(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

rileymcdaniels asked
prompt: alexander is the happiest of husbands. pls give me schmoop and fluff of how he, a few years down the road in greenhouses, expresses his happiness to his husband :D :D :D

Because it was impossible for his husband to do anything sensibly, that Washington could comprehend as pragmatic or practical, Alexander mostly used the greenhouse he had had built for experiments. Many kinds of experiments, and not only experimental plants, black things with vines and foul-smelling monstrosities he fed flies and peculiar mushrooms he grew on rotted tree bark that he had assembled a sort of shade area for. But he also would try to make other things, like new weapons and pistols with retractable swords (of which he had almost cut his whole hand off with), and different ways to make fire, and other sorts of mysterious things that Washington, who was perfectly happy with the plants and swords that existed at present, did not understand.

(For this reason, an actual workshop - made out of brick and not glass, as a workshop might be - was now being built a proper distance from anything else, because given a brick building it seemed Hamilton would be more likely to immediately attempt to destroy it, in the name of experimental alchemy, or something.)

hamilton had spent the vast majority of the four previous days in his greenhouse-workshop, and only coming out because it was difficult to coax the servants to come into the building. he did not look, when washington saw him for dinner, like he had nearly exploded himself, which at least was good. but he was very much in his own head, and he ate without speaking or looking at his food, and washington thought of a letter eliza had written him when he had discussed with her the greenhouse-workshop. i think he would be a very good inventor, but no one would use his products, as he would be too smug about them.

on the fifth day hamitlon appeared, in immaculate dress - this always being a sign of his intent to present something to washington, for otherwise he barely kept himself marginally impressive, and only benefited from his natural handsomeness, which was in fact quite impressive - and washington looked up from his study chair and waited.

in his hand, he held a plant, which was beautifully mid-bloomed. it did have thorns, and very sharp ones at that, but it was also Washington’s old violet, of which he still confessed a fair bit of affection for. He had never shaken the Violet General as a moniker, even though it had been four years since he had worn the thing. But it was neither the thistle or the violet. It was some peculiar amalgamation of both. Had Hamilton bred this thing in four days? An entire species?

“I made it for you, to put on your desk, or take it with you, so you can think of me when you are away.”

Hamilton presented the pot with an elegant little bow, and Washington took it, and set it in his lap, and studied it.

It was….

It was not a real flower. The dirt was only little brown stones.The stem had been carved from some soft wood and painted in meticulous detail The petals were made out some hard, firmed sort of material Washington was unfamiliar with, and painted in their colors. It was soft to the touch, like silk, but quite hard and solid.

“It does not need to be watered or attended to, so you can take it wherever you’d like, so you may think of me. It is a sort of sculpture, I think, though I am really no artist.”

Washington took the thing from the pot. The craftsmanship was intricate and elaborate, with perfect coloring. From a distance, even he had thought it was a very real thing.

“I thought it might be nice for you to have,” Hamilton said, “Given that all flowers do, of course, die. But this thing will not die, so we may forever be very much joined. I think a measly thing such as death should not stop us from being forever indicated as a couple.”

Washington set the thing in his breast pocket. There were many things he would have liked to say. Things about eternal symbols and hard work and invention and gifts. But he had none of them. They had all deserted him, as he felt the unfamiliar weight of the thing in his pocket. The thing that Hamilton had made out of nothing, for them, so that there was some suggested eternity.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, tenderly, for that was what he could manage. Hamilton brightened at him, pleased.