Chapter Text
“Hamilton.”
Shit was the only thought in his head when heard the familiar voice behind him. The righteous fury evaporated from his face and was replaced with dread and fear. Since being appointed Treasurer, he's heard his name multiple times a day in various tones. Most of the time it was out of vexation from Jefferson, Madison, Adams and occasionally, Burr. From the other members of Congress, it is out of annoyance, awe and exasperation. Last but not least, from Washington it was a mixture of all three, but with a fondness that was so glaringly obvious it seemed like there was no room for anything else.
Today, however, there was nothing but disappointment.
Jefferson, who had the shorter man's cravat in a tight fist, quickly let go the second he heard the president's voice, his lips morphing into a smug grin when he noticed the horrified look on his opponent's face.
"Looks like someone's in trouble with Daddy." The secretary taunted, his voice low enough for only the immigrant and the crowd to hear.
Alexander's face burned and he hastily let go of the other man a few seconds too late to appear casual, swiftly turned around and tried to fix his face to resemble an innocent look.
"Sir?" He called, for once feeling self-conscious from all the stares they were receiving.
"A word." Was all the former general said, motioning the young man with a finger. As Alexander slowly made his way to the president's side, Washington turned his attention to the rest of his staff. "Everyone else go and take your seats, we'll begin shortly." Washington looked back at his right-hand man, whose eyes were firmly fixated on the ground. "Provided Hamilton is willing to behave."
That, that was uncalled for.
"Mr. President," he hissed, ears ablaze when he heard a poorly disguised snicker from the magenta wearing man.
"That goes for you too, Jefferson." Washington said, eyes locking onto the slave owner. Alexander smirked hearing his rival choke, before muttering a "yes, sir."
Washington nodded and looked down at the treasurer. Alexander felt the worry return seeing the stern look in the man's eyes.
"Follow me." He turns away and heads down the hall before Alexander could say anything else.
The pair of men walked side by side, their footsteps echoing loudly in the empty hallway–his sounding like a prisoner marching toward his execution and the presidents were the death knell–The older man radiated anger and disappointment. Alexander kept his eyes downcast, teeth gnawing on his lip, trepidation growing with each step they took. The silence was killing him, but for once he willingly kept quiet, lest he incur the president's wrath before they reached their destination.
A couple of seconds passed, and he could no longer take the cold shoulder. Without really thinking, he snuck a glance at his superior’s face, trying to gauge his expression. Though the same cool exterior was still in place, Alexander could sense the rage simmering beneath the surface. If the ex-general noticed the immigrants staring, he made no mention of it. He simply continued his long brisk strides, eyes narrowed and filled with determination.
After a few more agonizingly long minutes they reached the familiar large, elegant doors of the president's office. Where he frequently held private meetings and scolding's. The second one seemed to be reserved for Alexander only.
Washington unlocked the door and opened it. "Inside," he instructed, stiffly.
Though it was unintelligible, he couldn't stop himself from grumbling as he strode past the former general. Once inside he parked himself in the middle of the room, not even bothering to sit down and try and relax. He very much would rather get this over with.
Washington didn't seem to share the same sentiment it seems. He slowly closed the door with a soft click and leisurely made his way to his desk and calmly sat down, narrowed eyes never leaving the treasurer's. Alexander stood to attention across from him, brazenly staring right back at the steely glare. Like the ticking of the clock in the far corner of the room, Alexander could hear the man’s patience with him counting down.
After a few seconds, the president let out a long, hard sigh that held more volume than if the man had actually yelled.
"Son–"
Okay, one: Deja Vu and two: "I'm not your son."
“I grow tired of having this conversation with you.”
“Then might I suggest we talk about something else?”
“Young man, your sass is neither needed nor appreciated right now. You're in enough trouble as is.”
"I fail to understand why, this is hardly my fault."
Being called into Washington’s office has become a common enough occurrence, that the staff liked to joke it was secretly part of Alexander's job description. It goes without saying he never saw the humor in it. He detested being singled out like this. Especially since a majority of time it was because of a certain pompous, arrogant, frilly secretary. Today of course was no exception, though he felt this particular visit was unnecessary and unjustified.
Granted, he thought that every time he was being lectured, but still–
"One day,” Washington said at last, annoyance creeping into his tone, “do you think, just for one day you can act professional?”
"Jefferson started it," he replied instantly, unintentionally proving the president's point.
"Alexander," Washington sighed.
"He tripped me with his cane, sir! I hadn't even said anything to him yet!” He countered, raising his voice. “I don't see you scolding him on professionalism!"
“I was going to, but then you decided the best course of action was to try and punch him in the face instead of letting me handle it!”
“I was not!” He yelled, offended. “I would never do something so foolish!”
Washington raised his eyebrows at the sincerity in the boy's words. “Well, that’s good–”
“As if I would risk damaging my hands with his stupid face, plus leave behind evidence of an altercation!” A sly grin spread across the immigrant's face. “If I was going to punch him, it would be places that no one would see, such as the stomach, arms, legs and–”
“Alexander,” Washington growled, effectively cutting off the younger man's tirade. “This has to stop! Every day I have to put out fires between you and Jefferson. Do you have any idea how badly it reflects on me when I have to call an intermission just to separate my staff? To bring them to my office and give them a lecture, at least three times a day?”
“You never call Jefferson in here,” Alexander muttered under his breath. Judging from the hard glare that was being sent his way, he wasn’t quiet enough.
“Young man, that is beside the point. You and Jefferson must end this childish rivalry.”
“You expect me to play nice with that idealistic, slave owning son of a–?!”
“I expect you to behave like an adult!” Washington yelled. “I’m not asking you two to be friends, but I will not have you waste everyone’s time with petty fights."
“With all due respect, sir, I believe you may be asking the impossible.”
“Come now, Alexander, surely you are exaggerating. You two were civil enough to be able to work out getting your debt plan approved.”
Well, true. Only that had involved Alexander forcing down a plate of macaroni and cheese, prepared by none other than his rival, and listening to the man yammer on for a good three hours, but Washington didn’t need to know that. “Well, yes, but–”
“But nothing, Alexander,” Washington pressed. “I will not have this talk with you again. The next time this happens I will enforce a punishment.”
A silence wormed its way into the room, nearly crushing the immigrant. A chill traveled down his spine as he mulled over the president’s words in his head.
“Sir, what exactly do you mean by punishment? ”
Washington didn’t answer him right away, instead he stared at the young man with a look that he’s swear he’s seen before, but cannot pinpoint exactly when and where. He felt a need to squirm and apologize profusely, but he squashed the instinct immediately. No, no there's no reason to be afraid. Outside of firing him, there’s very little Washington can actually do to him.
After a couple of more seconds of cold, deliberate silence, Washington spoke.
"Do you remember when you dueled against Lee?"
"Actually," he started before he could stop himself, "Laurens was the one who did the dueling. I was merely his–" The daggers that were shooting out of the president's eyes caused the remark to wither and die on his tongue. "Yes, sir."
“I had told you that if you stepped out of line I wouldn’t hesitate to take you in hand again, didn’t I?”
Oh. Oh.
Alexander visibly swallowed, memories of that day flooded his brain and he could feel his ears burn red with embarrassment. After a few seconds, he realized that Washington was actually expecting an answer from him. “Yes,” he whispered, finding the far wall very interesting all of a sudden.
An awkward silence settled between the two men. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Washington surveying him, his expression unreadable. After a few more moments he let out a sigh and stood up from his desk. “For the sake of propriety I will deny it if anyone asks me, but I do favor you quite a bit, son.”
The young man twitched, both from the mention of favoritism and the endearment, and scowled darkly. He held back the instinct to rage and argue, but he couldn’t help himself and mumbled, again, “Not your son.”
Seeing the upset look on the treasurers face, Washington smiled slightly and continued, “Don’t get me wrong; your excellence in writing and intelligence are what made me choose you. You’ve earned this position, never doubt that.”
“I don’t.” Alexander said, though his voice didn’t have its usual confidence.
“But, I won’t pretend that you mean more to me than just my Treasurer.” Washington moved closer and placed a hand on the orphans shoulder, causing him to meet his gaze once again. “I care about you and think quite highly of you. Which is why I’ve given you a lot of chances and provided… alternative punishments that I wouldn’t have given anyone else.”
Alexander squirmed, fervently wishing they would stop talking about this.
“Now, I often overlook your antics and I’m well aware I cannot force you and Jefferson to like each other, but there are two things I will not tolerate: disrespect and infighting.” Washington paused, he crossed his arms and leveled the young man with a knowing look. “Both of which have consequences, as you well know.”
Alexander shifted in place, suddenly filled with a rare urge to flee. He went back to staring at the wall, the heat from the president’s stare was almost melting the skin off his face. "Sir, may I ask where you are going with this?" He questioned, a strange sense of foreboding settling in his chest.
Washington said nothing for a moment. He simply placed a finger underneath the immigrant's chin and gently turned his head to face him. "My point, Alexander, is that if you continue this abhorrent behavior, I will keep that promise I made all those years ago.”
The world seemed to stop for Alexander. The quiet resumed, but the air was thick with dread and tension. It took longer than it should for the words to register in his brain and he came back to reality with a hard crash. He inhaled sharply, eyes widening in horror and instinctively took a step back, but was prevented by the hand on his arm.
"You’re kidding," he forced out a chuckle, but Washington's face remained unamused. The awkward smile slid off his face, beads of sweat trickled down his brow. He was certain his heart was going to explode. "Sir, surely you're not insinuating that you would–?"
He stopped; he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. The mere thought that that would happen to him, and as a grown man, made him physically ill. The last time the former general had done… that he had been young and foolish; a nobody who had been under the man’s tutelage. Now, close to being thirty, with a name and life of his own, the idea of being punished in such a way was beyond mortifying; his cheeks, neck and ears tinted red at the possibility.
“Yes, Alexander, I would.” Washington said, eyes boring into the anxious orphan's. "Clearly you're in dire need of a firm hand and have left me no choice but to be the one to do it. If you act like an obnoxious brat, then I'll treat you like one."
"But sir!" Alexander spluttered, stomach twisting into knots. "With my age and profession, I'm sure even you would agree I've grown above such…measures."
"You should also be above throwing fits and petty insults, but you're not, are you?" Washington shot back.
Shame flickered on the man's face, before he schooled his features and went back to sulking. Washington heaved a heavy sigh, already tired.
"Look," he started, "I'm not saying I'm going to punish you now, since today wasn't all your fault, but next time you pick a fight with Jefferson then–"
Alexander, with great difficulty, refrained from stomping his foot. "When I pick a fight?! What about Jefferson?!" He yelled. "Sir, if you recall, he is not blameless. What are you going to do if he picks a fight with me?"
"First of all; do not interrupt me. Second, if or when it comes to that then I will handle it," Washington said sternly, "and how I deal with Jefferson is none of your business."
Alexander was not all pleased with that answer. The unfairness of this situation made him want to scream. “But sir–!”
"Enough. This discussion is over, Alexander. My mind is made up. If you truly do not wish to be spanked, then I suggest you watch your attitude from now on. Understand?"
Alexander could only offer a strangled choke in response, his entire face burned scarlet hearing that word being thrown out so casually.
“Understand?” He pressed, sternly.
Alexander refused to answer, simply glaring at the man with rage and disbelief, hands clenched into his fists, his body stiff as a board; furious at the outrageous stipulations being forced upon him.
“Young man, is there a problem?”
Alexander’s jaw dropped in shock. “Is there a- Is there a-?! Yes, there is a problem!” He all but roared, losing all decorum and closed the distance between him and the president. “In your old age, you seem to have forgotten quite a few crucial facts. The first and most important one being that I am not a child! The second one is I’m no longer a soldier under your command and third–!”
“You know what?” Washington said, coolly; effectively cutting off the shorter man’s rant. “I retract my earlier statement. It appears you are in desperate need of an attitude adjustment.” The former general firmly gripped the young man’s arm. “Fret not, we’ll take care of it now.”
With that, Washington led the spluttering treasurer to a nearby chair and took a seat. Alexander wasn't given a chance to protest when he was suddenly yanked downward, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. In less than a second his stomach made contact with the president's legs and he was delegated to staring at the floor.
“You said you wouldn’t do this unless I picked a fight with Jefferson!” He screeched, desperately trying to pull himself up.
“I also said I would punish you if you stepped out of line, which you have.” Washington said, looping an arm around the thin waist, keeping the ex-soldier in place. “I hate to do this, Alexander, but evidently you need a quick reminder of who is in charge.”
A nightmare. This has to be a nightmare. That is the only logical explanation for what’s happening right now. “Sir, wait! There’s no need for this! Surely we can discuss this like adults and–”
The first swat knocked the air and the rest of his words out of his lungs.
“We're done talking.” Washington said, laying another slap down on the man’s backside. “Since my words are unable to reach you, my palm will have to be one to persuade you.”
Alexander winced when a smack struck his thigh. “Sir, this is wildly unprofessional!”
“So is nearly punching a fellow congressman in the face. So is making a wisecrack about my age. ” Washington's hand moved around, spreading the smacks. “I have let you get away with far too much it seems. Don’t worry, we’ll rectify that right away. Hopefully by the time we are done, you’ll be willing to act like an adult.”
Washington set to work setting his right-hand man behind ablaze. Alexander yelped and squirmed over the older man’s lap, his legs kicked with each swat and he clawed at the ground.
"Stay still," Washington ordered, tightening his hold on the treasurer, palm continuing to attack its target. Alexander ignored him and continued to writhe in his grasp. Washington frowned and landed two hard slaps on the back of his thighs. "Unless you want to lose your trousers, I suggest you stop moving. "
Alexander stops moving.
Washington returned to his task, his hand falling repeatedly. Alexander grits his teeth and bore the torture with a scowl. This was absolutely ridiculous, not to mention unfair. If the situation was reversed, Washington wouldn’t do this to Jefferson or even Adams. Why did he have to suffer this indignity? The president’s large, unforgiving hand crashed down on both cheeks, and he bit his lip to stifle any noises, determined to be as quiet as possible.
Silence made its way back into the room, with only the sound of a hand connecting sharply with a clothed bottom keeping it company. Alexander laid rigidly over his superiors' knees, boiling with shame and humiliation. The pain was hardly excruciating but there was a constant ache that never ceased. A literal pain in his ass.
A slap that landed on the undercurve of his butt caused him to hiss, frustrated tears pooled in the corner of his eyes. He silently wished that Washington would start lecturing him so he would have something other than the sounds of the spanking to focus on.
“Am I getting through to you, Alexander?”
Really? Alexander quipped internally, glaring up at the ceiling. Now you start answering my prayers?
“Al-ex-an-der.” Washington repeated, a swat punctuating each syllable. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes!” He yipped, red blooming across his cheeks. “Yes, I get it. I understand!”
“Are you going to behave from now on?” The hand was relentless and with each slap, Alexander’s resolve weakened.
“Yes! I will!” He wasn’t breaking, he tried to convince himself, he was simply going along with the president so this will be over quickly.
"Good. I’ll be holding you to it.” Washington tipped him forward ever so slightly and released a flurry of hits on his sensitive undercurve, forcing out an involuntary whimper. After one more hard clap on his already sore backside, Washington stopped.
Alexander let out a sigh of relief, his body going limp.
A hand, the one that had just brutally toasted his rear, made its way to his head and raked its fingers through his strands of hair, the immigrant stiffened but then immediately relaxed at the gentle ministrations. Alexander despised himself for quickly leaning into the touch. His self-loathing increased tenfold when he let out a quiet sniffle.
“I hope you’ve learned something from all this.”
Alexander blinked; suddenly aware he was no longer being held down. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed he was being lifted up until he was already halfway off the president’s lap.
“Wait,” Washington righted his glasses and straightened out his rumpled clothes, “th-that’s it?!”
“I believe that the message has been made clear.” The president gave the young man a small smile, not a trace of anger or disappointment to be seen. “Consider this a warning. Should I need to repeat this lesson, I will not be so lenient.”
Alexander wanted to protest that he hadn’t exactly agreed to the man’s terms, but the residual sting in his backside encouraged him to think twice about arguing. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, we should be heading back. We've let everyone wait long enough." With that, he released his staff member and walked toward the door. Alexander followed, confused, flustered and slightly miffed about this whole ordeal
***
“Ah, Mr. President, there you are.”
“Jefferson? I believe I told you to wait inside the cabinet meeting.”
In no time at all the two men reached the meeting, where they found the root of today’s troubles waiting for them outside the door. Alexander winced and frowned, a sullen look overtaking his features. Though he made sure to erase all evidence of what happened, he was still embarrassed to see anyone after being walloped like a child.
Jefferson shot their leader an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, I grew restless waiting and thought it would be a good idea to stretch my legs. I’ve only been out of my seat for a few minutes I assure you.”
Alexander didn’t believe a word out of the man’s mouth, but for once he didn’t supply a comment. Something the taller man noticed if the surprised look was anything to go by.
“I see. Well then, I apologize for making you guys wait for so long. Let’s not waste any more time and get started, shall we?”
Alexander and Jefferson both nodded, fake smiles plastered on their faces. Washington walked ahead and went into the room, both men trailed after him. The immigrant's eyes warily watching his rival's cane.
Just as Alexander made it to the doorway, Jefferson walked in front of him and blocked his way.
“You're quiet,” he said, surveying the orphan. Alexander fought the urge to snort at his ‘observation.’ The familiar irritating smirk made its way onto the Secretary of State's face. “Did you calm down after getting a timeout?”
Alexander bristled and opened his mouth to heap abuse on the infuriating man, but promptly shut it, fully aware that Washington was just on the other side of the door and would hear him. After taking a few short calming breaths, he muttered in the most civil tone he’s ever used on the slaver, “Jefferson, please step aside, so I may take my seat.”
Jefferson's eyes shot up to his hair. “Please?” He said, not even bothering to hide the incredulity in his voice. “My, my, my, look who finally decided to learn some manners.”
Alexander glared but didn’t provide a snarky comeback and Jefferson’s shock doubled. He stared hard at the shorter man; his face unreadable. Sharp eyes taking in the slightly flushed face and petulant scowl. He gave an ugly snort, crossed his arms and sneered.
“Washington must have spanked you good.”
Alexander choked and spluttered out a barely coherent response. His eyes went wide in horror, entire face turning the same shade as his nemesis coat. It was just a harmless jab, right? There’s no way Jefferson actually knows what happened, right?!
The magenta congressman stared at his rival, slight confusion filling his eyes and he watched the young man practically melt in front of him. Alexander felt the panic in his chest grow with every second. He swallowed hard. Shit, how does he handle this? If he goes on the defensive and flies off the handle, the man will know he touched a nerve, but him being silent is just as telling.
Thankfully, he was saved from embarrassing himself further by the president.
“Hamilton, Jefferson, I would like to start this meeting today if you don’t mind?”
Both men jumped slightly. Jefferson peeled away from the doorway and walked inside, stopping only to shoot the immigrant a smug grin. Alexander growled and followed suit. Upon stepping through the door, he became aware of something terrible.
He was going to have to sit down.
A haggard sigh tumbled from his lips. This was going to be a long day.