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The call comes in at about seven in the evening. Aaron doesn’t know exactly what it’s about, can’t hear the majority of the conversation, but he can make a good guess based off the way Alexander’s face lights up and the way he starts bouncing on his heels like an overexcited puppy. The conversation lasts two, maybe three minutes, and Alexander isn’t saying very much on his side of things, but once it is over and he has hung up the phone, he turns to look at him with shining eyes.
“Guess who that was!” he trills, practically dancing into the kitchen-- his kitchen, actually, not there’s much of a distinction between what’s his and what’s Alex’s anymore, since they’re at each other’s places more often than not-- and opening the pantry. Aaron follows behind him.
“I don’t know,” he says, “but I bet you’re about to tell me.”
Alex emerges from the pantry, holding a poptart triumphantly in one hand. Aaron didn’t even know he had any of those, so he supposes their presence is Alex’s doing. He certainly doesn’t eat them. “That was,” Alex says, taking a bite of the pastry-like cardboard product, “someone from the Washington campaign. Apparently, he was very impressed with the article I wrote and tracked down my location because he wants to meet me.” He pauses, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “To discuss hiring me,” he finishes.
Of course. Aaron really didn’t expect anything else. Even after all the edits he made to that article, Alex’s writing style shined through like a beacon, and even though his voice is a far cry from that of the colonial era, Aaron doubts Washington didn’t recognize it. Alex Milton, despite having a slightly different name, is Alexander Hamilton through and through; no amount of modernization can change that.
“Congratulations,” he offers, only a little halfheartedly. Because it’s happening all over again; Alex is on the up and up, and Aaron will be left behind to eat his dust. It’s how it has always worked between the two of them even before they were enemies, and they may not be enemies now, but that doesn’t mean things have changed. Aaron had expected it, but he didn’t think it would come so soon. “When are you leaving?” he asks, and that seems to give Alex pause.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Soon, probably. There’s only a few months left before November, so I really can’t afford to waste any time.”
Aaron nods. “Right. You want my help getting ready?” It’s about the only thing left he can do. He won’t change Alex’s mind, not about this. There’s no use in trying, even though it stings. It’s been less than a year since they started to repair their relationship, and for it to fall through so suddenly hurts.
Alex shoots him an odd look. “Uh, sure, but you know you’re coming too, right?” Aaron sighs, because he hadn’t really thought that-- wait, what?
“Huh?” is his eloquent response, and Alex laughs.
“C’mon, you really thought I was gonna leave you behind?” he asks with a smile, and Aaron’s throat closes up because yes, he really did think that. It’s always been that way in the past. Is their relationship really so different now?
Yes, he realizes with an unexpected rush of warmth. It is. After all they’ve been through, things are finally going right. Honestly, this is how it should have been all along. They should have stuck with each other instead of letting their differences tear them apart; together, they would have been unstoppable.
How many of my goals could I have accomplished , he wonders, if I’d had Hamilton on my side? But he shouldn’t go into that; the past is filled with regrets, and he tries not to dwell. An impossible feat, most of the time, but whenever his thoughts turn to darker places, all he has to do is look up and see him, irritating, irrepressible, and alive. And he remembers that this is a second chance, and he should chase after what can be rather than what might have been.
So he laughs, quietly. “Well then. I suppose we have some preparations to make.”
Alexander beams at him, and he can’t help but smile back.
It is only when they are on the plane that he realizes what a spectacularly bad idea this probably is, because George Washington has never, ever liked him. Tolerated him? Maybe. But Washington always made his dismissal of him very clear, never gave him more than a passing glance except when he was doing something the man didn’t like. No, Alexander was always the clear favorite. And that was then. This is now, after he shot and killed Alexander Hamilton. They may have coexisted relatively peacefully in the past, but after what he did, there’s no way Washington isn’t going to hate him.
And that is going to make things difficult.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he mutters, and Alex looks up from the papers he is furiously writing on.
“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused.
He frowns at him. “Really? You don’t see the problem with this?” When Alexander gives him no response save a raised eyebrow, he sighs. “Washington never liked me the first time around,” he states, “and I don’t know if you realize this, but between now and the last time we met, I killed you. That’s hardly going to make him welcome my presence.”
“Ah.” Alex nods and turns his attention back to his writing. “I gotcha. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?”
Alex grins, sharp and fierce and excited, all rough edges and corners. “See, it doesn’t matter whether he wants you there or not. I want you there, so if he wants me, he’s going to have to take you too.” He breaks off, narrowing his eyes. Quickly, he jots down another few sentences on what Aaron is beginning to notice might actually be a few napkins instead of paper. “Besides,” he continues, “it’s not like you didn’t help me with that article. I mean, you cut way too much out of it, but I guess it got their attention. And since that’s why I’m probably being hired, he really can’t complain that I brought you. Plus you’d really help their campaign, since you’re good at-” He waves a hand airily- “you know, that vagueing thing you do, where you talk about stuff and manage not to say anything meaningful or committed.”
He tries to take that as a compliment.
“He should put you in charge of handling the press,” Alex concludes. “You’d be great at it.”
How can he argue with that? When he thinks about it, Alex is probably right. The press would be easy compared to someone like Jefferson, and he dealt with Jefferson’s shenanigans for four years and made it out with his sanity at least semi-intact. “Alright then,” he says, for lack of anything else coming to mind. And he settles back in his seat for the rest of the long flight, trying to catch a little sleep.
But the uneasiness in his mind follows him into his dreams. Somehow, he thinks this is not going to be nearly as simple as Alex seems to believe.
They go to the campaign headquarters the morning after they arrive. They are greeted by a peppy secretary, who apologizes for the delay and says something along the lines of, “Mr. Wagner is swamped with meetings at the moment, but he’ll be right with you as soon as he’s finished.” Something like that, anyway. Aaron’s not quite paying attention, distracted by the hustle and bustle around him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more chaotic organization, people rushing about with papers and shouting at each other across the room.
It’s true that it’s a bit late in the game to enter a presidential election, even for a man who was once George Washington, and they have a lot of time to catch up on. But still.
Alex seems to be thinking the same thing, if the disdainful expression on his face is anything to go by. “Who’s in charge of… all this?” he asks, gesturing widely at their surroundings. The secretary seems to follow his train of thought and winces.
“Yeah, we’re a bit of a mess,” he says. “We’ve had to expand very quickly, especially after your endorsement brought more attention to us. Mrs. Wagner is campaign manager, but I think she’s in a meeting as well, right now, so I could direct you to Angie Smith, if you’d like. She’s assistant campaign manager, hired a few days ago. She’s doing a great job so far; it was even more disorderly before she got here, if you can believe it.”
Alex makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. “Alright,” he says. “Take us to Angie Smith.”
They are led to a more open area of the building. Desks crowd the walls, stacked with paperwork. People are making calls for the campaign; the air is filled with talk and ringing, and in the middle of all the chaos stands a woman who, upon a second, closer look, is definitely Angelica Schuyler. She directs the chaos with a sure hand and steely gaze, like a pillar of calm in a tumultuous sea.
Alex gasps, and the noise can’t possibly carry over to her, but she looks in their direction anyway.
“This should be fun,” he mutters, and resists the urge to run.
Alex stands stock still as she stalks over to him. The secretary laughs nervously and starts backing away. Good choice, Aaron thinks, and then she is on them, delivering a roundhouse slap across Alex’s face. That sound carries, and the activity in the room screeches to a halt as every eye turns on them.
“Hi,” Alex says, his voice small. He doesn’t meet her eyes-- she’s taller than him, Aaron realizes with amusement. He brings a hand up to touch his cheek, which is rapidly turning red.
“Bastard,” Angelica snaps, eyes blazing with the heat of a thousand suns. It was always Alexander who was compared to a natural disaster, but Aaron has always thought the description fits her just as well. “Do you have any idea what you did?”
Alex flinches back, and Aaron almost steps closer, to do...what, he isn’t sure. But the fury on her face and venom in her voice keeps him at bay; he’s certain she’ll round on him in a moment. Not that he won’t deserve it, but he has no desire to bring the storm upon himself sooner than he has to.
“Sorry,” Alex says, quieter even than before. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t just-”
“I swear to God, Alexander, if the next sentence out of your mouth has anything to do with the words ‘honor’ or ‘legacy’, I’ll kill you myself,” Angelica snaps, and Alexander’s mouth closes, his teeth smashing together with an audible click. He has gone pale, almost grey, and Aaron finds himself taking a step forward despite how unwise a move that is. Angelica’s gaze is drawn to the movement, and the force of her glare is almost enough to send him running. She looks him up and down for a moment, her lips curling into a sneer, and then she looks away, a clear, if temporary dismissal.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Alex whispers, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry .”
Angelica holds her angry posture for another moment, another handful of seconds that feels like an eternity. And then, she deflates, her wrath diminishing if not appearing outright. “Damn it,” she mutters, and wraps her arms around him. “Never do that again, do you hear me?” she whispers fiercely. “Never. You have no idea how hard it was.”
Alex looks torn between misery and relief. He nods, and Angelica sighs. They stay in that position for a good few minutes, and Aaron wonders if he should leave them to it, find something else to do in the confusion of this building.
And then, she mutters, “What is he doing here?” into Alex’s hair, and he supposes he should stick around if the conversation is going to be about him. Does she think he can’t hear her?
Alex frowns and pulls back. He looks steadier on his feet now, which is something of a relief. “I want him here,” he replies. “We’re good now.”
“He shot you.”
He shrugs. “And I let him. Look, that was literally two hundred years ago, and we’re both over it. We’re fine, we made up, we’re friends again, okay?” His mouth twists in that way that means he’s irritated, a tic that Angelica seems to note. Her eyes drift over to him, and he stays still, his posture as relaxed as he can make it. She studies him like he’s a bug pinned to a card, and he may as well be for all that her gaze is holding him in place.
She doesn’t like it, he can tell. She doesn’t like that he’s here, doesn’t like that he’s here with Alex , doesn’t like him as a person. She never has, and he doesn’t expect that to change.
“One wrong move,” she says, leaving the rest of the statement to his imagination. He nods and steps closer.
“I’m hardly going to shoot him again, Mrs. Church. There are laws against that sort of thing now.” That gets a laugh out of Alex, but she only glares at him murderously.
“Ms. Smith to you,” she snaps, and then reigns herself in, closing her eyes and inhaling sharply. “Washington’s in a meeting right now, but I’m sure he’d love to see you.” The way she says it, it is clear she’s only speaking to Alexander. “Follow me,” she continues, and leads them out of the room and down several twisting hallways that all start to look the same after a few minutes. They eventually stop in front of a door that looks just like all the others. He can hear a conversation going on inside. A man whose voice he does not recognize is speaking, talking about taking a stance firmly in the middle of the two major party candidates, and what kind of an idea is that? Does he really believe the first president of the United States would want to stand on such middle ground?
Apparently, Alexander is of the same mind. “Yeah, no,” he mutters, and opens the door with a loud bang. Aaron groans and steps in after him; maybe he can mitigate the damage. All conversation in the room stops, and a dozen pairs of eyes turn on them.
Behind him, he hears Angelica sigh and take a step forward, but he’s not paying much attention. He, just like everyone else, has his eyes on Alexander Hamilton. The man commands the attention of the room with his confident swagger and eyes brimming with righteous indignation. For a moment, the scene is replaced with one from a long time ago, Hamilton stepping in front of the cabinet with passionate words and a delivery like no other man could possibly manage. Aaron blinks, and the vision is gone, replaced with the twenty-first century once again.
Not that that’s a bad thing.
“That,” Alex begins, “must be one of the worst ideas I have ever heard.” He stabs a finger at a man at one end of the table, a man who is standing, his mouth gaping open like a fish. “I mean, really? You want to find middle ground? Considering how different the two of them are, middle ground could mean anything from reforms to just not forcing Mexico to pay for the goddamn wall. You want to win? We need to play to our strengths, which do not include trying to pander to both sides at once. Middle ground. Give me a break. You know, in the past-”
And it goes on. And on. And on. Aaron takes the opportunity to look around the table and finds Washington almost immediately. He is sitting at the head, the glimmer in his eyes the only indication of his feelings. Surprise, Aaron thinks, and a little amusement, though he can’t be sure. Washington was always a hard man to read, and that doesn’t seem to have changed. He doesn’t seem to have realized that Aaron is in the room yet, though; his eyes are fixed on Alex as he stalks around the room.
Which is fine by him, for now anyway. Gives him more time to figure out how to explain his presence.
A few more minutes pass, Alex barely stopping for breath. Then, Washington stands, raising a hand. Alex stops speaking and stands to attention, and so, to his displeasure, does Aaron. Washington has not lost his air of command, of authority. “Thank you, Alexander,” he says, his voice slicing through the room like a knife through butter. “I think we get the point.” His voice is warm, and Alex grins.
“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” he says, not looking at all apologetic. If anything, he is more excited than he was when he arrived, bouncing on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back. Washington nods, a slight smile tugging at his lips, and turns his attention to the other people in the room, who are looking between him and Alex curiously.
“I think we can take a break for now,” he suggests, and everyone files out of the room, some more reluctantly than others. They are going to have to explain this, Aaron knows, which might be more difficult than it seems, considering the fact that Alex hasn’t gotten himself historically verified yet. He frowns, running through solutions in his head as he steps out of the doorway and into the room to let people exit. The simplest way to fix things would be to get verified, both of them, something they’ll have to do anyway if they are going to be heavily involved in this campaign.
The room falls silent, Aaron looks up, the quiet bringing him out of his thoughts. Washington is staring at him, his face blank, his eyes furrowed. He doesn’t know who I am, Aaron realizes, blinking. Well, alright then.
He steps forward to stand beside Alexander, snapping his hand up in a lazy salute. “Sir,” he says, and watches the man’s gaze sharpen with realization. Realization and a sudden, burning anger. He would be lying if he said it didn’t intimidate him, but he’s not nearly as fearful of Washington as he used to be. Once, he would have done anything to receive the man’s approval, would have completed any task, climbed any mountain. But those days are long over, lost in a fog of disillusionment that took hold after his efforts were ignored again and again and again.
Washington doesn’t want him here? Fine. He can deal with that. It’s not Washington’s opinion that matters here, not in this situation.
Alex gets a read on the situation quickly enough and steps partially between them. “We’ve made up, sir,” he says, a gleam in his eyes that dares Washington to challenge him. “I want him here, and he’ll be a great asset to your campaign. You want me, he’s part of the package.”
He’s a little offended to be reduced to part of a ‘package’, but if the statement gets Washington to back down, he won’t protest it. Washington’s eyes narrow and flicker back and forth between the two of them, as if unsure what to make of this new development. One thing Aaron knows for certain; he is even less pleased about it than Angelica Schuyler.
The woman herself steps up beside him. “I think he means it, sir,” she says with a sigh, and Aaron frowns. There they go again, talking about him like he’s not in the room. He expected this kind of frosty treatment and worse, of course, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t irritate him.
“Nice to see my input matters so much to you,” he says drily, earning a glare from all parties. Though, the look on Alex’s face is more pleading than anything, and that convinces Aaron to keep his thoughts to himself, at least for the moment. Alex has been looking forward to this for days, and he doesn’t want to mess this up for him, despite his personal feelings on the matter and people involved.
“I was thinking that Aaron could help a lot with dealing with the media,” Alex says with a bright grin. “You know he’s good at that sort of stuff.”
“Indeed.” Washington’s voice is frigid, but at least his attention is on Alexander again. At length, the man sighs and seems to deflate, the anger phasing out of his bearing. “It’s good to see you again, Alexander,” he says, and Alex’s face lights up. He swoops in for a hug, and while Washington seems surprised by it and vaguely uncomfortable, he doesn’t push Alexander away.
“So much has been going on,” Alex says, his voice muffled by the fact that his face is pressed into Washington’s suit. “I can’t wait to tell you.”
Washington’s face softens in a way Aaron didn’t realize was possible, and he realizes once and for all that there is actual affection here. He’d always wondered about that; he knew that Alexander worshiped the ground the General walked on, but he could never quite ascertain whether Washington actually cared about him in return or whether he was just using him for his skillset. Now though, Aaron has no doubt that Alex’s attachment to the man is very much reciprocated.
He looks to Angelica, who is watching the scene with amusement. “I think we should leave them to it,” he suggests quietly. “Show me around?”
Her face flickers between several emotions- dislike, disdain, hesitance- but she nods. “Fine,” she says. “Come on.”
She leads him out of the room, and he closes the door behind him. Some reunions are meant to be private, some moments are not meant for others to bear witness to. Alex has been wanting this for quite some time, so he will certainly not begrudge him this time at least.
Even if it does mean spending time with a woman who he is fairly sure would like nothing more than to skin him alive.