Chapter Text
Alexander Hamilton rushed through the city streets, feet pounding against the burning concrete as he struggled to close his briefcase.
Yes, it’s summer in New York City. The greatest city in the world, one could say. One did say actually. “The one” being Elizabeth Schuyler; Alexander’s ex-girlfriend and current best friend.
The date is June 14. June 14, 1966, to be exact. A hot, at 90 degrees Fahrenheit, June 14, 1966, to be even more exact. And our, precious, Alexander Hamilton is a bit behind schedule. Well, it’s not his fault that he’s behind schedule. It’s just that the Supreme Court had to announce their ruling on Miranda v. Arizona yesterday and, if he wanted to be promoted to partner, he has to have his report in today. So, he stayed up all night writing his 40-page, “didn’t you say what was important, sir?”, report on the landmark case.
Okay, maybe it is his fault that he's late.
Now here he is, jumping over dogs, swerving around children whilst trying to keep his worn down briefcase closed just to make it work on time. He should have been there, he glances at his watch, thirty seconds ago if he wanted to make it there before Washington.
He stops for a second, hands on his knees, to catch his breath.
Just as he stands to leave, a hand grabs his shoulder.
He whirls around to be greeted with curly hair and a bright grin, “Hi! You dropped these.”
“What?” he asks. Confused would be putting it mildly.
The man in question holds up a stack of paper, “you dropped these papers? Well, more like they flew out of your briefcase but they seemed important and I didn’t want you to not have them.”
Alexander watches in surprise as the man bends down to pick up another paper that jumped from his briefcase to join its brethren in the man’s hands.
“I didn’t read them, if you’re worried,” the man says as he hands the pages to Alexander.
Alexander shakes his head and puts the papers back in his briefcase, “that’s fine. They’re just about Miranda v. Arizona.” He pauses at the man’s confused look, “Miranda v. Arizona? That court case about the fifth amendment?”
The man holds up in his hands in surrender and grins, “hey man, my father has always paid more attention to law than me.” He sticks out a paint splattered hand, “I’m John Laurens.”
Alexander grasps, and shakes, his hand, “Alexander Hamilton.” He finally takes a good look at the man in front of him, “John Laurens,” his mind supplies helpfully. John Laurens wears paint splattered bellbottoms, a loose-fitting white shirt, and an opened brown vest. Instead of buttons, the vest has dandelions poking out of the holes.
Alexander quickly pulls his hand away, feeling strangely overdressed as he takes in the appearance of the man.
“Here, let me,” John says, sticking out his hand again and gesturing to the, still open, briefcase.
Alexander sends him a suspicious glance before reluctantly handing his briefcase over, “I don’t know what you’re going to do. It hasn’t closed all morn-” he stops as John closes the briefcase and hands it over. “How did you do that?”
John shrugs and smiles again, “Just needed some TLC. Plus there was some fabric caught in the clasp.”
Alexander looks down at his wrist and sees a tear in the white fabric of his shirt, “are you fucking kidding me?”
John lets out a startled laugh, “hey, it’s just a tear. If you need help fixing it, my friend Hercules is a great tailor. He could totally fix it for you.”
Alexander stares at John with wide eyes, “but I’m a lawyer. I have to be respectable, I can’t just walk around the office with a tear in my sleeve.”
John takes pity on the frantic man in front of him and digs into his pocket, “hold on, I can probably fix that too.” He pulls out a handful of various items, “ah-ha! Here it is.” He shoves the rest of the items into his pocket, “hold out your arm, Alexander Hamilton.”
Alexander dutifully does so, “you can just call me Alexander, or Alex.” He says as he watches John push the pin through one end of the tear and into the other before attaching it to the inside of his jacket.
“Well, Alexander. You should be good to go,” John says, pushing Alexander’s sleeve up then pulling it back down, “your white sleeve shouldn’t come out of your jacket for the rest of the day. Now no one can see the tear and your secret is safe with me.”
Alexander lets his arm fall back to his side, “do you need the pin back?”
John shrugs and, even though he really doesn’t, says, “Yeah, I do. We’ll be at Sheep Meadow in Central Park for most of the day and, when you come by, Hercules can fix the tear.”
“How do you know I’ll stop by?”
“I trust you, Alexander,” John says, smiling at Alex before shoving his hands in his pockets.
Alexander smiles and, despite himself, nods, “I’ll be there.”
John’s smile widens and he leans forward, tucking something behind Alexander’s ear, “It’s a dandelion, Alexander. Don’t panic,” he says at Alexander’s wide eyed look. “Have a great summer!” He calls as he turns and walks away.
“Summer doesn’t start until June 21!” Alexander shouts back.
John laughs and tosses a piece sign up over his shoulder before turning the corner, out of Alexander’s sight.
Maybe Alexander doesn’t mind calling late Spring, Summer.
….
Never mind, he still does.
He glances at his watch and takes off.
“I’m so sorry for being late, sir!” He shouts and he throws the door open and barges into the office.
Washington jumps and almost drops his coffee. Turning around he says, “son, I just got here. No one else has even arrived yet. You’re far from late.”
Alexander nods, “with all due respect sir, I’m normally get here about an hour ago. And speaking of late,” he sets his briefcase on his desk, opens it, and grabs the stack of papers, “here’s the report on Miranda v. Arizona.”
Washington takes the report with wide eyes, “Alexander, they just announced this decision last night. I wasn’t expecting any reports for another week.” He looks closely at the stack, “how many pages is this?”
“Well, sir,” Alexander says, straightening his posture, “you’ve never worked with Alexander Hamilton. Also, it’s 40 pages.”
Washington chuckles, already feeling a fondness for this hardworking man, “alright, son. Any particular reason why it’s 40 pages?”
“Didn’t you say what was important, sir?” Alexander asks, confused for the second time that morning.
The morning passed by quickly enough with everyone throwing themselves into the decision of Miranda v. Arizona as it affected parts of their jobs.
Nearly forgetting the strange man from this morning, the cool metal pressed against Alexander’s wrist and he remembered.
“Angelica,” Alexander said, coming up to stand beside her at the coffee maker, “you’ll never believe what happened this morning.”
“Did you get abducted by aliens? Because you’re too energetic for this early,” Angelica replies, staring forlornly at her empty coffee cup.
“It’s one in the afternoon, Ange,” he states, setting his own cup on the counter and crossing his arms, “anyway no. That’s not what happened.”
“Did you wake up to an announcement that a woman was finally running for president?”
Alexander frowns and shakes his head, “No, but I wish that there was.”
“I’m going to run for president, Alexander. Just you wait,” she says, daring him to challenge her.
“You definitely have my vote, Angelica. You’d make a great president. Can I please tell you what happened this morning?” Alexander says, staring at her with pleading eyes.
She waves her hand, “go for it, Alexander.” She turns to face him and leans against the countertop, “I’m listening.”
So he recounts his tale about meeting John Laurens. Starting with the court decision and ending with scaring George Washington. By the end, they’ve drank four cups of coffee each, moved from standing by the counter to sitting at the table in the breakroom, and gone over the hour long lunch break.
“That’s not even all of it, Angelica. I’m entirely confused about who this man is. He didn’t seem to know anything about these court cases and he mentioned his father knew more about law than he did. I mean, his last name did sound familiar but he was covered in paint and flowers and was spending the day in the park so it can’t be who I’m thinking of. That man would never allow his children to be like that,” Alexander finishes and finally takes a deep breath.
Angelica nods slowly, “if I remember correctly, Senator Laurens oldest child was a son he stopped talking about a few years ago. Maybe that’s him?”
“It doesn’t seem likely. They’re just too different,” Alexander states, setting down his coffee cup and leaning back in the chair. “It’s possible though.”
“Aren’t you meeting him later in the park?”
“I believe so,” Alexander replies, shrugging uncertainly.
“Just ask him then,” she states nonchalantly, laughing at the noise he makes in response.
“I can’t just ask if he’s related to Senator Laurens. He’ll probably take it as an insult! I would,” Alexander practically shouts.
“Alexander, you take everything as an insult,” the laughing woman says in response, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried fighting this coffee cup.”
“That’s not the point,” Alexander says, getting up and refilling both of their coffee cups, “the point is, is that he doesn’t seem bad and I would rather not immediately offend him.”
There was a moment of silence before Angelica speaks up again, “are you still trying to get that partnership?”
Alexander raises an eyebrow, places the cups back on the table, and sits down again, “Absolutely. If you want it, prepare for defeat Schuyler.”
Angelica laughs, “that’s not what I meant. Of course I want it but I have other things on my mind, especially because I’m going to be running for president.” She pauses for a second, “I happened to be near Washington’s office the other day and I heard a few things.”
Alexander immediately sits up, “what things?”
“You’re not going to ask why I was eavesdropping?” Angelica asks, surprised.
Alexander shrugs, “You’re Angelica. Anyway, it’s not important. What did you hear?”
Angelica looks around quickly then leans forward, as does Alexander. Lowering her voice, she says, “it didn’t appear that Washington was in his office, but I heard Burr and Jefferson arguing about the partnership,” she looks around again before leaning in closer, “your name came up.”
Alexander’s eyes widen, “what did they say?”
“They seem to believe that Washington has already offered you the partnership. If he hasn’t already, then they suspect he’ll be offering it soon enough,” she replies, “They’re angry as both of them have been working here longer than you have.” She leaned back into her chair, “I missed the next part because Madison came up to me. I think he knew I was listening but by the time I was finally able to listen in again, Washington was back and they had moved on.”
Alexander leans back in his chair and grins, “Well, as long as they know who the winner will be.”
Angelica laughs and stands up, “I’d say good luck, Alexander but we both know you don’t need it. Anyway, I need to finish my report,” she grabs her coffee cup, “good afternoon, Alex. Have fun with Laurens.” Then she leaves the room.
Alexander raises an eyebrow at her words before picking up his own coffee cup and heading back to work.
By the time he finally emerged from his written world, the clock said 7 pm and most of the office was empty. So he grabbed his briefcase, having worn his jacket the entire day, shoved his work inside the case and goes to leave the building.
“Mr. Hamilton,” Washington calls, as he gets on to the elevator so he puts his foot out to stop the door. Washington gets on the elevator and stands next to him, “you’re leaving quite late, sir,” Alexander notes.
George Washington nods, “very observant, son. I was hoping to speak with you before you left the office for the night.”
“What about, sir?”
“Well, as you may know Alexander, there’s a partnership up for grabs in the law firm,” Alexander nods and Washington continues, “there are a few people I have my eye on for this. I’m not at liberty to say who these people are but I can say this: keep up the good work, son.” Washington finishes as the elevator doors open and they disembark.
“Thank you, sir,” Alexander says as they leave the building, “if I happen to be one of those people and you do choose me, you won’t regret it.”
“I don’t doubt that. Have a good night, Alexander,” Washington says as they part ways.
“You as well, sir!” Alexander calls after him before turning and walking to his apartment. He feels the metal of the pin press against his skin again and he pauses. He turns and begins the walk to Central Park.