Becoming A Founding "Father"- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Fifteen: An Aide-de-Camp

Soon we're placed by a desk swimming in paperwork. We're given- I've forgotten the word again- feathers and a single ink pot. I raised an eyebrow at the ink pot, and Alexander gave me a tight smile.

"This poor thing will only last us half a day," I say, and Alex laughs, taking his own feather pen into his hand. Right, we have a job now as aides-de-camp- glorified secretaries, if you ask me. Looking at the first piece of parchment, I grin.

Oh, this will be a piece of cake.

Looking over the document again- a list with various numbers- it's identical to the many letters that Lytton got. I've had more than enough practice to know exactly what they want from me here, and- unlike my way of speech- I know exactly how to write it. After all, Lytton never really let me do anything else for over a year.

Taking my pen, I start writing averages, estimates and predictions. Alexander huffs next to me- he read something amusing, probably- and I was suddenly reminded of our first few years together, scribbling away at our shabby desk at Lytton's. A sad smile graces my face, and I continue my work.

After an hour or so, I come upon a piece of parchment that I don't understand. It's full of twisting words and contradictory statements, and I fail to understand the point. Alexander notices my grimace, and he asks what's the matter.

"Fucking English, that's what," I grumble, tossing the letter onto Alex's side of the desk. "Why can't some people learn to just say what they need to say? Numbers are so much better than-" I gesture at the offending piece of parchment. "-This bullshit."

"Ah, Congress," he chuckled, looking over the parchment. "I'll deal with this."

I knew that he definitely could, but I quickly shut him down with a "Nope, definitely not, Alex. I don't want you to burn yourself out."

He looks at me with an amused look. "Soul, I assure you that I don't have any plans of setting myself on fire."

"Fuck off- you know what I meant." He didn't, but I'm sure he can figure it out. "My answer's still no."

"Okay, I'll set you a deal then. I seem to be having-" He swallows, and gestures to a neglected pile of parchment on the side, "-difficulty with the estimate lists. It seems that my skills with such has faded over time, but you look comfortable with them. So if you give me all the formal letters in your work, I shall transfer all the estimate lists to yours?"

"Hmm," I squint, trying to see any grey areas in his offer, but I found none. The amount of wordy letters was about the same as the lists. "Fine."

We exchanged the letters, to the amusement of everyone else in the room. I didn't know this at the time, but for years to come, that became our working arrangement.

---

"Layden!" I hear Tilghman shout from the aide tent. I sigh and put down the box of supplies I was carrying. Wiping the sweat off of my brow, I wince at the ache in my muscles. 

"Oh, god damn i - My apologies, it seems like my break is over, and I've got to get back to work. Will you manage, or should I call for someone?" I say, and the young lady smiles widely, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. I nod to Tilghman, signaling him that his words didn't fall on deaf ears.

"Oh, this is more than enough, sir. Thank you so much for your help!"

"Anytime, ma'am." I smile at the nurse and run back to the aide tent, ignoring the smirk on Tilghman's face when I come back. He's been teasing me for helping people with physical work during my breaks. More specifically, the newly established nurses, as they have a surprising amount of supplies.

"What shall it be today, Layden? A box of rum? Medical instruments?" He asks, not unkindly, but still.

I scoff. "If you're curious, it was mostly bandages." I sit next to Alexander, who doesn't even look up from his work. "I don't have any ulterior motives- you know this, Tilghman."

"Mhmm- unsurprisingly, nothing seemed to change in four months, they seem to need you as much as they needed you then. Well, next time, invite Hamilton to socialize with the ladies."

"Mmm?" Alexander perked up when he heard his name. Both of us chuckled at his obliviousness. "At ease, Hamilton. Oh, also- I have received news from not long ago. I heard that a certain John Laurens will be joining us, fresh from Europe."

"John Laurens?" I enquire curiously. That name rung a really loud bell. "Have I heard of him before?"

"Laurens?" Alexander grimaces, disgust clear in his eyes. "Joining us? Why would a Laurens join us?"

Tilghman ignores him in favor of answering me. "You must've heard of his father- the man is president of the Continental Congress. Laurens's famous in the South for his unyielding patriotism."

"Yeah, in the South," Alexander hissed, putting his pen down. My head perked up at that. South, at this time, is synonymous to being really rich. "Why in the world would his son come here?"

"To be a volunteer aide-de-camp, from what I've read." Tilghman drops a letter on our desk, and Alex snatches it to himself. I watch him read the letter, face slowly turning more and more outraged. "He's a fine man, Hamilton, do not let your prejudice of the South ruin your view of 'im."

I didn't know that Alex had some hatred for Southerners, but Alex missed my pointed look and scoffed. "As if he'll stay long enough to even make an impression. He'll desert us the moment he sees a drop of blood!" I look at Alexander quizzically, but he just tosses the parchment back to the other aide. "Damn Southerners and their-"

"Watch your tongue, Hamilton- General Washington's from the South!" Reed, from the other side of the room, finally snaps. I'm surprised he waited that long- it must be a new record to his patience. Alex huffs, pouting like child. I rub his shoulder, he gives me a tight smile and we go back to work.

---

'Why the sudden hate for Lauren?- SL

Laurens is only joining this army to leech off of someone else's glory. I don't believe he shall bring anything of use to us.- AH

It's a bit too soon to judge, don't you think? Maybe he's a good guy- SL

I'm not questioning his morality, I'm questioning his willingness to fight- he has everything he could possibly wish for-why should some rich descendant of a merchant-slave trader wish to fight for this country?- AH

Washington did.- SL'

"Hamilton, Layden- work," Reed interrupts our note passing with a sharp glare.

"Sorry, Reed!"