Chapter 25: Houses and Thoughts Divided

The creak of the wooden poles and beam being pushed up by men in the middle of camp gives Benjamin the chills every time he even hears it. Seeing it makes him want to choke out his heart, and throw it into a dark hole. It is not in his control who lives or dies, and how.

The fifer is singing its fife in the background, to perk up younger soldiers and lift their spirits, but it only means 'Lies. Deceit. And Battle.' to Ben. For the oddest reason to him, the fife and the similar flute always seemed to be an unpleasant instrument to him. Merely a silver stick or wooden, held up to one's mouth horizontal, the tune makes his ears burn and nerves cringe. He only heard a flute play once in Setauket for one Yuletide, but it was a sad peasant playing it in the cold snow. The next morning, he remembered, his father going to the church for a funeral procession.

The fife he was introduced to during battle. The fife sounded signals during changes in formation, and was played by the military band during long periods of marching.

Shaking his head in attempts to block the awful shrill sound feigning cheeriness, he walks past Lillian's tent in guilt, for not being able to bring her to interrogate Shanks early this morning as he promised, but plans changed. He needs her safe, and Mr. Sackett is debriefing Sutherland at this time, and was told to return later to escort the prisoner back to his cabin. Until then, he is sticking to what he believes, and is now rushing over to Bill Shanks' cabin to question him one last time before the man is hanged tomorrow.

Flinging the door wide open, his hand taut on the side of the door to swing it back shut behind him with his palm after he stepped inside the cabin with also a taut, stern face.

Bill Shanks remains kneeling on the ground, begging in dread to the major marching up to him, "If I'd taken those boots, I would've lost my feet."
Not playing diffident no longer, fed up with what has been happening to him lately, Ben yanks Shanks upwards by the collar to bring him to an eye level stand, "Yes and if you'd told me the truth then you wouldn't be hanged tomorrow. Now listen to me. I'm going to give you one more chance. Is there truly a threat on Washington's life?"

"Yes!"

"Then give me something!" Ben yells at him, shaking him once violently, ignoring the man's pathetic whimpering and nervous breaths.

"Who's the assassin? How are they gonna get him into the camp?"

"The-They-They just said sometime before the new year," Shanks answers after shutting his eyes tightly trying to recall anything. Benjamin, not taking any more shite, throws the man to the side, not noticing the thick barrels were there during his process of turning around to think, almost walking out the door with a stressed yell before the man adds, "Andre and his man Gamble."

"Wait. Wait, describe him to me."

"Andre? I did."

"No, No! Gamble!" Ben barks, jaw clenched and face red. "Gamble. Describe Gamble."

"Uh, he had kind of a scar on his cheek from fencing or from from-"

That was all Ben had to hear. Everything connected.

So he ran out the door muttering 'no's' and sprinted towards Mr. Sackett's tent where Sutherland- Gamble- is with said scar on his cheek.

Clutching the sword at his left side, cutting through even the thin gaps between tents, snow flurries floating down dreamily and eerie because there is mostly blue skies above.
"Sackett! Mr. Sackett!" Ben flings the tent flap open with both hands, seeing no one but papers tossed everywhere until he casts his eyes down… Feeling himself about to actually choke his own heart out, no flute needed at the sight of Mr. Sackett sprawled out on the ground, still conscious, but face first, in his own pool of dark blood flowing from his head.

"Oh, God, no, no! No! No, Mr. Sackett!" Ben yells, falling to his knees and hurrying to pull the man up by the shoulder, to get some oxygen in him and keep him awake. But blood spills out the old man's mouth, his eyes bulging out his head in shock hearing the familiar voice, but his eyes droop while Ben put his hand under his mouth trying to catch whatever blood he can to conserve it in attempts to keep him alive. Lillian he needs Lillian.

Pulling him up though, his eyes scanned for anything- and just as he thought. The poor old man was stabbed in the throat.

"Lillian! Guard, help! Help! Someone help! Mr. Sackett, no," Ben put the man down, and got up quickly and ran around in circles looking for any cloth to stop the blood from spilling out. The papers with all their information about the ring, intelligence, and reports splattered with crimson which still drips down onto the earth, table, or other documents. Sackett must've put up a big fight with the man, fighting for his life while attempting to keep secret documents safe.

Finally snatching a discarded handkerchief, he runs back over to the man and falls down above him, a leg on either side in panic, pushing the cloth to his throat. Keep the patient in movement and a tight hold on the evident wound, Ben remembers from her essay he translated to Latin. Firm hold on throats, eye area, thighs, and chest.

"No, please. It's all right. It's all right. Don't-don't go," Ben looks down at Mr. Sackett who has his eyes open once more, choking, sounding almost he's trying to speak but his lungs are drowning in his blood.

Ben also fiddles with his coat to fish out the essay that is useful for this point in time.
"Get the doctor!" he shouts just when two guards walk in and take in the scene in shock, frozen in place.

But Ben didn't notice as he was soothing the old man, looking beneath him because he is hovering above the old man, "I'm here. It's all right. It's all right. Please don't go. Please stay with me. Get the doctor now! Doctor! Oh, God. Please don't go-"

A familiar voice, finally, he hears. Lillian's shriek of fright fills the tent when she pushed the tent flap up and was greeted by a sight she never dreamed of seeing.

Ben snaps his neck to turn to the healing woman, "Lilly!"

"No! No!" She cries, but not crying, yet, as she rushes next to Ben and Mr. Sackett, discarding her cloak and collapses on the ground and places her bare hand against his throat to lessen the blood, and tighten the nerves and muscle as well. Ben's hand atop hers adding to her strength and the pressure is helping, hearing some inhales from the old man through his nose. Her other hand went to the pulse behind his ear to keep count on his blood density.

"Stay with us! We need you!" She pleads the man, whose eyes are rolling in his sockets, choking out blood onto her dress. "I need you don't leave me! Your mind should feel blurry right now, don't let it. Think calm. We need to have our noon tea and talk as we discussed."

"Can you do something other than calming him?" Ben asks her pleadingly.

"I am! I'm stopping the blood—I can't do anything—" she grabs Mr. Sackett's face, tilting it up with Ben's help.

"I don't have my tools with me. Even if I did, they are no use, a doctor needs to be here. It's too severe anyways."
"No, no," Ben shakes his head, tears streaming down his face losing grip of the man's body meaning Mr. Sackett has lost too much blood, and can't withstand any more effort to stay alive.

"Keep his back straight don't give up yet! Doctor, now!" Lillian shouts to Ben, who doesn't climb off of the man, but he does shift the man, and even rubs his back.
"Please, Nathaniel. Don't go," Ben gags out a sob, eyes stinging with tears, waiting for Lillian to find anything in his throat.

"No knife,- there's so much blood. His throat is all torn up on the inside-" Lillian breaks into a sob.

"Is there anything for that! Stitch it-" Ben pleads to her, not meaning to almost order her to do it, but at this moment, Mr. Sackett grows lifeless.

"No!" Both Lillian and Benjamin cry out, sobbing deafeningly.

She looks away, clutching her stomach rocking back and forth on her knees while Ben still holds onto the man's pale face, and sightless eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," Ben repeats every breath he takes as he lays his head atop Mr. Sackett's.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

A hand on his shoulder, a much needed and comforting hand squeezes his right shoulder, and he looks up shamelessly into Lillian's same sorrowful, bloodshot, tear-stained eyes.

Seeing every ounce of hope for Mr. Sackett's survival leave Ben's flooded blue eyes, Lillian couldn't take it no more and found herself throwing herself onto the Major and hugging him tightly, which his bloody hands left Sackett's face and grabbed her around her already stained, satin waist tightly, hugging her close, continuing to sob with her.

"Breathe, breathe, we need to stop-" Lillian swallows salty saliva and attempts to control her breathing and tears.

"Your father is the one who needs to stop! He needs to stop assuming and knowing he is right all the time when he isn't. Head of intelligence deserves more trust than that. If he just listened to me! This debriefing wouldn't have happened! It could've.." He paused, reality hitting him in the chest for one last blow. "It should've been me debriefing him. If only I didn't defy your father-"

"Don't you dare say that!" Lillian scolds him, rubbing away her tears with hands with blood half-wiped off. "We need you of all people—Mr. Sackett said so himself. We have you, thank God. I have you Ben."

She hugs him once more, and finally he calms down, her words stirring his own blood and has picked up his already pre-shattered heart and shoved it back down is throat to where it belongs, somehow in one piece despite.

"And this isn't about trust," she adds in her shaken, soft voice. "He trusts you just as I do."

It could've been her… Is all he could think. He didn't argue back. But he did not dare let that fall from his lips or cross his mind any further than it already did.

"We couldn't have saved him Ben."

"You could've done something else, with your tools you didn't have of all times—"

"And do what? They would've only cut his throat open further. Losing that much blood profusely is like bloodletting a regular ill person. What's the point?" A paper caught her eye, tossed to the side and bent out of shape. It's in Latin, but she can only read the title and a couple words in every paragraph or so.

"That's why I sat down, in my bed surrounded by notes and tests, and began writing my theory of bloodletting. He actually did find a copy of it and read it. He was such an intelligent man."

Ben wipes his face, but standing up first shakily and taking his neck tie off to wipe his bloody hands.

Clearing his throat he corrects her, "Actually that was my copy. I pulled it out the moment I saw this. The original Latin version I translated in fact."

Swallowing she looks up at him, vision fuzzy with hot tears, "You followed protocol well. Good thing you got here when you did. We tried to save him this long."

"There has to be a way to save someone with a slit throat, still choking for survival. My mind instantly thinks no, especially on the field, but being in a doctor's or nurses care… You have me pondering now."

"There's nothing to fix a throat," she chokes on some leftover sobs, ceasing crying, but tears keep falling down her face. "But I wish there was."

Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she looks at Ben holding her cloak out down to her. The tent flaps are being opened by guards, snow flurries blowing in, many melting into the blood rapidly, and the doctor is just now rushing in.

"Use it for him. Cover him with it after their done… examining."

Handing him back her essay, his copy, she leaves the tent with arms folded across her front, walking unblinkingly back to her tent to change clothes.

"Please, please don't let us be done. We have to win this fight," Lillian prayed after Mr. Sackett's funeral procession that night. "Watch over our ring, each and every one of us. And every soldier, I pray they stay strong, survive, and find some happiness."

'You were never the target, sir. We were. Gamble stole vital documents, some of them containing the name Samuel Culper.'
Benjamin's words replayed in Lillian's mind every day since. "-To blind you, sir. If you had let me do my job."

Just be yourself. Just be yourself. Can't. Yes.

"Maria, why am I courting him again?" Lillian asks her friend, who is being her handmaiden at the moment, placing a simple feather headpiece on the side of her updo.

"Because you love him, obviously," she points out. "Or… you hold feelings for another and pretending that man is in Alexander's place. Who?"

Her eyes snap up to her face in disbelief, pushing Maria's hand away from her hair, "What? No there is no one else. Even if there was I'd never do that! I've just been not feeling as comfortable with him as I was at the ball this past summer."

Sighing, Lillian looks at her reflection in the mirror, astonished that she looks this… way. Like every other stylish upper class woman in this century, which is a good thing and she is all for fashion when it looks well, but dressing up for a man? A man she may be destined to marry? Why doll up so much every single time? Alexander hasn't even seen her in her simplest, laid-back form and attire. And truthfully, once she enters her home—excluding this past year where her mother made her—voluptuous gowns are all she wears. Then she thinks of her mother, she wears fancy gowns every day… Oh dear.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean? I'm just not me with him and I don't like it! I sometimes wish there were someone else."

Maria shushes her, "No need to get worked up. Look, I know you are a strong lady compared to many other… weak women." Lillian narrows her eyes at her dark toned friend. "But I know your sweet side, your 'weaker' side. You know what I mean, I mean it in the best way possible—"

The young Washington stands from her vanity chair and gets in her friends face, almost nose to nose, "How dare you call me weak, and women you don't even know that you compare and contrast me with weak!"

"Ma'am I'm sorry!"

Lillian blinks, feeling ashamed for have lost her temper so quickly which isn't in her character at all. The cold she had lasted two weeks, but the major symptoms such as vomit, and high fever went away after a week. It lasted this long because she didn't take her own advice and her parent's to stay inside. Instead, she was out and about not tending to sick people, but speaking to them, and visiting with Ben and Caleb when she could… which was barely even once a week.

See, her father placed the order back in session that she wasn't to be near Benjamin Tallmadge. This had her in an angered fit as well, going as far to exclaiming 'How are we supposed to get business done! We need to communicate! Why won't you lighten up with him!"

His only response was, "Lillian, I adore your charm in seeing the good in others, but as long as you are within my sight, in my range, and in this camp, you may not see him. I have found myself not holding as much trust in him as I once did. I already told you how he ambushed me to listen to him."

So it was about trust.

"He was trying to make a good point! And that doesn't sound too familiar at all. Doesn't it? He was deemed head of intelligence for a reason, and there was a reason he never left your side when Benedict Arnold asked him to be his aide-de-camp. Don't make the same mistake as you did prior to Mr. Sackett's untimely death."

"Do not speak back to me so brashly."

"No I'm sorry Maria. Forgive me," Lillian encloses her into a needed hug, which she returns, but not as needy. "It's alright Lilly. Look at me," she tilts her face up to hers, and when her eyes meet hers is Lillian only reminded how much older she has got in just a year. Stress, worry, and anxiety can do that to one.

"You are beautiful, and smart. You know when to look pretty, and you know when to crack that whip of wisdom you have," she smiles at the young Washington, who is changing before her eyes into a greater lady not as youthful in appearance and ways as she once was.

"I sure do," Lillian snickers. "But not with Alexander. I can't say all that is on my mind with him and in my mouth to say. I have conversation with him yes, and intelligent ones at many times… But it's basic, astonishingly. It's not what I consider to be my valued words spilling from my lips. Sometimes I'm all giggles and goo-goo eyes, but times I just want to tell him to be quiet so I can have a chance to speak regularly but I can't do that. Not since the ball."

Maria swallows, questioning, "Why can't you?"

"It's most of the time around other people, and it would make him look bad, and I too. And it hurts even more when it is just us. It's serious every time, and all about time. He believes in a utopian world that only speaks intellectually every single moment."

Both women feeling a pang hit their chest, the bigger one hitting Lillian's because she finally was able to form her words and admit this to someone she trusts.

"What a paradise that'd be, but it's not reality. It'll all be well, don't you worry darling. You will make it right. Til' then I'll be praying for you. I'm here for you too," Maria bows down her head, and leaves the young woman in the tent alone to herself for space, and because another servant called for her aid elsewhere.

"What is right anymore? Help me, please, God. In the name of the Holy Spirit, please lead me to where I need to be, Amen," Lillian cries in a hushed prayer. "Give me strength to not cry. And give me Patsy back, please. And Mr. Sackett. I was me when I was with them."

The temperature has dropped even more so in the late November, now officially the winter season. Snow does not fall evenly throughout the day, but it does snow at least once a day, but lightly, and leaving splotches of it on the earth like dropped face powder. No scent but mildewed water, and dirt if there is a scent for it. Potent.

"Derik!" Lillian steps out her tent and calls out to the servant tending to some weary cold horses nearby. He has been her main escort in every winter camp outing. One of her father's personal guardsmen, and also a correspondence secretary such as writing the genera's words, Joseph, is rarely an escort for her as well. He is there when Derik is not available, Maria, or Alexander Hamilton. A quiet man, blushing like a tomato just listening to her ask 'how have you been?' and is always unprepared for moving about camp, so he is buttoning his coat every time.

"I'll be there soon Miss Washington!" Derik responds.

But so quickly her attention was diverted from her escort to Benjamin walking towards her, who she hasn't seen in days. He wears his same, regulated uniform: blue coat, polished dark brown boots, yellow pants that are considerably tight on him and she has yet to point that out to him… but that is inappropriate, not her place to say, and she forgets. To tell him of course, definitely not forgetting how much the fabric clings to his athletic, lean legs.

Her eyes were on his face, though. The entire moment. He sent her a look, but she couldn't decipher it but settled for that it meant to look inconspicuous at him walking towards her when he shouldn't be.

As tired as he looks, his eyes shine with strength and high regard, hiding away any worry that was in his eyes before.

Effortlessly, when he was only two steps away from her, he plucked a dried up flower from his coat pocket. A dead flower from the antique vase in Mr. Sackett's old tent.

He handed it to her, allowing their hands to brush faintly, before locking them together. His gentle hand hold lingering, crunching the flower which she feels a piece of paper scratching her hand while their eyes hold contact as if communicating a secret language.

"Have a good day Miss Lillian. I hope to see you soon," he voices, kissing her dry knuckles, before parting from her hand to carry on his straight posture. "I'd wear gloves even when it isn't snowing if I were you. Don't want your lovely little hands to freeze off." Ben! How bold you just were! He is asking to be hung by his toes by my father personally! More importantly, where did that come from?

"You too Major Tallmadge, I hope to see you as well," she tells him as they share the slightest of small smiles before he walks off.

It was less than a second, maybe half a second, but it changed everything. At least to her it did.

"You really need to stop seeing him behind my back," Derik appears next to her, frustrated with nostrils flaring. "Every time I look away he's there. That's how killers do it."

She rolls her eyes at the stableman, and her friend, "He isn't a killer. Is that what my father said?"

"No, but he made me heed his warning. He told me about his ruthless interrogation techniques. If he catches him here and I'm not with you, I'll get in trouble."

"You won't get in trouble. He'll just fuss at you. Besides, I'm in the process of convincing him to not treat Ben that way. By the way, he isn't ruthless."

"Ben?"

Her eyes widen, "The Major. Sorry, my mistake. I'm still in shock from the death; I was giving him orders, no time for formalities." She partially lied.

He scoffs, "I was about to say, you can't possibly love him."

"Why not?" she mumbles, walking away from Derik like he said something wrong.

"Do you?" He runs about beside her, so they can walk side by side in stride to nowhere. They were just walking around the camp, but the closest parts to her tent.

"As a friend yes." After she spoke these few words, she got a headache from rethinking what she said, and her throat felt dry.

'In order to secure safe passage to York City, Culper offered to spy for the enemy to cover his true work for 711.'

"Abe, you dumb bastard," Caleb utters, throwing the letter from Anna up, but still in his tight grasp as he takes a swig of Madeira in his other hand.

Sighing after a satisfying gulp of the sweet and sultry wine, the dark bottle is taken forcibly by two hands belonging to no one other than Benjamin, who continues walking quickly in a heap of anger, drinking it as he walks.

Mustn't be good, Caleb thinks. He knows his friend from the back of his hand. When Ben drinks, it isn't a good thing because he has little to no tolerance for any alcoholic beverage. The only reason he ever drunk is because he is very unhappy which leads to rage, and said rage leads to actual damage. Never forgetting hearing from Ben back in March 1771 that he, Nathan, and his older brother (all attendees of Yale) were fined heavily (a shilling and five pence) for breaking windows following a prolonged visit to a local tavern. Ben, who had drunk deeper of the addicting amber nectar than the Hales, was amerced another seven pence for additional damage to college property. Unhappy from what however or just exposed to drinking for the first time, he didn't know. He thinks it was just his first time drinking, which had gone wrong.

"Right, so I guess it didn't go well, then," Caleb follows behind him, beginning to get answers out of him.

"I'm being transferred," Ben announces miserably.

"He's dismissing you from camp?"

"I'm no longer head of intelligence," Ben, this time, says sounding finished.

Caleb, rather infuriated himself at the commanding general, spots the hidden anger about to come out Ben's mouth, "Just goes to show he ain't got no head for intelligence himself!"

"He blames me twice. First for being a bad influence on Lillian. I caused her to think irrationally and to rebel from her parents. What do I look like her rough older brother?"

"Well if she were from little Setauket then I'd have my suspicions. But no! She's still the strong headed woman she's always been."

Ben stares at him crassly, "For that I won't say anything further on her. But this one is the real kicker."

"Says a man with no experience in anything dealing with women. Women are always the kicker," Caleb smirks. "Even if she's a thick in the head general's daughter."

Ben ignored him as he continued explaining further, "Second is Abe going rogue. He says if I couldn't command obedience from a friend handpicked for the task, then what hope do I have of gaining it from any other asset?"

"Well, I'm an asset, aren't I?" Ben takes a moment to stop at his friends words, and melodramatically turn to him in annoyance. "Not that I always do what you tell me, right," Caleb sighs as his smirk fades.

"Lil' Washington is an asset. And other fine 'ass' things."

Thumping the back of Caleb's head with his hand, the sullen Major frowns, "Not in the field she isn't which is where I need people. And watch your mouth; you're probably the only one left on Washington's good side, surprisingly."

Walking only a couple feet further until Ben stops again, to gulp down some more Madeira through his tightly lined lips set in the same frown, with an overall flustered face and growls out, "Come the new year, I'm being sent to Boston to appraise the status of their defenses. What horse shite!It's a good thing Abe's in prison, otherwise I'd strangle the bastard with my own bare hands. How could he just lie to us like that?"

"Calm down," Caleb tries to quiet the blue uniformed man who is speaking over the regular conversation sound level. "You lie to him all the time, Ben. We both did right from the beginning."

"No, this is different. Pretending to be a double agent, he's caught himself in his own damn web," Ben spits as he throws the entire glass bottle of Madeira, smashing it on the stones surrounding a small fire, the flames sizzling from the disturbance.

"Hey!" Caleb's jaw drops. "Now, that's just a waste of good Madeira."

"It's over, Caleb. It's all over," Ben shakes his head, smacking his dry lips and wishing he didn't smash the bottle.

"Would you just calm down? It's not over," Caleb walks closer to Ben so they are conversing lower. "We have Lillian who is trying to get Freddy back into the city where he belongs and to meet up with this Mulligan fellow on missing intelligence the Lt. Colonel mentioned. And according to Anna, if we get Hewlett back to Setauket, he can release Abe from prison, right? And then we're back in business. So where is Major Hewlett? Our defender of Long Island?"

"Being held at an outpost near New Haven. He's been found guilty of wartime atrocities," Ben answers neglectfully.

"Atrocities?"

"Yeah, that's right. They said that he murdered their commander, wrote a note in his blood, and pinned his tongue to it. They were quite specific, and now they're calling for Washington to sign off on his execution."

Caleb hums at the gross detail, looking off to the side in thought for a split second before turning back to his tall friend, "Well, the man did try and blow me up with his cannon, but he never at all seemed to me like a fiend."

"No, he released my father, he arrested Simcoe, he held to our truce. He seemed like a man of honor."

"Well, did you tell that to Washington?" Caleb eyes widen in disbelief. He swears Ben is thick in the head at times too!

"No. He hasn't decided what to do yet. But he does not feel compelled to free an alleged murderer on behalf of a failed spy," Ben speaks low the last two words, feeling like one himself. A failed head of intelligence.

"Lilly can do no convincing?"

"Even if she tried, no. That isn't her business anyway she is dealing with her own problems while healing and spying."

"Maybe we make up his mind for him then. If Hewlett's still there come the New Year, we can make a detour on the way to Boston, right? Outrank those New Haven boys," Caleb blinks hesitantly, coming up with the plan as he speaks.

"They're not likely to just hand him over."

"Right," Caleb smiles, pausing long enough to make sure Ben understands him. "Well, then, we kidnap him ourselves. Make it look like those lobsters stole him back."

"Just the two of us?"

"Yeah."

"If Washington found out he'd—" Ben thinks of the serious and courageous general, but in all a Virginia gentleman; his loving wife by his side every winter, courageous herself and extraordinarily kind to every man she talks to boosting their morale; and his endearing daughter soon follows. The same vision of her the first day he saw her dressed in a gold gown is permanently carved in his mind for life. A gold dress as if the sun made it, and ivory brocade, as if the snow kissed it, and her glowing olive white skin, as if the finest gloss was painted on her innocent doll like frame. She looked, and still looks, like sweet survival; after all she's been through out of her control, it's almost criminal. And she continues carrying herself with grace and happiness.

"He'd come round," Caleb watches his friends eyes reflect on some thought he was having, as he was beginning to share the same smile as he. But little did he know it was about something, someone, entirely different from Abe, and George Washington.

"Abe isn't just Abe. He's Culper."

"Father, mother, excuse me. I wondered if I might ask a favor," Lillian starts, as she enters her father's tent, her mother being with him tonight. Drawing the plush hood back of her cloak revealing the shiny glow of satin, her father nods in affirmation so she continues to ask.

"Can I travel to New York for a few days?"

"For what?" This time her mother asks.

"To visit Samuel Culper. To reassure myself that he's all right and to reassure him that his family and we haven't forgotten about him. And to visit my hairdresser, Freddy."

As expected, her father's eyes bulged out his face as he choked on his tea. I should've told him to put it down, she berates herself. This may not end well now.
"I'm afraid I can't allow that. A prison is no place for a woman, nevertheless—"

"-my daughter. Yes, I'm your daughter. I've been exposed to the dangers of the world father, I'm sure I can handle New York, and a prison where the sick thrive particularly this time of year. The University would like to have me back to become a doctor and possibly teach one day, but they would like to see more experience then war camps. Prison will be a huge leap for me."

"More college? When did you find this out?" Her mother's voice is softer than her father's breathy, now rumbling voice, so Lillian didn't hear her.

"My god, only my Lilly would think of prison as a huge leap for her career," George stands up from his chair at the small table, where he and his wife were playing cards and sipping tea. He went to refill his teacup from the kettle on the fire. "And no you haven't been exposed to every danger of the world! Think before you speak. Have you forgotten our enemy is positioned in every single inch of New York?"

"They… they don't know what I look like," she sighs, remembering when the war began of this warning be told to her, even though some may not know what she looks like, or if she exists, others can spread rumor and it could leak to the British's ears.

"I was right. He has been a terrible influence on you. You aren't thinking properly anymore. That is my fault," her father then says which makes her eyes snap to his in defense.

"Who?" Both her and her mother ask him.

"Major Tallmadge."

"No!" Lillian snaps at him, which makes him narrow his eyes and raise a brow. "More like you should ask yourself 'what are you thinking!' 'Think before you speak' father."

"Lilly! That's enough," her mother tries to stop her from her seat at the table, but she only shakes her head at her mother, full out rebelling against them both.

"You're wrong too! How many times have you asked me since day one, 'why don't you see Major Tallmadge? You are quite happy and taken by him.' How many mother? And yet you still act like my feelings and he don't exist."

"Martha.." George questions her with an annoyed, low grumble from his throat.

"Many," she answers. "This has nothing to do with what you're arguing about. And feelings? What feelings? You say there aren't any when I ask."

"He's my friend. One of my closer friends, those feelings," she answers clearly, but once again her throat is dry after she says it, and her heart thuds in dull pain.

"Friend or not, he is a bad influence on you, and most of all me and this army. Therefore I removed him as Head of Intelligence, to save any further damage. And that is all you need to know," George says returning to his chair calmly, but only setting his teacup down, gaging his daughter's reaction.

"You didn't!" She bites her lip and swallows back some thick saliva generated from her nerves. "Are you mad!"

"Yes I am for allowing you to continue to talk that way to me," he frowns, looking at her in disappointment which only angers her more. He caused it!

"Well it seems you have as little feeling for me as you have for the good of your army. You lost a good man. Have you even spoken to him since… yesterday? Surely you're not going to just let him languish in resentment towards us stationed in another god-forsaken pit. If he was my head of intelligence, I'd be doing everything that I could to help him, and show him his errors to fix."

"The army is not meant to teach such things one should already know. That was his father's job before sending him off into the world. And how would that teach him a lesson? Benjamin should use this time to reflect on the error of his ways, as perhaps you should reflect on the error of yours."

"The error of mine? Well, that is a large list, but it seems to narrow down in my mind to existing. It's an error for me to exist to begin with."

Her parent's intake of breath made her heart shatter, just as theirs, but it's true. The darkness of depression is enveloping the rest of her insides and threatening to burst out now.

"You say I do everything right, then when I do mess up you claim I'm doing everything wrong. What logic is that? I've been communicating with Ben through writing, because he has been my only solace, next to Caleb, to speak to about personal grievances and matters. In that time of reflection, I've learned I don't need to change, and I never did change. You both have. This war has both of you thinking irrational for the welfare of my future. Mostly you father. And dare I say it has you thinking irrational for the welfare of this country."

"How so?" Her father asks simply, with his breathy voice, having listened intently to every word she said.

"You lost one of our champions. My champion in my eyes. Major Benjamin Tallmadge, who never lost sight of what's important to him, the brains behind finding out every recent enemy statistic, even more now since Mr. Sackett is no longer with us, and he never abandons me."

Her eyes shut somewhere during her speaking, hot tears streaming down her cheeks from her strong words to both her parents. She shook when she heard her father stand up, the chair creaking, and he made his way over to her.

But he wouldn't slap her. Never.

"Have I abandoned you?" He asks quietly.

Eyes still shut, she nods her head slowly, ashamed that it's come to this.

"You abandoned my spirit, meaning you're not looking at me as your daughter anymore, but just a delimited female. War and work is no excuse. That is the reason why I'm not myself lately. Benjamin is not the blame. You're my father, and I love you, and I counted on you to never lose sight of your real little girl, the one you met the first night I stayed at your home. I shouldn't need someone's support, but after my scarring childhood, that's what I need to survive. Yours above all. That's why I had not many friends, but when I did, do, I know I have them at my call and aid, whether its help or just to talk. They see me for who I am, accept it, and love me, and whatever is going on it doesn't change them. They're the same after all this time. And no matter what, they always find a way to be at my side."

"I am sorry, Lillian," he tells her, tears escaping the far corners of his eyes. "I never meant to. I didn't even want to be the last person who would hurt you. I'm so sorry."

His hands rest on her shoulders, and at this she opens her eyes; her sensitive, fragile, fearing eyes which have remained the same since he adopted her. She has only grown up on the outside and learned how to mask everything with a confident face and smile.

"I've lived in your house long enough to know when it comes to politics, you're an even greater businessman. You don't really believe Ben is untrustworthy, you just believe getting rid of him is the safest bet. I thought it was a rule, no bets or gambles in our house and in this army."

This makes him smirk momentarily.

"You need to choose between what's good for you and what's good for the future of our country."

Pulling her close after drying her eyes, hugging her tight, he exclaims in one breath, "You are right."

That night, Lillian sneaks to the even darker wooden barn blending in with the night and snow, falling considerably now, but just enough so she can still see.

Opening the heavy door with ease, she steps in quickly, looking back outside to make sure she wasn't seen, before shutting it with her gloved hands, tightly.

Exhaling, she calls for him, "Ben?"

"I'm here, just a moment."

Furrowing her eyebrows at his far off voice, she makes her way to where she heard his voice, spying the contraption to copy and rewrite documents on the way. What a fiasco that ended up being.

"I didn't know you could fit so much writing onto a small bit of paper, crumble it, and put it in a dried up flower."

"It worked though, didn't it?" He calls back, still unseen in the dark barn with only one candle lit in the middle.

"Where are you? I'm not going to keep talking to nothing. We need more light too! I have my own news to share."

Finally, she hears his footsteps sounding towards her, boots thudding on the wooden boards, but stumbling?

"Ben what's wrong? Why are you—" his tall form comes closer to the candle light, with another candle in his hand already lit, but he looks beaten up. "Are you drunk?"

"No… yes… I slept it off all day, nothing much to do since I've been stripped of my important duty which actually meant much more than Major of the 2nd Continental Light dragoons."

She sighs as she takes the candle from him, and places it down as she sees his uniform is all in place, black cloak surrounding him like a blanket because the barn is drafty, but his hair is down loose, no ribbon tying it back making him now look roguishly handsome.

"Not for long you'll be stripped of that. He knows he lost a good man, I didn't even have to tell him that. He should be calling you back to him soon— Ben you look like you're about to pass out your eyes are dark."

Rubbing his face he groans, "No! I'm fine, please. I just woke up when I heard the door. I doubt he'll call me back, no need to convince him anymore Lillian. It's not your place to get in between two men who can't get along, nevertheless a Major and the Commanding General. But we tried. From the bottom of my heart I thank you…" he drags a chair over to the table, and sits down sloppily, "sincerely."

Huffing, she bites her lip, "Shut up."

She goes to get a chair, and drags it back to the table purposely letting it screech on the boards loudly, then sitting in it gently, taking her white gloves off and slapping them on the table, "Am I safe to be in your presence right now? Because we still have business to tend to."

As if that question snapped him out of his drunken stupor, he straightened and his eyes glisten now with remorse, "Of course. I'd never do anything cruel to you."

"Fine then. Now would you like to tell me more of your dilemma, or listen to my dilemma? Personally, I'd rather hear yours."

"Well, personally I'd rather hear yours," he laughs gently. "Ladies first."

"You're drunk, speak while you still can or so help me I'll give you some nasty tasting medicine that'll make you wish you'd never took a sip of that awful beverage that made you not yourself," she replies back with authority in her tone.

"Is that a threat my lady?"

"Why yes it was, Major."

Every word said in a slurry jest, but in that moment he felt his heart throb in pain when she spat back at him, somewhat playful but she was serious.

"Fine, I'm being relocated to Boston to appraise the status of their defenses come the new year."

What? "Boston? Of all places why there?" She asks him with a tight swallow. Why am I feeling so sad? It's only relocation. And my father disbanded him as head of intelligence.

"I don't know, but obviously someone is needed there to 'appraise' their status. It seems more like a messenger's job, or Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton's job. He looks like a good appraiser."

A short eruption of laughter spills out her mouth, but she is quick to cover it, not wanting to draw attention to the building by being loud.

"You're so funny. Did you ever think to make my father laugh? A good joke can probably fix it."

He guffaws with a smirk, "Coming from a rather serious person herself. But no, it didn't cross my mind, and if it did I'd never. If anything I learned in this army, always stay professional, even when you don't have to be. And I'm sorry for insulting the Lieutenant just then."

Waving his apology off, she responds to what he exclaimed before, "My how familiar does that sound. I have to do the same. At least you don't have to return home anytime soon and maintain it always and forever."

"Hey," he reaches across and touches her hand, laying his on top of hers. "There's a difference between being professional and the common, dutiful lady. In your case, the latter, it won't be for long. One day you will not have to stick to society's standards even in your own home. After the talk you had with your parents you told me—" fight, she thinks. "—they should be loosening up. You're their only daughter yes, but it is time you make your own choices. You went to college did you not? Now you do what you want with the rest of your life. And I mean that in the kindest way possible, I don't mean to influence you wrongly."

Smiling she moves her hand around so she can hold his, "You never did and never will influence me wrongly. As you have exceptionally showed me, you are a moral gentleman. You make me better myself to be someone I always wanted to be. Thank you, Ben."

He waves off her gratitude with red cheeks, doing this taking his hand out of hers to fold his hands in his lap to calm his sudden uneasiness, "Now tell me your dilemma."

Letting out a sigh, she begins to fear his reaction.

"Well the good news I have is that Freddy wrote me—the same time I wrote to him about him returning to the city to spy around."

Ben's eyes widen anxiously, and lean back straightens against the chair, "Yes?"

"Freddy was there in the house of Major John Andre the night… Gamble returned to him with our vital documents."

"What is he doing there at his house? And what did Gamble say? He better not have been caught," Ben's mouth flies open with questions and other worries, even jumping out of his chair to drag his chair closer to hers to perhaps hear every word so clear. At least he is focusing more now and not depressing himself for nothing.

"He is my hairdresser and Peggy Shippen's. She was visiting John Andre, god only knows why, and Freddy was there to style her hair at the ready," she explains, playing with her chilled, shaking hands while doing so, but not wanting to put her gloves back on just yet. She's trying to build up on what she is about to say.

"Benedict Arnold has mentioned her once to me. They seem smitten with each other last I talked to him," Ben interrupts with a hand under his chin, looking at nothing in particular past Lillian.

"He loves anything wearing silk with breasts and fortune, go figure," she muttered under her breath, not meaning to say it aloud at all.

"I meant to say that in my head," she glares at Ben playfully at his rumbling laughter, eyes closing shut and causing his round cheeks to look even redder.

"Well, you didn't mean to because you said it aloud."

She cuts him off distractedly, "Anyway, back to more important things, Peggy and the handmaiden went upstairs. Freddy was in the other parlor downstairs when Gamble arrived in the rain. He was setting up his little area for hair styling, so Andre paid him no mind saying he'd be in his office, but when he was finished setting up he went looking for Peggy and him, quietly of course because everyone disappeared. Going down the hallway he heard Andre and Gamble talking in the office. In his letter he details—"

"Do you have it?" she nods at his question solemnly. "May I see it?"

Nodding again, sighing regrettably she hands it to the major. She felt explaining it herself would sound better. She is after all the communicator from her people to Ben. Even though Freddy is really her only person now, she still feels the same way.

Ben takes the half folded paper, and opens it to rather fancy hand writing coming from a man.

It read:

Miss Lillian Kennedy,

I regrettably have to inform you of the trouble about to havoc on the spy ring. First, fear not, I sent this after I left Major John Andre's house for better delivering purposes, as sending hair tools to my lover wouldn't seem plausible in the British head of intelligence's eyes. I was invited by Miss Peggy Shippen to tend to her hair during her stay in the household. Putting much gossip aside that my core begs to tell you, fellow friend—because she and I made no promise to spread rumor about one another—as I was setting up in the visiting parlor, a man by the name of a Lt. Gamble arrived in the pouring rain. I heard John Andre greet the man, and silence followed. After unpacking I treaded carefully down the hallway, keeping my promise to you in mind on finding anything out on the British, but in all honesty I half excepted Peggy and Andre to be making love in his office quarters.

I stopped before I approached the closed doors of Major Andre's office, and eavesdropped on the unpleasant conversation about all of yours wellbeing.

Lt. Gamble knows of Major Benjamin Tallmadge being the main man in charge, not this Sackett who appeared to be an advisor to him during a debriefing. Andre was rather surprised Ben. Tallmadge was appointed Major having last heard of his 'interrogation methods.' Whatever that may mean.

They have the intelligence Culper sent to you on the naval strength in New York Harbor, Andre confessing the numbers are accurate, congratulations on that feat.

Of course, this allows them to believe Washington has a man inside New York by the name of Samuel Culper, whose name was in the letters. Andre strongly believes Culper lives on Long Island, Oyster Bay or Flatbush.. I apologize I'm remembering as much places he quoted as I could.

Lt. Gamble mentioned you, 'what of this Lillian Kennedy?' He doesn't believe you to be one of the ladies washing the officer's uniforms in the camp and neither does Andre. Since your name was 'bearing close resemblance' to one of Culper's, your names on one letter, and a separate paper on tasks you have yet accomplished, Andre believes you to be on the surrounding areas of Long Island as well—as far as New York City.

Andre has Captain Simcoe, who is quartered in Long Island with Queen's Rangers for the winter, and will have him scour the island for Culper and you.

I pray for your safety, friend. I apologize for the grief and stress it causes you (your hair must be a mess), as you have suffered enough already.

Stay hidden and careful writing back to me, especially with your alias.

Best wishes, and will await to hear from you,

Freddy.

Lillian watched Ben read it with worried eyes, his eyes blinking in anger on what documents they have lost—and the man is even further enraged John Andre will have Simcoe scour the island for Abe and Lillian!

Breathing heavily, and looking down at the ground with closed eyes, he crunches the paper together with his hands before letting it fall loosely to the ground.

"It's not over yet, Ben. Far from it. We need to remain calm. Freddy's letter was unexpected," she goes to stand up slowly so she can stand in front of him. "We need to begin cleaning the mess we have on our hands."

His fists unclench and fly in front of him to grab her hands tightly, eyes as wild as his disarrayed hair.

"A mess that's all my fault for not keeping you safe as I said and promised! Have you met or even seen Simcoe? He will heed orders, and will kill a spy, man or woman without a second glance! My tortures on him weren't enough."

Blinking at his cracking voice, sounding as if he is in heartache, she adds with a shake of her head, "It isn't your fault! Get that through your head. What about Abe? Abe is more important than I, he is the one who is in prison right now! Not to mention, Culper had more of the detailed reports so they will be looking into him more than a woman—who is probably a messenger in their eyes. We—You and my father need him much more than me! So I will drop out of this spy ring, for my own safety and the ring."

Benjamin bites his dry bottom lip during her words, causing it to bleed because they are so chapped and he is this worried, "I need you both! You will not drop out just yet I need you more than you realize."

"And you will have me if you stop worrying and focus on the matter at hand!"

"I have plenty of time later, even on my ride to Boston to focus! Let me worry now and accept my failure—" he paused because his head sharply turned right, and he felt a growing sting on his cheek from a small hand which slapped him.

"You won't be going anywhere if you keep this attitude up. Do not speak of failure in front of me. Do not worry in front of me, being the strong man we both know—we all know—you are. I am here in front of you now, safe and sound in the Continental Army camp where no Simcoe will get to me. I am far from New York and Long Island where my alias will be hunted. And they don't know who Culper or Miss Kennedy is."

The whole time she spoke he was looking down, off to the right, still in place from the effect of her slap.

"Why did you slap me?"

"What, you think it assault? Then no, I slapped you to wake you up from the nightmare you were having in your own thoughts. I slapped my best friend is what I did, and I am not sorry, I'm sorry to say."

His breath and nose let out a couple huffs of laughter at her apologizing for not being sorry. She even let out a soft giggle at how silly she sounded.

"I'm sorry for slapping you. It was uncouth of me," she still apologized, and looked away from him ashamedly.

His fingers go under her chin, turning her to face him gently, "I deserved it. I'm sorry for being uncouth in front of you of all people. You are right, it isn't that worrisome the more I let it sink in. It will be a while before they find fake people."

She narrows her eyes, "You can't find fake people. They won't find us."

"Not if Abe is returned to Setauket, where Simcoe will scour daily for traitors there."

"Good old Abe," Lillian exhales. "They will hunt me down though. Andre sounded very intent on finding us—"

"As he should, but he won't find out anyone, especially you," his hand snaked around her waist and smoothly tugged her closer to him. She had completely forgot his fingers were under her chin they are so warm. "You have my word."

She nods her head, lost in the paradise of his blue eyes the light blue shiny reef of the sea. It is only the beginning to a deeper ocean. But feeling her heart twist, and her mind drifts to Alexander Hamilton, she takes his hand and lowers it away from her face with regret.

He looks at her confused, until she removes his hand around her waist which is when he realizes what he has done.

"You forget yourself Ben."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you did nothing wrong, honestly. It must be midnight already; it's late for the both of us. It's time I head out. Meet me here first thing in the morning, alright? We'll speak further on what precautions to take."

"Alright but please, are you uncomfortable with me now?" I asks restlessly.

"Of course not. You care for me as I do you," she answers with a smile causing him to lose all restlessness in his face to a broad smile.

Putting her gloves back on, and picking up the letter from Freddy on the ground, placing it in the pocket of her dress, she tells the black cloaked Major lastly, "Since I care for you, I will ask of you to not drink anymore, at least around me. Drunk men are one of my many fears and least favorites."

Ben's mind swirling with so many different thoughts, but smiling even larger at her sounding like her regular self, the self he met the first time they communicated—bold, broad, and mysteriously graceful.

"Of course Miss Washington."

Laughing, she opens the door and flings it shut behind her leaving Ben in a whole other mess, but this mess only his own and no one else's.

A/N: *long sigh* Love is in the air... But so is death and danger muahaha. *clears throat* But that's reality, at least for this story in one of history's most happening times. I apologize for the wait, I didn't expect to take this long with the chapter, but that's what I get for combining the end of Sealed Fate with Houses Divided- and even harder, Ben and Caleb didn't have as much screen time in Houses Divided, and weren't in the Valley Forge episode at all! But that chapter may be up quick because my imagination is zapping onto the keyboard like lightening without having to follow a certain script of dialogue and what not.

So... Ben is depressed, not Head of Intelligence any more. Caleb and Ben plan to kidnap Major Hewlett back in order to get Abe out of prison. Lillian faces relationship problems with Alexander Hamilton. Lillian argues with her parents, but makes up in a way. Abe is a 'dumb bastard,' as said by Caleb lol. And finally (drunk/hangover/ whatever you want to call it) Ben and Lillian have a moment... so close to kissing! Sorry to keep you on the edge of your seats, don't throw rocks at me. BUT I PROMISE they will kiss verryyyy soon *hint hint*. Thanks to the awesome hair stylist and spy Freddy, they were warned of John Andre ordering Simcoe to scour the island for Culper and Lillian Kennedy. Will Simcoe make a grand appearance next? Or will someone else, quite expected, pop up out of nowhere?

Follow me to Valley Forge, next chapter. Stay tuned!

I anxiously await the snowy campsight (perfect timing for being December! Totally unplanned for working out that way lol) ; and thank you all for continuing to read, favorite, review, and follow! :)

-BrownEyedGirl87