Chapter Text
[John]
The door swung open on its hinges, revealing the familiar apartment: walls painted white, contrasting to the rust-orange bricks that lay exposed on the other half of the room. Sprawled on the sofa, lay his roommate, Hercules Mulligan, whose fingers were busily unpicking and re-stitching onto fabric that had been delicately marked with white tailor's chalk. John Laurens stepped precariously through the doorframe, in attempt not to disturb the elder man, who continued to stitch at a furious pace. The doctor navigated himself through their tiny household, grabbing a beer from the fridge before collapsing next to his friend, who was surrounded by various threads, needles and buttons.
"What are you still doing up?" The younger man enquired, glancing over to the watch that was strapped to his wrist, the dial flashing 4:30. Smiling, he tossed a wheel of thread from one hand to the other, before looping the material through the thin eye of a needle.
"Presidential Gala tomorrow, and a certain French Ambassador wanted me to tailor his suit." He smirked, before picking up the threaded needle and handing it back to his roommate, signalling that the cuffs needed hemming. "It's a good job you can sew, Laurens. How comes you're so late?"
John smirked as his hands rushed to the shirt cuffs, before eagerly running the needle through the material, each loop created with the dark thread almost identical to the last. Being a doctor, he had learn to deal with how to efficiently stitch a wound, and now the same precise method was being applied to a suit jacket belonging to the French Ambassador to the United States. He was glad to think that four years of medical school had taught him practical skills, as well as the ability to save someone's life. "We had a busy evening in the ER," He responded, his mind lurking back to hours ago, where he had helped to save the life of a couple, who had found themselves attached to a rebar (the force had pushed the bar through the top of the woman's throat, and pierced the helmet of her husband), which resulted in quick thinking surgery and life changing tactics. To say that it was an evening that John wouldn't be able to forget, would be an understatement. He admired the bravery of his patients, neither of them accepting pain relief, only yearning for the knowledge that their partner was ok; that they wouldn't have to face the recovery alone. John lingered on the thought, a smile brushing his lips, as his fingers continued to work: Black thread tacking down each important section of charcoal-grey material. "To top the evening off," He continued, "I managed to smash the front of my car into a very nice BMW." With a Cheshire-cat grin, he swung his legs over to his roommates', feet resting on his thighs in an affectionate manner; his limbs continued to ache from the hectic nature of his shift, but his fingers furiously continued, as he waited for the final verdict.
"Congratulations, how is that much going to cost?" Mulligan sighed, as he focused on hand-sewing the shoulder seams, using his other hand to place John's legs on the coffee table, where his feet rested carefully between a scattering of mugs.
"Nothing. Instead of taking down my insurance details, he took down my number and promised to take me to dinner next week." As he relished in the moment, silence fell across the apartment, before John turned to his beaming best friend.
"You flirt, John Laurens." The tailor placed down his needle in favour of his beer, chinking the glass bottle with his roommates, "So you're gonna put out instead of having to pay to get his car fixed. I'm impressed."
"I really like him. I don't think it's going to be a one-night thing. Ya know?" John replied, his eyes glimmering under the low light of the room. Realising the dead end in the conversation, he hummed softly as he moved onto the second cuff, "So you're Laf's wingman for the gala tomorrow?"
Hercules hummed in reply, "The only perk of staying up this late is the sweet promise of no longer hearing about Lafayette's love life, and instead getting some of my own. And you know who is going--"
"-- I don't need the gory details." John interrupted, wishing that Hercules would save him the intricate details of his unmanly crush on the second Schuyler sister.
"You don't need them, but you're getting them anyway." He paused fondly, as he chuckled over the way John squirmed when he vividly described his latest conquests. "You're coming tomorrow, right?"
John grimaced at the thought; until he could finish medical school (which his father was paying for), he was at the mercy of Henry Laurens' insane political campaigns, in which his children were paraded around ballrooms and galas, placed in front of high-end politicians, and forced to quote what they believed their father to be. For the next three months, John had to pretend that he was a heterosexual republican, who loved his father and everything he stood for.
It was going to be a tricky three months.
•
The evening of the Gala arrived quickly after Hercules had laid his needle to rest, and Laurens was forced into a tuxedo of his own- an item of clothing he could not wait to burn, and then toss the remains in his father's face. He had pictured this scenario several times, usually he would be dressed in a rainbow flag, and dancing with cardboard cut outs of Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton, and preferably with his stethoscope swinging round his neck, as he loudly proclaimed his beliefs. Alas, he could only dream for now, but he couldn't wait for that day to come. As he squeezed his mane of curls into a low ponytail, a subtle knock was heard at the door.
"Come in" He called, as he attempted to knot the black bow-tie around his neck, his eyes focused wholly on the material that seemed to fly around his fingers every time he tried to form some sort of bow. "Herc, can you please give me a hand, because even after three years of this insane masquera--" He blushed as he looked up to see the person lingering in the doorframe.
"Unfortunately, I'm a poor substitute for Hercules, but I'm sure I'll be able to tie that for you." Angelica Schuyler waltzed through the door, in a blush-pink dress that hugged her waist perfectly, before the graceful material fluttered down to her knees. Moving closer to John, she threaded the material through her hands before tying it around his neck, "I can't wait for you to meet the new speechwriter," She spoke softly, the corners of her lips turning upwards to form a smile. "He's perfect for you- Puerto Rican, but grew up in the Caribbean... I don't know much about his family, so I guess you can both bond on your daddy issu--"
"Please stop there." The doctor begged, stepping back slightly, "I thought we agreed no more blind dates? You know Benjamin still can't look me in eye, after he realised that it was a date, and not just a drink between friends..." cringed at the memory, his only thought being: the horror on the face of poor Benjamin when John leant in to kiss him goodnight. "And what about the others? The gay homophobe? Dare I even say the name Seabury?" He paused to take a breath. "No more, after this one. Ok?"
"Ok." She responded, nodding her head slightly, a small smile on her lips. "I don't think you'll need another date with anyone else though, you two are perfect for each other." Angelica quickly interjected, as she neatly finished the bow-tie. "There, you actually look like you're almost a heterosexual republican, who loves his father."
Chuckling at the statement, John couldn't help but smile at the eldest Schuyler sister. "So tell me more about this mystery man..."
"He's... Political, funny when he wants to be; extremely passionate; incredibly flirtatious- He dated Eliza a bit during college, but in the end, they both wanted different things..." Angelica whittled along, words rambling at a mile-a-minute. "And before you ask, yes he is a gay democrat, who isn't that close to his family, so I'm sure you two can bond on your daddy issu-"
"Stop right there." John said quietly, "He sounds brilliant, but I don't want to date at the moment. I'm focusing on passing med school and Herc needs help with the business, and I can barely afford rent let alone have a boyfriend, and there's so much emotional baggage.."
"Just meet him. If anyone can change your mind it's Alexander." Angelica smiled, kissing him gently on the cheek before picking up his jacket that was draped lazily across the bed and threw it to him.
As he shrugged the jacket on his shoulders, he smiled at Angelica, who was fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress. "So, what's going on in your love life?" He asked, a smirk written across his face, he suddenly turned to meet the sister face-to-face, so he could twirl her around and pull her into a tight hug.
"What love life?" She asked, giggling softly, "It doesn't exist. You know me, John, I'm just like you... I'm looking for a mind at work."
"So you don't want to hear about one of my friends from Oxford, who is magically single, and making their way over to America?"
"Tell me more, tell me more" She half-sung, each word interrupted by constant giggles, "What's his name?"
"That, my dearest Angelica, is for me to know and for you to find out."
•
A squeal escaped Angelica as her eyes feasted on the fairytale scene before her, the state dining room had been completely transformed. In order to fit the theme for the charity for whom they were raising money, which helped disabled and disadvantaged children gain communication through the act of storytelling and the arts, a foundation which was held in the hearts of many. Surveying the room, the young doctor couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of each table, which was decorated to the theme of a different fairytale. In the far corner, a large white table was surrounded with golden chairs and sprigs of olive leaves, to commemorate the mythical story of Hercules. Each table setting had its own Greek God standing over the name card, and naturally, the Hercules statue had been given to his namesake. He was then dragged over to Angelica's table, which was coveted with dark oak; each placemat formed from the cover of a French book and next to every name card was placed a single rose in a glass jar, he could hear Angelica's squeals interrupting his thoughts: "Look!" She cried, "It's Beauty and the Beast!", before she excitedly collapsed in her chair and practically began to burst with excitement. John's own table, was simple enough, with a green tablecloth draping the circular shape and bouquets of moss and wild flowers decorating the centre of the table. As he sat down in front of his place card, he picked up the hand-crafted bow and arrow that lay in front of him, as he eagerly examined it's craftsmanship, he found it engraved, "Made in Sherwood Forest, property of Robin Hood."
The evening continued as most did, he was lucky to be reunited with his sister, who he only ever seemed to meet on occasions such as these, he sighed discontentedly to the days where they would chat for hours upon end, and trade their darkest secrets. Martha was every bit her mother's daughter, and it pained John to see her look so similar to the woman he loved so dearly: her chocolate-brown hair falling in curls across delicate shoulders and green inquisitive eyes, which sought to discover your worst secrets.
Martha's eyes latched on to his slim figure, her hand launching towards his face in a stinging slap, that left an evident mark against his hollow cheekbones, "Why did you come here?", she cried, voice revealing her pain and fear in every syllable that left her vocal chords.
Wincing, he caught her hand before she approached another slap, "What?", he asked quietly, as every pair of eyes in the room latching onto the couple in confusion. Tugging her wrist gently, he took her into a lavish hallway, decorated with white flowers and twinkling gently with fairy-lights.
"You bastard" She replied in a fierce whisper, "You know why."
"Believe me when I say that I really don't, Marty" His soft tones weeping with confusion.
Her eyes began to fill with tears, as she cringed with thought, "Does June the 21st not ring any bells? Or did you just forget the anniversary of our mother?" She cried hysterically, "Every year since she passed we have followed the same tradition, or did that slip your fucking mind, Jacky? It's been three years. And ever since the kindest spirit in the household left, we all promised to reunite on her anniversary. She meant everything to you and you didn't even bother to show up."
His eyes widened, "I wasn't invited, Marty, I swear, Dad said that nothing was happening this year, because you've all moved away from home now, all living in different parts of the world, all of you making your own differences. He said nothing was going on." Letting go of her wrist, he wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye, "I swear." He repeated softly.
She shook her head. "I don't believe you."
"You know our father." His intensity grew as he stepped forward slightly, "You know what he's like, Marty. In your mind, you can fathom that he would divide our family to conquer it- He would do anything to make me the reason I'm no longer in the family. Not the fact that I'm majoring in medicine, not law, or the fact that I'm attracted to men, or that I don't even support his political views. You believe me, you just don't want to acknowledge it." And with that, his feet dragged him in the direction of the bar, which was decorated with red silk and golden statues from Mulan, Hercules' favourite, he thought, as he slumped on to the black-leather barstool. Slinging a burning Jack Daniels to the back of his neck, his features winced as his whole body reacted to stinging liquor that flooded his senses: hands making tiny fists and releasing them with every exhalation; eyes tightly shut, before fluttering open gracefully, reacting to the single tap on his shoulder.
"John" A familiar voice soothed, soft fingers gently nudging his shoulder blades, "John, I'd like to introduce you to Alexander, who writes the speeches for Washington, I've wanted you two to meet for years. "
John spun round, mouth ready to pour an apology for his ill-manners, but he remained silent, when his eyes latched on to the man, who had been introduced to him moments ago. "Alex?" He questioned, a smile rapidly erupting on his face.
"Hot Doctor John," The man replied, a similar smile appearing, "You're the last person I expected to see here."
The two started rapidly conversing, words firing faster than ammunition from a gun: the speech writer's words flying into the air, his smile matching the intensity of his conversation. Angelica Schuyler, however, could do nothing but stand back and let her jaw drop to the floor, after what seemed hours of the two engaging in conversation, she placed a hand over the mouths of the two men, and shut her eyes for a brief reprieve.
"What is going on here?" She questioned, her shrill voice and eyes piercing into the minds of the two men who stood either side of her. "This was supposed to be an introduction, and you're speaking as if you've been married for a decade! Both have a drink, turn around, take a deep breath, and one at a time please explain how on God's green earth that you know each other?!"
Both the doctor and the speechwriter took a step towards the bar, both hastily ordering their respective drinks, before grabbing the glass that had been set in front of them, and hastily drank before they started to explain to Angelica the kerfuffle that lay before them.
"John reversed his car into mine," Alex began, "Which I was secretly glad of, in order to receive a new company car, from none other than G-Wash himself. When the young Laurens came out of his car, he began to apologise profusely, but instead of demanding his insurance details, I may have persuaded him to date me."
Angelica smiled. "I can't wait for you to tell your children that."