quickly settles when he recognizes where he is. He relaxes into the swaying motion until he thinks he might just fall asleep again.
Alex thought he'd be released once they got to the carriage, but was surprised when he remains, even after the carriage started moving. He wonders what will happen when he gets home.

Chapter Text

From then on, Jefferson couldn't stop thinking about that noise; the terrified yell from his tiny enemy. It wasn't expected. It wasn't part of the back-and-forth they shared. It was unsettling.
For about a week he stewed on it. At first, he thought there was nothing he needed to do but, as the feeling of vague guilt gnawed at his insides, he made the decision to at least find out why the pest had reacted that way. And the best person to talk to would be president Washington.
He waited a day to think of how and when to ask, then finally had his chance at the end of the week when almost everyone was gone from the office. He peeked a look into Hamilton's office, seeing that he was busy as usual, then made a beeline for the President’s study.
“Mr.Jefferson.” The man greeted. He was twirling his quill absentmindedly while studying his documents. He looked up briefly. “Is there something you need?”
And now he felt a little ridiculous, coming to gossip about Washington's pet. He shuffles in and sits at one of the wooden chairs. “I've been… thinking about something. After you left the dinner last week.”
George just raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.
“When Hamilton started crying, I was… wondering what happened. Why did he react that way?”
Obviously, this is not what the man expected to talk about. His brow furrows, and he searches his secretary’s face before clearing his throat. “This isn't something i would usually divulge, you understand. Not without his permission.” Jefferson reigns in a scoff. “But this is important and I don't want another incident like that happening. So, if I'm to share this with you it doesn't leave my office. You will not use this against him or I will fire you, you understand?”
He had expected Washington to be protective, so the threats don't come as a shock. He nods and leans forward, ready to hear.
It takes a minute as George pieces together the stories he thinks he should tell him. He knows this is a risk, but the risk of not telling him- of allowing something like the dinner incident to happen again- is much higher. It had taken the poor boy ages to come back and, when he had, he'd slipped back into his work full force out of his old fears, rather than usual pride.
“He was tortured for years in England by the king. Hamilton estimates that it was probably around three years before he escaped with the help of a guard. He was kept in a cage in the king's private rooms. Other than being forced to write and being treated like a rag-doll, he doesn't talk much about what happened to him there. From what he's told me, that wasn't the first time someone trapped and tortured him.”
The first feeling Jefferson gets is surprise. The tiny man had always seemed so sure, so cocky, it was hard to imagine that he'd been taken down a peg in the past. This eased him into disbelief. If he'd been treated that badly for years he wouldn't be fighting everyone on sight. That's not what he expected a torture victim to do.
The suspicion must be written all over his face because Washington goes on to say “I've seen the scars myself. When he first joined the army he was terrified of punishment, of confinement, and of someone being angry around him. He became bonded with John Laurens who helped calm him. I'll forever be indebted to that man. Alex would be unreachable to anyone except him.”
“So he freaked out because of something that happened years ago?” Thomas says with a taunting disbelief. “And he still hasn't gotten over it?”
George leans forward on one arm. “He never can. The danger of being put back into that life is all too real. He may have a wife and valuable position, but at any moment he could vanish into someone's pocket and be gone. A British sympathizer or spy could snatch him and have him sent back to the king or anyone in the cabinet with a grudge could steal him away.” Here he gives his secretary of state a long look. “It's a real and ever present threat that he has to live with. It may not seem like much to you, but he has been through more than anyone else from the war ever has or ever will.”
It was still a little ridiculous, but he supposes he got what he came here for. But now he had a jumble of raw, unidentifiable feelings twisting inside him. He stood, gave a small bow and a murmured “mr.president”, and left.
Washington sighed and leaned back, feeling a headache coming on. It probably wasn't entirely wise to tell him, but maybe the mans empathy would help him understand. Either way, things couldn't go on the way they were. Poor Alex couldn't take it.

Chapter Text

Elisabeth Jr., Philip, and Angelica Jr. are in the living room playing with dolls, which is not unusual. John passes by without thought, setting his work bag on the dining room table on the way to the kitchen. After he's acquired a drink he makes his way back to the dining room, filters through his files for a moment, then says ‘screw it’ and decides to spend time with the kids instead.
He settles on the fainting couch near the window and relaxes, closing his eyes and finally unwinding.
“John!”
He comes very close to spilling liquor on himself but manages to stay clean. He twists around, looking on the couch, on the floor, at the window, but can't find his lover- for surely it was the voice of Alexander that he heard- but can't see the tiny anywhere.
“John Laurens! By God, if you sit there any longer I will cut you in your sleep!” John looks to the kids who are now hiding their dolls behind their backs, scooting away from the small table. Before they can fly towards the stairs he holds out his hand. Philip sighs and releases his ‘doll’ into Johns grasp.
He is disheveled and upset, but not harmed.
“Philip.” he uses his best army voice, making all the children flinch. Good. “What do you have to say to your father?”
“I'm sorry. We were playing!” John silences him by holding his empty hand up before he can continue. Philip hangs his head and sniffs, but both men know it's for sympathy.
Alex is angry, though he's not shaking or frightened which is good. It would be ten times worse for everyone if he was. John still needs to salvage this. “Philip, I know you were playing and want to spend time with him, but what you did was very inconsiderate for his feelings. You could have hurt him or kept him from his work. We love you very much, all of you. We aren't angry, just disappointed.”
Here, Philip actually sniffs. He meets Alex’s eyes and says pitifully “I'm sorry, pops. It won't happen again.”
Alexander melts completely. His giant son is only seven. And he hasn't been home very often. The more he thinks on it, the more he feels like an ass. He comes out of his defensive posture and holds out a hand. Philip holds his out, unsure. Alex holds the large pointer finger against his head, then kisses his sons palm. The boy giggles and they share a smile. “ I love you very much, Philip. I'm not mad. I promise to be home more often for us to be together.”
And John completely melts at this, bringing everyone in for a hug. They all gather around with Alex tucked against John's chest, still able to grip Philip's shirt and lay a kiss to the boys cheek. Once they have shared a moment, the girls go back to playing, but Philip makes his way up to his room.
Alex lets out a big breath and flops against the large hand holding him. He twists his head back to stare at his love. “Where's Eliza?”
“She'll be home soon.” John says, laying a kiss on the tiny’s forehead. “Should we wait for her before doing anything?”
Alex flushes, then grins and says “Most definitely.”
The two settle on the couch with a book, Hamilton perched on Johns lap while the larger man holds the book in place for both to see easily. Philip makes his way down the stairs with paper and an inkwell, then sits at the table as close to his dads as possible to practice his letters. By the time Eliza makes it home, everyone had settled into a calm, peaceful rhythm together.
She quietly makes her way to the couch, leaning over to kiss the side of John's head, then brushes her fingers against Alex to get his attention. He shares a meaningful look with John before standing and clamoring up the side of the couch to kiss his wife. The sight of him doing this always makes Eliza grin, calling it ‘cute’ in private with John. He agrees, but would never say anything to the man's face.
The three make their way up to the bedroom, leaving the kids to entertain themselves for a bit.