(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

malapertqueen asked
I for greenhouses!Alex?

this got long:

depression cw, blood cw, pstd cw, angst


hamilton found his husband sitting in the greenhouse in the middle of the muggy july evening. a brilliant full moon permitted him to wander around the estate without a candle, and had given away washington’s hunched shoulders behind the layered glass. he admitted, privately, that washington looked terrible, and worse in the dark. the hunch took all strength out of his shoulders, and his skin was ghastly. even his clothes - of course, he was completely dressed despite the hour and the muggy heat - seemed ill-tended, although hamilton knew they were not. he opened the greenhouse door and stepped inside, walking over. washington did not acknowledge him. he had in his lap a pot he could fit in one hand, and a tiny little unbloomed thing that looked as bad, if not worse, than he did.

“sulking in the middle of the night in the greenhouse,” hamilton said, unimpressed.

“yes,” washington agreed.

“come to bed.”

“i think i shall not.”

hamilton frowned, and without complaint he took the pot from washington’s lap and set it back on the shelf where it lived. it looked even worse when complimented with the various other much more living plants that surrounded it. hamilton had taken to tending the greenhouse when washington sulked, and he recognized many of them.

“do not be so disobedient,” hamilton said.

washington stood, in his deliberate, sulking way, and walked away from him.

“you are not being a very good husband,” he said, to Washington’s back.

“i am not a very good husband,” washington agreed. hamilton sighed. they had done this before, and hamilton always tried, as much as he could, not to be so angry about the thing. his husband had been through terrible experiences, and they were permitted to haunt him. only it was so frustrating to see him as a pale shadow of the man he loved. he wished to shake washington until he was sensible.

“you are a very good husband, when you are not sulking in the middle of the night in the greenhouse,” hamilton said, and walked up to him, and touched his hand. washington pulled away from the touch, folding his hands behind his back and grabbing his opposite forearm. even though the posture lengthened his spine, he did not look as tall as he should have.

“i am merely quite good at pretending, most of the time,” washington replied. he glanced over his shoulder. “i would prefer, though, if you would leave me.”

“i will not leave you, when you are feeling so low,” hamilton replied, and he picked up a much brighter, happier pot, with a much happier plant. he stepped in front of washington and offered it to him. “For no reason, in fact. you are mostly an excellent husband. i would know, if you pretended.”

washington walked around him without answering, ignoring the gift. hamilton hissed through his teeth.

“it upsets me, when you are sulking,” he said, to washington’s back. “i know you do not like to upset me.”

“i am not very good, sir, at not upsetting you,” washington said. hamilton chewed his lip, and glanced around them in the semidarkness.

“stop saying all the things you are not good at.”

“my point is proven, then,” washington agreed, to no one. hamilton clenched his toes in his sandals. it was not washington’s fault, that he was being so sour. he had things, with he struggled with.

“stop it!” he said, and he picked up one of their spare pots, which was currently empty, “i know you are exceptionally capable, and a marvelous husband, and good at things you work at. i will no longer have you being like you are. come. pot something for me.”

“i shall not,” washington said. he stood next to an empty space on the wall, where they were expecting the delivery of a large floor pot. hamilton put the empty pot down and stomped over, reaching out and grabbing washington’s hand. they stood in the small space, leaves brushing them.

“you should not let this darkness consume you so. i have suffered, but i do not sulk.”

washington tugged on his hand once, but hamilton would not relent. a second pull, harder.

“unhand me, alexander,” he said.

“not until you come to bed with me.”

washington looked at him. a hint of anger glimmered in his misery. there was a surge in the air that hamilton felt, and then his husband yanked, upsetting hamilton’s balance. he hit the glass wall with a stagger and reached for a shelf to balance, but found nothing. he heard the first layer of glass crack under his weight. washington studied him in the darkness and said nothing.