John shifted on their cot and drew the blankets tighter around himself. He was… cold. He had a vague sense he shouldn't be.
His arm flung out to his side in search of the warm body that should be next to him, but only found cool sheets–Alex was gone. John cracked his eyes open and sat up, looked around, but the tent was dark and he was alone.
He sighed and kicked the blanket off, slid his boots on and stepped outside.
There were two places Alex could be. If he was with the general, John would let them be and go back to sleep, but if his hunch was correct, well. He would have to see.
He went by headquarters first, because it did not seem a far stretch that Alex would be just that ridiculous.
And it wasn't. A single candle burned inside the tent, and the man he loved sat at his hitherto abandoned desk, papers stacked like towers around him. That desk had been an odd negative space for the past few weeks, and he knew he hadn't been the only one to feel that way. Something had been missing, and the empty desk had acted as a symbol for it.
John took a moment to admire Alex's profile painted in the soft, warm light of a flickering flame and gave himself a mental shake in order to get a grip.
"What do you think you're doing, Alex?" he said, and Alex jumped in his seat and snapped his head around, one of his hands that had rested upon the table snatching up a letter-opener, and John raised his hands in front of himself.
What the fuck was wrong with him? If there was one person around he shouldn't sneak up on under any circumstances, it would be Alex.
"It's me, darling," he said softly. Alex's shoulders relaxed and his fingers slackened until the letter-opener dropped to the tabletop with a quiet clatter.
"Sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean- you startled me, is all," he said and turned back to the desk, straightened his papers out.
"I know. It was my fault." He made his way over to where Alex sat, careful to put more weight into his steps so he could still tell where he was even without seeing him. "But forget about that. What is it you think you're doing?"
John arrived behind him and settled his hands on his shoulders, stroked and kneaded the tense muscles until they gave and melted under his palms.
Alex shuddered and breathed deeply once, twice, then leaned back into his touch. John smiled to himself–they had made a lot of progress these last few weeks, most of it because Alex, strong and brave and wonderful as he was, had opened up to him about what exactly he had had to endure during his captivity.
He knew the position they were in would trigger unpleasant memories, but Alex insisted he didn't want to be treated like he was made of sugar, and that as long as he didn't speak up, it was all right.
"Pa said I could go back to work today," Alex said and pulled what John recognised to be Tilghman's draft for a letter to one of the other Generals from a stack. Poor guy, he thought, Alex was vicious with his corrections.
"It's the middle of the night, darling."
"It's after midnight," he replied, and John chuckled and bent down, slipped his arms over Alex's shoulders and wound them loosely around his chest. He didn't pull him back against him like he wanted to do, for obvious reasons.
"I think what he meant when he said that was more along the lines of in the morning, you know, when everyone else starts work?"
Alex hummed–John could hear the grin in it–and uncorked an inkpot.
"He should have said that, then," he said, but the amusement drained from his voice as he went on. "I've been idle for way too long. You know I get stir-crazy. Besides, I need to work myself back in, I need to know where we stand and what's happening where."
John sighed and watched Alex's nimble fingers fiddle with a fresh quill. He knew that was just how he was; he always needed to do something, to work, to move forward in any capacity at all, even if he had to crawl when he'd rather charge.
It was almost a miracle that the general and John had managed to keep him away for as long as they had; or perhaps it was an indication of how badly what happened had really affected Alex.
"So, that's how it's going to be again? Early mornings and long nights?" he asked, low and gentle and not a hint reproachful. That was what Alex needed, what he was, and he wouldn't scold him for it. He wanted Alexander, all of him, and that was just part of the deal.
Alex nodded and tilted his head back against John's shoulder, fingers stilling. John found the moment almost too ideal, and he worked to commit it to memory.
Everything felt so soft and comfortable, all the sharp edges dulled by the soft, ever-changing flame of the candle, and it was just the two of them in a place usually crammed with people, with action and energy; it felt like the world had fallen away, and it was just them. Just John holding Alex and pretending to try to entice him back to bed with him, knowing full well nothing he could do except for picking him up and carrying him would move him to do so.
An image flashed before his mind's eye–them, like they were now, in five years time. Ten years time. He shook himself.
"The early mornings are a given, but… maybe the nights won't be quite as long as they used to be. I doubt Pa would let me get away with it."
John smiled, small and soft, so unlike his usual ear-to-ear smile. Those kinds of expressions were made by Alex, for Alex.
He kissed the shell of his ear, his earlobe, the corner of his jaw, and Alexander tilted his head to the side to give him better access, humming a low note of pleasure.
"I liked getting to go to bed with you. Do you think that could be arranged?"
"How could I say no when you're asking this nicely?" he said and turned his head to face him so John could put a quick kiss to his lips.
"Anyway," he said and turned back to his papers suddenly, and John moved to press his lips to the juncture of Alex's neck and shoulder instead. "I've got work to do. Stop distracting me."
"Cold," John muttered, hiding a grin against Alex's neck. "You talk to the love of your life like that? After you snuck out and left me all by my poor self in the middle of the night like some cheap-"
"All right," Alex cut in. "I get the picture. I'm sorry, love. But I do have work, and I didn't mean to wake you, so: go back to bed, John."
As if he would just go back to sleep and let Alexander sit there in the dark on his own.
He straightened back up with a final squeeze to Alex's shoulders and went over to his own desk, scooped up some of his yet to be finished work, and grabbed hold of a random chair on his way back.
Alex watched with a halfhearted frown as he set the chair down next to him and plopped down on it, moved some of Alex's stacks around to make space.
"You have your own desk, you know," he said, watching him shuffle his papers and probably ruin his organisation.
"I'm aware," he said and reached out to brush a strand of hair behind Alex's ear. "but the view over here is so much prettier."
Alex blinked at him, and a faint blush crept up high into his cheekbones–it should be illegal to look like that. John could look at him as he was right that moment forever, unguarded, safe, flushed with pleasure, and bathed in the warm glow of a lone candle.
Alex swallowed hard and ripped his gaze away, stared down at his parchment instead, and the dim light drew long shadows of his eyelashes over his cheeks.
"You're a sap," he said, fighting a small smile. John nudged his leg under the table and scooted a bit closer.
"Your sap."
Alex looked back up and met his eye. "My sap," he agreed.
John couldn't take any more of this. He cupped Alex's cheek with one hand, tilted his head a little, and captured those lips in a kiss.
Alex reciprocated with enthusiasm and opened his mouth for him, and John slipped his tongue against his, velvet-smooth and hot and just right.
Fingers curled into the collar of his nightshirt and yanked him closer; his fingertips sparked against Alex's skin, his lips tingled, his blood rushed and sang with Alex.
John couldn't be sure how long they stayed like that, but it wasn't long enough, in his opinion, before Alex broke the kiss and put their foreheads together, soft, heavy breaths puffing against John's cheek.
"Is this your idea of not distracting me?" he asked, his voice rough in a way John was very familiar with, and he huffed out a quiet laugh in response.
"You kissed back, darling."
Alex rolled his eyes and gave him a gentle shove to the chest, making him fall back into his own chair as Alex turned away and ran a hand through his hair–he always did that when he tried to make himself decent again, and it did absolutely nothing, but it was adorable.
"I'm just saying," John began anew and reached for a quill. "It takes two-"
"Oh, shut up and do your work," Alex interrupted. He picked up the candle and moved it closer so both of them could see what they were doing, almost as if he had sensed John was about to complain that it was too dark to work.
John didn't say anything to that for a short while and reread the first page of what he had written maybe twelve hours ago, before he looked back up and his eyes found Alexander again.
"One last thing," he said and grinned at Alex when he snapped his eyes up from the parchment and half-glared at him in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of the general.
"What?"
"I love you."
Alex rolled his eyes and huffed out an annoyed breath, turned his attention back to his pages. "I love you too, you dork."
Well, not exactly his most heartfelt declaration of love, but John would take it.
Alex returned all the drafts he had borrowed for the night to where he had found them and put the one he had penned for a letter to congress down on his father's desk so he could go over it.
Morning dawned slow and milky; he hated those kinds of mornings, when one couldn't be sure if it was light out already or not. It inspired in him the profound desire to go back to bed until the new day had made up its mind.
John sat hunched over in the chair he had stolen from somewhere, face hidden in his folded arms on top of the desk, and snored softly.
Alex sat on the edge of the table next to him and ran his fingers through his unbound curls, stealing another short moment of intimacy with his sweet, ridiculous fool before everyone started showing up for the day.
He'd known John wouldn't last the whole night. He rarely ever did, and John must have known that as well, but he had still stayed, had gotten some work done with him, and Alex could have burst with affection for that man.
"Oh, for God's sake, are you kidding me?"
Alex whirled around and jumped a good two feet away from John.
His father stood just past the tent-flaps and watched him with an almost overwhelming sense of resignation, Tilghman just a step behind him and another voice Alex recognised as Harrison inquiring what on earth could be going on now.
"Umm…" Alex made and crossed his arms over his chest, propped his hip against the edge of the table. "You said I could come back today."
"You did say that, Sir," Harrison said with a poorly controlled expression of mirth and came to a stop next to Tilghman. Alex had always liked Harrison–he was the oldest out of all of them, already past thirty, and he had a good sense of humour, but knew how to get them back on track when needed.
His father just closed his eyes and heaved a sigh that sounded too long-suffering for how early in the morning it was.
"Welcome back, Hamilton," he said on his way past Alex to his own desk.
"Why is Laurens asleep on the table?" Tilghman asked and came to stand next to him, prodding his still form gently in the shoulder.
"And why did that not faze you, Sir?" Harrison added as he got settled at his desk.
"After all the headaches Laurens has caused me," his father said, picking up a piece of parchment and glancing at Alex–the draft he had written, probably. "I honestly cannot spare the energy to care about this."
"That's fair," Harrison said.
Tilghman shrugged and left for his desk, only to stop and frown down at it.
"I put some suggestions," Alex explained, and Tilghman picked up his draft and shook his head, but he was smiling as he did.
"It really wasn't the same without you here, Hamilton," he said, and Alex grinned back at him.
"Yes," Harrison agreed. "So tranquil and peaceful… well, except for that one time Laurens punched Burr. But you are quite right, Tilghman, I for one am happy to return to the tyranny of our dear Hamilton."
"Tyranny," Alex repeated with a roll of his eyes. "What you call 'tyranny', I call 'making friendly suggestions'."
"I mean, so would the very monarch we are trying to rid ourselves of, probably," Harrison shot back, and Tilghman snickered. His father gave him a look. Rude.
"If you want me to leave again-"
"Please don't, Laurens has been insufferable the past week, and we hoped he would be cured of his moping once you got back," Harrison said. All in good humour, Alex knew, but Tilghman still froze for a second. It was fine, he wanted to say. Jokes were fine. Don't act suspicious.
"Well, rest assured, I'll try my best to lift his spirits."
The rest of the guys trickled in one after the other, and all of them expressed to him how glad they were to see him back; it was… nice. After over a month of only having his father, John, and Lafayette to talk to–and one memorable time, Burr–it was good to talk to other people again, to make inconsequential jokes and not feel like everyone treaded on eggshells around him, just waiting for him to break down and fall apart.
It restored some sense of normalcy for him, even though he found himself tugging on his shirtsleeves quite a lot, just to make sure they hadn't ridden up.
John woke on his own after a while, because for some reason they had all unanimously decided to leave him be, and turned to face Alex's father, eyes bleary with sleep, and just told him 'I don't have an explanation for this.'
His father, of course, responded with a shake of his head and 'I hadn't expected you to have one.'
The men, predictably, thought that exchange hilarious.
They teased John for the rest of the day without mercy, and Alex sat by and threw in a few comments when he thought appropriate, smiling to himself like an absolute idiot. He hadn't realised how much he had missed all of them. The work, something to occupy him, yes. But them, the banter and the comradery, it felt like something had clicked back into place.
No, not something. Alex had clicked into place. He was no longer drifting.
He was back where he wanted to be.