Chapter Text
"Some woman called today asking about Alexander."
Washington looked up from the papers to glance at his treasury secretary and press spokesman with a playful twinkle in his eye.
"Now, it seems, women show up even in the president's office looking for you," he quipped, winking at Alexander playfully, who responded with a bemused roll of the eyes.
Hamilton raised his eyes slowly, irritated as usual when someone, even the President himself, interrupted his work. Washington, aware of Hamilton's tendencies, couldn't resist the urge to tease him, fully aware of Alexander's reputation for charming both men and women. At the beginning of this government term, Alexander had enjoyed a week in the spotlight when Vogue magazine, if Washington recalled correctly, had dubbed him "the sexiest politician on the planet." It had been a light-hearted and amusing week for everyone in the presidential cabinet, especially since Hamilton had endured teasing from nearly every one of his coworkers, including Washington, which had reached its peak during a memorable cabinet meeting when, fed up with the constant comments, Hamilton had taken the floor and in his usual fearless and direct manner, he declared his intention to cut a million dollars from the budget of any department whose leader made a comment about the magazine. He dismissed claims of unconstitutionality by asserting that the only unconstitutional thing in the office was the bitter jealousy of "lousy, old men" who would have to either bribe the editor or meet their demise to ever grace a magazine cover. The room had fallen silent, and from that day forward, Hamilton's magazine appearance became a taboo topic that no one dared to broach. (Jefferson risked with sending Hamilton framed cover and flowers adresses to ‘the sexiest political alive’ and to this days he hasn’t managed in convincing Hamilton to reinstate the original budget for his department.)
Burr, who had just conveyed the news, chimed in, probably wanting to spare Washington from whatever Hamilton’s response would be. "She said she was his mother," he said, his curiosity piqued as he watched Alexander closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Washington, too, couldn't help but feel intrigued by the situation, focusing more on the young man's response, or perhaps his lack of one.
In his usual blunt manner, Alexander brushed off the revelation, not even bothering to look up from the file he had been reading carefully for the last twenty minutes of their meeting. "My mother is dead, call the police," he retorted, nonchalantly grabbing a pen from Washington’s desk to cross out the whole page with his lips pressed. "This is ridiculous, sir, I am not approving those! Five million dollars on…”
"Hamilton, wait,” George interrupted, raising his hand. “We will go back to this. Who was that woman?”
"She introduced herself as Jane Stevens. Do you...?"
Alexander interjected, this time with a hint of interest in his voice, "Foster mother. I haven't talked to her in years. Did she say what she wants?"
“She asked for you to call her,” Burr answered, hesitantly walking towards the desk to hand Hamilton a card with a number written on it. Alexander, however, didn't react in any way, Aaron threw a quick glance at the President and left the card on the desk. Washington just nodded his head, letting Burr know that he was dismissed.
After the door closed, Washington took the page that Hamilton had handed him earlier, pretending to study it for a moment, even though his eyes hadn't moved a bit throughout the words, which Hamilton surely noticed but didn’t comment on.
"I didn’t know you were in foster care,” Washington said, only for a second raising his eyes to his secretary of treasury to study him quickly. He seemed tense and uncomfortable, something that Washington had learned to recognize after all those years despite Hamilton's carefully put-together act.
“You knew I was an orphan since I was a kid, sir, so I didn’t think it needed to be specified what followed.”
Washington hasn’t answered and looked down on the file, instead. In fact, he knew that Hamilton was orphaned at a very young age, he has never heard about any other family that the boy could have, so as his secretary pointed out, foster care would be a reasonable assumption. Yet, he only knew about the death of Hamilton’s mother, he has never heard anything about his father, in whose case the assumptions were much less certain. It troubled Washington that he had not probed deeper into Alexander's personal history, but he respected the young man's privacy. Yet, now he couldn't help but wonder about the circumstances that had led him into foster care and the woman who had played that role in his life.
“Did Knox fell and hit himself in the head recently?” Hamilton’s annoyed question brought Washington out of his head suddenly. "One million dollars for researching if elephants can detect bombs? First thing, I can tell him for free: no, they cannot. Second, event if they could, how the hell would they communicate that to us? And for fucks sake, we conduct military operations in Afghanistan and Iraq, none of those has elephants.”
Washington couldn't help but chuckle at Hamilton's little outburst. He had become accustomed to his secretary's fiery temperament and sharp tongue, especially when it came to matters of fiscal responsibility. “Don’t swear,” he said with gentle smile on his face. "And never undermine the power of military movements with elephants. You remember Punic wars?"
Hamilton appreciated the joke, allowing himself to laugh out loud, which was a rare privilege for Washington to cause.
"If I remember history lessons correctly, sir, Katargin did end up burned to the ground in the end.”
Washington rose his eyebrows in contemplation. "Ah, yes, I believe you’re not mistaken, my boy," he said, with a mind half ready to go back to their work, when Hamilton rapidly threw a file on a desk and slid his hand down his face, clearly frustrated.
"Jesus Christ, rhinos? What is this man doing? Supplying an army or building a fucking zoo? I’m calling him, there is no point in me reading that nonsense before he takes all of those ridiculous…"
Hamilton continued his mumbling, as he stood up and took his phone out of pocket. Washington watched him amused for a moment, before landing his eyes on card left by Burr earlier.
"Hamilton,” he said reaching out for it to and over to the boy, who with phone already in his hand just rolled his eyes, but grabbed the piece of paper before leaving the oval office.
~*~
Several days had slipped by, and Washington had nearly forgotten about Jane Stevens. Hamilton showed no eagerness to broach the topic, and George refrained from inquiring. He understood that his secretary's past was a sensitive subject, one he shouldn't press out of mere curiosity. Nevertheless, Washington couldn't ignore the subtle shift in Hamilton's demeanor since that day, even if he couldn't quite pinpoint what had changed.
Day after day, Hamilton appeared increasingly agitated and uneasy, snapping at nearly everyone around him. He seemed to be working longer hours, yet his efficiency had diminished, which he seemed determined to remedy by working twice as much as he usually would. Washington's mornings now began with reading numerous emails sent by Hamilton between 3 and 4 am, a situation he tolerated only to a point. Patience was a virtue Washington prided himself on, but Hamilton had an uncanny ability to test it like few others.
At 3:45 AM, an email from Alexander Hamilton arrived:
From: [email protected]
Subject: State budget 2k23
Dear Mr. President,
I am attaching a detailed response regarding the Secretary of State’s budget request.
Sincerely,
Alexander Hamilton
Attachment: r u fucking kidding me.pdf
By 5:35 AM, Washington responded:
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: State budget 2k23
Dear Alexander,
For future reference, please refrain from swearing in official documents. Please come to my office once you've had enough sleep to discuss the report.
Sincerely,
George Washington
Two minutes later, Hamilton replied:
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: State budget 2k23
Dear Mr. President,
omw.
Sincerely,
Alexander Hamilton
No more than 10 minuted later the door to the Oval Office swung open, and Alexander Hamilton stormed in, his presence as palpable as his frustration.
"Jesus Christ, Hamilton," Washington exclaimed, his voice a mixture of exasperation and concern. "I woke up just 40 minutes ago, and this report is over ninety pages long. I haven't had a chance to read it yet."
Hamilton's frown deepened as he retorted, "Then why would you tell me to come?"
Washington sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to maintain his composure. "I should have specified, yes, but I meant for you to come in the afternoon hours. You have to sleep, Alexander; this is getting ridiculous."
"With all due respect, sir," Hamilton started with a tone that made it more than obvious for George that said respect in his next words will be very questionable "I am perfectly capable of managing my own sleep schedule, thank you very much."
Before Washington had a chance to answer, he got distracted by a notification of an email marked as urgent which showed up at his screen in front of Hamilton’s document.
6:25 AM
From: [email protected]
Subject: Bedtime hours in Treasury Department
Dear Mr. President,
I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to urgently bring to your attention an issue that has been causing significant disruption in my both professional and personal life. It pertains to the late-night phone calls from the Treasury Secretary to my office (and house; and my parents’ house for some reason).
I kindly request that you consider instructing your staff to limit the Treasury Secretary's access to his phone during the hours of 11 PM to 6 AM. As far as I am understanding of Treasury Secretary’s late night moments of genius and his determination to out do and out run all of us, I am starting to suspect we might be confusing genius with insomnia-induced delirium.
Thank you for your attention to this matter, and I look forward to your response.
Sincerely,
Thomas Jefferson
Secretary of State
Washington glanced at Hamilton for a moment, then turned the screen around to let Hamilton read the email himself. Hamilton did so with a mixture of annoyance and amusement on his face. He leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his coffee, and finally spoke, "Snitch."
"Hamilton, this is a serious matter. It's one thing that you exhaust yourself; don't project it onto my other cabinet members," Washington replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I refuse for the government to become a collection of sleep-deprived zombies."
"Fine, I’ll stop!" Hamilton said, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. "He could’ve just silenced his phone, though."
George's gaze bore into Hamilton's troubled countenance. "It's not about him, Alexander; it's about you. You’re burning yourself out!"
Hamilton's protest came swiftly, but his voice held a trace of vulnerability, as it clearly cracked at with a sudden desperation. "I am not!"
"Stop it, Alexander, what’s wrong with you lately?"
"Nothing!"
"Don’t lie to me," Washington commanded, his tone shifting from concerned father to the authoritative voice of an army general. He should've known better, for it had little effect on Hamilton. The young man straightened his back, and his face became a stoic mask, as if he had returned to the days when he'd been a soldier, ready to challenge his commanding officer.
"Sir, all I can do is promise you, it will not ha…"
"Is this about your foster mother?" Washington interrupted, seizing a rare moment when Hamilton still regarded him with military discipline and respect, if only for a fleeting moment. "If there is something bothering you to the point that you are unable to fulfill your duties, I demand to know it."
Hamilton remained silent, his head slightly lowered, his eyes wide and intense – a peculiar mix of a deer caught in headlights and a lion poised to pounce.
Washington let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to steady his emotions before continuing. "It is no my intention to undermine your value in my office, Alexander," he said before such a thought, that must have already planted in boy’s head, had time to grow. "I am just worried about you. If there is something, any personal matter that bothers you, you should take your time off to handle it and then return to work."
Hamilton stared at him, the silence stretching on. Just as Washington began to lose hope, the words finally sliced through the tense air like a blade.
"My foster father passed away," Hamilton admitted dryly, sinking back into his chair.
In the hushed aftermath of Hamilton's revelation, a newfound empathy colored Washington's expression, replacing the stern demeanor that had previously enveloped him. Managing grief, whether his own or someone else’s, had never been a strong suit of his, and it appeared that Hamilton shared this particular trait.
Now that the tension between them had dissipated, George leaned forward, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone. "I'm sorry, my boy," he uttered, intentionally choosing the supplement for the s-word he would preferably use, which might have felt inadequate in this particular moment. "I wish you had told me."
Alexander met George's eyes, his vulnerability from earlier seemingly buried beneath layers of emotionless armor. "I see no point in such sentiments, sir," he replied, his gaze unyielding. "We weren't particularly close, and he was far from a man deserving of your or my sympathy, even in these circumstances."
"I understand," Washington replied, albeit hesitantly. The weight of Hamilton's statement lingered in the air, much like the echoes of their earlier conversation. He wasn't the kind of person who garnered sympathy easily; Alexander Hamilton was renowned for his unyielding judgments, which often seemed most severe when directed at those closest to him. Yet, beneath his unrelenting critiques lay a purpose, a motive that guided his discerning eye. It was as if Hamilton couldn't resist the urge to unravel the intricate tapestry of human behavior, a tireless quest to decipher the code governing the actions and motivations of those around him.
"She wanted me to help with the funeral," Hamilton continued, his tone now more animated, as if he welcomed the opportunity to shed light on the matter. "Financially, primarily."
Washington's protective instincts kicked in immediately. "You shouldn't feel responsible for that," he responded firmly, even though Hamilton seemed remarkably nonchalant about the issue.
"I don't, sir," Hamilton clarified. "What I do feel responsible for is ensuring that she doesn't resort to seeking financial aid from the press or by selling outlandish stories about me to the Republicans, or worse, the Jeffersonians."
"Did she blackmail you?" Washington asked, his voice low and stern, his gaze penetrating, searching for the hidden truth behind Hamilton's words.
Alexander shook his head, his dark blue eyes unwavering as they met Washington's. "No, not in the traditional sense. She's an unstable woman, quite desperate, if you ask me. I wouldn't want to risk seeing some ridiculous stories from my life splashed across the front pages for sake of few thousand dollars, which, frankly, is nothing compared to what I have to allocate from national resources for Jefferson's extravagant..."
"I don't think it's as burdensome as you're making it out to be," Washington interjected, his voice calm but firm. "I can't imagine that The Times or The Post would be particularly interested in your teenage habit of smoking."
"You've let it go, sir," Hamilton retorted, his tone tinged with a hint of defiance.
"And you shouldn't pay attention to the tabloids."
"I don't intend to, sir," Hamilton replied, his expression softening as he recognized Washington's genuine concern. "But as I said, it's just not worth the effort. Nothing for you to worry about, sir, trust me on that."
Washington scanned Hamilton with his eyes, searching for any signs of deception or hidden turmoil. When he found none, he sighed and nodded his head. The weight of responsibility, both for the nation and for his secretary's well-being, rested heavily on his shoulders.
"Alright then," Washington conceded. "Now, feel free to take one of the guest rooms to catch up on some sleep."
Hamilton opened his mouth, obviously ready to argue, but Washington raised a commanding hand to halt his protest.
"Not negotiable, Colonel," Washington stated firmly. "Dismissed. And leave your phone here, you can have it back when you’re well rested."
Hamilton hesitated for a moment, then nodded, recognizing that this was one battle he wouldn't win. With a respectful nod to his commander-in-chief, he put his phone on the desk, then turned and left the Oval Office, leaving Washington tête-à-tête with 86 pages of report to read.
~*~
7:06 AM
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Bedtime hours in Treasury Department
Dear Secretary Jefferson,
Rest assured, immediate action has been taken to address this matter. The Treasury Secretary has been sent to bed without his phone, and a strict "lights-out" policy from 11 PM to 6 AM has been instituted.
I appreciate your understanding and hope that this remedy will ensure both your professional and personal peace. If you encounter any further nocturnal disturbances, please do not hesitate to inform us.
Wishing you uninterrupted nights of peaceful slumber,
George Washington
President of the United States