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Davies arrives in the town not far from the revolutionaries’ base camp in just under a week. It’s a well-travelled route, no one takes notice of one man staying the week.
His mission is to compromise Washington, perhaps with something to do with his young aide.
Davies doesn’t trust the word of his apparent superiors, just as they do not trust him with much to do with the war; he performs missions like this in which other men may be… uncomfortable with the level of intricacy and yes, the level of pain one must be prepared to inflict.
These men are below him in intelligence and worth. His superiors understand, he gets things done and he does it efficiently, so they continue assigning him missions such as these, but they do not have the kind of vision he has.
Just because Washington brings this boy about with him does not mean that he has any spare fondness for him, nor does it mean he does not - whether it be fatherly affection or far more carnal desires Davies does not know - and he trusts only himself to make that assessment.
So, he watches them.
He’d always been good at this part, no one ever notices or catches him, and he is free to lurk in the shadows as an unknown witness for however long he likes.
The boy is indeed young, the youngest he’s seen in a position such as the commander-in-chief’s aide-de-camp. And he is, true to word, pretty.
Long eyelashes over dark eyes that hold more fire in them than they have any right to, framed by hair just as long and just as dark - the boy ties it behind him rather messily. The rest of his features are sharp as his mind and Davies sees in the quirk of his reddened lips and flicker of an eyebrow a coy kind of intelligence Hamilton never refrains from showcasing; he fulfills desires Davies was not aware he had.
He doesn’t want to kill the boy, he wants the boy to be his .
And taking him will surely satisfy his mission - Washington adores Hamilton, and in turn Hamilton revels in the indulgence, revels in the paternal relationship the pair have formed, however they both try and conceal it.
And if he were not intrigued by the boy before, there comes a night when Alexander and Washington take a walk together amongst the trees - it is somewhat challenging for Davies to move with them and keep himself concealed but he manages - and the most interesting development is made.
“It is not my fault if Congress reacts poorly to my stating what is blatantly obvious for any man with half a wit.” The boy is always so impertinent, if he were under Davies’ order speaking in such a tone would earn him a bruised cheek to begin with.
“I told you before, and I will tell you again Hamilton, you cannot be so confrontational with the congressmen.” Washington doesn’t at all sound like he means it, he indulges this boy in whatever he asks for, even if it is blatant arrogance.
“Well why not? They refuse us the help they promised barely months ago!”
“Shush, my boy, keep your voice down lest you wish us followed.” Washington waits for Hamilton to finish his brooding, and if there were any doubt in Davies mind that jeopardizing Hamilton’s safety is the way to devastate Washington it is gone now. “We need the Congress, we need them to be amiable to us. I’ll not have another confrontation like the one tonight, understand?”
Hamilton jerks his head but the general doesn’t seem assuaged. “Yes, sir, I understand ,” Hamilton grits after a moment, like a chastized child - and in a way he is.
“Good. Now, you may relax .” Washington says it like there is a dual meaning only he and the boy understand. Davies leans closer in anticipation.
“I’m fine.”
“Your throat hurts; you went to the pitcher no less than four times in one meeting.”
“There might be someone near,” the boy murmurs close to Washington. He shoots the general a look and his eyes are unreadable. Davies wants . “You know how I feel-”
“It is just us, Hamilton. Relax.”
“Not for long then.” Oh. Oh. Now that is even more intriguing than before; the boy’s accent changes. He was sporting the accent most educated boys have not thirty seconds ago and now he speaks like a creole.
And he will only do so in front of General Washington.
He sends a message to one of his men waiting for orders in a manor a few days to the north; he wants them to find information on Alexander Hamilton and he wants information that should be impossible to find.
So, this boy has no place among gentlemen and yet he enjoys pretending that he does, Washington allows him to pretend that he does.
“The accent is all but gone on its own, sir,” Hamilton mumbles. “My time in America-”
“Is not so long that I would believe your accent influenced. In time it will be, but that is a great amount of time. Perhaps your throat would not hurt as it does if you would tell your companions-”
“Who? The Marquis de Lafayette, or perhaps the high blood John Laurens, with his powerful father and upstanding education?” There’s that fire again, and as pretty as the boy looks with his authentic ire Davies cannot help but picture an even more beautiful sight, that of him broken and subservient at his feet.
“They are not the kind of men to shun you over a trivial matter such as your accent.”
“It is not the accent but what it signifies, how it reveals where I come from. America is the first place I’ve ever felt truly at home, I’ve friends here who do not view me as some charity case or outcast. I will not risk losing that.”
Washington heaves a weary sigh but nods - they’ve had this argument before then. The general keeps an eye on Hamilton as he paces, hovering protectively even as he believes them alone. Hamilton blathers about this or that, barely letting the most powerful man in America get a word in edgewise.
Favouritism such as this must amount to rumours among the men, jealousy even, and if it does not then Davies will make sure it soon does; sowing unease amongst soldiers was always an easy task.
Washington would no doubt abandon his duties if he thought Hamilton’s life threatened, he has all but abandoned them now to let this boy rant about his childish squabbles with Congress.
Davies knows in intimate detail where on the human body you can kill someone slowly, or injure them severely enough that without treatment they will die but with it they will survive. He shall use the latter on the boy.
And then he’d be in the perfect position to take him for himself.
His pain must be exquisite to behold. It will be.
Images appear in his mind’s eye, of the boy kneeling at his feet, broken, subservient, his in every way possible.
It ignites an unfamiliar fire deep within Samuel, and he wants nothing more than to- he snaps a twig.
Hamilton and Washington’s heads both whip towards the sound, and Davies ducks just in time to conceal himself. Washington murmurs something about an animal but still seems wary, taking a few steps forward towards Alexander.
Davies has never been so careless, so preoccupied, while on a mission ever. This boy then, is something special. Davies can tell. That fire doesn’t go away.
Washington takes Hamilton’s shoulder, not taking his eyes off where Davies crouches, unseen. “Come, let's return,” the man says, “it might not be as safe as we’d like it here.”
“Yes sir,” Hamilton whispers, turning from the treeline first.
Washington’s hand still grips his shoulder, protective, possessive ; he wants to stake a claim on an object that he has no right to - not when he’s so severely mismanaged and spoilt the boy already.
No. No, he’s Davies’. He was born to be Davies’, the man just knows it. And he’ll make sure Washington and the boy know it too, once he’s finished with them.
Washington will shatter.
And Hamilton will become his perfect little pet.