Hamilton One Shots

Dearest Laurens

Requested by: writer_san

An afternoon passed by with no progress on finding the coordinates of the British, with no news from any spies, or anything of the sort, the army dispersed into their duties. Despite everyone's upbeat spirits and sober laughs, there was an unsettling amount of hope lost surrounding the soldiers on that cold night.

Beside one of the many fires lit around the camp, Alexander swallowed down a gulp of the beer from his bottle. Head spinning, heart twisting in agony, he looked out across the field of mud and tents, only to see the glowing tent that belonged to General Washington.

The silhouette of his commander shifted across a portion of the tent, mouth opening and closing rapidly. Alexander couldn't make out anyone else in the space that he could possibly be shouting at. Stomach dropping, he took another drink of his beer.

"You seem lonely, lieutenant."

At the sound of that familiar voice, with a bit of a rasp to it, Alexander tilted his head up. "Oh, you observe me well, my friend." He lifted up another bottle of beer, raising his eyebrow, and offering the drink to the other lieutenant.

Snatching the drink from his hand, in a teasing manner, the man perched himself on the branch that served as a seat for the two of them. He swallowed the substance, grimacing at the taste. "That's-"

"Nauseating?" Alexander grinned, clinking bottles with his friend. "I wouldn't be drinking, if it didn't have a sickening taste such as this, sir." Taking another swig of it, he glanced back over at Washington's tent.

Following the younger man's gaze, it took him a few seconds to realize exactly the reason he was drinking so carelessly. "Worrying about him will only make things worse than they already are."

Alexander crossed his leg over the other. "But how am I not to worry about him? The army relies on his command, his advice, and I can't allow to watch everything we've worked for fall into an abyss of loss, John." Shuddering at the thought, the lieutenant colonel covered his face with trembling hands.

Unsure how to comfort him, John patted his shoulder softly. "Our army won't fall apart due to his desperation and behavior. What will make it go to pieces is someone like you giving up. You need to show these men who they're lacking as a leader. You're well respected an-"

"It's useless."

The bottle slammed to the ground, and for one of the rare times he did, John watched his fellow friend shatter into tears. "I hate it," he murmured between broken gasps.

"And what do you hate, Alexander? The opportunity to serve in this army, your lovely wife, the commander who doesn't listen?" A pause followed his words, until he whispered one final thing. "Do you hate me?"

Despite his own lack of attraction to women, he knew Alexander loved his wife, just as much as he showed affection in his letters for him. He never came across as shy in his writings or intentions, but John couldn't help but believe maybe he was indeed the problem.

"No, my hatred lies in myself," he muttered under his breath, kicking the shards of the bottle towards the fire. A similar representation of his helpless, breaking heart.

For a moment, neither man said a word. Group after group of soldiers headed back to their tents for the night, giving slightly confused nods at the two lieutenants. Alexander covered his face in the time being, hoping no one noticed how upset he was.

"Maybe it would be best for you to speak to General Washington, if his mental health concerns you so," John murmured, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "We both know, hiding the way we feel won't work for the better of this country."

Alexander crossed his arms, huffing. "But he refuses to listen to a word that comes out of my mouth. He'll push me away, just like he's done everyone else. The state he's in is much too vulnerable and terrifying."

What are you saying? Shutting his eyes, he took a few deep breaths. It could have been from the loss of hope, or loss of connection in the camp that was making him so uneasy and unlike himself. He never spilled anything to John in public, out loud, only in writing.

But he'd come to the right man for assistance in such a difficult time. John gave him a warm smile, shaking his head. "How do you know he won't speak to you? You'll be the one to break him from this hell, Alexander."

"I suppose that's true," he replied, watching as a broken piece of glass went up in flames by the fire pit. "However, we have no response from any of those spies or outside intelligence of where the damn redcoats are." He spat at the ground, feeling foolish in what he said, but equally confident.

"Well, it wouldn't be a difficulty to find out how to go about that, now would it, Hamilton?"

"No, it would not." Alexander, smirking, rose from the branch. He momentarily froze, before grabbing John's arm and pulling him up to his feet. "Oh, dear Laurens, what would I do without you?"

The corner of older man's mouth lifted up in a smile. "You'd be a wreck, and we both know that." Patting the lieutenant on the shoulder, John took a few steps past him, heading in the direction of his tent.

Alexander chuckled, looking in the direction of where his friend went. Foot swiping at the glass pieces, he distracted himself again, with throwing them in the fire. Flames of gold and red burst up around his ankles.

Thinking about what John had said to him, he headed off in the direction opposite of his own tent. Instead, Alexander kept an eye on every spot of the horizon. He didn't know what he was looking for, but it was out there.

And with the advice from dear John Laurens, he was sure hope would arrive soon enough, for the sake of the entire camp.

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A/N: Thank you writer_san for the request! I loved writing a historical relationship one between Hamilton and Laurens. There's a lot of instances where their relationship is portrayed as romantic (which I'm not denying), but I wanted to make something where you see just their supportive relationship. I hope you liked how it turned out!