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Alexander Hamilton exited Washington’s headquarters at a brisk speed, wincing at the frost that bit at his face. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, but the chill still seeped into his fingers. It was hours past sundown, roughly around nine o’clock, but the sun had set quarter after four, enveloping the valley in an all too unwelcome darkness. Bluish moonlight shone down on the snow before him, which crunched beneath his boots. A few yards nearby stood rows upon rows of tents - infantrymen quarters, by the look of it - and he shivered, remembering that many men had naught but threadbare coats on their backs. Quartermastery wasn’t his area of expertise, but he did know that several of Washington’s staff were struggling to make requisitions to accommodate the men. Alexander, on the other hand, had his hands full with matters regarding strategy and intelligence.
The camp was nearly dead silent, save for the distant footfalls of other wanderers up at this hour, and the routine watchmen who were unlucky enough to have been posted tonight. The cold was seeping through him, despite the layers upon layers of clothes. He hurried back to his quarters, trying to keep his mind on warm tea, blankets, and the sunny warmth of the Caribbean. Anything to keep his mind off the creeping chill. Alexander found it strange that he almost missed the place of his birth, a desire brought upon by the frigid depth of winter. Yet life on Nevis hadn’t been nearly as attractive as a sunny island would seem right now. He pushed the unwelcome thought to the back of his mind. He’d rather bundle up into a cocoon of clothes and blankets, he realized as he tugged his scarf up and over his nose, than have to swelter in blazing heat.
His mind kept drifting back to tea as he shuffled through the camp. Black tea, or maybe coffee, would certainly be in order for a night like tonight. And being himself, it wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep soon: he had more important duties than catching shut-eye. Suddenly, he thought of hot mulled wine - the kind that (Y/N) made for him on Thanksgiving, slightly peppery and delicious - and he smiled wistfully at the idea, missing the time he’d spent with them then. What he’d give to be in their arms again, draped in a heavy wool blanket, with not a care on their minds except for each other. That seemed perfect for a time like right now.
Alexander pushed open the creaking door to his officer’s hut, with a blast of winter wind blowing through the open doorway. He shut it promptly, and turned the deadbolt. He turned, and began to dust the snow off of his cloaked shoulders before stumbling in the dark towards the corner of the hut, which contained a small wood stove. Soon after, a humble fire filled the small quarters with a warm glow, and Alexander began to undress himself of his outer layers, pulling up a chair beside the gentle heat. Laying his bare hands over the radiating warmth, he stirred, sensing a chill.
A draft had made its way through the cracks in the door. Blast , he cursed to himself, before rising and rooting around his quarters for some rags. Stuffing the cracks as best he could, he returned to his seat by the stove, quietly putting on a kettle to boil. As the kettle rumbled steadily, he turned to pore over letters from the Continental Congress, his fellow officers, and even some intelligence from Culper Sr., gathered by none other than his friend Benjamin.
Minutes turned to hours, and the evening rolled into deep night. He’d been poring over multitudes of papers and scratching down notes, but he couldn’t keep his mind off of how unappealing his empty bed would be. He thought of getting up to go rouse his friend, but they were a ways away through camp, and it would be rude to wake them from their much-needed sleep. Just as his eyes began to glaze over an odd report concerning artillery, he heard a gentle knocking at the door. Alexander’s head shot up instantly, and he placed his quill down. Who could be up at this hour of night, looking for him? Lafayette? Surely, it couldn’t be…
The soft rapping on the door continued. “Hamilton!” a voice whisper-shouted from behind the wood.
He stumbled out of his chair, dropping some papers he’d forgotten in his lap - he’d fix them later - unlatched the deadbolt, and swung open the door. There stood none other than (Y/N) themself, who was lightly dusted with a layer of fresh snow.
“I got cold…” they began, but Alexander hadn’t let them finish before he ushered them in, shutting the door tight once more. They cast off their dark cloak, and he firmly pulled them into a hug. He could feel their teeth chattering from the icy chill. “My tent’s freezing like you wouldn’t believe - Alex, what are you doing?” they chuckled, their voice muffled by his embrace.
“I missed you,” he said quietly, burying his face in their dark hair.
“But I saw you yesterday?”
“I know,” he admitted, releasing them for a moment. “I was going to go look for you actually, but I thought you were sleeping.”
“Lonely, are you?” they gently swept an auburn curl from his face with a smile. “I figured you might’ve wanted company.”
He briefly held them again, relishing in the embrace, before beckoning them to sit on his bed next to the still-glowing wood stove. The embers were growing faint, but (Y/N) fed it some more kindling and poked it, reinvigorating the little blaze. While they kept the fire going, Alexander turned towards his hodgepodge collection of cups, picking up the most recently used one and taking a sip. He grimaced at the sensation of bitter, lukewarm tea.
“Do you still leave your cups around everywhere, Alex?” (Y/N) teased as they rubbed their hands together.
“Old habits die hard, I suppose. Here, I’ve got a clean one somewhere…” he trailed off, rummaging through his desk.
“Don’t worry about the cups, I’ll do just fine as long as you don’t hand me one that’s half full.” He felt them playfully jab him in the side.
“Did you bring anything, by any chance? I’m afraid I don’t have much coffee left,” he inquired dejectedly, showing a practically empty box. Roughly a tablespoon of dark grinds was scattered pitifully at the bottom.
“Not to worry. I always come prepared,” (Y/N) said almost too eagerly, revealing a small bottle of dark mead from their coat pockets. “Once we heat this up, it’ll be perfect.”
While Alexander gently heated the mead in one of his small mess pots, (Y/N) undressed, only leaving their sleepwear and some heavier wool layers. From their bag, they withdrew another surprise: a cream colored point blanket, woven from wool.
“You know, that tent gets pretty lonely when I’m by myself,” (Y/N) murmured, wrapping themselves in the massive blanket. “And on a night like this? Some good company is all one needs.”
“I figured you’d be too busy, given your responsibilities with the requisitions, to want some company at this hour. But I’m glad you came.”
“I feel like I’m failing, Alex. Failing our soldiers. Some poor sods don’t even have shoes. What are we doing, if we can’t supply our men with basic things?”
“I ask myself that as well. We’re a rebel army, yes, but I can’t believe such things like shoes or layers are so hard to come by.” Alexander poured them both a cup each, the hot mugs warming his hands.
“I’ve been organizing a cooperative system where sympathetic citizens are making clothing with what cloth they can get their hands on, in exchange for goods and money. But how do I get people to help, when we can barely pay our own soldiers and officers?” (Y/N) stressed, wringing their hands together frustratedly.
He sat down and passed them their mug, and they raised it to their lips, taking a sip. “That’s something to leave to Congress, at the moment,” he said as he slipped his arm around them. (Y/N) draped the blanket over him too, enveloping him in the cozy warmth.
“You’re telling me to not ruminate over something? Are you alright?” They snickered, taking another sip.
“I am perfectly fine, thank you for asking. Better now, even.”
“The mead’s good, isn’t it? It’s got juniper and some orange peel in it. Made it myself.” they said proudly, leaning their head into the crook of his neck.
“Mmm…” Alexander sighed, taking another sip. “If the war’s over soon, do you think you’ll make a business out of it? Run your own tavern?”
“Maybe. And it’s when the war’s over, not if. I promise, Alex.” He’d thought of it before, what would happen after the war. Where would they be? Together? Apart? As if they had read his mind, (Y/N) gently lifted their head and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I know that look on your face. Just think about how nice it is to be here right now.”
“Perhaps I should follow my own advice more,” he admitted, setting his mug down. He turned and cupped their face with his free hand, following with a slow kiss. Their lips -or his, for that matter, he couldn’t tell- were sweet, and they returned his kiss with another.
Both mugs, now empty and long forgotten, sat discarded on the floor nearby. Alexander had one arm around their waist, and the other gently caressing their cheek, while they ran their fingers through his wavy auburn hair. They spoke not for a while, with only the sounds of the crackling fire and soft kisses permeating the quiet midnight. He gently kissed their cheek, neck, and lips once more, before they simply buried their head into his shoulder, hugging him.
“You think we should get some sleep, love?” they mumbled, their voice drowsy.
“Undoubtedly,” he replied, feeling slumber creep up on him. He released them, briefly, and shut the little furnace’s door. The cabin was much darker now, and Alexander gently scooted under the heavy blankets, with (Y/N) following suit. Feeling safe with their arms wrapped around him, he laid his head in the crook of their neck, and steadily fell asleep to the sound of their breathing.
(Y/N) shifted their head ever so slightly, so as to not wake him, and gently kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, love,” they murmured, before passing into deep dreams themself.