Work Text:
Washington didn’t know whether to be fearful or hopeful when Doctor Mann’s messenger informed him that Alexander had woken. He decided on being apprehensively hopeful; as it turned out, he should have been fearful.
When he entered the medical building, shaking the ice from his greatcoat, Alexander was breathing harshly, as if trying not to cry. “What has happened?” Washington asked as the hope in his chest froze into panic.
“His symptoms are not unlike those experienced by those with head trauma, I would guess a swelling in his brain. It’s pushing on his eyes, resulting in blindness.”
Alexander bit at his bottom lip hearing those words, as if trying unsuccessfully to keep the panicked whine in. Washington moved quickly to take Hamilton’s hand in his own, suddenly fearful that the boy would start scratching at his own skin, as he had done in the past when panic overtook his brilliant mind. “Permanent?” he asked.
“If the swelling goes down quickly enough, no,” Doctor Mann said. “Hamilton said he hasn’t hit his head recently, so I imagine the swelling should go down sooner rather than later, provided he rests and does not stress overmuch.”
The last words were directed very deliberately at the man sitting in the bed, but Hamilton seemed not to notice. Doctor Mann sighed. “I will leave you with him, Sir, see if you can get him to drink the broth.”
A bowl of broth was at the bedside, but untouched. “You need to eat son,” Washington said, but Hamilton shook his head.
“Nauseous,” he muttered.
“You need to eat to regain your sight,” Washington said, ignoring how the words made him want to cry for this boy.
“Don’t get my hopes up Sir, please,” Hamilton said quietly. “My existence has been a series of disappointments; there is no reason to believe that this will be any different. I understand if you wish to discharge me sir, now that I am of no use.” Even without the miserable hitch in the boy’s breath and the shaking of his hand in Washington’s own, Washington would have known that the boy was not as resigned as he seemed. Just without hope for himself.
“I will not send you away if you have nowhere to go,” he said quietly, “and you are far from useless. Even if your eyesight does not return, which I do not think will be the case, you are a fierce orator. Others can transcribe for you.”
“More trouble than it would be worth, Sir,” Alexander said, eyes still closed as they had been since Washington had stepped into the room.
“If you truly believe that,” Washington cajoled, “then you would be following the doctor’s every order to regain your sight.”
Hamilton grimaced, but nodded. The boy opened his eyes, closed them tightly again after. “I can’t-”
“It is no hardship for me to nurse you, Alexander,” Washington said quietly. “I have no other pressing matters to attend to than you.”