(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

Anonymous asked
H, greenhouses Washington

they had been given a capable manor in which to make plans, and they did. Washington fell into the habits easy enough. War was natural to him, despite the distaste. The routine of it was easy and regular. He would wake up, drink coffee, and read letters. Breakfast and reports. An examination of their camp. Lunch. War planning. Complaints. Mail. Dinner. Networking, and the subtle understandings one got when they drank brandy with another soldier. Writing. Then planning, until he was too tired to keep his eyes open with candlelight.

They were awaiting news of an encounter they had started. It shouldn’t have been anything serious - a skirmish. Only the woman who appeared, dirty and disgusting, did not look like they had engaged in a skirmish. The woman was bloody all over, panting and sweating.

“Excellency! We were ambushed!” the courier shouted. Washington looked up from his mail at the shouting woman, and then more shouting after it. The soldier had run through the camp in a panic, and likely it had been made worse by her mad dash into his tent. “Our skirmish - it was nothing. The whole thing was a trap. Bait. We were baited!”

The woman clenched her fists and stared at him. He took a breath and put the pen down, and thought.

“What are the results?” He asked, trying to will the woman to calm with his gaze alone. His racing thoughts had to be placed to the side. For now, facts. Then –

“Eighty dead, and three hundred captives. General Hamilton surrendered, but I was able to escape with his orders.”

He sucked in a breath. Calm, Washington, he berated himself. This is no time to sob. He will be exchanged for someone. He is not known to be yours.

They had made an agreement, in some way, that Hamilton could become heroic on his own. It was peculiar kind of secret. But he had held such secrets.

“The orders, soldier. Then, dismissed. I will call for you shortly,” he said, and held out a hand that did not shake. She put the grubby paper, bloody at the edge, in his hand. She saluted and left.

He knew, dreadfully, what it would say. He read:

‘they will want to exchange me for your best general, my tyrant, but do not. you know i am not of the value that man could be. i shall escape to you. you will find the traitor and we will see him hang together. yrs forever, etc, gen. a. hamilton-w.


sequel:

(when hamilton gets captured they communicate secretly in code by talking about mount vernon, of which as a visitor hamilton has visited (of course, of course), in which washington tries to insist to hamilton that fleeing captivity is dishonorable and they will just trade for him, and he should not act like an asshole so he can be traded for less. meanwhile hamilton argues that this is war and he should escape becuase fuck it, and also if he acts like an asshole they’ll want to get rid of him more quickly and trade him for less.)

(also hamilton says in his special way that he misses the everliving fuck out of washington but washington has to be formal about it but his chest hurts so fucking much.)