He retreats a step or two to the door, his heart half-numb and half-bleeding. A pause, but only briefly; he holds up his hands, palms out in surrender. "I am leaving," he assures, first. "If this is the last we speak," and the specter of Burr's death is still so close, wrapped around Hamilton's thoughts and like to choke them, "then I would -- I love you, Aaron." These words are the greatest promise he can give, and to leave in such acrimony, without any affirmation of his affections, is unthinkable.
He is gone before the words have the chance to settle into the air.
Outside, he is wild; he is unable to calm himself. He wants to destroy and fight and rend and rip -- he is in terror and bloodlust. It is an effort of willpower he did not know he possessed to just wrap his arms around himself and pull his knees up and sit against a hard oak tree, not even shivering, letting the wet and the cold keep seeping in, wishing it would freeze him, freeze the rest of his heart so that the empty space at the center would not feel so empty.
The youngest of the women -- an omega herself -- approaches him, and sits on a stump, a few feet away. She picks at her sleeve.
"He loves you," she says. "Couldn't be more obvious, the way he begged for you right away. He's just in a bird-cage, is all, locked in."
Strange, but her presence seems to make Hamilton's tight chest start to loosen. He lifts his head, takes in the cold air.
"In a cage, and he's got to get that baby out," she continues. "It'll hurt, lots. Might kill him. Might ruin him. Nothing like that, I've ever felt -- made me crazy, too. Clawed my husband right on the face, I did, when he tried to keep me in bed."
He props his chin on his hand, watches her. "A heavy cage." A cage he never saw before. "I think I've been trying to fly high enough to lift it, and him, both."
Her mouth is twisted. "Strainin' your wings," she says, "but still, who'd you rather be, the bird flapping like crazy, or the one helpless, locked in?"
The words him softly and heavily, at the center of his chest.
She stands and moves over to him, pats his shoulder. "Wouldn't have said anything if I didn't think you'd listen," she says. "Certainly didn't bother, with my Jamie. Tries to be a good man, but dumber than a brick, he is. Wouldn't get it."
She wanders off.
Hamilton's mind is suddenly working at fever-pitch. A change, coming over him. In the headquarters-cabin, he approaches Washington, and he says, "Sir, I have an idea." Blue eyes almost violet in the way they glint, in the light. Washington knows immediately to listen, and he clears the room of all but Laurens and Lafayette.
Hamilton unrolls the map. "Sir, we've known the camp of Hessians at Trenton are already in winter quarters. What if we made an attack from across the Delaware? Unexpected, in the early morning, after December's Ides. There are enough boats along the Delaware, especially if Philadelphia sends what she has. The New Jersey militia could prevent reinforcements. It would be a surprise, an impossible crossing, as we did in New York -- these men are experienced in one already, and they could do it again."
He says they would need to begin now, right away, sending a man to Philadelphia to start ensuring that all the boats are on the south side of the Delaware, out of British reach, and bringing as many as they could up north to the ferry north of Trenton. "River isn't 300 yards wide there."
Washington loves the idea. It fires his imagination: a hard strike, a hit back, which is what he's wanted since the siege of Boston. It is bold: "Poetic," murmurs Lafayette, and "Alea iacta est," agrees Laurens.
"Answer my objections, Mr. Hamilton," says Washington, and proceeds to attempt to dismantle the plan. Hamilton is improvising, thinking on his feet, imagining travel time and supply lines. He answers every challenge, some in cleverer ways, some less.
"Finally," and Washington fixes his gaze on Hamilton. "Who is it, who will go to Philadelphia and talk them out of all their boats?"
Hamilton does not look away. "You know what I'm going to suggest, sir."
"Are you prepared to leave your mate at a time like this?" Because the journey has to be made right away, the preparations started.
Hamilton breathes in, shakily. "He has told me, sir, that if I do not solve the problems of the army, then I cannot help him." And if Hamilton has to be here, then he will be tormented every moment with the door that is now barred to him. He must go.
Washington regards him, and finally nods. "We'll write the orders, and then you'll go."
Before dusk, Hamilton departs on horseback, at a gallop, south to Philadelphia. God willing, he'll be able to make it there and back in two days. God willing, nothing here will go horribly wrong in that time.
no subject
He is gone before the words have the chance to settle into the air.
Outside, he is wild; he is unable to calm himself. He wants to destroy and fight and rend and rip -- he is in terror and bloodlust. It is an effort of willpower he did not know he possessed to just wrap his arms around himself and pull his knees up and sit against a hard oak tree, not even shivering, letting the wet and the cold keep seeping in, wishing it would freeze him, freeze the rest of his heart so that the empty space at the center would not feel so empty.
The youngest of the women -- an omega herself -- approaches him, and sits on a stump, a few feet away. She picks at her sleeve.
"He loves you," she says. "Couldn't be more obvious, the way he begged for you right away. He's just in a bird-cage, is all, locked in."
Strange, but her presence seems to make Hamilton's tight chest start to loosen. He lifts his head, takes in the cold air.
"In a cage, and he's got to get that baby out," she continues. "It'll hurt, lots. Might kill him. Might ruin him. Nothing like that, I've ever felt -- made me crazy, too. Clawed my husband right on the face, I did, when he tried to keep me in bed."
He props his chin on his hand, watches her. "A heavy cage." A cage he never saw before. "I think I've been trying to fly high enough to lift it, and him, both."
Her mouth is twisted. "Strainin' your wings," she says, "but still, who'd you rather be, the bird flapping like crazy, or the one helpless, locked in?"
The words him softly and heavily, at the center of his chest.
She stands and moves over to him, pats his shoulder. "Wouldn't have said anything if I didn't think you'd listen," she says. "Certainly didn't bother, with my Jamie. Tries to be a good man, but dumber than a brick, he is. Wouldn't get it."
She wanders off.
Hamilton's mind is suddenly working at fever-pitch. A change, coming over him. In the headquarters-cabin, he approaches Washington, and he says, "Sir, I have an idea." Blue eyes almost violet in the way they glint, in the light. Washington knows immediately to listen, and he clears the room of all but Laurens and Lafayette.
Hamilton unrolls the map. "Sir, we've known the camp of Hessians at Trenton are already in winter quarters. What if we made an attack from across the Delaware? Unexpected, in the early morning, after December's Ides. There are enough boats along the Delaware, especially if Philadelphia sends what she has. The New Jersey militia could prevent reinforcements. It would be a surprise, an impossible crossing, as we did in New York -- these men are experienced in one already, and they could do it again."
He says they would need to begin now, right away, sending a man to Philadelphia to start ensuring that all the boats are on the south side of the Delaware, out of British reach, and bringing as many as they could up north to the ferry north of Trenton. "River isn't 300 yards wide there."
Washington loves the idea. It fires his imagination: a hard strike, a hit back, which is what he's wanted since the siege of Boston. It is bold: "Poetic," murmurs Lafayette, and "Alea iacta est," agrees Laurens.
"Answer my objections, Mr. Hamilton," says Washington, and proceeds to attempt to dismantle the plan. Hamilton is improvising, thinking on his feet, imagining travel time and supply lines. He answers every challenge, some in cleverer ways, some less.
"Finally," and Washington fixes his gaze on Hamilton. "Who is it, who will go to Philadelphia and talk them out of all their boats?"
Hamilton does not look away. "You know what I'm going to suggest, sir."
"Are you prepared to leave your mate at a time like this?" Because the journey has to be made right away, the preparations started.
Hamilton breathes in, shakily. "He has told me, sir, that if I do not solve the problems of the army, then I cannot help him." And if Hamilton has to be here, then he will be tormented every moment with the door that is now barred to him. He must go.
Washington regards him, and finally nods. "We'll write the orders, and then you'll go."
Before dusk, Hamilton departs on horseback, at a gallop, south to Philadelphia. God willing, he'll be able to make it there and back in two days. God willing, nothing here will go horribly wrong in that time.