Work Text:
The aides sat in a circle on the floor of the office. Meade and Harrison sat closest to the open fire, as Tilghman proclaimed Harrison needed to “warm his bones” and that Meade was exceedingly cold to the touch.
A notion that all agreed to.
Fitzgerald sat next to Harrison, as the circle proceeded to include Hamilton and Laurens, and then circling back to Tilghman, who sat next to Meade.
Due to both the lack of time and money available, the aides had resorted to a Secret Santa between themselves in an attempt to still celebrate the festive season as a family. Two weeks prior to this evening- the 24th- Meade had presented his hat to each individual, and everyone chose one name from the hat. Hamilton had commented on Meade’s scrawly, illegible handwriting- a comment ignored by Meade, who was in his omnipresent festive spirit.
Over the course of the past fortnight, a small bundle of presents had formed in an old box placed at the end of the bed shared by Meade and Tilghman. The box now sat in the middle of the circle, as Fitzgerald reached forward to pull the first gift out of the box.
“Tilghman, this one is yours.”
Fitzgerald slid the package across the wooden floor to its recipient, who ran his hands along the edges of the packaging. Tilghman smiled as he tore open the paper.
“Fitzgerald, you sneaky-”
Harrison interrupted Tilghman, “How do you know it was Fitzgerald?”
Fitzgerald rolled his eyes playfully, “He’s only spent the past fortnight rattling on about needing new quills.”
Harrison smiled softly, electing to push the subject no further. Tilghman lightly tugs the feather of the quill through his thumb and forefinger, before placing it carefully to rest on his knee.
Meade reaches into the box, pulling out a thick, rectangular object, which coincidentally was addressed to him. Without hesitating, he tore the paper off to reveal a copy of ‘Gulliver’s Travels’.
Watching as he flicked through the pages, Laurens smiled to himself, happy to see his efforts had paid off.
The group proceeded to open gifts, as an array of items presented themselves to the group, including new inkwells and flasks of rum.
Finally, Laurens opened his gift, which no doubt was from Hamilton. Carefully, Laurens opened the packaging with a snap, and inside was a small black book.
Laurens flicked through the pages, which were blank inside, and hard to the touch.
A sketchbook, undoubtedly.
Upon reaching the final page, Laurens read the writing at the back.
‘Your Alexander’