"I wish to remind you all that we should have a new aide among us this day," Robert Hanson Harrison says as he walks into the aide-de-camp office.

"Yes, Old Secretary," Richard Kidder Meade replies from his seat at the further table, "just as you reminded us last evening and the day before that."

"Do you think us children absent in our thoughts and memory?" Tench Tilghman pipes up from where he sits cattycorner to Meade.

Harrison gives them both a look. "At times."

"And then what should we think of you?" Meade cocks his head as he breaks open the wax seal of a letter. "Over burdened with memory from advanced age?"

"Harrison is an age with you, Meade," John Laurens remarks as he sits down on the other side of the table.

"Is he so?"

Tilghman puts a hand to his chest. "Shocking!"

Harrison raises both his eyebrows at the pair.

"When should we expect this new aide, McHenry, yes?" Alexander Hamilton asks, bumping Laurens beside him now with his elbow and pointing to a too far inkpot.

Harrison nods. "James McHenry."

Hamilton takes the ink pot from Laurens. "And a surgeon, I believe?"

"We should need such in our office with these cuts applied by Meade and Tilghman," Laurens says.

Hamilton laughs, Meade gasps in either offense or amusement and Tilghman grins wide, leaning back in his chair. Even Harrison lifts his head and smiles slowly as well. All stare at Laurens. Laurens picks up his mug of coffee and takes a long drink. Then he looks at Hamilton and winks. Meade attempts to stifle a laugh into his waistcoat as Tilghman taps the back of his hand against Meade's shoulder, still smirking at Laurens. Hamilton only shakes his head.

Harrison chuckles once quietly. "Yes, a doctor he is and, as amusing as you all are, I request some forbearance upon this man for his first day."

Tilghman scoffs and Meade makes a small noise of protest. Laurens gives Hamilton a look, remembering well his first days in this office tasked with excessive work. Hamilton stays innocently attentive to Harrison

"He is come to us from a lengthy time under British capture." All the aides turn to Harrison again. Harrison gives then a grim smile then nods. "So perhaps a day of serious behavior to show our good standing?"

"Harrison, you know us all to be quite respectable officers and representatives of His Excellency," Hamilton remarks.

Harrison inclines his head. "I do. But..."

"But we take your meaning," Tilghman replies. "I would prefer this new man to think well of us all and respect the office. Have no fear. We are all able in such regard."

Meade nods as well, dipping his quill in an ink pot. "I am amenable to simple cordiality."

The aides settle back quietly into their individual writing.

Laurens turns to Hamilton seated beside him. He speaks low. "I cannot help some trepidation, however, at a new member to this office."

Hamilton glances at him. "It has been some time, true, but there has always been change in His Excellency's staff."

Laurens nods and taps his foot against Hamilton's under the table. "I was the last."

Hamilton smiles slowly, still looking at his copy of the general orders for the day. Then he cheats a glance up at Laurens. "And a most dashing addition you made."

Laurens purses his lips and looks back to his own requisition order for fear of speaking too far among their fellow aides.

The aides write for an hour more, Tilghman predominately on correspondence while Laurens and Harrison busy themselves with supplies and forms. Hamilton remains with the general orders, the hour early enough that they will soon need delivering. Meade appears much occupied with accounts, no doubt delivered by Gibbs.

"Complete." Hamilton stands up from his seat, stepping out around the bench. "Tilghman, have you finished enough for His Excellency's approval?"

Tilghman grins up at Hamilton. "You time your actions well as I have just finished the last to Colonel Shreve."

Hamilton grins as he walks around Laurens, his hand just brushing Laurens' back. Then he takes three letters from Tilghman, turns from the room and out toward General Washington's office.

Laurens makes a note on his page, then glances at the notes for the general orders, a great deal to do with the necessaries and proper care of them. Laurens grimaces. "Pleasant."

Soon after, Laurens hears a knock upon the front door. Meade perks up immediately and glances at Tilghman standing near the wall, ledger in hand. Tilghman looks to Laurens. Laurens only smiles back.

"Why yes, I shall attend to the door," Harrison says, shaking his head at them.

"You are the best at such," Meade says so Harrison kicks Meade's chair as he passes.

"Meade," Laurens hisses in chastisement.

Meade smirks. "I cannot help mirth, it is near warm now and we have a new aide upon us."

"It could be someone else," Tilghman says.

Meade and Laurens both 'hmm' loudly in disbelief.

"Doctor McHenry, Robert Harrison," They hear from Harrison as the door opens. "Welcome."

Meade and Laurens both stand up while Tilghman crosses quickly past them toward the door to the aide office. Harrison steps away from the door with another man before him. The man wears a uniform – why Laurens thought he might be without one is odd to him now – with dark brown hair, shorter in height than Laurens, though perhaps not quite as short as Hamilton. He has the appearance of at once being of more ample weight but also as to having lost some of the same, perhaps due to British imprisonment.

Harrison turns to address the other three men half in the hall and half in the office now, Laurens at the rear. "Gentlemen, may I present Dr. James McHenry."

McHenry smiles warmly and nods to the group of them. "Thank you, sir, though I imagine my title of doctor will be less used here."

"You may be surprised," Meade says.

Tilghman knocks Meade with his shoulder. "Pay him no mind."

Harrison holds out his hand to Tilghman. "Tench Tilghman, and by far the most studious among us with his pen."

Tilghman smiles, genuinely complimented. "Now Harrison..."

McHenry grins, shaking Tilghman's hand. Laurens looks back and forth between the exchange; McHenry seems amiable enough. Hamilton then steps out General Washington's office with the General himself behind him.

"Ah!" Hamilton says. "We did hear a new voice."

The men present all straighten up, McHenry near rigidly so, as Harrison says, "Your Excellency, may I present James McHenry."

"Yes," General Washington says holding out his hand to shake McHenry's. "Welcome to Valley Forge."

McHenry beams. "It is an honor, sir."

"And," Harrison says, indicating Hamilton as the General releases McHenry's hand. "This is –"

"Yes!" McHenry says, interrupting Harrison. "It is a pleasure as well."

McHenry clears his throat, as if nervous, then he steps close to Hamilton and suddenly kisses him on the right cheek and then the left. Laurens' eyes widen in shock; he has the near irresistible urge to grab McHenry and yank him away from Hamilton.

Hamilton opens his mouth in surprise. "I... pleasure to meet you."

McHenry grins. "I have heard much about you and am well pleased at a chance to meet you here."

Hamilton nods once, regaining his composure. "I am certainly pleased to hear my name talked of and shall be glad to work with you."

"Work with me?" McHenry gasps again. "Why I should be honored!"

Meade and Tilghman glance at each other in confusion and Laurens feels a frown drawn tight over his face.

"Of course," Hamilton says. "We all share the office there." He gestures toward where Tilghman, Meade and Laurens stand. "You shall enjoy many an early morning with us."

McHenry frowns in apparent confusion – still standing rather closer to Hamilton's person than Laurens thinks prudent. "Oh, I had thought you in possession of your own headquarters?"

Every man in the hall stares at McHenry through a long pause of silence.

General Washington finally answers the growing expression of alarm on McHenry's face. "Colonel Hamilton works in my office and resides here, as do my other aides-de-camp. I apologize if there was some confusion as to rank or boarding of my aides."

McHenry's mouth gapes wide and he seems to reflexively grab Hamilton's arm. He pulls away again and gasps. "Oh, I do beg your pardon I was too quick as to my assumptions! I thought you..." McHenry laughs once awkwardly. "I had heard of... well..."

Hamilton frowns at him. "You thought I another which I am not, sir?"

"Yes, I thought you The Marquis de Lafayette..." McHenry clears his throat again awkwardly – rudely Laurens thinks – as all stare at him. "I had heard that if one were to chance see him without his powder that he a man of red hair and... well here you were, sir."

Meade snickers with a hand against his mouth and Tilghman's lips twist up into a near manic expression. Laurens breathes in sharply staring daggers at McHenry. Harrison bites his lip behind McHenry and clearly attempts to control his shared mirth. Hamilton and General Washington chuckle politely.

"And you thought to make an attempt at a French greeting?" Hamilton touches one of his cheeks. "I am flattered to be thought so."

McHenry laughs once too loudly and nods. "Yes, I suppose, yes... to be more of French custom, the..." He leans nearer to Hamilton, as if to repeat the gesture. Laurens takes a step closer around Meade, ready to grab the man for true this time, but then McHenry takes a step back again, grasping his hands together. "Well..."

General Washington looks at Harrison over McHenry's head then says, "And you will be sure to meet the Marquis as well. Now." General Washington gestures to the aide office. "If you would acquaint McHenry with the office and general duties, Harrison?"

"Of course."

General Washington nods to McHenry again then turns back into his office shutting the door. The cluster of men all ease their stance, McHenry most of all.

"Well," Harrison says, "as I had meant to say, this is Alexander Hamilton."

"Not a Marquis," Hamilton adds.

McHenry chuckles and shakes Hamilton's hand properly this time. "And not French?"

"No, though I do speak it."

McHenry grins. "Ah ha, so I strayed only some from the mark!"

Hamilton laughs too. "Perhaps not."

McHenry nods. "I shall keep my introductions to a shake of the hand then."

Hamilton nods back. "Certainly."

Laurens thinks this McHenry far too familiar and jovial far too quickly – such a unneeded, dramatic display.

"Also, among your fellow aides we have Richard Kidder Meade," Harrison says, McHenry quickly shaking Meade's hand.

Meade smiles at him. "Not French either."

"And lastly here, John Laurens," Harrison says.

"Ah!" McHenry says, holding out his hand. "Are you a relation of Henry Laurens in Congress? His son perhaps?"

Laurens stares at McHenry's hand for breath then takes it quickly – McHenry's hand feels too warm – and pulls back as soon as he is able. "Yes," Laurens replies curtly.

"He is certainly a respectable man."

"I am not he," Laurens replies sharply.

"What, not respectable?" Meade quips.

"Meade," Harrison hisses.

Meade merely rocks his head from side to side then turns into the office. "Let us show you to your office then. And 'yours' does refer to 'ours.'"

McHenry looks at Laurens a moment longer, Laurens frowning down at him. McHenry clears his throat once, his expression faltering, then he skirts around Laurens who does not move from the doorway. Tilghman and Meade start to explain the usual course of the aide day, location of various books and records in the office.

Hamilton steps near Laurens, nudging Laurens' shoulder with his own. "A funny gentleman, is he not?"

Laurens frowns still and makes a noise in the back of his throat. "I think not."

Laurens leaves headquarters soon after to deliver the approval results for the court martial of a Colonel Sackett, also a doctor; perhaps doctors are just without proper societal behaviors of late. Laurens stays with the regiment for some time, discussing punishment for the officer and needs of replacing him, as the role of doctor or surgeon within the army is not one as readily substituted than simply a soldier or lower officer. Laurens wonders if McHenry should not prefer to use his doctor skills than to be a penman.

When Laurens returns to the office, Harrison, Tilghman, McHenry and Hamilton all sit at work in the office.

"Meade has left us to ride for York," Tilghman explains as Laurens arrives. "I apologize if you had any letter for your father."

"Not today," Laurens says to Tilghman, though he stares at McHenry.

McHenry sits directly beside Hamilton in the space Laurens most often occupies. It appears Hamilton instructs McHenry on their usual modes of writing and address in accordance with His Excellency's hand.

Laurens stares for another minute, his lips pulled into a scowl.

Tilghman looks up at him, sitting across from the working pair. "Laurens?"

Hamilton glances up too and Laurens manages to school his features. "The 14th Virginia regiment will be in need of a new doctor."

McHenry perks up as Laurens turns and sits down across from Harrison. Then Hamilton taps his quill on the page to draw McHenry's attention.

"I believe he a surgeon mate," Harrison says as Laurens sits. "We could perhaps wait some time in finding a replacement." Harrison shuffles the papers in front of him. "Unless another regiment has a man we could spare for a spell?"

"Or this office."

Harrison glances up at Laurens. "Pardon?"

Laurens breathes in deeply through his nose. "No matter."

Laurens clenches his teeth and focuses quite deliberately and furiously on the processing of a John McKinney's promotion. He certainly does not sneak any glances toward Hamilton and their new aide occupying Laurens' nominal space.

Come that evening, Tilghman arranges for McHenry to sleep in the larger aide bedroom.

"He could possibly join you in the garret," Tilghman says as a pair of servants carry McHenry's one trunk up the stairs.

"That is Fitzgerald's cot," Laurens says.

"And unoccupied as of now."

"We do not know the exact date of his return and would you have him arrive to no bed at all?"

Tilghman shakes his head. "He could easily –"

"No."

Tilghman frowns at Laurens but allows a, "It is still chill, despite it being April, and the garret most so. Perhaps you are right to spare McHenry this."

Laurens replies with only a gruff, "Quite."

When Laurens arises for bed, he is not allowed even a brief 'good evening' with Hamilton, as Harrison and McHenry steal his attention.

Laurens shuffles about the attic room, fumbling with his tinder box to light the candle, brushing his uniform coat more times than necessary, tapping his boot on the wood floor too loudly. He clenches his teeth and attempts to turn the rational portion of his brain into a more dominant position for his thoughts, yet he deny his rationality appearing to agree with the other aspects of his opinion and notice.

"Laurens?"

Laurens looks up from where he now shines his boots, in want of some polish after many months under the punishment of snow.

Hamilton stands at the head of the stairs, candle in his hand. "I see you are still hard at work."

Laurens sits up straight, boot in one hand and brush in the other. "Would you not prefer me looking my best?"

"I think you always looking best with shinny boots or no."

"You charm me."

"Yes, I do," Hamilton says as he walks near. "Because I think you seem out of sorts."

Laurens glances at the window. "Is that so?"

"Mmhmm."

Laurens turns back to Hamilton, twisting the brush around in his hand. "I am certainly not out of sorts. I am perfectly well and you need not dissect me if that is your intent."

Hamilton steps close enough to take the brush from Laurens' fidgety hand. "I think you indeed in a mood of discontent and, as there is but one change in our office from the day before this, I can easily surmise the source." Hamilton puts the brush and his own candle down on the desk beside Laurens. "Well then, what is your reproach of McHenry?"

Laurens drops his boot on the floor and crosses his arms. "Is it required I like every man in our army? I do not think so; so if I should find our new aide... less than I should wish, what of it?"

"What should you wish instead?"

"I..." Laurens shakes his head. "I do not ask a different personality or person, I am not bound on specifics."

"I think you certainly so or else why should you dislike him; be it the color of his hair?"

Laurens glares up at Hamilton. "Do not jest."

"I am not, I am seeking to find the source of your dislike of McHenry, is that not apparent?"

"I may dislike him if I choose."

"He is polite and amiable and eager to support our office and General and army, many things you also aspire to."

"I am much unlike him."

Hamilton raises both eyebrows. "I did not say you two exactly alike for certain, but your response begs some inquiry as to what about him you would find fault in comparison to yourself."

Laurens' lips twist and he drums his fingers on his arm. "He is too familiar."

Hamilton stares at Laurens. "Familiar?"

"His greeting to you – to all of us, bumbling and flustered and –"

"Is this due to his fault in thinking me Lafayette and his kiss –"

"Even if you should have been Lafayette," Laurens says pointing up at Hamilton. "Such a greeting is one reserved for closer relations, not first meetings."

"It was a mistake."

"Again, I say, even if it Lafayette, that is bold of him to assume such and even more so in front of His Excellency and you cannot say you think his social graces without fault here."

Hamilton sighs. "Yes, I do agree in this but half such was no doubt due to his mistake and the introduction to so many new acquaintances at once, and," Hamilton emphasizes so Laurens may not interrupt. "His Excellency can be an intimidating figure to those who have never been in his presence."

Laurens huffs. "I find it amazing you giving such excuses for a man you but met today yourself."

Hamilton gestures down at Laurens. "I think it amazing you allowing him none."

Laurens purses his lips and glances down at the floor once more. He sits tense, arms still tight around him and a clench to his jaw. He thinks it likely he overreacts, but he also thinks McHenry lacking in a proper mode of behavior expected of any man in General Washington's office. They joke with one another, yes, but they act proper and polished in all other occasions and would certainly do the same upon a first introduction and always in front of His Excellency. And Laurens would certainly never think to kiss on both cheeks some man he has not even been properly introduced to!

"Laurens." Laurens peeks up at Hamilton again. "My dear." Hamilton leans down and kisses the top of Laurens' head. "I think you allow your partiality to give more fault than is due."

Laurens huffs again.

"No, no," Hamilton says. "If you worry for me, he did me no harm or embarrassment."

"I did not say so."

"No, you did not."

"And why should you think it so necessary I like him? I did not like Reed."

Hamilton smiles. "Most did not like Reed."

"I may like whom I choose or dislike those just as well."

"But you should only do so where it is just."

Laurens finally stands up from his chair, uncurling his arms and forcing Hamilton to take a step backward. "You have said enough. It is but a first day and I may control my judgement to allow him more days under my scrutiny before I decide on a final pronouncement to my feelings."

"I hope you act as you say."

Laurens looks at Hamilton sharply. "You think me a liar?"

Hamilton sighs and touches Laurens' arm. "John, I did not say that. Please, allow yourself and me some breath from this state you have worked yourself into."

Laurens looks down at Hamilton, his blue eyes in the candle light. Laurens breathes through his nose and forces some calm into his muscles.

"He should not have embraced you so," Laurens says quietly.

Hamilton chuckles. "Perhaps not. He seems eager to find his place here and to please those around him."

"Too eager."

"Laurens..."

Laurens bites his lips. "I desist."

Hamilton watches Laurens for a moment, his hand rubbing absently up and down Laurens' arm. Then he smiles and pulls his hand back.

"Here." Hamilton turns his left cheek toward Laurens.

Laurens looks at him for a moment in confusion then leans close and kisses Hamilton on the cheek. Hamilton turns his face to the opposite side and Laurens kisses him there too.

"There." Hamilton grins at him. "Is this not well, you the last man to kiss me so?"

Laurens merely looks down at him, saying nothing.

Hamilton rises onto his toes and kisses Laurens hard on the lips. "Sleep then and perhaps you shall have less ill humor on the morrow."

Laurens grips Hamilton's wrist before he may turn away again. "I have none with you."

Hamilton nods. "I know." He pats his other hand on Laurens' chest. "And you have no reason to have any with others."

Laurens purses his lips then releases Hamilton's hand. Hamilton nods once more, picks up his candle, then moves toward the stairs. "Good night, John."

Laurens watches Hamilton and the light of his candle down the stairs until he can no longer see either. He crosses his arms once more and stares out the window over the roof of the kitchen and the uncleared trees at this far corner of camp.

"Ill humor indeed," He mutters to himself.

The following morning Laurens descends the stairs early. He passes Tilghman and Harrison still in their room, cravats being tied and Harrison's hair in something of a state. Down in the aide office, McHenry sits at work with Hamilton beside him. Hamilton appears to be reading over something, likely McHenry's work.

McHenry brightens when he sees Laurens. "Good Morning, Laurens. Did you sleep well?"

Laurens raises his eyebrow, seeing the turn of Hamilton's mouth, though he does not look up. Laurens attempts to manage his initial reaction. "Tolerably."

McHenry jumps up, nearly knocking Hamilton and making the man start in surprise. "Oh, if you are not feeling well I could –"

"I am perfectly sound."

"– bring you some tea."

Laurens and McHenry stare at each for a breath. Then McHenry chuckles once awkwardly and weaves around the table. "Tea then."

As McHenry exits the office, Laurens looks incredulously at Hamilton.

Hamilton flicks up two fingers. "He merely offered tea."

Laurens frowns. "I think it astonishing a man of his... nature chosen for this office."

Hamilton gives Laurens a withering look. "You are uncharitable."

"I feel no need for charity."

Hamilton gives him a withering look. "Do sit down."

Laurens frowns at Hamilton again and glances where Harrison normally sits. Then Hamilton taps the table beside his seat with the point of his quill.

"You shall blunt the tip."

"And you shall ruin my mood."

Laurens feels the tension in his shoulders ease in chastisement. He steps over to the table and seats himself on the corner near Hamilton.

"My apologies." Laurens runs his fingers over Hamilton's briefly. "I did say I should reserve my judgement."

Hamilton turns his ocean eyes on Laurens and smiles in that manner Laurens find most irresistible. "I find your jealousy, while unnecessary, as you know, somehow still endearing." He looks over Laurens' face and smiles wider, something wicked in the expression. "I cannot help a thrill at you finding a need for possession over me, am I such a prize to you?"

Laurens controls his breath as best he can. "Not a prize."

Hamilton smirks. "No? Ah, because you have won me and feel you need not do so again? Well, yours to protect then perhaps, even from so small a thing as social missteps and overeager aides."

Laurens swallows and wants to kiss Hamilton into the wall. Hamilton stares at him, knowing exactly what he does. "That, that I find quite captivating."

"Captivating," Laurens echoes.

Hamilton nods then sits up straighter, his expression formal once more. "But you really must control such. I think it unfair to those who mean no harm."

Laurens press his lips tight. "I am not jealous."

Hamilton only turns his eyes on Laurens, raising both eyebrows. Then he slides the morning's general order notes to Laurens. "If you please."

Laurens takes the paper, still staring at Hamilton.

"Well, sirs," Laurens and Hamilton both turn to McHenry as he walks in the door. "I bring tea!"

McHenry puts a cup of tea down in front of Laurens and then another down in front of Hamilton.

He grins, "I think you best have some as well, Hamilton, as you awoke early enough to assist me."

"Awoke early?" Laurens asks.

"Yes!" McHenry says. "Hamilton was quite happy to help get my feet about me as to the running of the office. I should wish to be as proper as possible and up to procedures within as I know the importance of this office, as I am sure you do as well, and I would not be the cause of any censure."

"Certainly not," Laurens retorts. "Not in writing or behavior."

McHenry nods as he sits down beside Hamilton once more – in Laurens' common space. Hamilton picks up his teacup, blowing across the hot liquid. He looks once at Laurens and smiles, glancing down at his tea then over to Laurens again expectantly.

Laurens frowns and picks up his cup of tea. He takes a sip, despite the obvious steam. He hisses once; more sugar than he prefers. "Hmm."

Hamilton's brow furrows then he turns back to McHenry, pointing at the papers between them. "Now, the General's notes, as you see, would lead to such a reply. You must write in as much as the General's style as possible, as if it all should come direct from his own pen."

Laurens turns to the notes for the general orders. He glares at the teacup momentarily and attempts to remind himself of Hamilton's own words and how Laurens cannot begrudge another in acting untoward if Laurens himself acts a fool.

"This is but a small report, I suggest you write a draft and I may review it," Hamilton says on to McHenry as Laurens finds himself a fresh sheet of paper to make a first draft of the orders.

The room falls silent for several minutes, all the men writing away – the scratch of quill and tap of inkpot.

Then Harrison stops in the door, patting his cravat knot. "Hamilton?" All three men glance up. "Might I borrow you? Our report of the prisoner exchange."

"Ah yes." Hamilton stands from his seat. "And I have the notes written on the day upstairs."

"Howe's commissioners' letters too?"

"Of course."

Hamilton flashes a smile at Laurens as he steps away from the table. He turns about quickly in the doorway and mouths, 'be kind.'

Laurens gapes for a moment then shuts his mouth with an audible click of his teeth. Laurens stares at the empty door then looks back down at his paper. He sighs once and does not look at McHenry.

Laurens checks over the orders for the day, less than some mornings – parole, two court martial proceedings.

Laurens stands up to check one of the ledgers on the salary additions for new members of the Lifeguard. He pulls one ledger of Gibbs' off the shelf, checking pay rolls and the men who must be included. He should add them in this record as with the order if they have not been hence.

McHenry clears his throat behind Laurens. Laurens' eyes tick up to stare at the inset shelves before him. He pinches his lips but says nothing. He runs his finger down the recent pages and sees the names required entered as they should be. He closes the ledger again and places it back on the shelf. Laurens then turns back to his seat and, though he tries to focus on his waiting draft, accidentally catches McHenry's expectant eye.

McHenry smiles at him. "I say, Laurens, what was this about an exchange?"

"Hamilton and Harrison were His Excellency's representatives at a recent prisoner exchange," Laurens replies as he sits.

McHenry makes a small noise. "Were any officers exchanged?"

Laurens taps his quill on his page, impatiently. "I do not know, though I suspect it likely."

"And we of this office are often present at such?"

Laurens looks over at McHenry again. "It is one of our duties."

McHenry nods once. "Ah, so we might sooner know who is to be exchanged?"

"Yes," Laurens sighs again with impatience. "Do you have some need to be in ownership of such knowledge?"

McHenry makes an odd face then turns back to his writing. "Only that I know of some friends still waiting under parole and I should wish them free from it."

Laurens stares at McHenry, his annoyance lessening. He presses his lips together and looks back to his page. "I see."

After two minutes, McHenry starts again, "As to this office in particular, I have been told much of the correspondence we answer but also manners of organization and office."

"Yes."

"Accounts, and Congress and general issues of camp."

"Yes."

"And I should wonder if there is some further organization as to whom responds to which type of work or letter or issue."

Laurens sighs, only a sentence of the orders written thus far. "You should work on what is put before you."

"Should you not date the beginning of such orders?"

Laurens turns his head slowly to McHenry. "What?"

McHenry taps the top of Laurens' page. "If they be the general orders of the day, should not the date be included to avoid any confusion? I know Hamilton said so and one would logically think."

Laurens clenches his teeth tightly. "It is a draft, not a fair copy."

McHenry nods. "Ah, of course, but even so." He glances down at the page then up at Laurens again with a benign smile.

Laurens breathes in and tilts up his chin. "I thank you for such notice and I will be certain to be attentive to this on my final writing." He looks down at McHenry's half written response – his penmanship is no where near as fine as his own or Hamilton's or Tilghman's. Laurens looks up again. "And I think you had better attend to the draft Hamilton set you on."

Laurens looks back to his paper with his teeth so tight he fears his ability to speak again for several minutes. He focuses on what he writes, not looking up once in McHenry's direction and quite obviously declaring his disinterest in speaking with the man again.

Not ten minutes of writing later, however, McHenry clears his throat. "I understand you were present at Brandywine."

Laurens stares at his own paper. "Yes."

"In was stationed at Fort Washington myself upon its capture."

"I see."

The silence stretches again. Laurens nears the end of his page.

"And Germantown?"

"Yes."

"I understand the action was difficult? Much confusion. I heard of a house used as a fort of sorts by the British regulars."

"Yes. I fought there."

McHenry makes an appreciative noise. "An aide-de-camp and fighting upon the field, sir, you seem the model of a soldier."

Lauren frowns still, trying to remember what he was about to write. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Do you think yourself lacking?"

Laurens finally looks up at McHenry. "Perhaps not lacking, but I was shot."

McHenry eyes widen and his mouth clicks shut.

"Hello!" Tilghman appears in the door. "I found our Meade returned."

McHenry and Laurens both turn their heads to the door.

"The roads are muddy," Meade says as he steps into the office, removing his hat. "McHenry, do you have a cure for dirt on boots and breeches? For I am beset."

As Tilghman and Meade distract McHenry's attention, Laurens picks up his blessedly finished draft, stands from the table and walks out to attain the approval of General Washington.

Laurens spends his morning hence away from the General's headquarters, dispersing the general orders of the day to each brigade then attending to needed tasks about the camp, most of which he volunteers for. He delivers the official reports and pay updates for the men drafted into the Lifeguard from other regiments. He meets with Gibbs over issues of resupplying munitions, what with the season of battle soon returning. He even makes his way to the other side of camp and Lafayette's headquarters.

"It is just two requests," Lafayette says as he hands Laurens the related furlough forms. "I do not fear they likely to desert. I should have thought thus more likely if such requests came in the winter months."

"Unless they are farmers and need to plant," Laurens replies, looking at the names.

Lafayette makes a face, shifting papers on his desk. "I had not thought of such." Then he smiles with the expression of a sudden idea. "You have a new aide-de-camp in His Excellency's office now, do you not?"

Laurens purses his lips, checking the form for any errors so he need not walk so far again. "Indeed."

"The man a doctor, yes? And recently under parole."

"Correct in both, Marquis."

Lafayette cocks his head. "And?"

Laurens finally looks up. "And?"

Lafayette lifts his quill in question. "And do you think him agreeable to the post?"

"In his own person or in his behavior?"

Lafayette cocks his head to the side. "Is there want to think either not so?"

Laurens glances toward the window. "You did ask."

Lafayette chuckles once in surprise. "Ah, you do not like him."

Laurens looks back quickly at Lafayette, then folds the two furlough requests up and puts them in his coat. "I did not say so."

"No?"

"I will say, he is an immense admirer of yours."

Lafayette grins. "Oui, c'est bon?"

Laurens huffs then turns from Lafayette's office. Lafayette begins to laugh behind him.

Come supper late that evening, the aides all cluster in the larger aide-de-camp bedroom. The room is used for entertaining when necessary and is more comfortable than their office, so it serves well for a simple supper of claret, fruits and dried pork. General Washington sat with them for an hour but retired to bed and his wife some a quarter hour past.

"With the warm months arrived I know we must think more on Philadelphia," Tilghman says. "It is our next course."

"And with the Baron's training," Hamilton adds.

"Goddam," Meade and Tilghman say almost as one.

Harrison chuckles as he puts some pork onto his plate and sits back down in his chair near the window. "Did you not learn some of the Prussian as well?"

"I cannot well do the accent," Meade retorts. "I should not shame myself."

"But Philadelphia," Tilghman continues, pouring himself more claret and perching on one bed. "We have fought in the streets before with New York City but since it has been less so. I worry at a return to this."

"Would you rather leave those streets in British hands?" Laurens asks, twisting his half empty glass in his hand where he sits on the other bed.

Hamilton beside him takes Laurens' glass and finishes the drink. Laurens gives Hamilton a look but only holds out his hand for the empty glass once more.

"I would rather not burn down our whole colonies in the attempted freedom of them," Tilghman replies.

Harrison and Meade both 'hmm' in appreciation.

"But the General would soon wish to speak on such plans, would he not?" McHenry asks from where he sits near Harrison. "Are we privy to such?"

The aide all make conflicting noises of 'yes,' 'no,' and 'maybe.' McHenry frowns.

"It is varied," Hamilton finally says. "We do provide such advisements, but we are obviously not the Generals."

"I feel myself woefully out of date," McHenry says, "with such time away."

Laurens raises his eyebrows and nods once.

Hamilton smiles and stands up, taking Laurens' glass from him. "Do not fear, McHenry, the role of aide-de-camp is not mastered in a day."

"Two days," Meade says holding up his fingers.

"Has it been so long?" Tilghman says scooting back on the bed so he may lean against the wall. "It seems weeks."

"Does it so?" Laurens retorts.

"And of Philadelphia, much of our training with the Baron relates to a field of battle," Harrison starts, picking up the previous thread of conversation. "If the British should persist and we must fight to the very walls of Philadelphia, will not much of the soldiers' training fall lacking once more?"

"Not so," Laurens says, watching Hamilton as he pours some wine into Laurens' glass, taking a sip for himself. "Though the matter of lines and forming on the field was ready in his drilling, the very methods of bayonet, for example, will prove useful in any setting."

"And perhaps he has more to teach he could yet impart," Tilghman adds.

Hamilton turns to walk back to Laurens but McHenry stops him with a hand on his arm. Laurens glances at them, watching the exchange as McHenry says something low, gesturing to the window. Hamilton smiles and nods. Then the pair of them turn and walk toward the door.

Laurens raises both eyebrows as Hamilton hands Laurens his glass.

Hamilton smiles down at him. "Merely a walk."

The two men exit by the door and Laurens watches their receding backs down the stairs until he is no longer able.

"I do not think city fighting on many combat instruction regimens," Harrison says.

Laurens glances back at the room, Harrison smiling, Meade picking an apple from their table of food and Tilghman plucking at the blanket of the bed he rests on.

"The mode of war is changing," Harrison continues, "any man can see so; our colonies are continued proof of this, the French and Indian war just as much as our revolution now."

"Harrison, we need not philosophize on the nature of war," Meade says as he takes Harrison's now empty plate from him.

"Yes," Tilghman counters. "I shall have to ask McHenry for a salve for the headache you may cause."

"Can he make such?" Meade asks.

"He is a doctor."

Laurens drinks down the rest of his wine quickly then puts the glass on the floor. "As to McHenry..."

The three men all look at Laurens, waiting. Laurens had rather hoped they would provide their own opinions unprompted.

Laurens clears his throat. "He is..." Laurens clears his throat a second time feeling himself lacking the polished turn of phrase Hamilton might have in such a moment. "He is new to be sure."

Tilghman chuckles. "Why yes, Laurens, I would say so. Two days is new for any manner of man or object or event of any course."

"But if you mean of his nature," Meade guesses.

"Yes," Laurens replies quickly.

"Ah, most amiable," Meade says with a chuckle. "I think he perhaps in need of more time at pen and paper in our office but so did you."

Laurens raises his eyebrows.

"And you," Tilghman says. "Do you recall yourself master of our duties in a day?"

"I think you lucky none of us were here to see your beginning."

"Now sir..."

"I think him a sound gentlemen." Harrison stands from his chair as he speaks, picking up a poker and nudging the wood burning in their fire. "If eager in his energies to our employment but with such a winter having diminished us so both in men and spirits, perhaps we need such among us."

"Huzzah," Meade cries softly, tapping his boot against Tilghman's.

Laurens pinches his lips and glares at the far window.

Less than half an hour later, the aides all decide upon concluding supper, blowing out candles and crawling under blankets.

While his fellow aides choose rest and dreams, Laurens forgoes his attic solitude and descends stairs once more. He peeks within the aide office and the General's to reassure himself both are vacant. Hamilton and McHenry must still stroll about somewhere around the camp even as the temperature drops low once more.

"Though not freezing," Laurens reminds himself.

Laurens considers writing to his father, considers a draft of Gibbs' munitions requisition, but instead he turns on his heel and opens the side door. He trots down he steps, across the small alcove and into the kitchen.

The room is warmer as he closes the door though not as hot as during the day. No servants remain inside and only embers glow faintly in the hearth. Laurens walks to one cabinet against the wall. He searches among the jars for something resembling tea. A few are labeled with chalk – salt, pepper, thyme, lavender – then he sees a larger jar with the words half rubbed away but with a visible 'ea.' Laurens takes the top off the porcelain jar and sniffs.

"Tea," Laurens says to himself.

He carries the jar over to the main preparation table, mostly clear and cleaned now. He sets it down then crosses to the other wall and picks up the first teapot he spies, white with a faint pattern which looks very Pennsylvanian to his untrained eye. He thumbs the geometric patterns in red, blue and yellow, wondering at any deeper meaning beyond decoration, then places it down beside the tea jar. He moves to open the jar then huffs at himself. He steps back to the shelf where he found the teapot and searches for a spoon and sieve. He ends up finding both within a drawer of the sideboard underneath the shelves. Back at the table, he spoons some tea leaves into the teapot then looks around the room.

He frowns to himself. "Hot water..."

Laurens feels suddenly at a loss to where he should even fetch water and what he would do now to heat it. Laurens picks up the teapot and walks closer to the fire. He could put the teapot atop the embers perhaps? But he should still be in need of some water.

"Laurens?"

Laurens glances up to see Hamilton standing in the doorway.

Hamilton crosses his arms, a bemused expression on his face. "Just what are you doing?"

Laurens sighs. "I thought to make tea but find myself entirely useless in the action."

Hamilton chuckles then uncurls his arms loose at his sides once more as he walks over to Laurens.

"I found tea leaves," Laurens explains as Hamilton takes the teapot from him.

"And what were you thinking to do with this?"

"There are embers..."

"Oh, Laurens."

Laurens sighs. "Yes, I admit, my experience in making tea has not yet been made."

Hamilton chuckles again. "I see such evidence."

Laurens follows Hamilton back to the table as Hamilton replaces the teapot on the surface.

"You would surely have left scorch marks on the porcelain," Hamilton chastises with a smile on his face.

Laurens pouts. "I had not found water yet to add regardless."

Hamilton shakes his head. "Why no, dear, you boil the water first and then add it to the leaves, not both at once."

Laurens nods. "Ah. I learn already."

Hamilton looks down at the teapot with a smile then turns the smile up to Laurens. He shifts around so he stands directly in front of Laurens. He places his hands on Laurens hips and walks him back the mere two steps until Laurens stands flush with the table. Hamilton's nose touches Laurens', for a moment just their faces resting close together. Then Hamilton pushes Laurens hips again. Laurens pulls back enough to give him a confused look but Hamilton gestures up with his chin. So, Laurens hops up to sitting on the edge of the heavy table, Hamilton's hands still on his hips and the teapot beside him.

"Now allow me to make the tea."

Laurens smiles. "Myself on the table was required for this?"

Hamilton nods. "No."

Laurens chuckles again as Hamilton moves about, picking up a pitcher from a high shelf near the window. He peeks down within the pitcher then crosses to the hearth. Hamilton pours water from the pitcher into a cast iron kettle hanging against the bricks beside the hearth.

Laurens clasps his hands in his lap, his legs swinging slow and lazy. He bites the edge of his lip. "And how was your walk?"

Hamilton crouches down beside the embers, grasping a poker and attacking the red coals. "Languid and pleasant." Hamilton looks back at Laurens. "Did you worry it to be something else?"

"No."

"McHenry desired for some further education on the nature of our office."

"He has been told his duties."

"You misunderstand, I say, 'the nature of the office,' by which I mean the behaviors and men within it." Hamilton adds some small pieces of wood from a bucket near the fire – looking to be splinters from building huts.

"As to how we are busy?"

"No."

"What else should he ask?"

Hamilton chuckles quietly again, flames appearing from the embers once more. "Laurens, do you not think he curious about each man in our office and what he might learn of them?"

Laurens shifts, leaning back slightly where he sits. "Time provides such things, why should he need private instruction on personality?"

Hamilton moves the kettle around on an arm which swings as Laurens did not realize over the fire. "You judge him for asking questions?"

"I judge him for his mode."

"For asking after us all in a desire not to offend but to befriend his fellow officers with whom he should work so closely?" Hamilton stands up straight once more.

Laurens plants his hands on either side of his legs. "I think if he should learn more of us, it should be from each man, not an essay as in school."

"You think I composed an essay?"

Laurens cocks his head. "You misunderstand my meaning."

"I think you harp upon the subject that is not the issue."

Laurens stops swinging his legs. "You mistake me."

Hamilton crosses his arms and shakes his head. "I do not."

Laurens drums his fingers once on the edge of the table. "Fine. He may ask as he wishes and I am glad your excursion a pleasant one."

"You are not."

Laurens huffs again. "Do you think I should wish you ill? You know I would not."

"Not ill but not pleasantries."

"What?"

"I think you need not berate him so, he is here barely two days."

Laurens crosses his arms. "I give him no unjust censure nor praise, and I think it better we not talk on him at all in this moment."

Hamilton raises his eyebrows. "It was you who began thus."

"What would you have me say?"

"I would have you say as you did last night, to reserve such judgement."

"I did not say myself resolved."

"Laurens..."

Laurens holds up his hand. "Hamilton, I do not argue –"

"You censure him over nothing –"

"And I do not think him of the most concern between us!"

Hamilton cocks his head. "We have something of concern between us?"

Laurens' lip quirks up and he puts his hands back on the table as before. "Yes, a span of too much space."

Hamilton laughs once in surprise. Then he steps across the room until he slides himself between Laurens' legs where he sits. He places his hands over Laurens' on the table.

"Have I remedied this well then?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Hamilton makes a cheeky face. "Perhaps not well enough."

Hamilton presses his lips to Laurens', surprising Laurens despite his obvious intent.

Laurens kisses him back then pulls away, pressing their foreheads together. "We are in the kitchen."

"Yes, it is warm."

"It is."

Hamilton leans back, only minor disappointment on his face but they both know to be careful. They cannot afford to let things like the time of night or supposed solitude in a public space put them at ease, not with recent events, not with a new man in their headquarters, not ever. Hamilton pulls up one hand to cup Laurens' cheek, his thumb pressed against Laurens' lips. Laurens' pulse quickens as Hamilton bends his thumb, pulls slightly at Laurens' bottom lip.

Then the kettle behind them begins to whistle, making them both start at the sound. Hamilton pulls back and they smile at each other. Hamilton picks up a cloth from the edge of the table, turns around toward the fire, then hurriedly swings the kettle back away from the fire. He uses both hands with the cloth to lift the heavy kettle off the arm and carry it over to the table. Laurens takes the lid off the tea pot and Hamilton pours in the steaming water. When he leans the kettle away once more, Laurens replaces the lid.

Hamilton smiles up at him. "And now it must brew, I hope you know this much?'

Laurens nods. "I do."

Hamilton turns about, walks to the hearth and replaces the kettle. He blows out a breath and places the cloth on a hook in the bricks. Then he walks around over to the cabinet behind Laurens. Laurens shifts to look over his shoulder as Hamilton checks the cabinet.

"Cups?" Laurens asks.

Hamilton points awkwardly behind him. "Do not move from your spot."

Laurens chuckles. "You search for sugar no doubt; the cups are not there."

"No."

"Then I may."

"No, no." Hamilton turns around with a sugar bowl in hand. "Wait but a moment."

"Is it so necessary I remain here?"

Hamilton nods as he places the sugar bowl beside the teapot. "Yes." He touches Laurens' cheek again as he passes. "I find it most fetching."

Laurens chuckles and watches Hamilton walk to the other wall and the sideboard there. He bends down and pulls out two teacups from the bottom compartment. Then he walks back to Laurens, the cups dangling by their handles from two of his fingers.

"And now you are like to break those cups."

Hamilton places them carefully along with the rest of the tea service.

Laurens smiles. "I retract my statement."

Hamilton nods. "Good." He cocks his head and rubs his hand swiftly over Laurens' knees. "Just this one statement?"

Laurens pinches his lips. "I recall no others to be false."

"Not rash and irrational perhaps?"

Laurens frowns. "Hamilton, why are you so concerned that I should like this new man? What makes McHenry so needing of my approval to you?"

"Why are you so quick to dislike him over such small slights?"

Laurens clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "You belabor this too much. What matter is it between us of whom I should be fond of or whom I should find fault with?"

"It is so if you base your reason around me."

Laurens sighs once more, as he feels he has done innumerable times these past two days. "I do not."

"You do."

"You have done no wrong."

"I did not say I had."

"And nor do I."

"Laurens."

Laurens puts his hands palm together and slides forward off the table. Hamilton makes a small noise of disappointment.

"I end this argument."

"We are not arguing."

Laurens gives him a look. "We are."

"Ah."

"But I put an end to it now. I hear as you say and I will use my judgement as I must and now we may cease this circular motion." He reaches out and touches Hamilton's hair. "Please?"

Hamilton breathes in slowly then nods. "Yes." He reaches up and puts his hand over Laurens, pressing it against his face. He smiles once then pulls back again.

"Now." Hamilton turns to the tea pot. He picks up the strainer and puts it over the one cup. He pours in some tea, damp leaves catching, shifts the strainer to the other cup then pours in more.

"We have no milk," Laurens says as Hamilton puts the small strainer to the side.

Hamilton nods. "None fresh at least, I would suspect. You may be forced to suffice with only sugar."

Laurens takes the top off the sugar bowl as Hamilton puts down the teapot and picks up the spoon. Hamilton spoons a small amount into Laurens' cup but none into his own.

Hamilton picks up the one cup and hands it to Laurens. "There. Your tea."

"At last."

Hamilton chuckles. "Ah, so very ungrateful."

Laurens smirks. "Thank you."

Hamilton picks up his own cup and they both take hesitant sips. Hamilton whistles once and Laurens blows across the top of his cup.

"Come," Hamilton says. "We may at least sit inside."

"What of the pot?'

"We may come back for it if we need." Hamilton smiles. "I would wish to show you the report Harrison and I put together for the General of our prisoner exchange."

"I should be glad to read it."

The two men exit the kitchen and enter the main house once more, teacups in hand.

As they close the door behind them, McHenry appears at the turn in the stairs. "Ah! Meade had thought you perhaps remained down to return to work. He said it a disreputable habit of yours."

"Disreputable for a diligent work ethic?" Laurens asks.

Hamilton shoots him a look then addresses McHenry as he walks down the steps to them. "At times perhaps, but now I merely find some tea with Laurens and to read him something briefly before rest."

"Ah," McHenry grins. "Laurens needing help with his reading, is it? And what with his forgetting dates as well?"

Laurens and Hamilton stare at McHenry. Laurens notices Hamilton glance at Laurens out of the corner of his eye but Laurens remains staring at McHenry, a frown pulling at his lips.

McHenry clears his throat after the silence stretches. "Well, I shall... I shall leave you." Then he turns and hurries back up the stairs.

Once the sound of the door closing above reaches their ears, Hamilton says, "I think Meade has been attempting to teach McHenry some of the jest of his own nature."

"And failing," Laurens replies.

Hamilton chuckles again. "And how does this rate with your judgement?"

Laurens looks at Hamilton again. "I think my judgement accurate."

Hamilton sighs but smiles still. He wraps his arm around Laurens' back then leads him toward the aide office. Hamilton says nothing more on McHenry and nor does Laurens. Laurens knows whose company he should prefer now instead.