Chapter Text
It was meant as a joke. There was no possible way that it would be cold enough in the shed after the days of nauseatingly hot weather; miraculous, even, that the block of ice was still in one piece in its box.
Laurens and Hamilton had brought Lafayette into the shed that was sheltered by four, densely packed trees. The shade was already some relief. They could feel the sweat beads on their backs slide slowly down their spines – their shirts too soaked to absorb any more.
Lafayette seemed to understand the aides' quick work to pull the top of the box open and pull a knife from Hamilton’s pocket. It was one he used to cut quills, hardly ever used for anything else, but the redhead was desperate as he hammered the blade into the block of ice, chipping away bits and pieces to plop in his mouth.
“Oh my God,” he said, holding his hand to his face, the knife dangling between his fingers. His brows pulled tight. “This small mercy is jarring.”
Laurens scoffed, taking the blade to scrape the little more off the top. “Can you not even serve the rest of us, Hamilton?” he said with feint anger. “Here, Marquis, take some, it’s a little one, but it’s something.”
Lafayette carefully balanced the ice shard on his fingers. It melted slowly into the crevices between them, creating small pools of lukewarm water that dribbled unceremoniously down into his sleeves. “Ah,” he quipped, sliding as much of the melting ice into his mouth. “We must be sure we save enough for the rest of the army,” he added, watching Hamilton carefully chip away more ice. “Not all men are as lucky as we are.”
It was definitely difficult to shave ice from the top with a pen knife. Quick to get soaked and annoying to handle, Laurens was already aggravated at trying to shave pieces small enough to not be a hindrance, but large enough to cool his face down.
“Very well,” he said, snapping the knife closed and tossing it back to Hamilton. He grinned at Lafayette and placed his arms on either side of the box. “This should be less destructive then.” Bending down to lick the ice, what Laurens expected was a slightly wet glide of his tongue over the cold surface.
What he got was sudden stiffness; and he couldn’t pull away.
“Come now, John,” Hamilton had said, “you are hogging up the space.”
Laurens slowly curled his fingers around the box and pushed against it as subtly as he could as panic started to rise in his chest. His tongue was not budging.
Lafayette couldn’t help but notice Laurens’ madly twitching brow as his face remained pressed against the block. It was like a story playing out in front of him, one he maybe would hear at court of someone’s child getting stuck licking the frozen fountains.
Hamilton took a moment longer to realize, and the laughter that suddenly built up poured out of his mouth in heaps and gasps. “You can not be serious. Laurens, stop, it cannot possibly be so cold, quit your fooling around.” The man had to hop slightly to get into a similar pose Laurens held, his feet dangled a few inches from the ice box. “All you have to do is use your breath, you buffoon.”
He would show Laurens, of course, how licking ice was done: using your breath to melt the ice as you went to be sure that it was only nice, cold water. His head smacked lightly against the dirty-blond mop to his left for only a moment before he paused, and the two auburn eyebrows pulled together.
Lafayette, having been led into the shed to participate now became a spectator to this whole affair. Eyeing as the small man hopped up to the ice box to showboat in front of Laurens and himself. The once still legs moved slightly; Hamilton’s knee quietly pushing against the wood as his face remained on the ice.
“Aha,” he breathed, pulling at his Major-General sash around his waist. “D’accord, gentlemen, I think it is time we go join the others again, non?” He stepped back in a motion to leave, tossing his weight from one leg to the other, but the aides-de-camp did not move. “Amies?”
Meanwhile on the ice, Hamilton was burning holes into the side of Laurens’ face. “Why ‘in’t you ay um-ing?” he more or less shouted, his tongue rendered useless as remained fixated on the frozen block’s surface.
“Wha ih you wan ee oo ay?!” Laurens cried back. His tongue was terribly numb now, his eyes brimming with embarrassed tears.
Hamilton’s face was scathing red, it was amazing the heat generating off from his temper didn’t melt the ice alone. He sent one of his hands holding him up over to cuff Laurens across the shoulder, nearly losing his own balance on the box.
“Alexandre?” Lafayette slowly became visible in both of their lines of sight. His hands had twiddled up to his chest in nervous humor. “This is a prank, yes? Some mischief?” he asked, glancing between the two men. Sure, he had heard many of these types of stories, but never had he had to be the one to rescue someone from freezing their tongues.
It took another moment for Hamilton’s anger to cede into something pitiful as Laurens suffered in silence, his tears slipping down his nose.
“Gilbert,” Hamilton said slowly. He bit onto his tongue to keep some blood flowing in the muscle. “I ee you oo ake the ‘ife.” He wiggled the knife that remained in his hand that also propped him up until the Frenchman looked at it.
“Tu déconnes.”
“Gilbert!”
“D’accord, d’accord, d’accord, ah,” Lafayette took the damp knife from his friend, running the handle through his sash to dry it if only a little. He couldn’t quite understand the banter between the two before him as he bent over to see where perhaps he could score the blade into around their tongues. “If I cut you,” he said, looking at both of them, “je suis désolé.”
He had started with Hamilton – Laurens seemingly resigned to his fate, closing his eyes while listening to Lafayette chip away with an unpracticed hand. Hamilton’s arms were already aching trying to hold himself up whereas the South Carolinian had his feet at least firmly planted on the ground.
Every wince Hamilton gave received a gusto of French coos as large pieces of ice remained stuck to his tongue, but at least were coming free from the source. “Je sais, je sais,” Lafayette lamented, much to Hamilton’s deteriorating honor.
It felt like ages before the shed door opened. Lafayette shot up as if he were caught in some treasonous act, sawing the tongues off of Washington’s youngest aides. In the entryway stood a very familiar face – round with a head full of thin, tawny hair.
“Cher McHenry,” Lafayette cried. The doctor was a sight for sore eyes.
“Do I… do I ask what on Earth is happening in here?” he whispered, his Irish timbre ever soft and delicate. He smoothed his hand over the green ribband across his chest while he stepped into the shed. “I had the most terrible feeling in my mind that some young friends I cherished were making dúr decisions.”
As his eyes settled on Laurens and Hamilton lying across the top of the ice box with their faces all but pale purple, he glanced up to the Marquis whose hand held the pen knife like an ice pick.
“Mo dhia…” McHenry uttered. He reached up to carefully take the knife from Lafayette’s hand – the three sets of eyes trained on their surgeon friend. The Irishman’s leg propped under Hamilton’s knee as he lowered his face to take a good look at the bizarre situation the idiots placed themselves in. Hamilton wept at the relief of giving his arms the break from having to hold his weight.
“Mac,” Lafayette said, returning to nervously pinching his command sash.
“Go get some warm water, General,” McHenry replied, “with due haste.”
With the ice exposed to the warm air for such a time, the top of the block was rapidly melting, but McHenry wasn’t going to risk completely ripping off every nerve-ending to the two most talkative aides in the family. He couldn’t possibly handle Meade being the primary voice in the office, Heaven have mercy on their souls. When Lafayette returned with a bucket, McHenry had him take the spot to give their short friend a rest – Lafayette’s long thigh a happy repose for Hamilton to kneel on. Instead of dumping the water on the army’s primary ice resource (which would have been easier), McHenry dunked his fingers in and proceeded to massage the tongue victims off the ice. The chunks smoothed to water well enough that Hamilton eventually fell backwards and into the arms of the Major-General as McHenry went to work on the silent Laurens, who then retracted his blistered tongue and stepped back from the ice box, holding his hand over his face.
It definitely was the most simple task the doctor had to take on that day – the rest of the men suffering from heat exhaustion, diarrhea, or stupid wounds. McHenry puffed out his cheeks, looking at the two men who were really only a few years younger than he, Laurens less so.
“Really, gentlemen?” he asked. “How ill be your luck to get stuck like that?”
Lafayette had unconsciously started rubbing at Hamilton’s back – the only man who would get away with touching Hamilton so outright affectionately without complaint. “But it is a blessing you arrived when you did! I could have cut our dear Alexandre’s tongue right out!”
Said man flinched at the thought but replied nothing, his tongue was still thawing.
“Sorry,” Laurens quietly replied. He worked his jaw gingerly. “But t‘ank you, Mac.”
McHenry set his hands on his hips. “You are welcome,” he said. And added after a moment, “Well I am glad it wasn’t anything worse. I’ll prescribe you some warm herbal tea for immediate use… and I’ll work on a salve for those sores. Unfortunately I cannot recommend you two use an injured muscle, so.” A small pitiful smile crossed his face. “Let’s keep talking to a minimum so you two can heal faster. Tomorrow should be an alright time to resume smalltalk.”
“ooMORROW?!” Hamilton cried.
“Lest it be the end of the week, Sir!” McHenry chided.
It was all supposed to be a joke, Laurens mulled, still holding his face as Lafayette helped Hamilton to his feet. Just a joke.