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Alexander collapsed onto his bunk as John whined,

"Ben, you were a teacher, help me."

"Laurens, I taught reading and writing, history and maths, I'm as clueless as Alex when it comes to dancing."

"Laf?"

"Non, I cannot dance. I was humiliated in front of half the court back in France for my lack of skills. I think, my friend, you must teach our Petit Lion alone."

"You have all failed me."

"Failed you, I'm the one who's supposed to be learning. Shame on you both, making John teach me alone."

"Alex, it'll be fine. Once you have the basic steps the actual dances kind of fall together. You'll get it."

"John, we've been at this for two hours and I'm no closer to being able to dance than I was then."

"Well, you and John must keep it up, yes, Benjamin and I have other work to do."

"Lafayette's right, we have things to do, but you too keep dancing, I'm sure you'll get it, Alex. If not, do what I do and stand by the walls listening to people."

Alex groaned as the two left the tent.

He groaned differently when arms wrapped around him from behind, their bodies pressing close.

"Let's do the steps again, Alex."

"You know I won't be able to focus with you like this."

"I think you're going to have to," he sung, pressing his lips to the back of Alex's neck, "aren't you Lexy?"

"Ugh, what were they?"

"Step two three, back to three, step two three, left two three."

Alex had to step, to make sure John's legs didn't trip his own. John had decided it was the best way to teach him the male steps, because he could hardly show up at a dance knowing the wrong steps.

But he adored being this close to his love, back to chest. John guided his arm movements with a firm grip on his wrists and his head was resting on Alexander's shoulder, whispering the steps in his ear.

When he wasn't giving steps, he was whispering praise on his advancement, something that made him keen. John's voice was angelic, the most amazing thing he'd ever heard, and whispering praise in his ears made his knees buckle.

Alex spun around, pressing their chests together, noses brushing.

This dance was less practiced, it wasn't the steps you'd see on a ballroom floor, no this was just for the sake of being close. Holding each other close and swaying, stepping back and forth to a song no-one could hear.

After a few minutes of just swaying against each other, Alex pressing kisses to John's neck and jaw, John twisted him again, making him do the steps over. His love wasn't going to let him seduce his way out of learning the damned dance, apparently.

"Don't pout."

"You can't even see my face."

"It's a beautiful face, and I know when it's pouting."

Johns breath ghosted over his ear as he spoke, and Alex couldn't help but lean into him as he repeated the steps once again.

So what if he was pouting?

He pressed his body back slightly and John's breath hitched before he nudged Alex's feet back into the first position.

"Keep that up and you're sleeping alone. I won't touch you all night."

Alex went back to the steps. He wasn't risking that.

.

.

.

Alexander knew the mission had been going too well. He'd run missions like this frequently before joining his father's camp, and there was always something.

This mission hadn't had it's something.

Not when they'd crossed the Schuylkill river, not when they'd taken the mill, nor when they'd lit the fires. In fact, they'd only heard the British yelling as they re-boarded their boats to go back across the river.

Oh but then the shooting started. He ducked as the first spray of shots echoed out, pushing one of his men down out of the way as he went. He righted himself to order a return fire and see what they were up against.

Gunshots rang out around him as they fired back, but too late he realised the Redcoats were preparing something.

A cannon.

They had a cannon.

"Get to the riverbank, now. Go. Archer, Cooper, take the men on the cannons."

They had time, if the tide was with them, to make it to reach the treeline before the British prepped the cannon. They'd have to abandon the boats, but his men would live.

He fired a shot of his own into one of the men on the cannon, and saw another fall, but he also saw the cannon light.

"Bail out."

He dove into the water and several of his men followed. As he hit the water, the boat he'd been on exploded into splinters.

He tried yelling at his men to get to the shore, but he wasn't certain if they could hear him. The flow of the water was so strong, he was already barely keeping himself from being dragged downstream.

He could see his men being pulled to safety, either being pulled into the boats or to shore from them.

Alex clutched the side of the boat, with another man in his grasp, and pushed him forwards, to the men pulling people onto their boat. Once he was on board, they'd pull him up.

But Alex wasn't going to make it, he reached up for one of the men, it was too dark to see which but he couldn't get a grip. He was holding onto the side of the boat with his right arm and he could feel it seizing up, the pain shooting from fingers to shoulder in a manner so all engulfing that his vision went grey. His hand spasmed and he slipped from the other man's hold.

Alexander went under.

For a period of time lost to him, there was no river, no gunfire, no cannon, no swimming, no sky, no forests, no birds, no stars. There was only the pain.

He broke the surface of the water with a splutter, choking up river water. The pain was fading, but he couldn't move his arm, not with the strength he'd need to get to shore with a current this strong. He could make out a faint glow behind him, that of the fire, but he couldn't see men or hear gunfire, the water too loud and the battle too far upstream. Instead, he leant backwards and floated down the river on his back, all too aware the waters cold could kill him if he didn't escape it in time.

He had to stay awake.

Eventually he spotted what he needed, a downed tree leaning out over half the river. This was his moment. Ignoring the strain in his muscles and the pure exhaustion he felt, he struggled to the tree, then to the shore.

He dropped to his knees, then onto his back, on the muddy bank. He staired up, wishing for stars to guide him home, but God was not with him.

Flakes of snow began to fall from the sky.

He hated snow.

Part of him wanted to stay where he was, to lie back and sleep and let the snow take him.

Would they find his body?

Martha and George, his parents, they were waiting for him to come home. His father was waiting for him back at camp. His mother was at Mt Vernon, she was alone.

In his mind's eye he saw him sitting at his desk, in the candle light, looking out at the same snow beginning to fall, worry creasing his brow because Alex and his men weren't back yet. He saw his father watching the men return, seeing that he wasn't among them, seeing WIlliams, if he'd survived, letting him know Alex had been taken by the river. He saw George realising he'd lost his son a second time, saw the guilt on his face, saw his hand shake as he penned the letter to Martha.

He saw his mother reading the letter that her son was dead.

He saw Laf, Ben...

John.

He had to get back to camp.

He rolled onto his front and forced himself to his knees, then his feet.

He stumbled into the trees; in the direction he hoped the camp was.

'Don't give up on me, pa, I'm coming back. I'm coming home.'

Alexander stumbled through the forest until the sun was up, and thanked God that even though the snow was still falling, heavier and colder than it had been when the storm started, the sun was visible through the clouds, even if its warmth didn't reach.

The sun rises in the east, he had his way home.

If he fell to the forest floor a dozen times of more, if he scraped his palms and knees bloody, right arm held to his chest, if he shivered so much his jaw hurt for clenching it, he didn't notice.

One foot in front of the other. Get back up again. Just keep going.

No matter how much the world swayed and spun, no matter how awful he felt, he had to get back.

He barely even noticed making it into the bounds of the camp, barely noticed the people who called his name.

His legs gave under him, and he realised as they went, he wasn't going to be able to get up again this time, but it didn't matter, because strong arms had caught him, and were lowering him down to the earth.

Above him was the same grey sky, small flakes of snow falling out of it, and then a face, he knew that face, it meant safety, he was safe.

His eyes fluttered closed.

Oops...

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Please R+R.