Okay, so yes. I should be paying attention to the other three unfinished stories I have posted. But this pairing is something I haven't been able to get out of my head, so here we are. This idea came from the knowledge I recently found that George Washington had literally attempted to go fishing with Hamilton and Jefferson once because his doctor ordered him to. I decided Laurens would be a good fit as the doctor for purposes of this fic, but he was by no means the real doctor and the events I write didn't necessarily happen this way or at all in the past. This is merely me taking the time to enjoy the pairings this fandom has that I've come across. Thank you for taking the time to read this.
The day was young, with the sun barely peeking over the vast amount of water before the trio. The birds had begun to chirp, in fresh pursuit of any available worms they could find. Nature had always calmed the older man and he had thought sharing the peaceful experience with his two hardest working employees would prove to do them some good as well. In hindsight, George Washington realized he should have chosen anyone other than the two bickering men at his side. He had expected too much out of his employees and friends, the man thought with a sigh.
Mr. Washington, sir," The doctor paused, a faint grimace appearing before being replaced with a nervous smile. The action went unnoticed by George Washington as he was too busy reading Hamilton's fifth email of the hour. It was, to no surprise, a complaint of Thomas Jefferson's presence. The man sighed and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose, attempting to subside the ever growing pain blossoming from inside his head. The tired man raised his eyes with hesitance to look at the doctor addressing him, eyes squinting as the harsh lighting sent another searing stab behind his eyes.
"I'm glad to inform you that nothing is wrong to the point of affecting your long-term health," Washington sighed in relief. "Yet."
The word was such a simple three letter word, and yet it made Washington noticeably stiffen. The man has clearly been subjected to copious amounts of pain, resulting in a permanent frown and large bruises beneath his eyes. The man hadn't had sleep in days, and had most definitely not slept well for at least a month. He would take anything this doctor was willing to prescribe to make his constant headache go away.
"Yet?" The male copied, his voice laced with dread. The doctor was nodding his head, scribbling something down on a notepad as his eyes were trained on the laptop set before him.
"You're under far too much stress, Mr. President. I can prescribe to you a higher dosage of ibuprofen than you will receive over the counter, but that will only do so much. You need to take a break from stressful things in your life, such as work or, perhaps, certain people." The man lifted his pen long enough to dot i's and cross t's, then handed the prescription note to George. The man looked over the sloppy handwriting before managing a tight-lipped smile.
"Thank you, Laurens." The man breathed, eager to finally find some relief from his headaches. The president stood from his seat on the uncomfortable bed provided for each patient passing through the private doctor's office. He picked up his jacket from its place on the aforementioned bed, preparing for his leave.
"And George?" The use of his first name tensed Washington once more, and he ignored the sudden appearance of stars dotting his vision as he whipped his head around to asses his old friend.
"Yes?" George replied steadily, tightening his grip on the prescription note. John Laurens gave his friend a pointed look, something he rarely did to anyone other than Hamilton.
"That's not a suggestion, it's an order. Take a break, relieve some of that stress."
Washington barked out a laugh, relief flooding through him as the tension he had built within himself seeped out. He grinned at the shorter male, the conversation itself already lessening his pain. He had not expected such risky words to flow from his friend's mouth. A hint of nervousness seemed to leak back into John's posture as he waited for George's response.
"A break does sound pleasant." Washington replied softly.
"-Dammit, Jefferson!" The sharp voice cut through Washington's memory, dragging him back to reality just as he felt a sharp searing pain bloom in his cheek, sending striking colors of red passed his eyes. He heard two collective gasps, followed by a resounding splash of water. Spluttering followed suit, topped off with a growled, "Hamilton, you fucker."
George Washington ignored the rising anger within him long enough to calmly reach up to the offended cheek, pressing gingerly to asses the damage done. He winced as the new wave of pain was accompanied by a very wet feeling. The wetness was a warm contrast to the cool metal embedded in his cheek, and George reluctantly pulled his fingers back to stare at the fresh blood on his fingertips. The man looked over at his two comrades, who were blatantly yelling at one another as Thomas struggled to pull himself from the pond. Thomas was doing most of the yelling, comprised mainly of curse words amongst many flourished insults in Alexander's direction. Alexander was too busy laughing at the sight of a usually composed Thomas Jefferson covered in mud and screaming to the point of incoherence. As the man finally stood on the slope of the bank, Alexander promptly took it upon himself to push Thomas back into the water. However, the shorter man had not taken into account that he would not surprise Thomas with this childish move twice in a row, and Alexander found himself falling into the muddy pond along with his political enemy. The short man shouted indignantly as he rose back up from the water, his eyes furiously landing on Jefferson. The taller man was now the one to laugh as he gazed at the man who looked something akin to a drowned, muddy rat.
Washington sighed exasperatedly, moving his attention back to the more important issue at hand-the fish hook embedded within his cheek. The ideal thing to do would be wait and go to Laurens so the doctor could professionally remove the fishhook, but the man found himself jerking the metal out before he could convince himself otherwise. He swore quietly, the pain soon accompanied by a much grander flow of blood now. He glanced at the men who were now back up on the bank, soaked to the bone, and glaring heatedly at one another. Washington hadn't even noticed their bickering had stopped in his mission to remove the fishhook.
"Men." George Washington spoke, clearing his throat as he held a napkin to the open wound. Alexander's eyes softened as he took in the appearance of his father-like figure. The older man had blood drying down his neck and the napkin was quickly changing from a vibrant and clean white to a dark red. The young man suddenly felt incredibly guilty, despite it being Jefferson's fault. Alexander sent a dirty look toward the man next to him, scooting away from the muddy individual as he suddenly realized how close they had been standing. Alex found he couldn't get far enough away from Jefferson as quickly as he'd like to.
"Sir, it was Jefferson's fault, he started it." Alexander protested, causing said man (who was still too close) to snort.
"As if, you were the one who-"
"Gentlemen, enough." Washington declared, promptly fizzling out a new argument between the two before it could truly be started. He would be here all day, otherwise.
Washington glanced to his forgotten fishing pole, and felt another sigh build up within him. He kept his mouth shut though, and turned back to the two before him. Only one of which had the audacity to look ashamed. Jefferson simply stared back with indifference, and perhaps a little irritation.
"I brought the both of you out here to relax." Washington glowered, his anger rising once again as he felt blood seeping from the napkin and onto his already stained fingers. This time it was Alexander's turn to snort, while Jefferson's eyebrows raised higher than George thought possible.
"Clearly," He ground out, "that was a mistake." Alexander went to speak, but kept his words from spewing out as they so often did, because Washington held his hand up to silence him. Washington was one of the very few people who could control Alexander, at least to an extent.
"It has come to my attention that my capabilities are being limited due to the amount of stress my body and mind are under. I will be taking a two week long break, and after this fiasco," Washington pointedly looked at the two mud covered males before he continued, "I have decided you two will be taking a two week long break as well."
Alexander and Thomas both began protesting at the same time, but it was apparent that the words were falling on deaf ears as George Washington took his phone out to send a text. He ignored both of them until he was finished with his conversation. They had soon turned on one another, placing blame on the other as if it were second nature. Alexander was wildly shouting, his words so difficult to understand because of his overuse of the word 'fuck'. Thomas was much more refined than Alexander, but any longer and he would be reduced to an incoherent mess as well. The two always did bring out the worst in one another. Only Alexander could make Thomas scream at another person in public of all places. This gave George a sudden thought, causing the man's mood to lighten almost instantly.
"Gentlemen!" Washington called out sharply, silencing them once more. Alexander's face was blood red from anger, and Thomas panted as he tried to regain his composure. The oldest of the three watched with a blatant warning written in his features, and the two understood they had overstepped a boundary. Alexander Hamilton no longer looked angry, he simply looked wary.
"You will both retire to Monticello for the duration of these two weeks,"
"What?! No way! I have to work, Sir-"
"Quiet, Hamilton." Washington replied, although there was no bite to the statement. The man just sounded tired. Oddly enough, this quieted the young man quicker than chiding him ever could have. Washington assessed the two of them for a moment before he was certain they would let him speak. Jefferson seemed to have a permanent grimace on his face, but looked as if he would no longer make a peep. Good, Washington thought.
"You will go to Monticello, and you will work out your differences. I am starting this break off with two weeks for you gentlemen, and I will be checking in. If I deem it necessary, I will make it a month." Washington stated with finality, leaving no room for arguments. He looked between the two, daring them to protest. They kept silent, so the man finally turned around just as a vehicle rolled onto the gravel road above the bank of the water.
"Be in Monticello by noon tomorrow or I will not hesitate to fire both of you." Washington warned, picking up his pole and heading to the parked car. A servant gladly took the pole, and began to inquire him about the injury. The man waved the concern off, and slipped into the back seat of the lavish car. Alexander watched in disbelief as his employer rode off so casually after making such a threat. There went his plan of sneaking into the White House every morning.
Alexander turned to glare at Thomas, heat rushing back to his cheeks as he found the man already staring back.
"This," Alexander started, before huffing. This was all Jefferson's fault. He just had to claim Alex was baiting his hook incorrectly. The shorter man trotted over to pick up his fishing pole, then noticed Jefferson's laying next to it.
"You're riding with me. Go pack." Jefferson declared, his voice cutting through Hamilton's thoughts like a searing knife. The man jerked his head up and sneered at his enemy.
"Like hell I am, that's like four hours in a car with you." Alexander replied, causing Jefferson to raise his eyebrow questioning.
"You don't know how to get to Monticello, and I'm not giving you the address." The man replied, fueling Alexander's hate-fire even further. The man gritted his teeth, picked up the second pole that did not belong to him, and promptly threw it into the pond he had been submerged in only minutes ago. As the pole hit the water, it made a satisfying splash before sinking to the bottom. It was most likely still within the shallows, but the water was too muddy to be certain. Jefferson swore behind Alexander's back, making the shorter man smirk triumphantly.
"I'll be at your apartment at seven tomorrow. Don't oversleep, Jeffershit." Alexander spoke, trudging up the bank in his drying clothes. The mud caked onto him couldn't even wipe the grin off his face as he heard sloshing in the water, followed by many curses in his direction. Not even the thought of Virginia could dampen his mood now.