"Oh, what a favor you have done me, not sending me away! What an incomprehensible favor, to give me the rights another might have, if they were not omega, or dictated by their husband! Yes, speak to me of tactics, you who should also know that in a war of attrition we can never hope to defeat the British, not from the position we are in now, forced west, with hardly supply to feed the men we have. Of course, your conceding on your own wishes must be the greater sacrifice than my body, my position as a solider, for how can I not exist, my own wants, if they aren't in relation to your own? My, what a good little Alpha you are, to even listen to me, what a great weight that must be on your shoulders, to have an omega you allow to speak, or not order away outright. Should I drop to my knees to thank you? Bend over?"

He is seething, hissing, stalking towards Hamilton on unsteady legs, shaking with adrenaline. When was the last time he has had any kind of outlet, that was not sex or Hamilton himself? When has he been angry, truly angry, for what he has lost?

"Of course, I should be happy for scraps that I get, for being thrown some bit to satisfy me. Why yes Burr, see to army discipline! Something to keep you occupied, perhaps even important enough to look respectable. Blast what I want, my training and experience! Blast my whole damn opinion, while I am at it!"

Pain, a sharp one, as he yells, propels air from his diaphragm. This isn't good for him. And if he collapses they shall never let him up again. If he cries, he shall never show his face again.

"Enough," he says, "enough. You may leave, if you are only to justify yourself to me, to turn my own wants and struggles and unhappiness into the effect they have on your own!"

If Hamilton is to fight him on this, Burr will shut him down. Will order him out in the stony voice he uses when he orders soldiers lashed--will not stop repeating the request that he leave until he complies.