Chapter Text
Alexander was tired. Exhausted, one could argue.
This wasn’t anything new. Alexander Hamilton had a history of being tired, being that he never slept.
But this was more of an emotional tired than physical.
George Frederick wouldn’t leave him alone. Which wouldn’t have been a problem had the teasing been like before. Threats, names, general teasing and mocking. But somehow, as soon as Alexander hit 21, Frederick’s constant bothering turned into something a lot more… disturbing, for lack of better way to put it.
To put it simply, no one knew George Frederick was gay before this turn of events.
Instead of threats, he got flirts. Pet names, compliments, the odd lewd comment that made Frederick’s best friend/lackey turn bright red. Alexander was running out of witty, sarcastic replies to it all and in all honestly, if it came down to it he’d rather get a cactus shoved up his ass than ever consider marrying ‘King’ George Frederick III.
Of course, George wasn’t his only problem, not by far. In their little corner of the world, the little town of Rochambeau, Alexander was seen as strange. He was strange indeed, but not in a bad way. He wasn’t interested in women, you see, or marrying or settling down. Not that this was the most -- thing in that Rochambeau After all, the town hero was apparently gay as well, wasn’t he? He didn’t particularly want to fight in any war either, unlike most men his age. He had, once, but after realizing his father would be left alone if he joined a war, he shot down that idea and decided to stick to writing.
Alexander was a brilliant writer. He worked wonders with a pen in his hand. Built entire cities with words, identities, universes. His work could not only win awards, it could change the world, if only it ever got out of Rochambeau, which was highly unlikely. No one in their primeval little town understood what he wrote, which left his father as his only critic. Not that that was a bad thing. George Washington did not sugarcoat things for anyone, family or not. But only having one opinion on everything he wrote was little help.
Everytime he went out, people talked behind his back like he didn’t have ears and couldn’t hear them right behind him. Odd. Funny. Different. No one came right out and said it, but they wanted him gone, he could tell. It wasn’t hard to figure out. The looks he got and the whispers whenever they thought he wasn’t listening were enough to make him go insane. He wanted out. Needed out. He wanted to live, to explore, to learn, but he couldn’t leave Washington, and they didn’t have nearly enough money to take both of them around.
So he’d have to wait. Washington went out every month with a folder of Alexander’s writings, to the next town over, in hopes of finding someone to publish them. If they could just find a publisher, they could get so much money, they could leave Rochambeau. It was a dream they both shared, and yet a dream that seemed so far out of reach.
One particular morning, Washington was preparing to leave. He’d only be gone a couple days, he was never gone long. Didn’t trust anyone in the town. He and Alexander were both estranged, but Washington was at least respected in some way. When he was around, no one seemed to bother Alexander. It was a sort of unspoken rule. Not many people in Rochambeau agreed with the way Washington viewed certain things, but no one would ever say it to his face. But when he was gone, it was a sort of a free pass at Alexander. Not that the young man ever took it. He’d snark everyone in that town into the next week. But getting ganged up on took a lot out of him emotionally.
So he tried to stay indoors, for the most part. He stayed in, writing and reading and cleaning and doing everything he could to avoid going outside. Eventually, however, he realized he had to water his plants or they’d die, and then they’d have less food for winter. Not that winter was coming soon, it was only mid July. He stood at the door, watering can in hand, and squared his shoulders, trying to talk himself up into going outside before he changed his mind completely. Finally, he took in a big breath and swung open the door to reveal King George, with his fist raised to knock. Or more, to bang against the wood, if how he was poised was any indication.
“Oh! Um, good morning,” Alexander said, doing best to uphold at least some semblance of politeness. He wondered briefly how long it would last. He didn’t have the most astounding patience.
King took a moment to gather himself, but smirked down at Alexander as if nothing was wrong, leaning against the doorframe rather rudely. “Good morning, darling. I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t come out of your little hovel in the past few days, and came to ensure you were alright,” he said, holding out a bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Brightly colored flowers that looked suspiciously familiar. Alexander tilted his head, glanced past King to look at his garden. Yep. An empty spot where the bunch used to grow.
He sighed and looked back up at King, forcing his lips into a tight smile. “Yes, I’m absolutely great. Thank you, these are lovely. Where’d you get them?” he asked shortly, taking the flowers carefully. He hadn’t even bothered to rip the roots off. Alexander wondered, briefly, if he could just replant them, but it wasn’t the most important thing on his mind. It certainly didn’t precedent getting rid of the man in his doorway.
King waved his hand vaguely, completely brushing off the question. “So, Alexander, dear.” He leaned a bit closer, and Alexander resisted taking a step back. He could not under any circumstances lead this thing further into his home. Not when he just cleaned it. “I’ve decided it’s time for you to get your mind off these books and.. And stories, and onto something much more… important.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind that could be more important than my books?” He asked dryly.
King grinned, evidently glad he asked. “Me, of course. What else?” Alexander had to keep from rolling his eyes. “What do you say, sweetheart? You’d make a very beautiful bride.”
Cue full-body shiver. “Real nice of you to offer, but hard pass. No.” Alexander shoved King off his doorway and pushed the door closed with only minor difficulties, giving him a nasty look as it closed. He rested his head against the door, listening closely for footsteps to retreat. After a short moment, he decided King was gone, but he went out his back door anyway, just to be sure.
He stepped out onto the little deck, glancing around cautiously until he was sure there was no one but the chickens to see him. He quickly went around the garden, watering his plants and making sure they were all healthy and well. He hurried back into the house, slamming the door closed and resisting the urge to lock it. No, he wouldn’t be dramatic. He settled for wedging a chair under the handle, nodding. That would do it.
He went to the window, scowling. Not even a foot out the door and already he was borderline harassed. “His bride? Can you imagine? Like I’d ever marry that. ” He shivered a bit, tying his hair back. “No. Not ever. I don’t want to get married!” He laughed, spinning as he wandered through the little house. “I want adventure! I want to see and learn and experience, not be tied down by someone who thinks he’s god's gift to the world.”
He smirked a bit to himself, fluffing up his hair, then dropped his hand, his face taking on a more muted expression. “Not that it wouldn’t be nice to have someone… just to understand. Someone who would understand what I want, what I need,” he murmured to himself, looking out the window overlooking the valleys surrounding Rochambeau thoughtfully.