private storyline...... 3!!!

[non_stop]

Hamilton tells Washington, that day, that Burr's uniform had been ripped by the laundress, and that he had to go into town to repair it. Washington, who favors thrift and also a polished appearance by his subordinates, accepts this well enough. It is certainly a better excuse than some others Hamilton has invented, whole cloth, for his friend.

And Hamilton, quietly, that day, first takes pen to paper.

New York City, 23 Apr. 1775

Forgive the lack of salutation; I do not seek to compromise you or your privacy.

My tongue, I find, is inadequate to the task before it. How can it convey the profuse and overflowing sentiments of my heart, when it is struck dumb at the sight of you? I know you are not so sentimental, and your patience for such things is thin. I beg your indulgence.

As air lends a vivifying element to the blood by means of the lungs, as water does the same by gill, so you have lent me that which previously I knew not. In the nights that I have such blessing as sharing a bed with you, it seems to me that you breathe but that I am the one animated. My blood stirs. New organs of thought and feeling have awakened within me. I was asleep; I was insensible. I thought I knew what there was to know of this world because Death has walked my path, stalking a step behind me, cutting down the few that dared to give freely of themselves to me.

I was foolish. Forgive me. I did not know that the future could bring with it

At this point, Hamilton is interrupted, sent on an errand. He folds the paper and slips it among those in his personal correspondence, carried in a satchel.

He does not finish the letter that day. He is sent overnight to courier orders to a nearby group; though merely a captain, he has the knack already of wheedling superior officers into doing what Washington wants.

The day after, he returns after Burr has already left his room. He tucks the unfinished letter onto the desk, intending to come back to it later.

A quick tour by the cook has her weighing him down with an entire basket of food, as she apparently has come into contact with one of the widows he's been supplying. "Bless you," she tells him, "little Patty has croup, and I've sent mulled wine for her and the rest of the Westerings. And a letter for my sister. Be off, now!"

"Madam," Hamilton says, "how could you say such a thing to me? You banish me from the presence of an angel. What is my crime, to be so cast down?"

The cook, who is dumpy and short, with a broad, friendly, ruddy face, and also a good forty years on him, gives him a merry laugh. "You rogue! Out of my kitchen."

"Any way I may be of service," Hamilton vows, with an answering grin, and slips the letter in a pocket. He does take the wine by the Westerings, and then the letter next door. Two more visits, and the basket is emptied, and he's on his way back to the camp.

He doesn't notice the man until he steps out in front of Hamilton, shaky and pale and lips thin. "You!" the man calls. "You! Captain Alexander Hamilton!"

"Aye, I am he," Hamilton admits, suddenly wary.

"I charge you!" And Hamilton realizes this man isn't any older than he is. Younger, in fact, scrawny, though maddeningly taller. "You have ravished my sister and got her with child, and you will answer!"

"You have mistaken me," says Hamilton, coldly. "I have done no such thing."

"You cannot hide your crimes," insists the youth. "She swells daily, and you prance about the city as though you are above the law!"

"I have gotten no one with child!" Hamilton snaps.

"You visit her--"

"I visit many." Then, on realizing how that sounds: "To bring bread to those in the city who cannot obtain it themselves!"

"Sir, you will answer. I challenge you." The youth is pale. "I challenge you."

An hour later, Hamilton stands before Washington's desk. Burr, Laurens, and Lafayette are all present, maddeningly.

"I swear to you, sir, I was not responsible for her state," Hamilton vows.

"Hamilton." Washington sets his spectacles down hard on the desk. "I know you have spent many weeks bringing food into the city. I have turned a blind eye."

"I had no improper motives--"

"Shut up. I can't turn a blind eye to this." He rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Accept the man's challenge or a court martial."

Hamilton pauses.

"What is your choice?" asks Washington, impatiently.

"Both," says Hamilton.

Laurens drops a sheaf of papers.

"Son." Washington sounds weary.

"I want the chance to prove myself innocent, and I cannot back down from a challenge of honor. Sir." A beat. "If court finds me not guilty, then perhaps he will withdraw his challenge."

A gamble. Hamilton is not one to back away from such gambles. Nor from challenges.

"I'll sign the orders," Washington says, finally.