Ok, new chapter and it's likely they'll be weekly from now on for a while. I'm having a little writers block (I've fallen back into Star Wars head first) but I have quite a lot pre-written so don't worry.
I don't own.
Please enjoy.

For most of the meeting, he observed. Clinton and André had agreed to meet, to settle things in person and to discuss their next plans. Payment and much along those lines was being settled, and all that was left was strategy. To this, he had been holding his tongue more than usual, knowing it was not entirely his place to jump in that way if he was to get what he wanted.

"We need to strike at the heart," Clinton was saying, "if we can't kill Washington, maybe someone around him, someone he's close to?"

"Like the assassination of Mr Nathaniel Sackett, keep them focused on stopping an attack on Washington and leave the real target unprotected."

"Indeed. There are rumours of him, what was it, 'collecting young men'? Perhaps one of them would suffice. It's not as though they wouldn't deserve it, sinning against God in such a way."

Benedict knew he pulled a face, schooling himself too late.

"What's wrong, Arnold, I thought you didn't like Washington, after everything that had happened? I can't imagine this kind of slander would annoy you."

"Disgust is a better word, sir, and it has less to do with Washington and more to do with the men he is accused of... collecting. I can't say I care for someone like the Marquis, but some of them are honourable men. They don't deserve such slander put to their names."

He hoped that covered his slip, but why cover it at all. He'd already betrayed the Continentals, and Washington, and Washington had betrayed him, cast him aside as though he were useless.

If he told the British about Alexander Washington, he'd be rewarded, and it would likely end the war that much sooner.

But he'd sworn to his once-friend that he'd protect the boy. That the British would not find out about the boy from him.

Then again, if he remembered correctly, he'd sworn 'our enemies' and they no longer had a common enemy.

"Arnold, something on your mind?"

André sounded almost amused.

"How far are we willing to go?"

"How so?"

"To hurt Washington, are there moral boundaries?"

"Say your piece, and we will decide."

"You know of Alexander Hamilton?"

"Indeed, Washington's chief aide-de-camp. I've heard many a rumour about his place in Washington's bed."

Benedict pressed his lips again, before continuing.

"I can assure you; Hamilton is no bedwarmer. In fact, his name isn't even Hamilton, it's a cover, a protection. After all, Alexander Hamilton is not as much a target of the British as Alexander Washington would be."

The reaction was instant, and dramatic. Clinton shot to his feet with a yell.

"Washington! He... what?"

"George likes to keep his son close, but also wants him safe. I think you can imagine how protective a man like him is as a father."

"So," André asked, "the boy works under a fake name, it's smart."

Clinton looked unconvinced.

"Wait, I thought Washington's son died when he was a child, taken by sickness."

"Taken yes, but not by sickness, by a man. He was stolen. Only for them to reconnect by chance years later. You should have seen Washington's face when he told me, I've honestly never seen such joy in that man."

"Incredible."

"So, morality? Are we willing to send an assassin after Washington's son? Attack a child to harm the father."

"Go back to your post in Philidelphia, General Arnold, we need you there, providing a constant flow of information, but rest assured, your country thanks you for this. You will be recognised for your service."

.

.

.

Had he made a mistake?

Benedict couldn't sleep. George had trusted him with Alexander, with Alexanders real identity.

He'd just betrayed that.

This wasn't the lives of 100s of men or the future of a nation, and yet it plagued him more than any other piece of information given had.

Maybe it was the circumstances, he mused. It was his first face to face meeting with any of the British since he'd turned. A meeting with André and Clinton in neutral territory. A discussion of what he'd get for his change of heart and his joining the right side. Every discussion before had been through letters and code, but things were changing.

He'd finally been allowed to meet with his new leaders in person.

And he'd given them the tool they need to win.

He'd given them Alexander.

The boy who in another world would have been his nephew. Would have grown up calling him Uncle Benedict and come to him when he'd gotten himself into trouble and didn't want to go to his dad about it. The boy whose scraped knees he would have patched up. The boy who...

Not this world, he reminded himself. No, some vagrant had taken Alexander all those years ago, and now he was going to give the boy to the British.

He sighed aloud.

This would be the thing George would never forgive him for.

The man might be able to justify his following his beliefs, even if he didn't agree. He might be able to understand why he'd change his coats, even if he'd never do the same.

But he'd never forgive him for giving Alexander to his enemy.

Peggy rolled over in her sleep, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Soon he'd have the respect and money and power George had denied him and she'd be in comfort in his protection. They'd both be on the winning side when the war was over and the dust had cleared. They'd be safe.

He didn't need George's forgiveness.

Not one bit.

.

.

.

Just shy of two months later, George gave him command of West Point and perhaps a future field command with it.

Two months too late.

I am so sorry.
ish.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.
Please R+R.