Work Text:
For all that she outranks him, Hamilton has always enjoyed an easy rapport with Angelica Church. From their first moment of introduction they’ve shared a spark of kinship. It’s an affinity that could easily have crossed the line into flirtation if not for the commander's strict sense of decorum and propriety.
There is, at the simplest level, something familiar in Angelica. A focus—a ferocity and ambition—that they recognized in each other from the start.
Not many people are smarter than Alexander Hamilton. Of those few, there is almost no one whose intellectual superiority he will publicly concede. But there's no point pretending where Angelica is involved. She is easily the most intelligent person he knows, and his pride does not strain in admitting it.
Perhaps this is why they've always been easy in each other's company. They’re so much the same, it was inevitable they would either admire or abhor each other. And all things considered, Hamilton would much prefer to be friends. If theirs is a strange, mismatched, occasionally combative relationship, well. It's no less priceless a friendship for all those things.
It's this affinity that gives Hamilton the insight to be certain she knows—somehow—about Washington. He can't guess what tipped her off, and couldn't hope to explain why he's so sure, but there's no mistaking the change.
Angelica never watched him particularly closely before, but now her attention is like a homing beacon piercing directly through him. She's never been circumspect when they interact away from the rest of the crew, but now she is quiet, as though trying to decide whether to broach a difficult subject. She's never been careful of him before, and he doesn’t know how to address this strange new terrain.
He could wait her out. It’s already been days. If he gives her enough time, surely she'll reach whatever conclusion is lingering just out of reach. Surely she'll come to him eventually.
But if she knows his infatuation with the general is mutual—if she even suspects—he can't wait around not knowing what she'll do. Angelica is all rules and procedures, unless dire circumstances demand otherwise. She runs Washington's ship with tight efficiency. And friendship or not, it’s alarmingly likely she will reassign Hamilton with all speed. Depending how much she sees, how culpable she considers Washington, she could decide regulations require it.
So Hamilton doesn't wait. He needs to move quickly—blunt and direct—and assess the situation, to decide how much damage control is required.
"When did you figure it out?" he asks the first time he manages to catch her alone. Off duty, under the pretext of drafting a proposal for experimental comm equipment. The draft is a task that does require their attention, since Angelica insists she won't allow Hamilton and Eliza to tear out the communications array without approval from on high.
Angelica sets her work down on the conference room table and gives him a confounded look. When he doesn't immediately clarify, an arched eyebrow follows.
"Figure what out?"
"Come on," he presses, even though she sounds convincingly sincere. "You've been watching me like a hawk for over a week. I just want a hint what tipped you off."
Comprehension smoothes her expression. "I wasn't sure you knew."
Which makes Hamilton blink in confusion, because… What? Really? He may be clueless sometimes, but he's never lied to himself about his own feelings. How could he possibly carry a torch of this magnitude—an obsession potent enough Angelica saw through him—and not be aware of it?
It takes him several seconds longer than it should to realize, "Oh! You don't mean me. You mean Washington."
A look like panic widens Angelica's eyes. "You didn't know?"
"Of course I knew." Hamilton may be perplexed, but he sees no need to prolong her horror at divulging something she shouldn't have. "I know Washington better than anyone. He's not a good enough liar to hide his feelings from me."
Not that he didn't try. If it weren't for Alexander's unlikely jaunt into Washington's subconscious mind, he might still have no idea.
Angelica's expression is watchful and heavy now. "And you're okay? He hasn't said or done anything to make you uncomfortable?"
"Of course not." Hamilton struggles to keep the affront from his voice. It's a valid question. Not because Washington would ever knowingly wrong him, but because the situation is complicated. Hamilton is a subordinate, and Angelica needs to be sure. "The captain is a good man, not to mention stubborn as hell. It wasn't his fault I found out."
For several moments of steady silence, Hamilton wonders if he's dodged a proverbial bullet. He assumed Angelica was concerned over his feelings. Perhaps she missed his slip. Maybe her worry over Washington will keep his own side of this secret safe.
But her next words shatter that particular delusion soundly.
"I should have known you were compromised too."
Hamilton is at a loss to explain why his face rushes red; it's not as though he's ashamed. Hell, Angelica knows all about his frequent entanglements with Hercules, not to mention his occasional trysts with strangers during shore leaves. She may not know anything more specific about his preferences and proclivities—they don't ever discuss their respective love lives—but she knows him. Why should he be self-conscious? So long as she doesn't intend to get rid of him, why does he even care?
Maybe it's because Washington is different. Washington is everything, a complicated tangle of emotions with nowhere to go. He is a vulnerability, and an intensely personal truth. Maybe it's only natural for warmth to rise in Hamilton's skin at being caught out.
"The general swore to my face he hasn't done anything." Angelica’s tone is heavy, not with skepticism but with the need to hear Alexander agree. A readiness to be disappointed.
"He hasn't," Hamilton confirms quickly, praying she can't tell just how desperately he wishes the general would.
Angelica considers in silence for several seconds. This time when she speaks, it's in a quieter tone. Somber and strangely gentle.
"I could still arrange a transfer for you. It might be better for you on another ship. Away from… whatever the hell this is. You just need to ask, and I'll make it happen."
Hamilton's eyes widen as displeasure sings along his skin, and he answers without thought.
"I'll resign my commission first."
He has no idea why the words make Angelica laugh, but they do. A helpless, exasperated, almost manic sound as her eyes pinch shut and she slumps forward with shaking shoulders. She laughs so long Hamilton has the distinct urge to ask if she's okay.
Then, abruptly as she started, Angelica quiets. She sits straighter and blinks, her eyes bright and her expression sharp. "You're both stubborn idiots." She glares at him. "So I'll tell you what I told him: if this becomes a problem—if it affects the ship—I will intervene. Are we clear?"
"Yeah," Hamilton answers, not sure whether he ought to feel relieved. "We're clear."
"Good," Angelica says. "Now let's finish this goddamn proposal so I can go pour myself a glass of Saurian ale."