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Washington was aware of all the responsibility that came with being the Commander in Chief of the Continental Army: It involved strategy. It involved discipline. It involved compromising. It involved - unfortunately - politics.
But he had to admit, he didn’t think it also involved having to step in when his own officers were in the middle of roughing each-other up… Yet here he was, strolling through camp to take stock of morale, ammunition, and supplies - all desperately low - and finding his personal aide-de-camp rolling on the ground with another officer, covered in mud like a couple of unruly schoolboys.
There were a few people around watching the scuffle as men are won’t to do, but at least they had the good sense of snapping to attention the second they’d noticed their enraged General making his way over between the forest of tents. The two perpetrators were not so considerate.
“Enough!” he shouted, feeling both furious and humiliated that someone so close to him, someone in his innermost circle, would stoop so low. “What in the seven hells is this?”
Hamilton and the other man - Washington didn’t know him, but by his insignia he looked to be a Captain - stood finally, shooting each-other murderous looks. Hamilton’s nose was bleeding steadily.
“Lieutenant Colonel, explain to me what you are doing rolling in the mud like a pig,” Washington asked, barely able to contain himself.
Hamilton’s jaw twitched, a drop of blood landing on his dirty, torn uniform.
“I had a disagreement with Captain Harling... Sir.”
Washington didn’t know what should anger him more; the vague answer, or the ‘Sir’ tucked to the end like an afterthought.
“About what?”
To his astonishment, Hamilton had the nerve to not answer, throwing a knife-edged glance at Harling. The Captain didn’t look any more forthcoming either, though he did seem paler under the mud and bruises covering his face. That could imply provocation, but well. Hamilton’s short fuse as far as his pride was concerned was well known in camp.
Washington knew his own shortcomings. He was acutely aware of them, in fact… And one of the worst of them was probably how he tended to allow Hamilton a lot more leniency than he deserved. God only knew, the man was testing his patience almost every day, but usually he kept it to a level that wouldn’t require a court martial.
Maybe that’s why he felt so… hurt by this abject, unrepentant display of disobedience. Yes, Hamilton was very close to being irreplaceable - both for the sake of the army, and personally to Washington himself - but this was not something he could just wave away.
“Captain Harling, report to your commanding officer immediately, we will see about your punishment later. Hamilton, with me.”
Maybe the only saving grace of the situation was that Hamilton outranked the man, but this still required reprimanding, as much as it didn’t sit well with Washington. And what was worse, he really couldn’t fathom what could get Hamilton into such an unfitting row. Whatever it was, it probably needed addressing too.
Despite his worry over the situation, he was still angry enough to not let Hamilton simply follow him back to the house where they set up command, but grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him in front of his person. He didn’t doubt for a second that Hamilton would feel humiliated by being marched across camp like a child caught stealing apples, but the payback was only fair.
Like the entire army was sensing his wrath, the whole camp seemed to be standing at attention, watching with wide eyes as Washington made his way to his headquarters, his hand fisted firmly in the scruff of Hamilton’s uniform. For his part, the young man made no comment, and - thank everything that’s holy - did not try to fight him.
Washington would have lied if he said he wasn’t glad when the door was finally shut behind them, getting their disgraceful little procession out of sight. Then again, his aides - jumping from their seats as soon as they saw the state Hamilton was in, and Washington’s no doubt thunderous face - weren’t much better either.
Despite all airs of haughtiness, army men were just as bad as midwives when it came to gossip..
Washington wasn’t sure what to say, so he only shook his head when he saw Laurens trying to rush over to them, and thankfully Lafayette had enough wit to hold his friend back.
“Get back to work,” he barked to the room at large, and then tugged Hamilton up the stairs to his study. He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to do yet, but he did know that he needed privacy to figure it out.
His aide stumbled in front of him, and it was only thanks to Washington still holding on with an iron grip that he didn’t fall.
“For God’s sake! Get yourself together,” he growled, and could feel the young man stiffen. Good. He wanted Hamilton to know that this was not yet over.
As soon as the door of his study was closed behind them, Washington let go of him.
“Explain yourself, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said. Hamilton’s nose was still bleeding sluggishly, and he was trying very hard not to worry about that. “Give me a very good reason not to demote you despite the shameful display you’ve put on in front of my whole army.”
Hamilton wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were fixed on a point somewhere above Washington’s shoulder. He was afraid that the stubborn, stupid boy would refuse to speak up and give him no choice but to go through with his threat, but thankfully it didn’t come to that.
“I have done nothing wrong, sir,” he started, and Washington had to rub his temple, already able to feel a gigantic headache looming in his very near future. “I have overheard Harling spreading completely unsubstantiated, vile rumors. I’ve asked him - completely politely, Your Excellency - to revoke them, or to face me in a gentlemanly manner at dawn. He refused both options.”
Washington couldn’t help raising his eyebrows at that. He didn’t know this Harling personally, but the fact that he climbed to the rank of Captain meant he should have - at the very least - accepted a duel. Especially from someone who outranked him.
Hamilton was still studiously avoiding his eyes.
“Did he give a reason for that, Lieutenant Colonel? Other than the fact that I distinctly remember forbidding dueling in camp?”
Hamilton sniffed, his face turning even more stony than before, his features sharp under already forming bruises.
“He said that our disagreement didn’t warrant gentlemanly conduct, given that a bastard had no right to challenge anyone to a duel,” Hamilton said, voice flat.
The words fell between them like a gauntlet.
Of course, of course he knew that Hamilton wasn’t… that he didn’t have a very impressive pedigree. It was easily apparent from his caginess whenever the subject of family came up, but Washington wasn’t aware that he was also misbegotten.
With the facts laid before him, it seemed obvious. Even the most simplest of parents would have been acceptable - maybe not a source of pride, but certainly not something to be ashamed of. But, if his dear Hamilton really was a bastard, then he was… Hell, Washington knew clergymen who would even refuse to christensen a child like that. Unlawful. Illegal .
Washington couldn’t help but wonder if he ever unintentionally hurt the boy… It was so easy to forget things like that in the middle of a war; he saw around him a family of bright young men ready to serve their country with their life, if that’s what it took. Hidden under their neat uniforms with the same insignia on their shoulders it was hard to remember that Laurens was the son of one of the wealthiest planters, that Lafayette was a Marquis… and apparently that the brightest of them all was a bastard .
Washington massaged the bridge of his nose, unsure of how to proceed. Words were always Hamilton’s turf, and he presided over the quill like a king at all times, leaving Washington stumbling behind.
“Son-”
“Don’t call me that!” Hamilton snapped, his voice hot and deadly as molten lead, burning through all respect an officer should show his superior.
“ Excuse me?” Washington asked, more fablegasted than angry by the outburst. They’d certainly had their fair share of arguments with Hamilton, but the boy never allowed himself such liberties before.
“...Sir,” Hamilton added - a bitter sounding afterthought, once again.
He still held himself like he’d been carved from stone, but now his dark eyes looked furious, and Washington didn’t know what to do with their sudden reversal of roles. Wasn’t he the one who should be outraged at such disrespect? He needed to get to the bottom of this madness - the sooner the better.
“I will ignore that for now,” Washington said, if only to preserve his own sanity, linking his fingers behind his back and straightening his posture. It was amazing how such a slight, petite creature could throw him so off balance. “Tell me this rumor that the Captain propagated.”
Hamilton swallowed, his eyes cutting to Washington for only a tenth of a second before skidding away.
“Your Excellency, I would rather not,” he said finally. It was obvious that whatever it was must have left a deep wound, but unfortunately for the both of them - thanks to his dear, foolish Hamilton’s rash actions - Washington wasn’t in a position to accept that answer.
“I’m afraid that is no longer an option, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said tiredly. Ridiculous. That’s how he felt. He was supposed to commandeer a goddamned army, and here he was, having to fight with his own man and losing .
Washington didn’t know what it was - maybe Hamilton heard the honesty in his tone - but thankfully the young man didn’t force his hand further on the matter.
“Captain Harling implied to his captive audience that I’m not only a bastard, but your bastard, Sir.”
Washington was only barely able to keep his well practiced calm under the sudden barrage of emotions assaulting him. The whole presumption was laughable, but at the same time he couldn’t help feeling both enraged and disappointed that his army - an army he worked so hard to lead to victory - would be fertile soil for such rumors.
He couldn’t look at Hamilton’s beaten, bloody, bruised face any longer.
Washington turned around, surveying the wall like there was a hidden message in the cracked paint that would help him defuse this situation.
“You should have come to me, Hamilton,” he said finally. Tasteless gossip like that shouldn’t be left undressed, but getting into a fistfight wasn’t the way to manage it either.
Hamilton had the nerve to snort.
“Right... Sir.”
He had about enough of that.
Washington spun back to face Hamilton, his carefully cultivated level-headedness evaporating from one second to the next.
“You will show me some respect, young man!” he growled out. God only knew, he felt like what Hamilton really needed was a spanking. Not like he would ever even consider taking that line of action. Not really.
The man’s back straightened, and his eyes snapped back, staring straight forward. Back to being a statue again. Washington still couldn’t chase away the thought that there was something… defiant… no, hurt in the line of Hamilton’s body.
“You should have reported to me, or at least to the Captain’s commanding officer. Instead you’ve escalated the situation, made a spectacle of yourself and only served to amplify these rumors! What do you think the whole camp is talking about right now? I swear to god, Hamilton, your pride will be the death of us all!” he shouted. The man didn’t even flinch, and if anything that was enough to drain the wind from Washington’s sails.
He rubbed at his temple again.
“Even leaving him alone and just ignoring him would have been a better solution,” he said, much more quietly.
Hamilton’s face went absolutely expressionless.
“Permission to speak honestly, sir?”
Washington sighed. It looked like he was finally getting the respect due to a commander, but it tasted bitter in his mouth. All he wanted was for Hamilton to understand that he couldn’t keep rushing headlong into things like this, for both their sakes.
“Permission granted, but keep it short.”
Finally the young man looked at him, and it was almost startling to see his eyes so angry.
“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think you’re comprehending my situation,” he started, and Washington was already regretting letting him talk. “You are telling me I should have came to you, that I should have let it be! How could I have done that? When they are already saying that, what would they say if I ran to you like a… like a child scurrying home to tell on some bullies-”
“Hamilton, I understand that your situation-”
“No you don’t!” Hamilton snapped hotly, cutting him short. “This bears no gravitas to you, sir! You are becoming the father of this nation! Rumors of a bastard would leave no larger mark on your reputation than a spec of sand on the ocean! I have nothing! I have nothing but the uniform on my back, the epaulets on my shoulders and whatever fame I might come into during this godforsaken war!”
Washington was left speechless, just looking at Hamilton, like under a spell.
“As soon as the war is won - as soon as we win this war - I will have to shed this uniform, I will have to shed my rank… The only thing I shall retain will be my accomplishments. I don’t have the luxury of money, I don’t have the luxury of a prestigious name… And you expect me to let the shadow of being Washington’s bastard , the shadow of all my deeds being born out of nepotism linger on whatever fame I acquire? You can not ask me that, sir!”
Ah. A wayward, nagging little thought appeared to Washington.
“Are you finished?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “Good… Has this rumor been going around for long?” He wouldn’t know… He was aware that his station and his oft intimidating personality didn’t invite people to share gossip in his presence. Hamilton stayed resolutely mute - which was enough of an answer in itself.
“Is that the reason why you’re so adamant about keeping your distance, Lieutenant Colonel?”
It always seemed strange to him; no matter their upbringing, most of his men were more than happy with getting his attention, with getting his affection even - when well deserved. Except for the one who deserved it the most. Hamilton had been stand-offish from the start, and only grown more prickly the longer the war went on, rebutting every effort Washington made to show him how dearly appreciated he was.
The young man refused to reply, only betrayed by that little tick in his jaw - a clear sign of holding himself back from blurting out something.
Washington sighed and then, despite the gravity of the situation, chuckled. At least that seemed to nudge Hamilton out of his stone-faced resolve, his confusion apparent in his face.
Washington shook his head, wetting a cloth in the basin of warm water by the fireplace and then stepped up to the boy.
“Stay still,” he ordered as he slowly started to wipe the grime and blood away from the man’s face. Hamilton seemed barely able to follow the order, almost vibrating with tension.
“Lieutenant Colonel, you are a well read gentlemen. Are you - by any chance - familiar with the phrase ‘The lady doth protest too much’?”
Hamilton’s eyes snapped to him, wide and dark. Washington didn’t dare look into them too long, scared of getting lost in their depths.
“Have you ever considered, my boy, that the distance you’ve imposed between us makes you stand out all the more?”
He turned the boy’s head a bit to the side, trying to get rid of the mud dried on his jaw. Hamilton would need a proper bath at one point, but for now this would have to be enough.
“There’s hardly a man in the army who hasn’t yet overheard me calling one of you boys ‘son’... and I admit, having none of my own makes me think of all my aides as a little, mismatched family. Don’t you think puffing yourself up like an agitated pigeon every time I call you that might make people wonder why you don’t want to hear it?”
Hamilton averted his eyes, swallowing thickly. At least his nose had stopped bleeding finally, so Washington took a corner of the cloth that was still relatively clean and carefully started to rub away at the blood. Hamilton winced at his touch, but he held his chin firmly.
“I said stay . You’ve made quite a mess of your face, you have only yourself to blame if it hurts.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I know,” Hamilton said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Washington huffed.
“Son,” he said, careful, gentle. For once Hamilton made no objections, his eyes fluttering closed. “You should give yourself more credit - or at least let us, who know how much you’ve done for this nation - give you more… You say you will be left with nothing after the war, and I have to say, despite your brilliant intellect you have never been more wrong.”
The fabric was becoming too stained to help much, but Washington didn’t dare step away to rinse it out. Hamilton was listening to him, and he feared that even the slightest disturbance would break the brittle balance between them.
“You might not have noticed, but you’ve earned the respect of all of us. And do not misunderstand me, I don’t mean you should just coast on afterwards by the mercy of men higher in social standing. I mean that you’ve shown us what you’re made of. You’ve shown us that you are capable of incredible dedication, that you have an all consuming work ethic…”
With every word of praise, Hamilton seemed to deflate a bit. Washington gentled his hold on his chin, allowing his fingers to caress the smooth skin underneath them.
“You have proven yourself capable of great things, and that , my dear, sweet boy shall not be forgotten. You might not like the implication of nepotism, but whatever you think, you have gained brothers here, who see you for your merits above all else.”
Washington barely suppressed a shiver as Hamilton exhaled, his breath brushing against his fingers. His face was as clean as he could get it, so he dropped the cloth, taking the boy by the shoulders instead.
It was amazing how such a narrow frame could carry what seemed like the weight of the world.
Hamilton opened his eyes, looking at Washington with such an unguarded, vulnerable gaze that it made him want to kneel then and there and swear to protect the boy.
“And for what it’s worth - in whatever capacity you desire - you also have me...”
The words were simple enough, true enough, but somehow they still felt charged with something more. Washington never before allowed himself to analyze whatever force of gravity pulled him towards this bright, young man, and he knew that it wasn’t really the time now either.
It seemed too dangerous to play with fire when both of them had been laid bare.
Still, there was a lot of things he wished to… But it wasn’t his choice. His rank, his status, his name - all of the things that put him squarely in a position of power made him all the more powerless in the face of his feelings. It couldn’t be his choice.
Hamilton was watching him, his eyes intelligent and clever and searching for something. Washington didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what to give. So he waited.
After a long, unbearable beat of silence the boy raised his hand between them, his fingers hovering between their bodies. There was no way to tell if he wished to push Washington away or to pull him close.
In the end, he did neither. His hand dropped, and with it, so did Washington’s heart, but then, miraculously, Hamilton stepped forward, closing the distance separating them, letting his head drop onto Washington's shoulder.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world to close his arms around the slight, lean body and hold him close.
Yes, there were too many things left unsaid, too many things undecided, too many risks untaken, but for now? For now this was enough.