Hamilton doesn't even remember getting off the horse. He is just at Burr's side, immediately, his mind a frantic, pulsing mess of blood, oh God, the blood-- The blanket is discarded behind him as he goes to his knees by Burr, snow sticking to his sodden clothes.
Anything could be happening, inside Burr. Anything, some terrible internal wound to him or the child, and Hamilton has no way of knowing what it is or closing it. He is helpless, and Aaron is helpless, in the grip of such pain.
"I'm here, I'm here," and he winds his hand into Aaron's. "The surgeon!" He bellows, at someone who might have been one of the aides or might have even been Washington.
And then Washington is there, reaching for Aaron, and Hamilton growls, a territorial and instinctive snarl. Washington grabs Hamilton by the lapel, and snaps, "Hamilton," overtones of dominant alpha. "We need to get him to the cabin."
Hamilton processes, slowly, that the scouts have come back, saying there is a grouping of a handful of cabins less than a mile ahead.
"Sir," he breathes, and he hunches, knowing he has to show visible submission after a display like that. He trusts Washington; Washington is the head of this little military family.
And, indeed, he has cause to be grateful for Washington's prodigious strength, once legendarily involving throwing a stone over the Natural Bridge in Virginia. For Washington lifts Burr completely, one arm under his legs and another under his shoulders, and begins to determinedly stride towards the west.
Hamilton darts back to the horse, recovers the blanket and mounts. He races past Washington, at the scouts' direction, and soon he can see the indistinct smoke against the grey sky. Presses on, and finds himself in a rough circle of rough log cabins.
A sturdy woman wrapped in furs sets down a pail as Hamilton dismounts. "Are ye wounded?" she demands, and Hamilton realizes he's bloodied too.
He shakes his head. "There is an omega, in childbirth, coming behind," and how he hopes this is childbirth and not just the death of them both. "He's bleeding terribly--"
She's already shouting a series of names. Hoists the pail, which is full of water, and shoulders the door to one of the cabins open. "The lot of you, get to the Lindens," she orders, "clear out, and go fetch Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Linden."
He counts five children who are herded and hustled out of the home, presumably this woman's own.
"Make yourself useful," she snaps, at Hamilton, and she has him in the cabin setting water to boil. Introduces herself as Catherine Jones. He offers all he has in the saddlebags: blankets, rags, clothing, and she frowns in what seems to be approval. The bed is cleared and readied. The cabin is small, one room only, crowded, but kept determinedly neat, Alexander can tell. The floor is swept, each utensil in the small kitchen corner in its place.
He moves outside as he hears voices, and waves to Washington. "Sir!"
Washington doesn't even seem to be winded; he lowers Aaron carefully to the cleared bed. Aaron reaches for Hamilton, and Hamilton is there, kissing his hand.
"Now, all of you, clear out." There are three formidable American women now, weathered and strong, and Hamilton smells omega on at least one of them. "Men and alphas, the lot of you--"
"May I stay?" Hamilton wants to shout and demand, but instead he keeps his grip on Aaron's hand, and requests.
no subject
Anything could be happening, inside Burr. Anything, some terrible internal wound to him or the child, and Hamilton has no way of knowing what it is or closing it. He is helpless, and Aaron is helpless, in the grip of such pain.
"I'm here, I'm here," and he winds his hand into Aaron's. "The surgeon!" He bellows, at someone who might have been one of the aides or might have even been Washington.
And then Washington is there, reaching for Aaron, and Hamilton growls, a territorial and instinctive snarl. Washington grabs Hamilton by the lapel, and snaps, "Hamilton," overtones of dominant alpha. "We need to get him to the cabin."
Hamilton processes, slowly, that the scouts have come back, saying there is a grouping of a handful of cabins less than a mile ahead.
"Sir," he breathes, and he hunches, knowing he has to show visible submission after a display like that. He trusts Washington; Washington is the head of this little military family.
And, indeed, he has cause to be grateful for Washington's prodigious strength, once legendarily involving throwing a stone over the Natural Bridge in Virginia. For Washington lifts Burr completely, one arm under his legs and another under his shoulders, and begins to determinedly stride towards the west.
Hamilton darts back to the horse, recovers the blanket and mounts. He races past Washington, at the scouts' direction, and soon he can see the indistinct smoke against the grey sky. Presses on, and finds himself in a rough circle of rough log cabins.
A sturdy woman wrapped in furs sets down a pail as Hamilton dismounts. "Are ye wounded?" she demands, and Hamilton realizes he's bloodied too.
He shakes his head. "There is an omega, in childbirth, coming behind," and how he hopes this is childbirth and not just the death of them both. "He's bleeding terribly--"
She's already shouting a series of names. Hoists the pail, which is full of water, and shoulders the door to one of the cabins open. "The lot of you, get to the Lindens," she orders, "clear out, and go fetch Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Linden."
He counts five children who are herded and hustled out of the home, presumably this woman's own.
"Make yourself useful," she snaps, at Hamilton, and she has him in the cabin setting water to boil. Introduces herself as Catherine Jones. He offers all he has in the saddlebags: blankets, rags, clothing, and she frowns in what seems to be approval. The bed is cleared and readied. The cabin is small, one room only, crowded, but kept determinedly neat, Alexander can tell. The floor is swept, each utensil in the small kitchen corner in its place.
He moves outside as he hears voices, and waves to Washington. "Sir!"
Washington doesn't even seem to be winded; he lowers Aaron carefully to the cleared bed. Aaron reaches for Hamilton, and Hamilton is there, kissing his hand.
"Now, all of you, clear out." There are three formidable American women now, weathered and strong, and Hamilton smells omega on at least one of them. "Men and alphas, the lot of you--"
"May I stay?" Hamilton wants to shout and demand, but instead he keeps his grip on Aaron's hand, and requests.