Chapter 2

Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the United States Treasury, undoubtedly worked harder than any man George Washington had ever met. The omega before him stood, hunched with fatigue, but still standing and speaking with such conviction over the documents he'd reluctantly surrendered to his boss that Washington had no doubt that the omega had poured over all night. With a quirk of his brow Washington rescinded the thought - Hamilton looked as if he'd poured over this document for weeks.

Then there was a knock and Hamilton's passionate epithet stopped mid-sentence. He rocked his gaze over to the door as Washington's secretary popped her head through the frame, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. President, but Secretary Jefferson is here."

Washington nodded, standing with a grunt, "Send him in."

She disappeared with a "yes sir" and Hamilton tried to conjure up a smile and temper his irritation at being interrupted with the knowledge that he was to be meeting the man he would be working with. Anticipation rolled through his veins, he'd read 'The Declaration of Independence' - fought for the ideals he'd always believed in, thatall menwere created equal - and here he was, about to meet the man who had coined the phrase - put to paper his unfiltered thoughts with such clearness, Hamilton almost felt as if he had written it himself.

Hamilton heard the man before he saw him, heard his southern lilt and confidence in his tone. Analyzing the words he heard through the door as the man laid out strings of compliments to, what Hamilton guessed was, Washington's omega secretary, he felt a sense of uncertainty settle in the pit if his stomach. And one could blame Hamilton's sleep addled mind but it felt as if a nightmare was rearing up in the back of his subconscious when the door opened and Alexander Hamilton's halfhearted smile melted, evolving into a scowl as Thomas Jefferson walked into the office.

The Secretary of State, the omega speculated, was a much different picture than the one Hamilton'd allowed society and rumors to paint for him in his mind. He'd looked up to Jefferson, assumed the hero of America to be progressive and intelligent. He'd expected humility, not the alpha who walked across the threshold of Washington's office with an air of ownership.

Jefferson exuded confidence, but what Alexander saw before him seemed to go beyond confidence, his aura, rather, seemed to bordered on arrogance. So much so that the omega couldsmellit - Jefferson seemed to wear his second sex on his sleeve, like a cologne. The alpha's scent choked him, permeating his senses - it reminded the omega of the trenches, where there was little supply of scent blockers and alpha scent flowed around him in droves. Hamilton was disgusted, offended by this man's audacity.

"Secretary Jefferson!" Washington strode around the desk, broad smile on his face. "It's good to see you!" Hamilton stayed standing in front of the desk, his jaw clenched, taking shallow breathes. Didn't Jefferson realize how rude it was to walk around in polite company, cloaked in his naked scent? It was scandalous and carnal and Hamilton felt a niggle of disgust wriggling around in his veins.

Jefferson smiled, exposing a row of even, white teeth, stark against his dark complexion. "Glad to be back, sir! Freedom becomes you." He took Washington's offered hand, shaking it with friendly vigor.

"I'm bold enough to say that freedom becomes us all," Washington laughed, clapping the man on the back. He ushered Jefferson towards his desk at the back of the office, where the omega stood, seething. "Have you met Secretary Hamilton yet?"

Jefferson's smile broadened, offering his hand to the omega before him as he approached. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Hamilton was reluctant to accept the alpha's hand, but societal custom drove the expected reaction from the omega before he realized what was happening - and everything just stopped.Oh,He thought. A piece of some imaginary puzzle settled into place. You and I.

~

Alexander and his mother had been close before her untimely death years ago. They garnered no secrets - his mother understood and revered her son for his gifts of perception and resilience and accepted that there possessed no ability for secrets to begin with. When she hid things he delved farther into the subject until his curiosity was sated and sometimes that got her little lion into serious trouble, so the mother of Alexander Hamilton decided honesty would be the bond between them.

So when Alexander, as all children have the pension to do, asked his mother where he came from, she sighed and settled herself down to delve into lengthy, detailed conversation.

At its conclusion, Hamilton was intrigued by only one aspect, "Soulmates?"

His mother hummed, "Your better half." They were laying together in their hay bed, Hamilton's little hands playing with his mother's hair. He loved his mother's hair - admired the softness and the length and the way it framed her soft, omegan face. "Everyone has their own soulmate, someone created as a gift from God because he knows how lonely one could be."

"You and father - " Hamilton let the question hang, uncompleted. He knew the topic upset her, but his curiosity hung too heavily around him not to ask.

"Yes," His mother breathed. "He and I."