Work Text:
The office is silent Monday morning, except for the sound of quills scratching against parchment and the various shuffling of papers. The harsh winter that had set upon Valley Forge some months ago still remained, showing no signs of departure any time soon.
Washington’s aides were hard at work, as ever. Harrison and McHenry shared the desk nearest the fire, while Laurens and Hamilton sat cosily on their own desk opposite. Tench Tilghman occupied the back corner alone at his own desk, working tirelessly over translations and other letters.
“I do wonder where our dear Meade is,” Hamilton spoke aloud to no one in particular.
“Perhaps the General sent him out to deliver essential correspondence,” Laurens murmured into his paperwork.
“He is still abed.” When he rose that morning, Tilghman considered waking his friend, however he chose not to as he remembered the consequences the last time he tried.
“Does he think himself better than us to be able to stay in bed a while longer?” Tilghman looked at the grandfather clock in the room as Harrison said this. 7:45AM. Tilghman thought Harrison’s criticism harsh, yet he agreed that the morning was well upon them by now.
“Perhaps I shall head upstairs to hasten him along.” However, there was no need, as if on cue, Richard Kidder Meade entered the aide-de-camp office and stood by the closed door.
“How nice of you to join us Kidder.” Harrison said sarcastically, eyes still trained upon his work.
Meade did not reply, and Tilghman watched as he walked slowly over to the empty seat at his desk and sank into the chair. Tilghman noticed his friend’s appearance for the first time. His face pale and eyes ghastly, his eye bags more prominent than ever. His dark hair was dull and a bit matted, tied in a low ponytail. His nose was red. The spirited, jolly Meade they all knew well was nowhere to be found.
Tilghman turned his attention back to his work, unwilling to insult Meade over his appearance. After five or so minutes, Tilghman realised Meade had not picked up his quill. Or even moved, for that matter.
“Are you alright my friend?” No response. Tench waved his hand back and forth in front of Meade’s face, causing him to start suddenly, his chair legs scraping against the wooden floor slightly at the movement.
“I’m sorry, did you say something Tench?” Tilghman felt in his gut that something was off and he furrowed his eyebrows in concern as Meade looked at him with confusion.
McHenry had evidently turned his head to pay attention to the scene, as he audibly gasped, exclaiming “Kidder, you look a fright!”
Tilghman whipped his head around to shoot McHenry a look, but his features softened a touch when he saw the horror on his fellow aide’s face. Tilghman turned to face Meade once more, noticing both Laurens and Hamilton were now looking also in their direction.
Meade creased his brow for a second before closing his eyes and inhaling sharply at the movement. “I’m fine, but thank you for the evaluation McHenry.” Hardly any emotion was in Meade’s voice as he looked down at the pile of work in front of him once again.
Everyone in the office watched Meade slowly reach forward to pick up his quill, and Tilghman spotted that his hand shook slightly at the motion. Tilghman breathed deeply as Meade lifted a sheet of paper with his right hand, and the paper rattled as it shook in his hand. The motion was near impossible to mask to everyone in the office.
Harrison stood suddenly from his chair and marched over to where Meade sat and hovered over him for a brief moment. Meade froze in his tracks, and slowly lifted his head to look up at the man standing over him.
“Your eyes are glassy.”
“I-” Meade had no time to reply as Harrison had already placed the back of his hand on the younger aide’s forehead. No sooner had he placed it there, he had drawn it back sharply, crying “Christ, Meade, you feel like the surface of the sun!”
Immediately, Tench leaned forward to repeat the same motion, and as usual, Harrison’s words rang true. Meade looked at Tilghman, his bottom lip quivering. McHenry now had crossed the room to join the party, feeling Meade’s forehead also.
“Good Lord, you’re sweating also! It’s a miracle you managed to drag yourself out of bed.”
“In that case, your tardiness this morning is excused.”
The door clicked open to reveal General Washington entering the room. He surveyed the room, noting Hamilton and Laurens’ lack of activity, Harrison, McHenry and Tilghman all stood crowded around one desk, and poor Meade hardly coherent to his surroundings.
“What on earth is going on here?”
Meade shrank further into his seat as Harrison replied stiffly “Meade is unwell, sir.”
The General frowned, turning his attention to Meade.
“Sir, I can assure you I am plenty fit to work.”
“McHenry?”
The General turned to the doctor turned aide-de-camp, who replied “Sir, I believe he is unfit to do just about anything in his condition as of this moment.”
“No, Sir I shall prove-” For the second time that morning, Meade was cut off as General Washington strode over to him, mimicking the actions of the three men before him.
“I concur with Doctor McHenry, Lieutenant Colonel. You shall return to your bed and rest immediately. That is an order.”
“But, Sir, with all due respect-”
“Son, you are unwell. Now, to bed with you.” Meade sighed, though it was a bit more like a whine, in defeat.
“McHenry, ensure he makes it to bed safely. I am placing Meade under your care.”
“Yes Sir.”
General Washington nodded once before swiftly exiting the room, closing the door behind him. Harrison crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the floor as McHenry and Tilghman helped Meade stand. Tilghman watched as the pair left the room, a feeling of concern sweeping over him and engulfing him like a thick blanket.
Tilghman returned to his seat, as did Harrison, and everyone once again resumed their work.
***
Hamilton ventured upstairs two hours later to ‘stretch his legs’ and soon he trotted back down with news.
“Mac claimed poor Kidder has been doing nothing but retching since he went upstairs. Only in these past ten minutes has he finally managed to fall asleep.”
Tilghman grimaced, feeling an odd sort of emptiness inside. His day had been lonely without his companion to laugh and converse with. Also, he was reluctant to partake in any office banter, despite Hamilton’s best efforts. Despite this, he had made significant headway in his work.
***
It was one o’clock in the afternoon when Tilghman visited the kitchen staff to request a glass of water and a warm bowl of soup. Once received, he thanked the ladies in the kitchen and made his way upstairs, paying careful attention not to burn himself.
He knocked on the closed door with his boot, and soon enough McHenry appeared in the doorway, stepping aside to grant Tilghman entry.
Tilghman placed the bowl down on a nearby table, grateful to remove the burning sensation from his fingertips.
“How does our friend fare?”
“I don’t think it’s anything too serious,” Tilghman sighed a breath of relief as he heard this news, “but he has struggled to keep anything down for too long. He is still sweating and his nose is stuffy, so I’ve left him to sleep for now.”
“Thank you McHenry,” Tilghman smiled genuinely, “I shall relieve you of your duties for now.”
McHenry smiled, closing the door behind him as he went. Tilghman picked up the bowl of soup once again and carried it over to the bedside table next to Meade’s cot. Tilghman sat in the available chair, spying two buckets at the side of the bed. One filled with cool water and a rag hung over the side, and the other Tilghman presumed was to catch anything his friend brought up. It didn’t show any signs of recent use, which was a good sign.
Tilghman smiled softly at the sight of his friend peacefully sleeping, the only sound he could hear were the quiet snores of Meade. Tilghman reached forward to flick part of Meade’s hair off of his forehead, which had unfortunately become slick with sweat. Meade stirred at the sensation and Tilghman drew his hand back slowly in a desperate attempt to keep Meade from waking. However, his efforts were in vain as Meade slowly opened his eyes.
“Tench,” Meade croaked in a broken voice as Tilghman offered a small wave. Meade breathed out a small, silent laugh at this.
“Glad to see you’re feeling like yourself once again, Kidder.”
Meade smiled up at Tilghman, yet this action quickly turned into a grimace. Meade suddenly shot upright and leaned over the side of the bed gagging over the empty bucket. Tilghman scrunched his face up at the experience, as he was never a huge fan of sickness, yet he placed a hand soothingly on his friend’s back and rubbed his hand up and down.
After a few minutes, Meade gasped and flopped back down into his pillow. Tilghman peered down into the bucket daringly, and it was still empty.
“You should eat if you’re going to do that. I doubt you have anything left in your stomach anyway.” In response, Meade’s stomach growled, causing Tilghman to snicker as he reached for the soup bowl.
Tilghman scooped up some of the liquid onto the spoon he was given, cautious not to overload it, and he carefully raised the spoon to his friend’s mouth. Meade gulped down the food gratefully until the bowl was empty.
“Thank you Tench. You make an excellent bed nurse.”
Tilghman scoffs playfully at the comment, smiling fondly down at his friend who looked back up at him, the sparkle in his eye now returned.
“I have a glass of water if you care for a drink.”
Meade shook his head, replying “I appreciate the gesture Tench, but I’d like to go back to sleep.”
Tilghman nodded, “Of course. I shall fetch McHenry once more.”
Meade nods, nestling down into his pillow and closing his eyes. Tilghman whispers “I’ll leave the water. Just in case.”
“Thank you.”
Tilghman collects the empty bowl and opens the door to leave. “Feel better soon.”
Meade only grunts in acknowledgment, but Tench knows he means well. He closes the door behind him discreetly and makes his way back downstairs.