Chapter Text
June, 1856
Relations between the two halves of the fledgling union had slowly deteriorated. What started as a compromise for survival and opportunity soon turned into bitterness. Neither side wanted to budge. Fights broke out in the capitol on an almost weekly basis. Victory for the North was defeat for the South, and the same in the reverse. Compromise was the only option, and that tasted like sharp, acrid metal in the mouths of all involved.
It was rare to catch his counterpart alone. Normally, she stood among her own men, refusing to leave their insular group. Gentlemen all dressed in their finest suits, painted peacocks and aspiring aristocrats. Alfred hated being around them. There were very, very few of her leaders that he could stand. But on this unique opportunity, he managed to corner her in a garden. Away from the influences of mortal men.
She didn’t seem to notice him at first, instead her attention was fixated upon a patch of pink blossoms. Alfred took a breath, mulling over what he wanted to say. That this had to stop? That she needed to tell her people to calm down? No, that wouldn’t work. She’d only get defensive and try to blame it on him. That’s what happened every other time. No, he had to be strategic about this.
He cleared his throat, the sound of which made Cait jump in surprise, clutching her fan to her chest.
“Lord, Alfred! You scared me!” She flicked open the fan, the lace breeze pushing her dark brown hair away from her face. “What is it?” The way her head tilted to the side reminded him of a spaniel puppy.
“My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.” How had she not heard him approach? She must have been very deep in some thought. He chewed his bottom lip, wondering how to phrase this question correctly. Ah, screw it. He’ll just ask outright. “Do you agree with Brooks?”
The mid-June breeze blew unseasonably cold. Cait lowered her fan, studying the blades, each delicately engraved and gilded, washed over with cotton-white lace. Her lips twitched into a frown. “I… Well, it isn’t my place to say.”
Bullshit. Alfred took a few steps toward her, the distance between them now only a few feet. “It isn’t your place to think for yourself?” He countered, growing frustrated. She hadn’t expressed an actual, original opinion in God-knows how long.
She flinched as he drew closer, extending the fan and holding it up like a screen between them. “It’s not that simple, Alfred.”
“I think it is that simple.” Undeterred, Alfred approach again, until his nose nearly brushed the lace. “He beat another Congressman like a stray dog. Do you support that kind of behavior?” His voice gained volume.
The target of his frustration shrunk back a few steps, her grey eyes furtively darting back and forth, but there was no gentleman to hide behind out here. “My people generally support-”
“To hell with your people!” Alfred grabbed her hand, which seemed to shock her out of trying to escape. “I don’t gave a damn what Dixie thinks of it. What do you, Caitlyn, think?”
She froze, staring at him, her eyes wide. He’d seen this same look before in the eyes of a trapped rabbit, its foot caught in a snare, its chest bouncing with rapid breath, too scared to even run. This was an entirely different creature than the one who stood in Congress and demanded her share of the new territories. That beast sneered and shook her mane, daring anyone to oppose her. This? This was a rodent. He didn’t like either version of her. She stopped being the girl he admired years ago.
Her lips opened, then pressed back together. Her body tensed and pulled, testing to see if he would let her go. He would not. “Alfie.” She hissed, using a nickname that she hadn’t in almost a decade. “I can’t.” Another fruitless tug, then she gave up with a frustrated sigh. “No, I don’t support it. What he did was wrong.” That statement considerably lightened Alfred’s heart, but his grip on her wrist remained when she spoke next. “He should have challenged him to a duel.”
“What?!” Alfred could hardly believe it! “Your only objection is the- the form of violence?!”
“Alfie.” She tugged again, wincing. “Please let go. You’re hurting me!”
Alfred’s hand opened, releasing her. She rubbed her wrist, which bore quickly fading red marks. He did feel a little bad about that. He didn’t want to hurt her, but that seemed to be the only way to get her to stay. A shiver ran down his spine. “What he’s started is a dangerous trend. It will lead to more violence.” He didn’t want to say it. But the word danced across his tongue. War. That’s the last thing either of them needed. If they didn’t sort this out, if they couldn’t come to some greater compromise, if she didn’t give in and admit that she was wrong, war was inevitable. And with war came weakness. A war could very well kill both of them. She knew that. She had to know that.
Caitlyn straightened up, trying to appear less like the rabbit and more like the lion. “If violence starts, it won’t be my doing.” She took another step back, holding up the marked wrist, before running off toward the inner garden. Within a minute, her form had completely disappeared among the flowers.