Chapter Text
Alexander Hamilton had shitty luck. This was an indisputable fact. Like gravity, or one plus one equals two. The Earth revolves around the sun, water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, and the universe hates Alexander Hamilton.
In fact, one could hypothetically compose an entire smash hit rap musical summarizing every horrible occurence and unfortunate happenstance in his life and would probably end up winning eleven Tony awards and grossing half a billion dollars. You know, if there were a person crazy enough to even attempt such a thing.
It all started with his birth. Well, actually, it all started with the circumstances of his conception. You see, his parents weren’t married, and in an old-school country like Nevis, that was a big no-no. What was worse was that Alex’s mother was actually married to another man. Admittedly, that man was a colossal asshole, but the point remained that Rachel Faucette had committed a fatal faux pas when she chose to disregard her marital status and hook up with alluring Scotsman James Hamilton.
One could hardly blame her, though, if one considered all the facts. After five years in a hated marriage and with her only son shaping up to be a carbon copy of his father, it’s no surprise that when a mysterious foreign nobleman showed an interest in her, Rachel was helpless to resist. It was a whirlwind romance and within two weeks a pregnant Rachel had packed her bags and left her old life in the dust. She and James settled in a little seaside cottage she had inherited from her father. It was heaven. Rachel and James couldn’t get enough of each other. James’s family wealth kept them reasonably comfortable and on January 11, 2002, they were blessed with the birth of their son. And that, in Alex’s opinion, was when everything started to go horribly wrong.
Rachel’s first husband, Johann Michael Lavien (god, what a pretentious name) divorced her. Now, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except that they lived in Nevis. According to Nevis law, a woman who is divorced on the basis of adultery and familial desertion cannot get remarried. This didn’t particularly bother Rachel, as she was perfectly happy living in unwed bliss with James.
However, it turns out that James Hamilton was not suited for fatherhood. Sure, he gave it a good shot. He even made it an admirable eight years before throwing in the towel. James claimed that he was leaving for their sake, so that Rachel wouldn’t have to live in shame of bigamy and that Alex wouldn’t have to face life as a bastard.
Alex personally thought that was bullshit.
Without James Hamilton’s financial support, Rachel and Alex quickly fell into squalor. Rachel tried. She worked tirelessly as a cashier in the little convenience store across town and cleaned the houses of their rich neighbors, (and, though Alex didn’t know it at the time, occasionally sold her own body when things were really rough) all while trying to ensure that Alex had the best education she could provide. She spoke a mixture of French and English around their home, and read to Alex every night from her small collection of books. She danced in the kitchen with him as she cooked meger dinners of rice and beans. She sang to him as she resewed his threadbear clothes for the nth time. She combed her fingers through his hair as he fell asleep in her lap. They continued like this, struggling but reasonably happy, for two years.
Two years of peaceful and impoverished living in a forgotten spot in the Caribbean suddenly came to a screeching halt when Alex fell gravely ill and Rachel followed not long after. Bedridden, half dead, and sitting in their own sick with no money for medicine or anyone to help them, it was really only a matter of time. Miraculously though, Alex got better, but his mother went quick.
Now an orphan, Alex was sent to live with a distant cousin, Peter Lytton. It should have been a good thing, but Alex’s bad luck persisted. Peter was not a bad man, per say, but he was very wrapped up in his own head. He spent days at a time locked away in his study, sometimes screaming and raging at nothing. Whenever he did leave his study, he seemed to have a hard time even registering Alex’s presence. Occasionally, he would pat the boy on the head, muttering vaguely, and tuck a sticky, aged piece of hard candy into his hand. All-in-all, Peter was a very poor guardian and Alex was left to fend for himself.
Because he had no access to Peter’s bank account and the man himself was rarely put together enough to notice a need for things like groceries, Alex got a job. He wasn’t actually legally old enough to work, he was only eleven, but Nicholas Cruger needed someone to help balance his books and Alex had an affinity with numbers.
Mr. Cruger is not what one would call ‘a good boss’. He had a quick temper and would sooner smack Alex round the head for a mistake than praise him for some spared expense. Alex was also grossly underpaid and he knew it, but he found that he enjoyed the work, even if he didn’t like Mr. Cruger.
It wasn’t ideal, but Alex was determined to make his new situation work. And six months in, Alex finally thought that he might be able to be happy here. Until he came home to Peter’s body hanging from the doorframe.
The funeral that followed was short and insincere. Peter had left all of his property to his mistress and their son, who didn’t hesitate to throw Alex out on his ass.
It was one of Peter Lytton’s business associates, Thomas Stevens, who took pity on young Alex and took him in.
Thomas Stevens was married to Marie Stevens and they had three children, Edward, Arabella, and Henri. Edward was Alex’s age and the two became quick friends. Little eight year old Arabella Stevens was infatuated with Alex from the moment he entered their house. She was always asking Alex to read with her, or play with her, or sit next to her at dinner. Edward said that she had a crush, which made both Alex and Bella blush bright red.
Maryse Stevens was Dutch by birth and had taught all of her children the language. She reminded Alex painfully of his mother as she patiently helped him perfect his Dutch.
Henri was the youngest Stevens. He turned four just two months before the hurricane struck Nevis.
Oh god, the hurricane. It struck with little warning, raining devastation on all it encountered. The wind roared and the sea raged. The air was filled with crashes of collapsing houses, the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed. The Stevenses and Alex huddled beneath the kitchen table, but it did no good. When the rain finally slowed and the wind faded, Alex emerged to find the house gone.
He dug the Stevenses out of the rubble with his bare hands. In the end, Alex was left with four bodies.
He never found Edward.
Now homeless and utterly alone, Alex did the only thing he could think of. He wrote. He poured his soul, his anger, his grief onto pages of water stained loose-leaf paper. He wrote until his hand ached and his eyes blurred with tears. He wrote until his pen ran out of ink, until his pencil broke in his fingers. He wrote a testament to his pain, his first refrain, in shaky, bloody letters. And still, he had more to say. He was practically bursting with words. With the need to be heard. At fifteen years old, words were all Alexander had left.
The Red Cross arrived in Nevis a few days after the hurricane. They brought medicine and food and clean clothes. They also brought reporters. Everyone wanted to talk to the survivors. Everyone wanted to hear first-hand what had happened. And Alex obliged. Everything he had written down came pouring out of his mouth. His poetic descriptions of the absolute devastation immediately captivated his audience and his writing was soon published all over America. Then the money came pouring in. Enough money to help rebuild Nevis. Total strangers were moved to kindness by Alex’s story and before long, Alex had his first stroke of good luck: he was offered an American citizenship.
It should have been a good thing. Looking back now, Alex wasn’t so sure. America was nothing like he’d thought it would be. It quickly became apparent that his status as a percieved immigrant made him a second class citizen. Add that to the fact that he was a bastard and an orphan at the mercy of the American Foster Care System, Alex really never stood a chance.
“The Washingtons are great people, just the best! They’ve been working with Social Services for over a decade now. They’ve helped us with a lot of difficult placements before, so I’m sure they’ll be able to handle you no problem!”
Difficult. It was a word that Alex had been called a lot since coming to America. He was a difficult child. Apparently, going through three foster families and a group home in less than a year made one difficult .
Nevermind the fact that all of the families that CPS had placed him with had been batshit crazy. It was hardly Alex’s fault that he had to resort to some rather unorthodox methods to survive the Swansons. Or that the Macalesters had thought he was a literal demon. Or that the Heigels- Alex cut the thought off with a shudder. Better to never think of the Heigels.
And it was certainly not his fault that the rat-faced boy at the group home had ended up with a broken nose and dislocated jaw when he’d refused to keep his hands to himself. Well, maybe that last one was his fault a little, but the asshole deserved it. Except CPS hadn’t seemed to agree because they’d yanked Alex out of that placement so fast he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the few people he’d actually liked there.
All-in-all, Alex would sum up his stay with Child Protective Services so far with one word: shitstorm. And he didn’t foresee it getting any better. His social worker, Kitty Livingston, could sing their praises all day long, but Alex wasn’t holding out much hope for this next family.
“They have one adopted son already, Gerald, or something like that. He’s your age. He’s been with them since he was, like, ten. And guess what? He’s an immigrant too! Isn’t that exciting, Alexander?”
Absolutely thrilling , Alex thought to himself. He pressed a thumb to his split lip as though to remind himself to keep his mouth shut. Not that it mattered. Kitty prattled on without waiting for a response.
“Martha is a nurse and George has a law degree, I think. They have two dogs, but your file said you weren’t allergic so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Truthfully, Alex had never really been around dogs before. At least, not domestic dogs. A few scrappy looking strays had wandered around on Nevis, but they tended to avoid people unless they were offered food. Alex wondered absently if those dogs had survived the hurricane.
“Here we are!” Kitty exclaimed cheerfully as she turned into the driveway. Alex looked out the window. It was without a doubt one of the biggest houses Alex had ever seen. It was at least three stories tall and shining white with a sun porch that wrapped all the way around. A black fence encircled the pristine yard. It looked like something straight out of a magazine.
“Holy shit,” Alex murmured as he craned his neck to see the entirety of the house.
“Alexander, language! Imagine what the Washingtons would think if they heard you talk like that!” Kitty scolded as they pulled up to the gate.
Truthfully, Alex didn’t give two shits what the Washingtons thought of his language, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he watched silently as Kitty rolled down her window and reached out to enter a security code on the keypad that stood before the gate. The keypad beeped shrilly and the gate swung open. Kitty moved the car forward as she continued her lecture.
“I expect you to be on your best behavior, Alexander. I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is for you to fit in here. I had to call in a lot of favors to get you this spot and if you mess this up, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with you. You’re running out of options, sweetie.”
Alex didn’t respond, istead staring at the looming house as they came to a stop at the head of the driveway. Kitty put the car in park and unbuckled her seatbelt. She smoothed her clothes primly and checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Alex rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He retrieved his backpack which contained all of his clothes and school supplies from the backseat and swung it over his shoulder. He then picked up the cardboard box sitting in the floorboard. He handled the box with great care. It contained his most precious possessions and he had gotten into more than one fight in his efforts to protect it.
Alex clutched the box close to his chest as Kitty led the way to the front door. He tried to focus on the weight of the load he was carrying rather than the growing feeling of dread, heavy and cold in his stomach, like he had swallowed a ball of lead.
As soon as Kitty rang the doorbell, the dogs that she had mentioned earlier made themselves known. Through the narrow glass window on the front door, Alex could see the forms of two large dogs bounding around excitedly as they barked at the top of their lungs. After several minutes of waiting, Kitty rang the doorbell again.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming, just a minute.”
Alex saw a humanoid form move on the other side of the glass.
“Venus! Tippler! Get back! Sit down now!” A voice commanded and to Alex’s great surprise, the dogs obeyed. Once the animals were settled, the door opened.
A woman stood in the entry-way. She was average height, with soft brown skin and her caramel-colored hair was pulled back in a French braid. She wore a flannel button-up and a pair of comfortable jeans. Despite her casual appearance, she seemed to possess the casual elegance that Kitty strived for but always fell short of. She smiled when she saw them.
“Hello!” She said cheerfully. “You must be from CPS. I’m Martha Washington. It’s so nice to meet you!” She stuck out her hand for a shake.
Kitty pasted on a friendly smile and took Mrs. Washington’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Martha. I’m Kitty Livingston and this is Alexander Hamilton.”
Mrs. Washington turned to Alex and reached out her hand. Alex hesitated momentarily before taking her hand,hoping she didn't notice the livid bruising on his knuckles. If she did, she didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled. "It's good to meet you, Alexander."
Alex doubted that, but politely mumbled "You too" back.
Mrs. Washington made a sweeping gesture. "Please come in."
Kitty didn't hesitate to accept the invitation and strode confidently through the door. Alex followed more hesitantly.
To the left of the doorway sat two dogs, both wagging their tails furiously. The larger of the two was almost comically shaggy, the hair on its head parted down the middle to keep it out of its eyes. The smaller had short, white fur with large brown and black spots. It seemed to grin at Alex, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.
As they passed, Alex subtly held out a hand for both dogs to sniff, which they did with great excitement and many loud snuffles.
The interior of the house was just as stunning as the outside. The entry hall was long and gave way to a grand staircase leading up to the upper floors. Mrs. Washington paused at the bottom of the stairs and called, “George! The social worker is here with Alexander! Come meet us in the foyer!”
A muffled reply could be heard, but Alex was at a loss to decipher it. Mrs. Washington, however, took it as an affirmation and continued into the next room. Alex could hear the ‘click’ of the dogs’ nails on the hard floor as they followed.
The foyer was open and spacious with massive windows that overlooked the front lawn. The floor seemed to be genuine hard-wood with a large, ornate rug covering the majority of the floor-space. Several fine leather sofas were set around the room, angled to face each other. Mrs. Washington motioned to one of them, telling Alex and Kitty to “make themselves at home.” Alex strategically placed himself so that he was sitting both as far away from Mrs. Washington as possible and with a direct route to the exit. He placed his backpack on the ground next to his feet, but kept the box in his lap. Call him illogical, but he felt better with the barrier between him and the rest of the room.
“My husband should be down in just a moment,” Mrs. Washington said. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Alex shook his head. Kitty asked for a cup of coffee, if they had it.
While Mrs. Washington went to the kitchen, the dogs approached and began sniffing both guests with interest. Alex reached out and carefully patted the shaggy dog on the head. It licked his fingers in response. Alex felt a smile tug at his lips, but he forced it away.
Mrs. Washington returned with an honest-to-god serving tray ladened with three mugs and a bottle of water. She handed one mug to Kitty, who thanked her profusely.
She handed the bottle to Alex.
“In case you change your mind,” she said with a wink. She put the tray on the table and picked up her own mug and sipped it before taking a seat on the adjacent sofa.
Alex, oddly touched by Mrs. Washington’s thoughtful gesture, bent to tuck his bottle into his backpack. At the same time, footsteps sounded from the entry hall. The dogs yipped happily and ran towards the sound. Mrs. Washington smiled.
“That’ll be George.”
A figure entered the room and Alex felt his heart stutter. George Washington was huge . At least six feet tall and fit, with arms that bulged with muscle, Mr. Washington struck an intimidating figure. He didn’t even stumble as both dogs jumped at his legs, trying to catch his attention.
Alex pulled his box closer to his chest and pressed down hard on one of the fresh bruises on his arm. It ached and the pain forced Alex to take a deep breath, which in turn hurt his bruised ribs. But the pain made him focus. Everything was fine. Kitty was still here. No one was going to hurt him.
Yet.
Kitty left, of course.
Alex knew she would, but even still, he couldn't help but feel abandoned. Not that he really trusted Kitty, or even really liked her. She was a bit dim frankly, and she had spent most of the meeting with the Washingtons talking about all of Alex’s issues . How he talked back and got in fights and had attacked his previous guardian. Which wasn't even true! Well, the “talking back” part was, and technically so was the violence, but it wasn't the full story.
Still, the point was, Kitty had left him and despite his less than fond feelings for her, Alex knew that she, at least, would never purposefully hurt him. The same could not be said about the Washingtons.
Mr. Washington was a giant, even bigger than Mr. Heigle had been, and dammit if that wasn't terrifying. Mr. Washington could easily break bones if he got mad enough, Alex had no doubt about that. But Washington seemed pretty calm at the moment. Maybe it was because his wife was in the room.
Mrs. Washington was looking at Alex with a smile so bright that it made Alex uncomfortable. She didn't know him. Why did she look so happy to see him?
“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexander. Do you go by Alexander, or do you prefer Alex?”
“Alex is fine,” the boy mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. He stared at the floor instead, taking note of how much more ragged his worn out sneakers looked when compared to the fine carpet. He scrunched his toes self-consciously.
“Alex then. I'm Martha and my husband's name is George. You are welcome to call us that.”
Alex nodded. No way in hell was he calling his new foster parents by their first names.
“Your file said you’re fifteen?” Mrs. Washington phrased it like a question. Alex didn’t understand why. If it was in his file, it was obviously right. But, then again, if he was being fair, there was a substantial amount of misinformation (and a few outright lies) in his file, Alex thought derisively. Still, he nodded in confirmation.
“Our son, Gilbert, is about your age. He should be home any minute…”
Alex heard the front door open and an accented voice rang out. “ Mere, Pere ! Is he here yet?”
“Speak of the devil.” Mr. Washington said, sounding amused.
A boy blew into the room like a whirlwind. He was tall and thin, but not scrawny like Alex. He had brown skin and tight black curls that were pulled back into a bun. He wore a sleek floral top and a pair of flattering skinny jeans and boots with a heel tall enough to make Alex nervous for his ankles. The boy was practically bouncing with excitement.
“Is he here yet? Is he here yet?” The boy asked again, before catching sight of Alex. He squealed in delight. “He is here! Why did you not tell me?” He shot an accusing glare at his parents.
Mr. Washington snorted. “Must have slipped our minds.”
Gilbert ignored his father and bounded right up to Alex and stuck his hand out.
“ Bonjour, mon ami! Je suis tellement excitée de vous rencontrer ! ”
Alex stood and shifted his box to hold it under one arm. He cautiously shook the offered hand. “ Bonjour. Je m’appelle Alexander Hamilton. Echanté, aussi. ”
Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise before a grin split his face. “ Tu parles français ?”
Alex nodded. “ Oui. Et anglaise et néerlandais .”
“Ha ha!” Gilbert cheered and actually did a full on pirouette in delight.
“You speak French, Alex?”
Alex hunched over slightly as Mr. Washington addressed him. He nodded shyly.
“And Dutch!” Gilbert told his father.
“How wonderful!” Martha said. “George and I aren't fluent so it will be nice for Gilbert to have someone to talk to in his native language.”
Gilbert looked at Alex slyly.
“They only understand French if you use small words and speak… very… slowly.” Lafayette jabbed playfully, drawing the words out several syllables. “Also,” he said with a groan, “please do not call me “Gilbert”. Only George and Martha call me that. My friends call me Lafayette.”
They were friends? They had literally only met seconds ago. But Lafayette was looking at him with such earnesty that Alex had no choice but to nod despite his confusion.
“Have you seen your room yet?” Lafayette asked him.
“We haven't had a chance to show it to him yet.” Mrs. Washington cut in quickly, watching her exuberant son with obvious affection. “I assume you would like to do the honors?”
Lafayette nodded eagerly and grabbed Alex’s wrist. Alex recoiled sharply. Lafayette’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and… concern? But Alex barely had time to panic before the other boy had moved on.
“Come, mon ami ! I will show you to your room! It is right next door to mine!”
Alex glanced at the Washingtons. Mrs. Washington gave him an encouraging smile and Alex took it as permission to follow his new foster brother. He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder before following Lafayette up the stairs. Lafayette pointed out different rooms as they passed.
“This is the study… and this is Martha’s sewing room… and here is George’s office…”
Finally they came to a stop in front of two doors.
“This is my room,” Lafayette said and he opened the door to give Alex a brief peek inside. His only impression was “colorful”. Lafayette closed the door again.
“And this,” He grabbed the handle of the other door, “is your room.” He threw the door open.
The room was spacious, painted a light blue with off-white baseboards. There was a tall window opposite the door that let the natural light in. A wooden desk sat against one wall and an empty bookshelf lined the other. The bed was big enough to fit three Alexs and it looked sinfully comfortable. Through another doorway, Alex could see an en suite bathroom.
“The closet is a bit small, at least, for me. But, then again, I have a lot of clothes,” Lafayette continued, hardly pausing in his chatter as he pressed onward into the bedroom. Alex followed hesitantly. He looked down at his sullied appearance, wondering fleetingly if he would dirty the entire room just by stepping through the door.
“There is a full bathroom through there,” Lafayette pointed, “so you won't have to share with anyone. I'll have to give you the WiFi password. Do you have a phone, Alexander?”
“No,” Alex replied absently as he moved slowly through his room.
“Hm. We'll have to fix that.”
Alex barely heard Lafayette, looking out the window instead. It was a beautiful view, showing a spacious backyard and a colorful flower bed.
Lafayette continued to talk, unperturbed by Alex’s monosyllabic response. “The dogs know not to come into any of the bedrooms without permission, so you won't have to worry about them. And there's a lock on the door if you ever want some privacy. Be warned though, I can pick locks. Well, kind of.”
Alex moved away from the window to the bed and pressed down on the mattress. Memory foam.
“And this is all mine?” He asked quietly. Part of him expected Lafayette to say that he was only joking and take everything away. To tell him that he didn’t deserve all of these nice things. That he was stupid. Dirty. Worthless.
But Lafayette did and said none of those things. He only blinked in surprise. “Of course, my friend.”
Alex closed his eyes firmly for a moment and forced himself to get a grip. When he opened his eyes, he looked directly in Lafayette’s dark eyes.
“Thank you.”
Lafayette smiled brightly. “It is nothing, mon cher .”
“No,” Alex said earnestly. “ Thank you.”
Lafayette’s expression softened and his smile turned gentle. “You are welcome, mon ami . You deserve it.”
Alex’s face scrunched. “You don't even know me.”
“Not yet,” Lafayette conceded, “but I can tell.” He winked and then disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Alex set his bag on the floor and flopped back on the bed. It was even more comfortable than he had imagined. His thoughts were always whirling at a hundred miles an hour but as he lay on the bed, drowning in the comforts of this new home but still aching with the reminders of previous hells, the day's events began to catch up with him quickly. A fog began to fall over his mind. His thoughts began to slow. His eyes slipped shut against his will.