John hurried out of headquarters without a second thought–he forgot to tell the general he was leaving and didn't even think to answer Burr. Burr, who had just suggested he go check up on Alex, because he had 'seemed off' to him.
He walked briskly down rows of tents until he came to their own and strode in, only to stop dead in his tracks when he caught the first glimpse of Alex.
Guilt slammed into him, made his chest tight and his heart crack, rooted him to the ground where he stood just a few steps past the tent-flaps.
It seemed Alex hadn't even noticed him enter over the sound of his own crying–his chest rose and fell too rapidly, he wasn't breathing right, and he was in absolute hysterics.
They shouldn't have left him alone. It had been too soon, John had known he was struggling, why did he ever agree to part from him?
"Darling," he said, low and soft, and came closer.
Alex shrunk further into himself, the fingers curled into his own hair tightening, closed around ruffled strands and tugged sharply. He watched as Alex's shoulders shook with his sobs, and swallowed, his throat constricting and eyes wet with the onset of his own tears.
John suddenly wished Washington was there with them. He would have an easier time consoling Alex, he would know what to do.
The only thing John could think of was dropping to his knees in front of Alex and talking. He wouldn't touch him, he didn't think that was a good idea, but he doubted his voice would be enough to snap him out of it.
"Alexander. Darling. It's all right. You're safe, I'm here, there's nothing to be afraid of."
Alex wailed and tore at his hair, and John wanted to work his hands off, wanted to take them into his own and kiss his knuckles and run his own hand through those curls to fix them, but he held himself back.
"Alex, can you hear me? You have to breathe, darling," he said. Desperation clawed cold into his chest, at his throat, and made his voice rough with unshed tears. Alex couldn't hear him, and John didn't know what to do. His racing thoughts circled back to Washington, but to fetch him would mean leaving Alex, and every cell in his body screamed with refusal at the mere thought.
Alex shook and whimpered. Perhaps he had to wait for this to pass–he couldn't touch him, Alex didn't hear a word he said, there really wasn't anything he could do to calm him.
The sound of rustling canvas reached his ears and John snapped his head around, a glare firmly in place, ready to jump up from the ground and haul whoever it was back out by the lapels of their coat-
He stared straight at his commander, who froze for a second, looked from John to Alex and back, and hurried into the tent with purpose in his stride.
"Sir, how did you-" he began, meaning to ask how Washington had known to follow, but the man barely even glanced at him as he grabbed the blanket from John's cot and made his way to Alex.
"You were gone without a word, I assumed something had come up with Alex," he explained and shook out the blanket as he stepped around John, still on the ground, and gently draped it over his son's quaking shoulders. He tugged it tight, careful not to touch him, and John drew in a deep breath and got back to his feet.
"What can I do?" he said, feeling lost and in the way all at once as he watched Washington do whatever it was he was doing with sure hands, like he had done it a million times before.
"Go sit over there and don't make noise," he replied and gestured vaguely over at John's cot. His eyes never left his son; his son, whose heart-wrenching sobs were tearing away every bit of self-control John possessed. He wanted to argue, but he clicked his mouth shut when Alex hiccuped a wet cry and his fingers went limp in his hair.
"There we go," Washington said in a soft, inviting tone.
John sat on his cot and shut up.
The general sat down next to Alex, far enough away another person could fit in between them with ease.
"Count with me, Alexander," he said, voice a gentle murmur, calm but firm.
He began to count up to ten slowly, then from ten back to one. John watched in bewilderment for three repeats, and then Alex took a shuddering breath and joined in on four.
Washington's lips quirked into a small smile, but it was tense. They did two more repeats; Alex gradually calmed and his breathing evened out again, and John thought he understood as he watched Alexander find back to himself–the counting was to get him to concentrate on something, something that wasn't his panic.
John sighed in relief as Alex's tears dried up completely and they stopped counting. The tent lay in silence for a while. It felt odd to him, heavy and large and stifling, like the blanket around Alexander's shoulders.
Alex sniffled and grabbed the corners of the blanket, drew it closer around his body as though to protect himself, like he used it as a shield, and stared down into his lap.
"Sorry. I don't know what happened," he said.
"Don't apologise, love. You don't have to explain yourself," Washington answered. He kept his distance, and he seemed to know what he was doing, so John followed his lead; no matter how much he wanted to go over there and hold Alex.
John bit the inside of his cheek and focused all his willpower on the task of staying silent. Alexander's face glistened with tears, his hair was a mess and his breath still hitched from time to time, and the person who had last seen him before that episode was Aaron Burr. What the fuck had the idiot said to him? How hard did John have to clock him in the jaw?
"You should return to the others, Pa. We have a war to win," Alex said with a smile so fake it might as well have been drawn on.
The general frowned. He had been reluctant to leave Alex in the first place–the only reason they did at all was the ever grinding rumour-mill that produced more and more gossip with every day that passed, and they had to at least attempt to do some damage control – and after this, after seeing how hard and painful the struggle was for Alex, John couldn't imagine Washington would be happy to leave his son alone again for any stretch of time.
Washington sighed and closed his eyes in resignation, forced his lips to form a thin smile and slapped a hand to the cot once before he got up.
"You're right, my heart. I'll go–John stays."
"We'll be fine," Alex said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than his father. Washington really was the strongest man John knew, considering that he could look back at Alexander like that, all soft, hurt smiles, mussed up hair, with upset obvious in his expressive eyes, and walk away. John wouldn't be able to.
"Of course," he said, playing along, and not for the first time it hit John what a good father he was. "Can I touch you, dearheart?"
Alex hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it, nodded.
"Use your words, please, Alexander."
"Yes," he said. "Sorry."
The general smiled, less sad, softer than before, and put a hand to the side of Alex's face, stroked his thumb along his cheek. Alex's shoulders lost some of their tension, and he covered his father's hand with his own, held it there as Washington bent down and kissed his forehead.
"I'll come by tonight," Washington promised and gently pulled his hand from his son's grasp, even though his brow pinched like it pained him to let go, to leave him.
He glanced over at John, weary. "Do try to refrain from doing something extraordinarily stupid."
"Yessir," he said and mock-saluted where he sat, and it had the desired effect of making Alex chuckle. The general just sighed and flapped a hand at him as he turned to leave, muttering something about 'that one, he says' under his breath.
He left, and it was just them again.
John sobered instantly. He got up and crossed the tent to the cot Alex occupied, sat down a good distance away from him like Washington had. Alex watched him, tired but not on edge, not afraid–something in John's chest loosened. He couldn't bear to imagine Alex looking at him like he was afraid he would harm him, like he was nervous to be around him for none of the good reasons and all of the bad ones.
"You could have told me Burr knows about us," he said and turned his head away, cast his gaze down to the ground, to his lap, to his slightly unsteady hands.
Was that what had set this off? Burr and his newfound enjoyment of sticking his fucking nose where it didn't belong?
"Is that what this was about? I'll kill him-"
"It wasn't. It was something else. Not his fault. I just assumed the man who I want to share my life with would tell me something like that." He raised his eyes back to John's face and stared, hard and without any visible emotion. John opened his mouth, but Alex went on before he could get a word out. "I thought we were being honest with each other. You should have told me."
John swallowed, the faint tug of guilt on his conscience like a constant ache that flared up from time to time, and reached a hand over the suddenly too vast space separating them. He moved slowly, giving Alex ample time to track his progress, and watched his face for any sign of discomfort.
His hand hovered over Alex's lap, where his hands rested.
"May I?" he asked, and Alex turned his left hand palm up–an invitation.
John smiled, not as bright as he usually would at the prospect of getting to hold Alex's hand, and twined their fingers together; snug, warm, familiar. A perfect fit.
He scooted closer, close enough their arms almost touched, but not quite. "I'm sorry, Alex. The truth is, well, it just slipped my mind. I was too caught up in the whole situation to really think about any of that, and then I was too caught up in having you back, and- I guess I was just preoccupied. I didn't keep this from you with malicious intent, I swear, darling," he said, looking Alex straight in the eyes as he did. He had beautiful eyes, even if it wasn't quite the right time to contemplate how pretty they were.
Alex searched his face and stayed silent for another minute, blinked and turned his attention down to their joined hands resting on his thigh instead.
"That's fair, I guess."
"Am I forgiven, then?" John inquired carefully, ducked down a little to shove himself back into Alex's line of sight and smiled up at him when he side-eyed him with a pinch in his upper lip that meant he was trying to force down a smile of his own.
"Yes, you're forgiven, you fool," he said and nudged him rather aggressively with his shoulder as the smile finally won over his self-control and broke out onto his features. God, he was so beautiful. John loved him so much.
Which was why he calmed the enamoured flutter of his heart and forced himself to be serious once more.
"Can I ask what exactly it was that caused this episode?" he said, quiet, soft, understanding. He didn't want to startle him with the question.
Alex froze and his grip on John's hand tightened for a moment before it relaxed again.
"I don't- really want to talk about it. Something Burr said reminded me of something Smith said. He couldn't have known, it wasn't his fault."
John squeezed his hand and pressed a quick kiss to Alex's temple. Despite his repeated insistence that Burr wasn't at fault, John made a mental note to punch the man in the nose the next time he saw him, just for good measure.
"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I just- can you perhaps give me some pointers?"
Alex looked back at him in confusion, his eyebrows raised the fraction of an inch and the corner of his mouth turned down–hints of an expression he could decipher without issue, but were hard to pick up on for people who didn't know him well.
John smiled and tugged the blanket back into place where it threatened to slip off Alex's shoulder. "If there's anything in particular that would set you off, I mean. That… was scary, darling. You couldn't even hear me, could you? I don't want to cause one of those on accident."
Alex blinked, and his eyes flashed with realisation, then dimmed back down. "You spoke to me?" he asked, voice small.
"That's what I mean. You were far gone, Alex. It scared me." He snaked an arm around Alex's shoulders and pulled him to his chest, careful and without pressure–he could break free any time he wanted. He chose not to, and laid his head on John's shoulder.
"I don't want to get into it. One thing, though," he said and paused to kiss John's neck.
"Yes?"
Alex swallowed. The hand in his trembled, and Alex held onto him tighter to still it. "If you ever call me 'sweetheart' again I might kick you in the dick reflexively."
John bit back the surprised bark of laughter that bubbled up his throat, but then he realised what Alex had just told him. What had the bastard called him? How often had he called him that? How had he said it? What else had he done to Alex?
"No problem at all," he said, his eyes suddenly wet, but he didn't think Alex could hear it in his voice. "I like 'darling' better anyways."
Alex chuckled; something sounded off about it. John wouldn't pry him away to see if he had started crying again. "Me too."
They sat like that, just enjoying each other, the company, the warmth, for a while. John finally gave in to the urge to smooth Alexander's hair down and cradled the base of his skull in his hand when he was done with that.
"Could I do that thing with the counting if this were to happen again?" he said, gently rocking them back and forth. Alex lay relaxed against his side; he had to be exhausted after that kind of exertion.
"Hm," Alex hummed. "Yes. Gives me something to focus on. Patterns are good."
"All right, darling." He shuffled a bit, kissed the top of Alex's head. "You can count on me."
Alex groaned. The mood shifted with it, and just like that, John wasn't afraid Alex would tear apart at the seams from the pressure inside him; for the moment, at least. "Fuck you."
"You love me," John said, chuckling.
He groaned again, louder. "God help me, I do. I really do."
"And I love you, my dearest. Even though you can't appreciate my brilliant jokes."
"I will hit you, Laurens," he grumbled against his neck.
"Careful, you're beginning to sound just like your father," he shot back, grinning from ear to ear. Banter with Alex was so easy, so warm and comfortable.
Alex groaned a third time. "Fuck you!"
"I mean, if you insist, darling-"
"If you even conceptualise finishing that sentence, I'm leaving you," he cut in, and John felt the graze of teeth on his neck, followed by a light nip.
"Sorry," he said, smiling to himself like a fool in love. "You know I'm not being serious."
The weight of Alex's head lifted from his shoulder, and he watched as Alex sorted himself out and shifted back into a proper sitting position. He didn't move away, John was pleased to note. The fact Alex seemed to still feel safe around him, that he didn't mind John's touch and wanted to be near him, set his heart ablaze with affection, woke a protectiveness in him that almost suffocated him with how hefty and urgent it felt.
John leaned forward ever so slightly, tilted his head, and stopped short of pressing his lips to Alexander's. He caught his meaning and met him in the middle, and they shared more than a few kisses, soft and tender, without urgency or need.
Alex was the one to pull back. John gazed into his dark eyes, his eyes that held all the marks of heartbreak and fatigue, and considered how lucky they were to have found each other in a world as wide as the one they lived in.
He laid his forehead against Alex's, nuzzled their noses together, and Alex let out a giggle, a brief sound of delight that went straight to John's heart; his heart that was so full of Alexander that he felt it might flow over.
"What would you say to a nap, darling?"
Alex hummed–no, it was more like a purr. The purr of a very content tomcat. "That's the best idea you've had all week."
He rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't fade. "Now you're really starting to sound like your father."
"Oh, shut up," Alex said and pulled him down to the cot with him.