Alex sat at his desk, his work abandoned in front of him.

There were multiple sets of eyes on him, he could tell–it was a rather unusual sight, after all, Alexander Hamilton at leisure with an unfinished missive right within his view–but he didn't raise his head to find out who exactly was watching.

He had a few educated guesses. His father, most likely. Harrison. Meade. Burr, if he hadn't left already, because Burr loved giving him the side-eye as if the man was trying to communicate to the world at large that Alex was up to something, and he was the only one clever enough to have figured it out.

It didn't matter. Alex watched his finger trail along the blade of a simple, practical letter-opener. The edge wasn't too sharp; it didn't need to be for the purpose it was made for.

Hm. It may have not been too sharp, but it sure was pointy. If Alex were to stab with enough gusto, he could probably puncture a live-supporting artery.

Wouldn't be his first time stabbing a man through the neck.

Alex blinked and shook himself, let the letter-opener clatter to the desk with a loud, metallic clang that was sure to attract even more attention, and scrambled to open his inkwell back up.

Goddamn, Hamilton. Get a hold of yourself.

He glanced up and across the room as he fiddled with his quill, debating if he should bother to sharpen it again or just get a new one. His gaze landed on John almost automatically–Alex shot him a smile when he glanced up and saw him watching, and John smiled back before he returned his attention to what he was doing.

He was on his feet, leaning over his desk with his hands braced on the tabletop, a multitude of papers spread out before him; explaining something, animated, entirely in his element.

Under normal circumstances, Alex would have loved to see him like that. But the circumstances were not normal, unfortunately, and his smile soured when his eyes flitted from John to the man next to him, who stood way too close, who was way too at ease, who acted way too familiar, whose motherfucking hand found his husband's shoulder every two fucking minutes like clockwork-

An audible snap sounded. Alex looked down to see he held two separate pieces of quill in his hands–at least that decision was made now.

"Are you feeling well, Hammie?" a voice to his left said, and Alex turned to find Meade studying him with concern etched into his features.

"Of course. Perfect. Never been better," he said and smoothly swept the two broken pieces underneath some loose papers as he pushed back his chair and stood to go peruse their office-supplies for a fresh quill.

He put a firm pat to Meade's shoulder when he passed, hoping that would do to reassure him he was just fine, thank you very much, when he made the mistake of glancing back at John and the attractive asshole at his side again.

The bitch had leaned in even closer. That was bold, that was downright fucking cheeky, Alex didn't even usually step into John's space like that when they were in public, that fucking guy, that the fuck did he think he was doing, resting a hand on John's back as if he had any right to, and making him laugh, and listening to him be all excited and flushed with enthusiasm, Alex would kill him-

Alright. Alex took a deep breath and forced himself to turn away and fall into motion once again. His heartbeat began to settle back into a healthy rhythm when he stepped outside the office and was no longer in vicinity to whatever the fuck that man thought he was doing with John.

How long had his father said they would collaborate with Greene and his staff? A few weeks?

Alex could make it a few weeks without snapping any necks.

Or stabbing a bitch.

Or pushing someone down a flight of stairs.

Jesus fucking Christ, he thought and pinched the bridge of his nose, an odd pressure behind his forehead.

What was wrong with him?

John had never been secretive about past relationships.

Alex had asked once, not out of some misplaced sense of jealousy, just because he had been curious–after all, John's hands on his body had been sure and confident those first few times, practised even, whereas Alex had been a blushing, fumbling mess.

John had shrugged and admitted to it without much fanfare; he had been with a few other men before. That was alright. It was past, and Alex wasn't insecure enough to compare himself to faceless shadow-figures.

He'd never mentioned names, and he hadn't asked him to; but Alex would have bet his right hand that Colonel Elijah fucking Brown's stupid, handsome face fit on one of those vague silhouettes.

When he had walked in with the rest of Greene's staff, shoulder-length black hair pulled back into a tight queue, clean-shaven, intelligent green eyes attentive over sharp cheekbones, Alex hadn't given the man much thought.

And then, he had spotted his husband, given him a quick once-over, mouth twitching, and had made a beeline for him.

Fine. Alex didn't mind it when other people expressed interest in John. He had lucked out with him, and he was fully aware of how attractive he was, how inviting his smile, how tantalising his eyes; and that John wasn't usually rude enough to straight out halt any flirtatious conversation-attempts in its tracks.

But.

Recognition had sparked from those eyes, and John had shaken Brown's hand, smiled his usual polite smile–but with a little extra, a private curl to the corner of his mouth, a hint of familiarity–and called him by his given name.

They knew each other.

It was fine. Great even, that would make working together so much easier; or it should in the very least, if Alex were able to get any work done at all with that fucking hussy drawing tighter and tighter circles around his husband, and fuck, Alex knew John wasn't interested! That he probably didn't even notice it, that he took that guy's advances as friendly and nothing more, but it drove him insane, because John was his, Alex was the one who wore his ring on his finger and shared his bed and-

"Alexander," his mother said as she lowered her stitching into her lap. Alex snapped his head up and was presented with a look, one he knew very well–soft eyes with a pinch of exasperation, but in a fond way. "You've had that book open for the past ten minutes and haven't turned a single page yet. Would you like to tell me what's bothering you?"

Alex opened his mouth, hesitated, clapped the book he had completely forgotten about shut. "Nothing's bothering me," he said, and she arched her brows.

"The overwhelming amount of annoyed sighs that left your mouth since you sat down would like to differ. What's wrong, love?"

Alex heaved a sigh and dropped the book onto the small table in between the two armchairs they inhabited with a solid plunk. His mother smiled; it made her laugh-lines visible, and it occurred to Alex entirely out of nowhere that his father didn't have laugh-lines. He had lines on his forehead, between his brows. Frown-lines.

John would probably have laugh-lines one day. Alex… probably wouldn't.

"There it was again. So?"

"I don't know, Ma," he said, shifting in his seat, and darted his eyes away. She had only arrived with them the day before and had succeeded in not being hostile to John yet, but- well, even though she'd promised to try, Alex didn't like to remind her of their relationship more than what was necessary. "It's about John, and it's really stupid, you don't have to listen to me complain about problems that only exist in my head."

She stayed silent for a beat, and Alex risked a glance back at her–she picked at the frayed edge of the cloth she was embroidering, a thoughtful frown on her face. Gone were the laugh-lines.

"Well, my sweet," she said and looked back up, a smile vanishing the frown like the sun would some early morning mist hanging over a meadow. "The thing about problems that only exist in your head is that they rarely ever stay just in your head. Better get them out here now before they find their own way."

"Are you… certain you want to listen to me rant about my relationship with another man?"

"I said I would try, Alex, and I'm not one to go back on my word," she responded, instantly and with a bit of an edge, but it wasn't anger or even just plain annoyance; it was more of a discomfort that coloured her voice, as if she only said what she thought he would want to hear.

"If you're sure," he said, careful, and she gave a firm nod in response and took up her stitching again–to give her hands something to do. Alex knew the impulse. "Um. Well, as I said, it's… really kind of stupid. We officially began working together with General Greene and his staff this morning, and…" Alex trailed off, gaze fixed on a particularly prominent spot of ink on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, and rubbed at it. He wished he had something to occupy his hands as well.

"And?" his mother prompted softly. The whole situation was so familiar and comfortable, Ma doing her stitching and listening to Alex go on about one thing or the other with an indulgent little smile, a fire crackling in the background, and Alex's heart gave a squeeze so tangible he felt as though something had slammed into his chest at high velocity.

They rarely ever got to spend time like this anymore.

Alex was- he was grown now. He didn't know what the future would hold, but if they won this war and all of them made it through alive–he seriously doubted that he could just go back home to Virginia with his parents. He had a law-degree to finish. A life to build with his husband.

There wouldn't be many more nights like this.

Alex swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and shoved the sombre thoughts into a tiny compartment at the back of his mind, one he only ever examined when he was already crying anyway to make things even worse for himself.

"And… it seems one of Greene's men knows John. Intimately. I haven't, well, I haven't gotten the chance to talk to him about it yet, not that there's anything to talk about, and, I mean, I wouldn't be bothered at all if it was just that, but that man," he spat, and the sudden venom in his voice startled his mother enough it ripped her attention away from her project. "thinks he can just cosy up to him like whatever was going on between them wasn't years in the past, as if he isn't mine, and I know it's stupid and possessive, but I just can't help it-"

"It's not stupid," Ma said, and Alex blinked, took a deep breath, and gathered himself back together. He had lost himself in his rant, which was not optimal, considering that this wasn't even supposed to be an issue at all.

"What?" he said as if he hadn't heard her perfectly fine the first time.

"It's not stupid," she repeated and regarded him for only another moment before she focused back on the task at hand. "It's normal to feel that way sometimes."

Alex's teeth caught his bottom lip and worried it gently. He remained silent for a long few moments and just watched his mother guide the needle through the fabric again and again; the repetitiveness was soothing, in a way.

"How do you deal with it?" he said, and that stopped her mid-motion.

"Well," she said, her lips curled into the beginning of a humorous smile. "I really don't have to deal with much of anything in that regard. Your father is not as considerate as John, love. When someone gets too flirty with him, he shuts it down and walks away. It's quite fun to watch, actually."

He chuckled along with his mother's quiet laugh, even though that was hard for him to imagine at all–people flirting with his father. Pa didn't flirt. He was polite, but not overly so, and never did anything to invite any flirtatious remarks.

"People flirt with Pa?" he said, grinning.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. He was a good catch back when we got married, when he was just a handsome, well-off tobacco-planter and a rising star in the military. Now he's one of the most influential men in the colonies," she responded, a calm, almost serene smile on her face as she cut her thread and took up a new one.

"Huh," he said. That did make sense, even if Alex would prefer not to think about it too much. As far as he was concerned, his parents were not… sought after in that regard. The thought alone that someone might look at his father with less than chaste intentions made him break out in all kinds of repulsed shivers.

But as interesting as this particular topic was, it wasn't quite the direction Alex had wanted to steer the conversation.

"That's something I will avoid ever thinking about again," he said, and Ma chuckled. "And… it's not what I meant. How do you… I mean, I used to be around all the time. How did you deal with that?"

She snapped her head up then, the expression on her face almost offended, and the one in her eyes- there was no fire in them, she wasn't angry–she was hurt.

His stomach plummeted as his eyes widened; he hadn't meant any offence, he had just figured that Alex was a very hard to ignore token from his father's past, he hadn't intended to hurt her, that was the last thing he wanted to do-

"Alexander Hamilton, when I look at you I do not see another woman's child passed off to me to raise out of necessity. You are my son just as much as you were hers, and the mere suggestion that you might serve as a reminder of your father's past-"

The door squeaked open, and she fell silent. Alex swallowed and turned in his seat to see his father close the door behind himself, looking from Ma to him and back to her with raised brows.

"It has been a little over a day and there's already a disagreement? I'd hoped we could make it a bit farther this time," he said and stepped further into the room, paused to tousle a hand through Alex's hair, and went on to kiss Ma.

"No disagreement, just a misunderstanding," Alex said and shot his mother a careful smile. "I didn't mean it that way, Ma."

She sighed and breathed deeply, took a moment to settle back down, and returned the smile. "I know, love. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

"Mh. That's better. Dare I ask what this was about?" his father said, but Ma just shook her head and waved him off, so Alex followed her lead and shrugged his shoulders, noncommittal, when he turned to him instead.

"Unimportant," she said, and Alex nodded along. "What should interest you right now is that your son is currently a bit green-eyed over one of Greene's young men."

Alex groaned and rubbed a hand down his face; to show his exasperation, not to hide a faint blush, of course. "I'm not jealous, I am, frankly, incredulous that someone would be so bold, I am entirely unamused, I-"

"You're jealous," Pa interrupted with poorly concealed mirth and turned to hang his coat over the back of a chair–but not in time to hide his grin from Alex.

Well, at least his parents were having a grand old time while some harlot attempted to get into his husband's pants.

"I'm not-" Alex tried once more, but his father cut him off yet again, his back still to him, but the amusement carried clear enough in his voice.

"Alexander, my sweet boy, I was afraid for the man's safety today with how you were glaring at him. Don't think I didn't see you contemplate that letter-opener."

"Alexander!" Ma chimed in now, scolding but with a hint of humour, and Alex sank further into his seat. "No man is worth getting blood on your hands over. You have to wait, and only after they slight you, you bring out the letter-openers."

His father turned back to them and gave her a look. "While I would say that's sound advice, I do hope I haven't done anything to slight you yet, my dear."

"No, love," she said. "But there is a reason you are my second husband."

With that, she went back to her stitching. Alex and his father exchanged a set of bewildered glances, and Alex opened his mouth to- he didn't know, actually, he just felt he should say something to that, but Pa shook his head, so he kept his silence.

"Anyway," he began slowly, the playful air bleeding from his demeanor, and fixed Alex with a questioning look. "What is it you're worried about? Not even John is stupid enough to step out on you. You're way too good for him already, he can't do any better."

Alex huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not worried about him stepping out. I just don't like watching some guy throw himself at my husband."

"I'm sorry, your what now?" his mother said, her hands frozen around their tight grip on the embroidering-hoop.

Oh. Yes, that was right, he hadn't exactly told her about that development yet.

Alex snuffed out the deeply ingrained impulse to turn to his father for help in the face of his mother's not-quite-anger; he was grown, he was an adult, a soldier, he could explain himself.

Or perhaps not. He had been silent for too long already, the air grew thicker around them with every new moment, and his head was achingly empty.

"Um," he settled on, finally, after he had let a tense eternity pass, his heart in his throat. "John and I- a few weeks after your last visit, we decided to make it… somewhat official, I suppose. We had a little ceremony."

Alex swallowed, looked from his mother's expression of faint distaste to his father, who wasn't even looking at him–he watched Ma with slightly narrowed eyes, so Alex wouldn't get any help from there.

Not quite knowing what else to do, he ripped his left hand up from where it had been folded with his right in his lap and presented it with a nervous half-smile.

The ring gleamed softly in the light of the fire. Ma squinted at it, and her features rearranged themselves into something more neutral.

"It's from him," he explained needlessly.

"Well," she said and cleared her throat, the white-knuckled grip she had on her hoop easing up; Pa's stance relaxed ever so slightly. They were back in safer waters. "That's a nice ring."

"Thank you," he replied, his voice soft and small; her shoulders lost their tension, and she raised her head to shoot him a fond, tender smile. Ma had caught on to his true meaning. "It was his mother's."

The stifling heat of the room reverted back to a placid warmth after that, and Alex let the rest of his apprehension slip away.

Pa let out a long breath when the atmosphere had finished its shift back to familiar and comfortable–the godforsaken grin had found its way back to his lips as well, if less pronounced than before, but Alex still thought it appropriate to fix him with a warning glare.

"You said it yourself, John is your husband. The idiot boy loves you too much to even notice that someone else is flirting with him," he said, and Alex heaved a sigh, part relieved and part annoyed, if only with himself.

"I know, Pa. He's just being friendly."

"Mh," he hummed in agreement and came to stand next to where Alex sat, smoothed a few wayward strands of hair back from his face, and Alex couldn't help but lean into the gentle touch. "Besides, he knows I would slaughter him like cattle if he ever hurt you like that."

Ah. There it was.

"Pa," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You wouldn't harm a hair on his head at this point, you love him too much."

"I do not-" he began, outraged, but Ma cut him off with cool, calm authority.

"No, dear, Alex is right, you've grown too attached." She raised her gaze from her lap and gave them a sweet smile. "I'll slaughter him."

Alex opened his mouth. No sound came out, so he closed it again and instead just frowned at her.

His father let out a fond chuckle and abandoned his side in favour of crossing over to Ma and bending down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "God, I love you so much."

Alex blinked. "Ma. Pa. If you murder my husband, I will have a very hard time forgiving you."

"Perhaps no murder, then. We could just make him disappear, right, George?" she said, and his father nodded in all seriousness.

"Nothing easier than making a man disappear," he agreed.

Alex watched them for another moment, dumbfounded and without an inkling on how to handle his parents plotting John's sudden demise or mysterious disappearance should he ever hurt him in such a manner, before- Christ, before a slow smile spread over his features.

"I love you," he said simply, hiding his grin behind the hand that bore his ring.

"And we love you, my darling," Ma said as Pa perched himself on the plush arm of the chair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, content.

She went back to her embroidering, and Pa watched, silent, rubbing a gentle hand along her shoulder from time to time, and Alex had a clicking sensation, as though the scattered pieces fell into exactly the right place all at once.

This was what was wrong with him.

He was like this because he was raised by those two murderous lunatics.

He shook his head at the realisation, but his smile didn't fade–his thoughts went on to John and their future, and he wondered if the two of them would be so over the top, insanely ridiculous as well in twenty years' time.

He hoped they would be at least a little bit like his parents–they might be a bit absurd, even downright bizarre at times, and they did have their petty squabbles and disagreements, but at the end of the day...

They were happy. Happy and still very much in love, and Alex really didn't wish for more than to be allowed to love John and be happy with him for years to come.