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For all Washington's protests that Hercules is none of his business, Hamilton knows the general is relieved at the unsolicited reassurance. The man's entire demeanor relaxes in the days following the lab collapse. It's a subtle transition, but Hamilton reads him with the ease of a subordinate who knows his commanding officer far better than he should.
And maybe it's a strange precedent to establish. They aren't a couple. They never will be; Washington has made this fact profoundly clear. But they are something. Hamilton felt guilty for carrying on with Hercules, despite how little transpired between them. He was painfully aware of Washington's displeasure, and he couldn’t pretend not to recognize the show of jealousy.
He feels better for having explained himself, and Washington's answering calm has been a relief in the scattered days since.
Hamilton's sense of ease bleeds away a little if he thinks about it too long. There are so many things he craves and cannot have. So many secrets, and Washington far enough out of reach that there are days Hamilton doubts his heart can contend with the strain. So many moments he has caught his general looking at him—a glimmer of possessive heat in dark eyes—only for Washington to look sharply away.
He wishes Washington wouldn't look away. It's not as though there's anything to hide between them. They understand each other far too well for such pretenses. Surely it would be better to acknowledge this shaky, unbounded connection, even if nothing can come of it.
"Hey." John's voice cuts into Hamilton's tangled thoughts.
Hamilton blinks and raises his eyes from the data displayed on the screen in his hands. He finds Laurens peering at him with an expression of bald concern.
"What?" He manages to keep his tone light, despite the heavy turn of his thoughts.
"You've been staring at the same chart for fifteen minutes," Laurens says. "You okay?"
Hamilton blinks. Swallows. Does his best to sound sincere and smooth when he answers, "Of course I'm okay. Just trying to untangle a logistical problem."
"Want to try talking it through?"
"Nah," Hamilton answers, a little too quickly. "I think I figured it out."
It's a lie. He hasn't figured out shit. But the deflection does the trick, averting John's attention and leaving Hamilton in relative peace. Leaving him to his spiraling thoughts and the hopelessness of all the things he cannot have.