amrev_intrigues | Private Storyline 9

Private Storyline 9

Three days after their liaison in the woods, Timothy Edwards visits camp. He comes with some excuse--ministering to the men, and as famous as he is, he is not turned away. Of course, he must be there to see Burr. To seek him out after months of letters not adequately returned. And the winter location of the army is no secret.

He is given quarter nearby, and he makes sure to rub elbows with the officers, inserting himself into affairs in a manner that must, to anyone else, seem unobtrusive. But Burr knows him too well to read it as anything else--elbowing in, showing Aaron that he isn't free, even here. Not much time to be alone with him, with all the work, and little Theo, but he finds the time.

When Hamilton must leave for a meeting just before breakfast, and Burr is rocking Theo to sleep, he slips into their chamber. Burr thinks at first he is Laurens, so does not rise, until the voice startles him.

"You would think I were a stranger," Edwards says, smiling. Burr jumps. Theo startles, crying. "For all my nephew greets me. Do I not have leave to meet my granddaughter, whom I have read so much about?"

"Of course not uncle," Burr says, but he makes no move to hand her over, fussing at her as she cries. "It is just that I am terribly busy here, and I was not sure you would want to see her."

"Why ever wouldn't I? It is the Christian thing to do, is it not?" follows Burr about the room until he is cornered, and Burr can do nothing but hold Theo close and Edwards pulls at the blanket, gazes at her scrunched face. "I should say she looks like her father, but I understand there is some confusion regarding the matter."

"Uncle--" Burr protests, face hot. "There is no confusion, I--" swallows, stops. Feels like a child, so quickly. "You read about the affair from Paine's pen, did you not? It was all true, what he wrote."

"Mr. Paine has the habit of exaggerating, as we both know. Don't play dumb, boy. He would worship America sooner than god, and would hide sin in the interest of patriotism. I raised you better." A little hiss, leaning in close, and Burr turns, shielding Theo around the curve of his shoulder.

"What's done is done. I am married now--does that not please you?"

"No, I am not pleased by you parading this matter, our family's shame, in front of everyone to satisfy your petty pride. I shall not hold the girl accountable, as she is a victim in this, but you have shown yourself to lack any shred of common sense or decency."

"So what? Is that why you've come, to take me away?" A little mocking laugh, and Edwards' face darkens. He won't hit Burr here, with a child. But if he did it would be no large matter. He would be within his rights to.

"An Omega at war," he scoffs. "It was my fault really. To let you come here with no way to defend yourself against lust and greed."

"You have no say in the matter. I am my own man, and I have a family, and you would do your best to put us from your mind."

"We cannot all dismiss notions of duty. I took you on as my charge, raised you at great cost to myself, when I had already so many children to look after. Educated you, when others would not have, clothed you. Allowed you to range outside the home, when clearly I should not have. Why do you take pleasure in hurting our family? Have we not done enough for you?"

Theo lets out another wail, louder this time. Burr cannot slip around Edwards as he grows louder, and his heart is pounding, as he shrinks into the corner. Always so small, then and now. And if Edwards did decide to punish Aaron, one of the old beatings, that left him sore and blackened for days, he would not be able to protect Theo.

Edwards raises a hand, and Burr flinches back hard, knocks his head on the wall and nearly goes tumbling. Edwards grabs his arm, wrenches him back up, forward, enough that his muscles burn.

"Keep your feet, boy. They have no use for cowards in war."

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"Should I leave him, his own independent wealth will sustain him far better than you." The his in this case clearly refers to Burr, because Hamilton hasn't given up his insistence that Montgomery Place belongs to Burr -- Hamilton is merely to manage it so long as he is alive, with a fiduciary duty to preserve it for Burr's descendants, and Theodosia especially.

Hamilton is satisfied with that parting shot -- it must be that Edwards is after that estate, or Theodosia, and he will have neither of them.

Theodosia lets out a scream, and starts to wail and kick as Edwards goes. Hamilton scoops her out of the guard's arms, and kneels next to Burr.

It isn't as bad as he thought. A scrape, and bruise, and it bleeds the way most wounds on the head bleed. "How dare he." -- through gritted teeth.

"It's alright," Burr says, and he can see in Hamilton's face that the wound is not so bad, when he hesitantly removes his bloodied hand. A cut across his cheek, a bruise on his jaw and darkening his opposite eye. "It doesn't hurt," he says as he winces, and "it could have been worse." Because it never had been so slight, in these matters. A small slap in public leading up to something, or the first signs of a bad mood, where Burr could do nothing but make mistake after mistake.

Men come to blows quite often. He reaches for Theodosia, but stops when he sees the state of his hands, fumbling for his handkerchief. A thousand excuses on his tongue. "He's not a good man," Burr says, "but all his concerns and actions come from a place of care."

"If it was worse for you, it would have been worse for him." He makes it sound simple: an exchange. It isn't simple, obviously.

He almost hands Theodosia to Burr regardless of the state of his hands. He needs her. She needs him.

"At least that's what he tells himself," says Hamilton, "and what he tells everyone else. You don't have to defend him. Here," and he settles Theodosia carefully in Burr's arms.

"Son," says Washington, "might want to take your mate to the medic."

"Yes, sir," says Hamilton. He moves to his feet. "Thank you, sir." He means terribly much by it; he squares his shoulders and looks up, to Washington's towering form. The angry mood hasn't vanished, still leaves impressions around jaw and brow.

"The Reverend Edwards had no standing," Washington tells him. "Legal or ethical." He claps Hamilton on the shoulder.

Once they are outside he stops. "I don't need the medic, Alexander. Let's just go to our cabin and rest. I shouldn't be much for the army if I couldn't take a single punch."

He is hugging Theo close to him, against the chill. Though today is warmer the cold still feels good against his abused skin. "Some good has come of this, at least--" pulling Hamilton towards their cabin, if he will let him, "Edwards visit has been cut short, and excepting anything unforseen, we shall not have to see him again."

In truth he wants them all to go about their business like none of this has happened. To shut himself away alone for the public embarrassment, yet he knows Hamilton--easily wounded and delicate, despite what he would say. He needs to be near Burr, now. He is sure.

Edited 2022-05-28 03:28 (UTC)

Actually, he likes that better. His mate, his child (Theodosia is his, in a truer sense than blood) in a safe place, surrounded by walls, out of reach of any and all outside influence. By the time they get there, he is herding them more than Burr pulling him.

When they're inside, Hamilton nudges Burr onto the bed, and starts to build a fire. Twigs, leaves, and flint's sharp sparks.

"My mother's husband was that kind of man."

He does not elaborate. The flame catches, and he feeds it, small curl of smoke taken into the mud-brick chimney. There isn't much wood, and so they can't keep the fire going while they aren't inside here, meaning that the air is barely less frigid than the outside. The walls protect from the wind's chill, more than anything else -- and sometimes not even that.

This is enough justification for a fire. He uses one of the too-small stack of logs, and then another, slow-burning, setting them in parallel. Soon, the fire crackles and snaps.

He covers one of Theo's cleaned rags in snow, and ducks back in to melt it over the little fire. Water thus obtained, he perches next to Burr, and wipes at the stray smears of blood. Burr is right, of course -- he wants to fuss.

A small flinch, before he yeilds to the treatment. Lets a little sigh escape, as the cool water dabs at his face. Bounces Theo on his leg. Yes, this is his family. He doesn't need anyone else, or anything.

Suddenly grabs Hamilton's wrist, as it goes back towards the drying blood, just so he can watch his face, the little play of emotions, and then he closes his eyes and pushes his head, sore, swelling, against Hamilton's shoulder. Lets himself sit, held up.

Hamilton's mother's husband. Violent men. He lets go of Hamilton's wrist, but only to grab his hand, the rag still held between them, reddened. He understands. Some do. Many more don't, or want not to. They won't use violence, either of them. And they won't need justifications, for these small moments. The small hollow parts, the rough edges.

"Did he hurt you?" He asks, and he doesn't know why it is so important, things that happened years ago, yet the thought makes his heart ache.

Edited 2022-05-28 05:29 (UTC)

"When my mother died, he took everything and sold it," Hamilton tells him. "He hardly laid a glance on me."

He follows the touch of the rag with a tender kiss, as though he could heal the wounds by affectionate sentiment alone. Theodosia, oblivious to the complexities of the sentiment woven between her two parents, has settled again, giggling and kicking her legs as she is bounced.

"He hurt her, though, before she fled." And after, humiliating her. "Would snow help, to draw off the heat of the wound?"

"Oh, it's alright, there's no need to fuss." Mutters against Hamilton's skin, though in truth snow would help. Already his skin feels tight and numb and pulsing and hot. It would likely look better, if he iced it, but he still feels embarrassed.

"Sometimes doing nothing is worse, Alexander." About his mother's husband. Wraps his hand in Hamilton's shirt sleeve. The other around Theodosia. Low light, and crackling fire. A small bubble of domestic tranquility. How could Edwards have ever come here?

"Of course there is. You won't fuss over yourself; it falls to me." He disentangles himself from his veritable octopus of a husband, who seems to have attached himself to Hamilton with more limbs than he should rightly possess. He moves to the pile of rags, and takes another, which he makes into a little bundle of compact snow, outside.

When he returns, he shakes out a blanket, as well, and drapes it over Burr's legs, tucking himself underneath it as well, budging him over on the little bed. It's hardly more than a frame, a few ropes, and a canvas sack of straw, some of which always seems to be poking through and prickling. Yet, it's been their marriage-bed since they entered winter quarters, and it is larger than the first bed they shared, which was never meant for more than one.

"I'm at a loss to know what to do about him," says Hamilton. "Has he always treated you so?"

"I don't see that we should have to do anything. He's left now, and he may make a fuss in some publication few care about, but you hear Washington. He has no leg to stand on." Yet in truth Burr had feared, that he would be sent after him. Had seen no reason Washington might not agree, the burden he himself and little Theo were to the war effort, the distraction to Hamilton. And besides, it would not be so long until someone would have to watch Theo in a broader capacity, if Burr was ever to make it back onto the battlefield. But not Edwards. The man loved his own children, as babies, but he was harsh, and strict, the older one got.

"He's usually worse," Burr says, not looking up from Theo's wide little eyes, "especially when he doesn't get his way. I suppose he knew that it isn't as commonplace, to be seen striking an omega who is grown. In truth I wasn't sure how he would react, me refusing to go with him. I've hardly seen him for more that a handful of weeks, an odd summer, since leaving for Princeton."

Hamilton sighs. He knows full well there is no being rid of these men until they are fully gone. Burr's naivete strikes again.

"Love," says Hamilton, "dear, darling, you have a mind of surpassing quality, and why you, at times, fail entirely to engage it is beyond me." It is a little exasperated, though terribly fond. "He has been humiliated in front of two guards, the commander of the Continental forces, someone he believes to belong to him, and a bastard whoreson -- his object has not been attained -- and he must leave with his tail tucked, when he expected to resume his control over you. Have there been similar incidents before? What did he do then?"

Yes, similar instances, when Burr has run away, or done something humiliating. Like expressing a contrary opinion before one of Edward's fellows. Yet at the end he had attained his goal, gotten Burr back, and still--

"He would beat me like a sack," Burr says, and his grip tightens on Theodosia, and he lifts her up, leans her against his chest, while his other hand holds the cold rag to his eye. "Or he would shut me up in the cellar for a day or two, or make me kneel for hours in the prayer room." But usually some combination of those things together.

Yet he doesn't see what there is to be done. If the man has his sights set on Burr, nothing can be done but rebuke him. And it is likely he will stew, will ignore Burr and wait for him to come crawling back in shame, and yet--he hadn't done that, when Burr ran away. Had boarded a ship after him, threatened to drag him down from the mast and let the sailors have a turn thrashing him.

"I don't see what there is to be done. We have no recourse, until he does something truly drastic. He is very respected, Hamilton. He is the son of the most influential theologian who ever set foot in the colonies."

Hamilton thinks, privately, that he should have killed the man. Or should find a way to do it now. He can't be particularly far away -- and yet, a frantic search and a frantic gunshot will just mean he hangs for murder.

"A high position means a long fall," says Hamilton, ominously. "I agree that we have no power to act overtly against him, but neither does he have the power to act overtly against yourself and Theo." He swoops in and kisses her on the crown of the head, and she shrieks happily, flailing a hand in his direction. This prompts him to do it again, and she squirms in joy. It is astonishing, how she is unable to contain any aspect of her emotions. "The marriage is legal, the license was proper, and we had publication. There was no fraudulent inducement or factum. Nor do we need to worry for subversion of anyone close to us, and kidnapping. Laurens and Lafayette would surely die for her, provided they didn't make everyone else die for trying to take her first."

"Ah, so you call me naive, and yet you agree there is nothing yet to be done?" Teasing, smacking Hamilton in the face with the now wet rag.

"I think Lafayette should only be complicit because he wants a chance to be near dear Theo. He would steal her I suspect, if he were given the chance." Tickles Theo's sides just to hear her laugh, then picks her up beneath the arm pits and swings her back and forth, before Alexander.

Finds himself giggling as she makes those delightful sounds, for all it pulls at his face. A sweet hurt, when he sees the joy and unrestrained love there in Hamilton.

"There is no question you are her father," Burr smiles. "All you would have to do is bring her before a court of law and make one of your faces at her, and her peals of laughter would be evidence enough." A bubbling in his chest, an excitement and happiness and love that threatens to choke him. When did he start loving her so much? So desperately? Picks her up and blows on her stomach.

"There may be nothing to be done, but we will have to, eventually," Hamilton tells him, fighting for seriousness in the face of such a lovely sight.

Burr may not be totally sensible of the compliment he pays Hamilton, with what he says next, but Hamilton is. He draws no attention to it, however, as such effusions of sentiment are moments he chooses to treasure.

"Ah, but what if," and he rubs his nose on Theo's, "a reasoned jurist could conclude that my countenance is extremely amusing, as a matter of law?"

"Then I am sure you will have great difficulty finding and respectable profession. Any judge would laugh you out of court, though I suppose as an army man you would continue to have used. You might show your face on the battlefield and distract the whole of the British army in such a way. Of course, you would not need any profession, as I could support you well enough, and keep you around as a trophy."

Moves into Hamilton's lap then, so that he can press their faces together. Theo on his chest, laying again Hamilton sideways. "You might find yourself having difficulty in more serious matters, however. How are you to seduce me to bed if the sight of you is singularly amusing?"

Edited 2022-05-28 21:29 (UTC)

"I thought omegas liked to find an alpha who could make them laugh," says Hamilton, faux-injured. "Are you saying this was no more than fiction?"

He kisses the tip of Burr's nose, and then his lips, carefully, gently.

"Though," he notes, "if having you in bed is my object, it seems you've done all the work for me." He encircles both of them in his arms. Precious, precious things.

A sigh; he releases some of the fitful anger and fear that has preoccupied him for days now. "For you, I would be a trophy."

"You are the one who brought me to this bed, Alexander. And I think it more and more likely that I will end up being your trophy, if you intend to have as many children as you tease about."

And he lets out a sigh then too, melts against him. He had hoped neither of them would have to deal with Edwards, and yet it seems more and more obvious the issue of the inheritance will cause them undue troubles.

"Thank you, for interposing yourself between us. That you threw him at all was impressive, for one so small. I suppose we really must deal with this inheritance issue sooner than later."

"Oh," says Hamilton, "did I throw him?" He honestly sounds a little surprised. "I thought more that I shoved him out of the way." He strokes Burr's hair, scratches a little at his scalp. "He doesn't weigh so much as a British gun, anyhow."

He makes a little hmm sound.

"Perhaps we can request leave. If the Montgomery family mounts a challenge to the codicil, the court will set a date and send you summons, and then we can respond."

"There isn't a better time, while we are at quarters, and stationary," Burr says, though he had initially insisted on remaining with the army. This is only to be a temporary leave, though. They can make it work, provided Washington does not need them overmuch.

"It was not so long ago you were overwhelmed by what was needed from you. Do you believe Washington could spare you? Us both?"

"It's too dangerous to travel in these temperatures," Hamilton disagrees. "If an unexpected snowstorm caught us out, we could all three freeze to death -- and Theo is the most vulnerable," he adds, just for the extra gut-punch. "We have to wait until thaw, at least. Besides, if they delayed proceedings for any reason, we would then be bound to stay, or potentially forfeit the claim." Better to have the court set the date and then bring them.

"I didn't mean straight away, but when the weather starts to turn, we might be able to handle the matter before the army breaks quarter here. We traveled through worse, when she was only a newborn. And when I was nearly bursting with her we braved that storm. If it were only me I should not worry for it--but you're right, we can't risk her. She's so delicate Hamilton. I can only think what might happen, if I were to take a tumble. If Edwards had punched me when I was holding her--that's what you walked in on, that day. I flinched back from him and nearly toppled. I could have crushed her, and then he started shaking us, and--"

Well, it is good that Hamilton walked in when he had.

"I would have defended you there," Hamilton says -- "Why did you protect him? It caused you such misery, and I was worried sick, I thought he would try to kidnap Theo, and so I couldn't spare an instant away from her side, or I would have pressed you further. He is not worth your protection, your esteem, or even filial loyalty -- and you are strong, now. You are not just my husband, you are a soldier in your own right. You can defend yourself against him." He is passionate, bursting with it. "And you know, don't you, that if you resort to defending yourself, I will be by your side, whatever consequences come?"

"I don't know," he says, because he doesn't. His daughter had been in danger and he would not have stuck back. Would have prostrated himself before Edwards, taken every punch and done only what he could to curl his body around Theo. "I don't know. It is to my shame." Clutches on with the hand not wrapped around her to the lapel of Hamilton's jacket, pushes further against him, though already there is no space between them.

"I struck him back once when I was a boy, when he was beating Sally, but it only made it worse. Not for me, though I did receive a sound thrashing, but for her as well. I should never have thought to overpower him, until--" Well, until never. Until now. After Quebec, perhaps. But it hadn't been a concern with Montygomery. For all Edwards insulted the man in the heat of their argument, he thinks the two should have liked one another. If they had managed to be married before his pregnancy became apparent, and if Montgomery had not learned how Edwards treated Burr.

"He has you trained," says Hamilton, softly. He sort of curls himself protectively around Burr, tightening his embrace. If Burr is a sun-flower, straining towards him, then he will cast his sun's warmth and light without restraint.

"And now, striking you is not so easy," Hamilton points out. "He knows you have a faithful guardian, and that, when others become involved, they support the right of an alpha husband over that of a childhood guardian -- as is legally proper. So what does he do when he can no longer resort to fist?"

He feels a sinking, a twist in the pit of his chest.

"I think we should find Mr. Paine," he says, "and ask for a publication or two, perhaps ostensibly to strike back at the British mockery about you."

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