Work Text:
1800.
Alexander sat hunched over at his desk. A small, dim candlelight casted orange shadows in certain areas of his exhausted face. Black bags tagged under his eyes—worse than usual.
Washington assigned him more work than he'd ever had in his life. More and more drafts were demanded from the Treasury Department, more financial issues, more everything.
Alexander was only on his third draft out of thirty. He lost count on how many hours he'd worked on those three papers alone.
A faint creak of his office door opening snapped him out of his thoughts.
He didn't look up to see who it was. He didn't need to. There were only three people who ever showed up in his office so frequently—especially passed work hours.
"My loves," Alexander greeted tiredly. He didn't put his quill down. He didn't even spare a glance at them.
"Alexander," came a concerned, soft voice. Aaron Burr’s.
The three figures approached Alexander’s desk. Aaron stood right beside his left, James Madison stood on his right, and Thomas Jefferson wrapped his arms on top of Alexander’s shoulders from behind.
"You're tired." James said quietly. He reached out a hand, gently prying the feathered quill from Alexander’s ink-stained hand. Then, he set the quill down before lacing his own fingers in Alexander’s.
Alexander didn't protest when James took the quill from him. He was too exhausted. "Mhm." He hummed in acknowledgement.
"How long have you been awake?" James asked. He wasn't judging, but rather, worried.
The Treasury Secretary blinked. His brain could barely process anything. It took all of his strength to merely keep his head up.
Finally, he answered after a few moments that felt like years. His words were slurred with exhaustion. "Mmmh... I don't know..."
"Alexander." Aaron scolded beside him. Why was he surprised at this point. "What have we told you about going to bed at an appropriate time?"
The overworked man didn't respond.
Thomas expression saddened. "You should go to bed." He said.
Aaron nodded in agreement. "Come on, Alex, let's get you to bed."
Aaron didn't give Alexander time to protest when he started lightly tugging him out of his chair and close to his own chest instead. He lifted him off the ground, holding the Secretary of Treasury bridal style.
Alexander, again, didn't have the energy to bite back. Either way, he knew they wouldn't let him. He snuggled up further in Aaron's chest, letting out a sleepy incoherent mumble.
Aaron smiled warmly when he felt Alexander shift closer. He carried him towards the nearby sofa on the other side of the room. He placed Alexander down on the couch with practiced ease.
James and Thomas stood beside Aaron, watching Alexander, who had already fallen asleep on the comfy couch.
"I can't believe we used to hate him." Thomas said lowly. His tone was laced in regret.
James frowned. "We wanted to ruin his career."
Aaron sighed deeply. He reached out one of his hands, brushing his calloused fingers over Alexander’s pale cheek. "Now, we couldn't imagine hating him."
Thomas stepped closer to the couch. He leaned down, pressing a kiss on the corner of Alexander’s mouth. "Ironic, isn't it?" He pulled back with a slight laugh.
Aaron and James didn't laugh back.
"I wonder if he forgives us." James mumbled.
"I doubt that," Aaron responded. "It's Alexander Hamilton we're talking about. When does he ever forgive?"
Thomas shrugged. "It doesn't mean we're not making it up to him as we're speaking." He pointed out.
"I suppose." James said.
Silence fell.
No one said a word, just looked at their sleeping lover. They observed the way his chest rose and fell with every breath. The way his face looked more relaxed when sleeping. Almost as if all the stress from earlier faded away as he drifted into unconscious.
God, they loved their Alexander.
They made a promise that night; never treat Alexander the way they did when they were enemies again. Never.