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George watched from the window as Alexander ran towards and embraced the man dismounting from the horse.

"Ugh, Burr." Lafayette had groaned, "a joy."

"Be nice, Laf," Laurens had defended, "he's Alex's friend."

"How are they friends, they're so different?"

"I have no idea, but they are friends. And don't forget, Laf, if not for Burr we wouldn't have met Alex."

"Ugh. I think we would have met him."

"Why wouldn't they be friends?"

He was almost happy Benjamin had asked, because he hadn't wanted to pry, curiosity aside.

"Oh, Alex is, well, Alex, loud and outspoken. Burr is... I have never heard him voice his point once."

"That, Laf, is an exaggeration. Besides, he's still here. I'd rather he was fighting and quiet than outspoken but didn't actually do anything."

"That is true, but they are so different."

"You remember that thing with Seabury. I've never seen Burr look so defeated."

This was a story George wanted, or maybe it wasn't.

"You didn't see his face Laf. He turned around to find me and just as he made eye contact, I saw Alex behind him and he spun around, and he just slumped."

Alexander and Burr had turned for the house, and he realised he recognised the man.

"He's the one who applied for the same job I gave Alex."

"Yeah, but don't worry, he won't be angry."

"Burr doesn't get angry."

He'd never met anyone who didn't get angry, but then Lafayette had said he was not opinionated either. Alexander's opposite, it seemed.

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"Sir, I was thinking, I'd like to tell Aaron, Burr, about us, about my parentage."

"Are you sure? I... I do not know him well. How can I be sure he will not betray us?"

Alexander rubbed his shoulder, and ploughed on characteristically with his argument.

"I am sure. I have not seen him in too long, as you know, but he is one of my oldest and most trusted friends. I know him."

"You're opposites."

"And yet we're very similar. We both studied law, and doing fast tracked 2-year courses. We both believe in the Revolution, in abolition, women's rights, better access to education for all. just because I'm loud and he's quiet, I jump in and he waits and watches, I don't always understand it, but we're more similar than we are different. Besides, he does his best to keep me out of trouble and I do my best to get him into it. We're good for each other."

"Tries to?"

"It was him vs me, Laf, Herc and John. 4 on 1 aren't fantastic odds."

George snorted slightly; Alexander wasn't wrong. It was hell trying to keep him safe, and George was trying. If Burr could be an ally in that, he would not refuse it.

"Anyone who tries to keep you alive..."

"He was my first friend when I came to America. It wasn't easy, when I first arrived, there are a lot of people who greatly dislike immigrants. But he was kind, willing to talk with me, helped me with my classes, introduced me to Laf and Herc and John. Hell, I lived with him until I moved into Herc's spare room."

He did his best not to chafe at the mention of the struggles his son had faced. The things he hadn't prevented.

"If you trust him with this, Alex, I trust your judgement. I always have."

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Last Christmas, Alexander had been there, but he hadn't known Alexander was his son.

Now, now he knew, he was getting the first Christmas with his son in 20 years, and he was terrified.

Terrified it would go wrong, terrified of everything that could happen.

Because despite the past year of knowing the truth, he had no idea how to approach it.

Getting a hold of gifts was going to be almost impossible, food was in short supply, hell, he couldn't keep a real roof over Alexanders head this winter unless he wished to sleep at his desk.

He wasn't sleeping at his desk; it would be awful for his back and wasn't proper sleep anyway.

The only gift he could give Alexander was more work, and as much as he might appreciate that, it hardly felt proper.

Although, large stacks of work would probably be a good idea, because it would keep him in his warm office rather than his cold tent or out and about. Between the lingering damage to his shoulder and how prone to sickness Alexander was, not to mention the damage his recent bout of pneumonia had done, he still hadn't recovered the weight he'd lost and he was so young...

George really was adopting his son's hatred for Winter.

But there were upsides to the season.

The fighting had almost completely ceased, save for a few scuffles and skirmishes, the dangers mainly passed and best of all, there were Balls being held.

He had to admit he loved a party, or at least, the opportunities within one. It was always a good chance to talk to friends old and new alike, to reconnect with people he'd lost contact with, to make new friends or allies. It was a good opportunity to talk with the people who decided whether his men received the funding they needed for food and munitions and to impart their plight not through letters but face to face.

Alexander did not seem to mind that Christmas was going to be a smaller affair than George wanted, and he wondered how his little one had spent his holidays in the past. Had he even been able to celebrate, or had the need for money caused him to work through days like Christmas too?

Maybe just having a day off and a meal and a drink would be a gift?

Maybe what he saw as nothing would to him be something.

He was jolted out of his musing by a knock at the door, a rhythmic knock his son used.

Think of the devil and all that...

"I've finished the papers from last night, sir. We've sorted through all the scouts reports and missives from other camps and combined them, as always."

"Ever efficient, anything important?"

"Not really, all's quiet, a few spies have been weeded out in some of the other camps, but there's nothing important, nothing to worry about. It looks like the Lobsters are hoping for a quiet Christmas too."

"Thank you, there's a new stack of reports that came in just before dawn on the shelf, let me..."

"Don't worry, pa, I've got it."

George froze.

Alex had moved on like he didn't even realise what he'd said, said goodbye and left the room to work on this new stack of papers, oblivious, but George felt like he couldn't breathe.

Alex called him Pa.

His son had called him Pa.

Christmas was a time of joy and miracle indeed.

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George missed his Martha terrebly.

Usually, in the holiday's, she'd visit camp. Usually, he'd be able to hold her close.

Now even the missives felt cold with how much he could not say and how much she could not ask for fear of their being intercepted.

He wanted little more than to regale her with tales of their son, to share his burdens and for her advice where his own ideas fell short. She always had the best advice and the fastest kindest mind.

Instead, they were both alone, far too many miles apart.

Part of him once again longed for a reason to send his little one home to safety, to his mother, away from the war. He would never wish injury on his son, but perhaps something else. A missive that needed to be delivered and then a freak storm...

More than anything he longed for this war to be over.

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In the end Christmas was a quiet affair.

Simple food, slightly more expensive alcohol than was usually available, few guests. They were joined by men like Tallmadge and Laurens and Lafayette, but many of them left to join their men celebrating together outside and by the end of the night, his son was the only one left with him.

He uncapped the port and poured out two drinks, passing one glass to Alexander, who joined him at the window looking out at the small fires across the camp surrounded by men taking joy in the season.

"Merry Christmas, son."

Alexander offered him a small but genuine smile, "Merry Christmas, pa."

Thanks for reading, and as always i hope you enjoyed.

Happy holidays to all who celebrated.

Please R+R.