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"There you are. Jesus, Alexander, I've been looking for you everywhere." Laurens stops beside him, stepping right to the edge of the overhang before lowering himself to sit at Hamilton's side. John mirrors his position, legs dangling over the edge, arms folded over the lowest bar of the safety railing. "How is it you always manage to find the least accessible places to hide in?"
"I've got a special affinity for maintenance grids." He tries to inject humor into the retort, but of course he fails. He's too honest to fake levity he does not feel.
Laurens remains silent for a time. When he speaks his voice is soft, his words cautious.
"You okay?"
Hamilton does not even consider pretending confusion. Laurens found his hiding place, at the top of the starbase's primary maintenance bay. It's not as though there are many possible reasons he's up here. It's not as though he can claim he just thought it would be fun to climb through the service tubes to see what he might find. John would spot the pretense for the absolute nonsense it is.
"I fucking hate this," Hamilton mutters. He doesn't bother looking at his friend. He doesn't have to. He knows Laurens is watching him with those infuriatingly sympathetic eyes. Probably worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Definitely frowning.
"General Washington is going to be fine, Alexander."
"I know." The only reason he's not still making a nuisance of himself in the medical wing is because he was the first to receive an update—to learn that Washington had pulled through surgery without complications—that everything went as well as it possibly could and he will emerge from stasis no worse for wear.
"Then why are you sulking up here?"
"Because an hour ago we didn't know any such thing," Hamilton snarls. "Because if we'd been half a parsec farther from this goddamn starbase, they wouldn't have been able to help him. Because he almost died and I couldn't—"
He clamps his mouth shut, clenches his jaw. Bites his tongue to stop the torrent of words threatening to escape. His chest feels tight and wrong and raw, and he wants to scream. Even though Washington is safe. Even though Washington will be good as new by morning. Even though there is no rational reason he should still be upset.
Fuck, he can't breathe.
Because up until the moment the doctors said Washington would live, Hamilton was terrified—was absolutely certain—they had arrived too late.
His mind knows they were lucky, and that everything will be okay. But his heart is still bracing for a world without his general, and that is not a world he will ever be ready for.
He startles at the hand that settles on his shoulder. When he turns to look his friend in the eye, he finds Laurens peering straight through him, concern straining his expression. Brow deeply furrowed. Hamilton doesn't speak, and the touch falls away, but the piercing stare doesn't release him.
"Are you ever going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" Hamilton asks, not sure why his pulse is suddenly thundering in his ears.
The look Laurens gives him is very nearly pitying. "You can say it out loud. I'm not going to make trouble for you. You're my best friend."
"I don't know what you're—"
"Alexander." The tone is light, but the interruption is pointed. Immovable.
Hamilton turns away, casting his gaze downward over bulkheads and machinery and the vast range of platforms below. He closes his mouth and swallows hard. And he decisively does not answer. Prays Laurens will let the matter slide.
But of course he's not so fortunate. All his luck is tied up in more important pursuits today.
"How long have you been in love with him?" Laurens asks.
Hamilton swallows again and shakes his head. "I can't talk about this."
"Not even with me? Alexander, who am I gonna tell? You have my word, the general won't catch any inkling from me."
The laugh that bursts from Hamilton is a frantic sound, too wounded to be mistaken for amusement. He can feel Laurens staring at him in confused surprise. Can picture the questions in his best friend's eyes. Fuck, if he's not careful he'll dig himself into a hole there's no getting out of. Yeah, Laurens will keep his mouth shut as long as he thinks Hamilton's the only one with a problem. But what if he figures out that the truth is more complicated? What if he grows suspicious that Washington is compromised too?
Protective as Laurens is, it's hard to picture him standing idly by in the face of such knowledge.
"Fine," Hamilton mutters. This, at least, is a truth there's no point obscuring. "I'm in love with my commanding officer. It doesn't matter how long. What you're really trying to ask is whether it's going to be a problem."
"No." Laurens scoffs. "I already know it's a problem. But I'm not here to fuck things up for you, okay? I've got your back."
Hamilton is quiet for a very long time. When at last he speaks, it's in a voice heavy with fatigue and heartache, a tone wrung dry by the stress of the day.
"Thanks."
This time when Laurens squeezes his shoulder, Alexander leans against his friend's side and doesn't say a word.