"No," Alexander says, a shocked smile on his face. "Really?"
"Oui!" Lafayette laughs gleefully, making me recede further into my chair with an embarrassed frown. "He accused me of being Jefferson!"
"Thomas Jefferson?" Tilghman looks at me with a confused smile. "Jefferson's one of the many Virginian delegate of Congress, sir, and I'd expect him to the complete opposite of Lafayette."
"Well, they're both filthy rich," I add. Tallmadge, Tilghman, Lafayette, Alex and I are all sitting around the hearth, all having finished our work for the day. I somehow managed to convince Alexander to take a break.
"Soul, you know nothing of politics- do not look at me like that, you know 'tis the truth- so why would you know or care for some average member of Congress? I do not mean to insult his honor, but he has done nothing very outstanding in his career."
No, that's not right. What did Dalia tell me all those years ago? Oh, right. "Did he not write the Declaration of Independence?"
Everyone looks at each other, before Tallmadge hesitantly replies "No..?"
"Wait, really?" I'm pretty sure Thomas Jefferson wrote that, but everyone else shares a confused and amused look.
"No one knows who wrote the Declaration of Independence, only that it was produced by Congress," Alex finally answers, contemplative. "I'd imagine several men wrote the document. Though, now that I think of it, the writing style and fluidity is similar to that of Jefferson... but it can't be him."
"Why not?"
"Wouldn't Jefferson include the treatment of the negroes somewhere in the document?" Everyone nods, to my confusion. "Surely, he- of all men- must find this Declaration hypocritical." Of all men? What is he talking about?
"Even if it he were offered to write it, I believe he would have refused," Tallmadge adds.
"Perhaps not refused, because Jefferson is still quite a fiery patriot, but I see your point," Tilghman says, and Tallmadge nods after a moment.
"Wait- Hold on, why would he refuse? And what has this got to do with black people?" I finally stutter out. A beat of silence, and Alex breathes in slowly.
"Soul, he's a- uh, how do I say this..."
"He's an abolitionist, Colonel," Tallmadge cuts in abruptly. "He's been almost exclusively representing them in court, he's been constantly issuing bills to protect 'their rights'."
"For a man so intelligent, he does seem have a few screws loose." Tilghman laughs.
What?
"Laurens is an abolitionist, is he not?" Alexander's expression dims when I mention him. My brows furrow at the light mocking. "I do not see you laughing at his actions."
"Well yes," Tallmadge says. "But you don't understand. Most abolitionists are alright- unrealistic, yes- but alright. Laurens' goal seems plausible, as we do need more arms, and he's a respectable gentleman. Jefferson? A gentleman he is, yes, but he is also a radical."
"Eh?" For some reason, that sounded... wrong. Thomas Jefferson and abolitionist didn't seem to fit together in my head.
Tilghman hums. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have heard of his several bills trying to slow and eventually emancipate the triangular trade. I've also heard whispers of Jefferson setting up schools for blacks and Indians."
"Aye!" Tallmadge shakes his head, exasperated. "Some Southerners are so detached from reality- he shall cause America bankruptcy if he is given any power. It's a shame that such an intelligent man's mind was dirtied by black emancipation."
"I..." I look to Alexander, but he says nothing. My hands fumble. "Blacks are fellow people, would you not also wish them freedom? They are suffering more than us."
Tallmadge pauses, then scoffs. "Oh, are you also one of those men?Think, sir- do not let your empathy prevent logical thinking," he presses. "If the negroes are freed, then who shall work the fields that produce our food? Who shall keep the economy running? Do you wish for innocent men, women and children to starve?"
"No, of course not! But do we not fight for- fight for freedom? It is against our values of our cause to discriminate against individuals because of something as trivial as their skin colour."
Tallmadge crosses his arms, shakes his head. "Colonel-" Oh, he pulled the fucking rank card, "-Their skin colour is not the problem, only an identifier of their lesser being. Someone has to do the work, and if not the negroes, then who else? Us? It is terrible that someone has to do such work, but it is the lesser of two evils."
"Lesser of two-? What the fuck are you on about? The blacks are out there, breaking their backs, starving, loosing their families, dying, condemning their next generation to enslavement and you're telling me that's a lesser evil than- than what, sir? Indentured servants? Paid labor?"
His eyes sharpen dangerously. "Keep your tongue tamed, colonel." I was about to retort, but Alex send me a strained look, shaking his head. The Major continued. "By God's law, they are less than us- they do not think like us, they do not feel like us, they cannot govern themselves. Would it not be punishment to take away their home, their work, their only way to survive? We are doing them a favor!"
That's it. I'm going to punch him. I'm going to punch him and I'll be drummed out with a smile on my face.
Lafayette clearly sensed my intentions, and a warm hand enclosed on my first tightly. It was comforting, but it would have been much nicer if my said first wasn't trapped in a steel grip to prevent me from rightfully assaulting a bigoted son of a-
"Perhaps Layden has not recovered from yesterday," Lafayette says casually, though his grip does not falter. I send him a betrayed look, yet he simply smiles again. "He had quite a night yesterday."
"Oh God, not this shit again," I groan, covering my face with my free hand. Though noticing the tense looks in the room, I take the bait. If we talk about this any more I shall combust. "Why is it such a shock that I got drunk?"
"I don't know, mon cher, maybe it's because you never drink?"
"Well, yes, but you see drunk people all the time! What's the big deal?"
One of his perfectly arched brows lift and he squeezes my hand. "You accused me of being alive, being dead, having a doppelgänger, being more attractive than said doppelgänger, and a baguette."
Alexander snorts out rum through his nose, making everyone laugh their ass off. Even Mr 'Black People Are Lesser Beings' laughed, but I didn't have enough time to be salty about it, instead hiding my face deeper in my hand.
Getting drunk was not worth it. The sticky wound on my arm that I found myself with when I woke up only confirmed that theory. When I woke up in Margaret's tent with no memory of the last night, she started laughing hysterically, yet kept her lips shut. When she told me that Lafayette brought me in, I expected something embarrassing- but not this!
"A doppelgänger?" Alex asks, still coughing.
"Oui, one with- I quote- funny hair and is great at..." His eyes squint, and he smiles. "I can't remember the phrase. So it's either moi or the other Lafayette that is Jefferson- wait!" He gasps loudly, and I'm just getting redder and redder. "Is Jefferson my twin? Perhaps we are both half-bread brothers!"
"Oh, for the love of Christ, why didn't you call me? I would have killed to see him drunk!" Alexander exclaims, and I v-sign him. "Oi, I'm not the one who thinks Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence!"
I head-butted Lafayette's shoulder, partially to get back at him, but mostly to hide my blushing face. He squeezes my hand reassuringly as everyone laughs hysterically, but that doesn't make him any less guilty. Though the heat is comforting, and so is the fabric that surely costs more than five of me.
"Now we know why Layden doesn't drink!" Tilghman laughs, not noticing how I press a firm kiss to the frenchman's clothed shoulder, picking my head back up when his breath hitches. "Apologies gentlemen, but I shall now take my leave- tomorrow is a long day, as always."
"Aye, I suppose so," I mutter, winking at Lafayette with a smile, and now he's also red- because if he's going to embarrass me, he should know I shall have no qualms with bothering him too, with any means necessary. As Tilghman retreats, I turn back to everyone Alex and Tallmadge. "Well, enough about how I couldn't hold alcohol to save my life, how are negotiations going, sirs?"
"Oh, don't remind me," Alexander groans out. "The French and Washington cannot agree on the rudimentary plans, and I'm stuck in the middle as a translator."
"Really? What plans? I wasn't aware that we currently had any."
Lafayette chuckles, drinks from my flask. Tallmadge's eyes flit between us, before fixing his eyes back on Alexander. "Of course we have plans- they've currently been put on hold because of the crippled scoundrel, but still."
"What Hammie means is that we, as an army, have a goal- Independence- and Washington has certain ideas on how to get it," Lafayette explains. "Washington's main plan, and wish, is to regain New York in a final glorious battle and kick out the British back onto their ships."
"Uhuh." I nod along. "Seems about right. I mean, isn't that the best way of sending a message and getting rid of the British hold on the Americas?"
"Cut off the head, and the beast dies," Alex mutters.
"'Slicing into his soft underbelly achieves the same'," Lafayette answers, swiftly downing his flask. "That is what Rochambeau said, and where the problem lies. Mon Général believes that the only way to win against the redcoats is by-" he slams his fist into his other hand. "-direct confrontation in New York, but the French wish to use the element of surprise and trap the British in the South. Very possible, but not climactic."
"And would you take a guess of whose writing abilities and French tongue His Excellency is abusing?" Alex commented sourly.
Lafayette sighs. "Mon petit lion, he is not acting unreasonably."
"Facile à dire pour tu, Votre Altesse Général de division Marquis de Lafayette." Oh great, he's excluding me again. Fun.
"Ce n'est pas grâce à ma lignée que je suis général de division," Lafayette quickly cuts back, not really phased.
"Si vous le dites, Monsieur le Marquis."
"Pardon me?" I hate when they do this, especially when they then look at me as if they know something I don't.
Lafayette inhales, but Alexander interrupts him. "Nothing Soul, I'm just tired and taking it out on the Marquis. Apologies." He gets up. "I shall retire now, thank you for the company."
He leaves, and Tallmadge soon follows suit. "What was that all about?" I ask the Frenchman, but he just shakes his head.
"Je- I do not know. His Excellency and Hammie always argue, but..." He trails off, looking at the flames. "Le petit lion looks so tired lately, perhaps genuinely sick of Washington, and I don't know what to do. Recently, he has been making many comments of my heritage and that... That he does not think it fair."
"What? As in, that you're a Marquis?" My brows furrow. Alex doesn't have anything against rich people, so that's a really weird thing to get salty about.
"Non, non, not that." He takes another sip of his(my?) drink. "He does not think it fair that I am a Major General. Since- how you say... I only got my rank because I have societal status."
I frown, putting a hand on his thigh. "My dear, no! You have completely earned that status in this army over and over again! To say that is to discredit you of your bravery, your loyalty, your dedication to this cause!"
He laughs softly. "Thank you, mon cherí, but he is not incorrect. I would have never been given my position had I not volunteered or not been part of the French aristocracy. After all, take away all the gold and what was I? A young and naive boy-" He suddenly laughs, placing his hand on mine. "-very handsome, but not even capable of speaking English."
I quickly look around, finally realizing we're alone. I smile teasingly, squeezing his thigh. "Well, now you're both educated in English and devastatingly handsome, my dear."
He chuckles, the sound low in his chest, and moves closer to me, making our legs press against each other. His green eyes are filled with mirth and affection, making my traitorous heart skip a beat. "I should hope so, mon loulou."
I smile myself, a familiar warmth gathering in my chest. "You still haven't told me what that means, Laf."
"Non, I have not." Cheeky bastard.
"Okay, fine." I jokingly frown and start to slowly stand up. "I'll just go and ask Alexander, then- Marquis!" A ladylike shriek escapes me as Lafayette grabs me the arm and makes me ungracefully fall into his lap. He cackles and entraps me with his arms as I whack him over the head. "You menace!"
"Only for you, mon cherí." He nuzzles into my neck and I can feel his victorious smile though my cravat. "You smell like dust."
"Oh, I wonder- is it because I've been cooped up in this room with no sunlight for over a week? Truly, you flatter me." I've stopped struggling, instead patting his head. "No wig?"
He hums, leaning more into me. "I could not bother today. And a certain someone prefers my natural hair to my wig, anyway. And... it is not a bad smell."
"I sense damage control."
"Quoi?"
"Nothing, my dear. Please thank that certain someone, because you certainly look ravishing."
A moment of silence, but I can feel him smiling. When he looks up, his eyes hold an affection that I don't deserve. "Moi? Clearly, you have not seen yourself."
"Oh, please, I haven't slept or washed properly for months, nor am I particularly attractive-"
"You wound me so, mon coeur," He interrupts me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Do my words mean nothing to you?"
"Lafayette, you are the pretty one in this relationship, don't even try denying it."
"I beg to differ."
"Then beg." I pinch his cheek, and laugh at his miffed expression. He's so cute. "You're enthralling, my dear, truly. I am not deserving of you."
He smiles softly, his eyes flicker to my lips before they look back to me. Those eyes are pools of emerald, and I find myself completely and utterly entrapped in his gaze. His hands, previously wandering, find themselves on my waist.
"Then how dare you," he whispers, his voice deep, resonating in my core. "How dare you enamor me so?"
I chuckle, looking down shyly. "Sorry."
He shifts, making me straddle his hips. In this position, I'm slightly taller than him, giving me full access to his shoulders. "You should be, mon cherí. Do you know how bothersome it is to be planning an attack with Greene and even a brief glance at any numbers remind me of you? Or when I'm drinking in company and I can hear your hand pushing your flask in my direction, even when you're not there? Or when you laugh that high pitched laugh that I want to listen to all day, but I can't, because people need me elsewhere?"
This time, I'm the one hiding in the crook of his neck, unable to contain an embarrassed smile. A warm chuckle comes deep from his chest, and I find myself tracing circles on his back.
"Truly, you should be sorry. Because of the little stunt you did right before I left to France, all I could think of during the whole year was the curve of your lips and how well they fit with mine. It was divine agony. Divine, but agony nonetheless, mon cherí."
I huff, pulling back to look at him. "So you're telling me I should have lied?"
A moment of silence as he contemplates, then smirks. "Oui- it would have hurt much, but perhaps it would have hurt less than knowing you are right there, and yet you shall never be mine."
"I'm yours." I reassure him. "If only behind closed doors."
"And I am yours." A beat. Lafayette grins, his lips a rosy red, and squeezes my hips. And, yet again, I simply couldn't resist dragging his lips to mine.
I almost groaned in relief- God, it has been so long, I almost forgot what Lafayette's lips tasted like- a breath of fresh air, an escape from this mundane reality, freedom from all the shackles tight around my wrists. I thread my hand through red hair, and I could live off of the sigh that escapes his lips.
His tongue prods at my bottom lip and, with a gasp, I open my mouth, inviting him to take what's his. My grip on his hair must be painful, and yet he voices no complaint- in fact, his breathing stutters with a gasp when I tug particularly sharply. A heartbeat pounds between us, I don't if it's his or mine.
Soon, his mouth becomes rougher, more heated and uncoordinated, and the feeling shot through me like a terrible, terrible drug that I'll find myself addicted to if I'm not careful enough. But then he groans, rolls his hips just a fraction, and I'm afraid that I'm addicted already.
My other hand finds itself dragging fingernails across his clothed back, crawling up to his neck. When we have to separate for air, Lafayette's eyes are completely consumed by darkness. I tickle his cravat in question and he rolls his head back, giving me complete access.
"Get this- damned thing off of me," His voice rasps, a sound that sends fire straight between my legs. Faster than I'm willing to admit, I threw the offending piece of cloth on the floor, already pressing burning kisses to his throat. I barely notice his traveling hand, starting to untuck my shirt from my breeches.
I bat his wandering fingers away with a sad laugh. "Hah, nice try, my dear. I've got to look mildly composed when I'm walking to my quarters."
He stills, then pouts, swollen lips looking more kissable than ever. "You intend to torture me, sir. Can you at least share a bed with me tonight? I feel as if I shall go mad from the want of you."
The mad blush doesn't erase my sigh as trace his collarbone with my finger. "I wish I could, but it's beyond inappropriate on a professional level. What if His Exce-"
"Fuck professionalism, Solomon," Lafayette snarls, as if the concept has caused him much pain. I freeze, shocked at his language, and he takes the chance to pick me up bridal style, and when I look up, a fire burns in his eyes, akin to the look he wears right before battle. I'm so used to it being bloodlust that the breath is knocked out of me when I realize it's something else completely. "I am not done with you- I'll be damned if a ribband stops me from having you. Washington has considered you invisible for years, he can sure do so for one more night."
---
"You seem particularly happy," Peggy notes.
I freeze. Put down the bandage I was waltzing with around the room. Try to get the stupid grin off of my face. "...What makes you think that?"
She looks at me with a raised brow. "Nothing in particular. Perhaps it was the fact that you came here before the sun, singing 'Say, mighty Love, and Teach me song' on the top of your lungs for-" she quickly looks through the tent flap and to the sky, "-over fifteen minutes now?"
"Well, do you appreciate the performance?"
"No, performers are much more pleasant to look at and listen to- you look and sound like a dying rat, sir."
"He didn't think so." I sigh dreamily, a giddy feeling in my heart.
'Époustouflant, magnifique, sí sí beau- Mon dieu, look what you've done to me- ah!'
"Layden?" I cover my face with my hands, grinning like an idiot. "Get your head out of the clouds!"
"I'm sorry, I just- Since when was the French language so seductive?"
"I shall need more context than that, sir." Margaret huffs, . "Though I suspect this mood of yours is because of a certain Major General- oh, look at that, it is," she comments dryly of my blushing face- I'm probably as red as a tomato by now. "Christ, man, what happened?"
"I'll have to tell you later, now's not the time," I sigh dreamily. "Peggy, is it possible to wed a married man?"
She laughs. "Well, someone has, so yes. Not for you though, and definitely not dressed like that."
"But wouldn't it be great if a man could marry a man?"
"No, definitely not, that would be terrible. Marriage is a union before God, and the only place for sodomites is hell." She presses her palm against my forehead. "This infatuation of yours seems to have stolen your common sense."
"Probably," I say with a chuckle. I'm not in the mood for needless discussions. "Oh, right, I almost forgot! I came here to inform you that we'll be moving camp again soon."
"All right. Well, I am a busy woman, so give me back my bandages and go do your job." She practically shoves me out of her tent, but that doesn't matter when the day is so nice and life is wonderful.
I skip to the aide quarters, whistling and ready for a good day of work. But when I enter through the door, Tilghman immediately stands up and presses his finger across his lips, a strained look on his face. In confusion, I freeze.
A second later, I hear it.
"Colonel Hamilton, you have kept me waiting at the head of the stairs these ten minutes!"
Oh God, here we go again.
"Sir, I was only delivering a letter of much import to Tilghman." And yet, it's different. Unlike Alexander's usual biting tone of voice, he sounds resigned- tired.
"And why must you take so long to do such a basic task, sir?" His Excellency's voice is as usual, booming and aggressive. I have no idea how Alexander stomachs dealing with him all the time.
"Forgive me for encountering the Marquis or taking my time to explain your orders to Tilghman, but I was as brief as possible and am now here. Sir," Alexander bites back, clearly irritated.
"Since when has Tilghman needed your assistance in sending out a letter?"
"Your Excellency, the only one equipped to explain commissary quickly is Colonel Layden, yet he was not there- why do you condescend me for preventing further complication?"
"And you still talk back to me. I must tell you, sir, you treat me with much disrespect!"
Several beats of silence. Alexander doesn't sharply remark as he always does, making me and Tilghman look at each other, holding our breaths. The only sound in the room is the crackling fire in the hearth.
A single laugh.
"Sir I am not conscious of it, but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part."
Silence.
Wait.What?
The look of horror on Tilghman's face made me realize what Alex is saying. The silence in the room only became heavier and heavier. But he- he can't be! That came completely out of nowhere!
"What?" Tilghman whispers, mortified.
Shuffling. "...Very well, Hamilton, if that be your choice."
"Sir." Alexander thuds down the stairs and opens the door, looking at us- we don't even bother acting like we weren't listening to the conversation. His green ribband is nowhere to be seen, leaving his uniform barren of any sign of his rank. He looks at both of us, then makes a beeline straight for me. Before I can say anything, he has dragged me out of the room by the arm.
"Alex, wait-" He shoves me into our bedroom and closes the door behind us. "-What the fuck happened?"
He inhales. "I have been contemplating this for a while, as you know, and now I've made my choice."
I can't help but let out a disbelieving laugh. "Just like that? This can't be right." Is this supposed to happen? I don't know, I can't remember- but it can't possibly be right.
"What do you mean?"
"I just- you just- did you resign because Washington called you disrespectful? Of all the times you could resign, you choose this one?"
He cracks a smile. "Aye."
"You are one petty bastard." I also can't help but smile, because what else can I do? This does feel real. "You're being serious?"
He nods, continues. "Elizabeth is possibly with child- and I can't miss such a thing. Additionally, I'm resigning from my part as Washington's military family, because-" he sighs angrily. "-well, because I have outgrown my rank as a lieutenant colonel, and Washington refuses to give me the command that I rightfully deserve, and-" he pauses, hesitates.
"Frankly, I'm tired, Soul. I'm so, so tired of- of the endless nights by the desk, of shit food and diluted rum, of Washington's temper, that I just- I can't do this anymore. I never wanted to be an aide-de-camp, anyway. And, well, my only regret is that... I know you won't allow yourself to come with me," He looks down, and he suddenly looks small. I really want to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. I don't.
"You're right- I won't," I mutter. "I can't leave- not now. And, for that, I'm sorry."
I have to follow him- that's what I've always done- but Tilghman is already showing signs of illness, and if I resign only God knows what shall happen to him. I can't, in good conscience, leave the office, unless I'd wish to kill the poor man.
It would be funny if it weren't entirely plausible.
"No, it's not your- it's not your fault, this was my decision," he rushes to say, taking both of my hands in his. They're both so cold.
"I know it's not my fault, but- I'm sorry for... well, everything." His face morphs to confusion, and I squeeze his hand. "It's not my fault, but it's still unfair. That you couldn't get the command, that Washington has dragged you to your-" I can't help but huff, "-very anticlimactic breaking point, that life has been so unfair to you from the very beginning."
"To us," he corrects, and I hope that my sadness shows on my face.
No, to you. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm a mere spectator of this world, only observing the incredible events unfolding. You will achieve so many things, get what you rightfully deserve, and I'll... I'll...
I'll...
"To us, I suppose," I say, hiding my nothingness with a smile.
The next days dragged out, and soon, only four days later, Alexander was ready to ride out. Despite Tilghman coming to apologize for Washington, he had made up his mind- the letter to Elizabeth was already sent out.
"For the love of God, promise you'll write," He mutters into my shoulder, hugging me with all the power in his compact body. I return the embrace with similar force, thoughtlessly agreeing in the moment.
As I watched Alexander ride away into the cold day, he took a piece of me away with him, leaving a gaping hole of nothing in my heart. Why am I here? What am I doing here? I'm not supposed to be here, what if I do something and something happens, and Alexander isn't here to-
"You need to take a break," Margaret says eventually.
"Huh?" I mumble, zoning back into reality. "A break?"
"Yes- a break, sir. You have been staring at that very interesting tent corner for half an hour now." She gestures to the corner, and, though she's smiling, concern shines in her eyes. "Christ, Hamilton's resigned, not dead! You're acting as if resignations aren't entirely common in Washington's family."
"But I- like- not Alexander! I- I don't know what to do with myself! I'm supposed to be with him, otherwise-"
"Otherwise what?"
I don't answer, mumbling nonsense under my breath. What am I supposed to say? That I'm a time traveller and the only way I've stayed sane is by following this one dude for over a decade?
"Christ, and I thought Hamilton was the dependent one," She mutters, before a light ignites in her eyes. "You know what? Why don't we go out to see the Passaic falls? You also look like you are in a dire need of a wash."
"The Passaic Falls..?"
"You know, the river that we're camped out close to? We should go and bathe together."
"No, sorry," I reply automatically. "I've gots tons of work to get back to, I'll wash la- oh, wait." I interrupt myself when I see her particularly amused smirk.
"I wasn't aware you had work to do, sir, why are you here then?"
"Shut up," I say and she laughs. "You have no idea how many terrible excuses I constantly had to make up to get out of Meade's and Alex's questions."
"Well, you've got no excuses this time, we're going- you smell disgusting."
"When?"
"Uh-" she looks around, shrugs. "- why not now?"
"Now?" I repeat. "'Tis the middle of the day!"
"I have been given a free, and I am sure there shall be no need of me today- as I am also sure that Tilghman shall be alright with you getting the day off."
"I'm not sure he will." Frankly, I'm also not comfortable with... washing around people, for obvious reasons, even if it's Peggy. Maybe it's better if I ask and Tench doesn't agree.
---
Tilghman- the angel this world doesn't deserve- agreed, saying that I deserve some time for myself.
God, I hate him so- now I don't have any way of getting out of this! In fact, I'm being dragged towards the Passaic by an enthusiastic Peggy. "Come on, Solomon, it shall be fun!"
"What if someone sees?"
"What? Two women bathing in their designated place? We'll be fine, sir!"
"'Women'."
"Unless you have found a way to grow a shaft of delight, then I see no issue- and neither shall any other women there."
"Other wo-? God, this is so wrong- Peggy, I can't, I've been acting a man longer than I've been a woman, you can't do this to me!"
"Then why complain about being surrounded by naked women?"
"I- You- You're twisting my words again!" She rolls her eyes and continues to walk to the river. I begrudgingly let her drag me there, burning red with shame.
Thankfully, where she led me, there were no naked women("I was jesting, you fool, it's too cold for women to swim!" "How would I know that?")- it was a hidden bank of the river, a small bit after the falls. The branches of the trees covered us from the view of any passerby, and I hid my clothes with leaves by the water.
"I hope you're happy, Margaret." I hiss as I enter ice cold water, much to her amusement. As quickly as I can, I fall in until only my head is visible, glaring daggers at Peggy. That quickly changed when she took off her skirt, making her cackle.
"God, this is hilarious," she says, fabric falls to the grass, and then a splash. A second later, I'm tackled. "Boo!"
A high-pitched shout escapes me as I tumble to the water, falling to the sandy floor. The water around me is a murky green, cloudy with life. I rise to the top, gasping for air. "You bitch!"
Still laughing, she gasps mockingly, places her hand on her chest. "How dare you call a lady so- ah!" She shrieks when I drag her underwater by her leg, with the grace of a drunk ostrich. I guffaw, only laughing louder at her pissed expression. She then, with algae dangling from her hair, splashes me with water, and I take that as a proclamation of war.
After a solid ten minutes of trying to kill each other with tiny waves, I have exhausted myself, and it's seems that Peggy is the same. She's breathing heavily with a warm grin of face, and I'm suddenly struck by how beautiful she is.
Her raven black curls cascaded down her pale shoulders, akin to spilled ink on pristine parchment. The sun fell on her figure, revealing her womanly curves and a pudgy stomach that were usually hidden by a corset and skirts. Her eyes are closed, but I know them to always shine with playfulness and cheer. Her legs look soft yet elegant, covered in short body hair. When she leans to rinse her hair out, my eyes make contact with her breasts- they also look round and soft, and they fit her well.
She's beautiful, truly. With my sickly pale skin, thin brown hair, corpse-looking eyes and barely any meat on my bones, I could never compare to her. And that's fine. I was never pretty anyway.
"My lord, your husband is going to be one lucky man." She opens one eye and blushes, flicking a bit of water my way.
"Oh, he will be, until I start talking of handling his finances and educating my children the way I see fit." I laugh, and her lips curl into a smirk. "Speaking of husbands, you still haven't told me what you were grinning about all those days ago."
"What?"
"You know, when you came to my tent grinning like we won the war. Clearly had something to do with Lafayette?" Oh. Oh.
"Well..." I hesitate. "I may or may not have... found a spot in his bed?"
"Oh my God, really?" She whispers, though rather than disgusted, she's excited. "Tell me you do not jest!"
"I don't, I swear."
"How in the..? How did you even manage to-" She grips my forearms.
"Well, I suppose that he initiated it..? Though I kissed him first."
"Oh, that's so exciting! Damn, how did you get so lucky?"
"...But I thought you believe all sodomites go to hell?"
"Oh." She pauses, looking to the sky, seemingly annoyed that I brought it up. After a moment of silent contemplation, she shrugs. "Uh- well, you're a woman and he's- well- French, so it doesn't matter- We have more things of import to discuss." Her wide grin widens further. "Tell me everything."
I can't help turning red and receding down into the water. "It's not that big of a deal."
"Not a big deal, sir?" She also kneels down in the water. "He's Marquis de Lafayette, Major-General of the Continental Army and the Hero of two Worlds! Not to mention how handsome he is! How in the heavens did you find yourself in his bed?" She gasps, leaning closer, ready to gossip. "Does he now know that you're- you know?"
I shake my head quickly. "No, otherwise I wouldn't be wearing my uniform anymore, would I?"
"Wait, so what did you do?"
Silence.
"Solomon, what did you two do?"
I slowly disappear further down into the water until only my eyes are visible, hiding my shameful smile.
"Oh no, sir, you shall not get out of this!" Peggy also smiles, apparently even more excited by my embarrassment. "Come on, tell me what happened, or I'll start guessing!"
"No, Peggy!" I protested with a laugh.
"So, option one is that you let him use your mouth-"
"-Christ- no, woman, I definitely didn't!" I choke out, blushing at the thought. "Also I would probably be shit at it, considering I've never-"
"If it doesn't require talent- you used your hand?"
"No, and this is completely inappropriate to talk of and I'm not-"
"Perhaps grinding, then?" She mutters absent-mindedly.
I freeze. Peggy looks at me. I look back at her.
"No," she says, shocked. I'm sitting there, caught like a fish out of water. Then she laughs disbelievingly. "You did not. I refuse to believe such a thing!"
I stay silent, then splash her with a lot of water.
As I make a tactical retreat to deeper waters, I hear her shout "You absolute degenerate!"
Needless to say, today's going well.
---
Both exhausted after laughing our lungs out and gossiping about thing I shall not dare repeat, we finally emerge from the river, our skin both freezing and wrinkled. We quickly get dressed before the sun fully goes down. I'm shivering like a leaf, but I can't find in myself to care- it's the most fun I've had in a while.
"Why do you get so many layers?" I pout as she ties on her third skirt around her waist. "This is so unfair."
"Men get professions, women get dresses," she answers with a teasing smile. "I have no idea why you chose the former, because this is a much better option."
"Yes, because clearly wearing a dress and having a profession are mutually exclusive." This world is really shit sometimes.
"No, no, no, you don't understand, sir!" I look up to her, confused. The teasing glint in her eyes burns brighter. "Woman would be too powerful a creature would she be able to do both, and the men are scared of becoming useless is all."
I laugh. "Aye." I suppose that is a more pleasant thought than the truth.
As we both start walking out of the hidden spot to a clearing, we hear a call to our left. A soldier, dressed in blue, starts jogging in our direction. When he comes closer, I notice that his arm is red with blood.
"Miss, miss!" He exclaims when he reaches us, panting. His fiery red hair is damp, so I can presume his been swimming. Now that I can see his arm properly, there is a long gash on his arm- it's long and bleeding profusely, but it doesn't seem too dangerous. "Do ye have any spare cloth or gauze on ye, please?"
"Aye, sir," she says, quickly grabbing a long bandage from her pocket. "How long have you been hurt?"
"'Bout five minutes, miss-" he says, hissing when she touches his arm. "A par'icularly sharp thor' caught me, heh."
"That definitely is one aggressive plant," I comment, and he smiles sheepishly. At least he is still in good humor.
After she ties his arm in the gauze, we invite him to walk with us back to camp. Turns out, his friends- fellow militiamen- decided to chuck his clothes in a thorn bush and run away as a joke. He smiles, revealing yellow and disorderly teeth. He must be a son of a farmer. Well, my teeth aren't much better, but it still shows.
Though we're walking on our assigned pathway, the sun has already set, leaving us in darkness. Only then do I become aware of how tired I am.
"We should use a shorter path." The ginger says, pointing to the forest when I mention how long the path is. "Me and my mates use it all the time. 'Tis neutral ground, but 'tis much faster than walking in the circles tha' Von Steuben assigned us."
Neutral ground..?
Do not
"I..." I look at the deep woods, dark and deep, feeling uneasy. Usually I'm fine with shortcuts, but something in my head urges me to reconsider this time. "Could we not just use the path instead? I don't feel-"safe, "-comfortable walking though a forest, especially at such a time."
"But the time is exactly why we should go- if we take the path, we will be back at least half an hour after curfew!"
Do not take the shortcut
"I don't know, it... I..." I look to Margaret, but she shrugs. "I really don't have a good feeling about this. I mean, anyone could be in there."
"Trust me, it's much shorter, and we'll back in a jiffy."
"I am quite tired," Peggy notes. "Perhaps we should go. It is too dark for anyone to be out, anyway."
Do not
She does have a point.
Do not
And maybe I shouldn't completely abandon the idea just because I got the creeps. I'm overreacting.
"Come on, Solomon!"
Do n
"-I'm coming, I'm coming."
---
It all went wrong. It all went so fucking wrong.
Right before we reached camp, the ginger suddenly stilled. We followed suit, and I could suddenly hear a quiet crunch.
Another crunch.
A wolf howl in the distance.
Whispering.
"Damnation," he curses under his breath, suddenly gesturing us to lay down on the mossy floor. We quickly follow his orders, looking at each other, confused. His eyes sharpened, looking dead ahead. "Queen's Rangers."
"Queen's-?"
"Shh!" He hisses at me, and I shut up. I haven't heard of them before, but their name means they're- shit, they're-
"The British," Peggy mumbles, mortified. Her whole body is frozen still, and I watch as terror washes her face white. Damnit, and right before camp!
The ginger slowly takes out his pistol from under his pocket, and slowly cocks it.
Click.
The whispering stops, and so do the footsteps. I watched as a thousand emotions flashed across the ginger's face, before it settles on determination. Before I can stop him, he sits up and shoots. A bang ring out with a bright light, followed by a thump. Soon, I hear shouts and footsteps and Peggy screams, being dragged up with her hair by a man in green.
"Let me go! Let me-"
The ginger slits the throat of the man trapping Margaret, running to another green coat. Blood spurts and coats the moss in disgusting crimson. I'm frozen, I can't move, I can't do anything, this wasn't supposed to happen.
I scramble to stand up, but by the time I'm up, another man has grasped Peggy, wrestling her into submitting. This isn't real, this can't be real-
"For the love of Christ, Solomon, fucking do something!" Peggy shouts out, terrified, struggling against the man holding her.
"Rangers!" The ginger screams out right next to my ear, and shoves a pistol into my grip, but I can't- how could I-
I can't-
I don't-
How could I-
Fuck, there's-
There's so much blood-
Behind you
I quickly scramble to the side, barely missing a the bloody saber of a Ranger. I grapple the earth around me, clutching the pistol in my other hand. I look up and the completely mad look in the ranger's eyes is- he's going to kill me.
Fuck, I have to-
But I can't, what if I change the-
What if-
I couldn't possibly-
This isn't- I'm not meant to-
Before I could breathe, a bullet blasts through the man's forehead, spraying me with spurts of blood and brain. The body falls limp, and I can't move.
This is- This can't be- how can this-?
"Layden, get up now!" A booming voice shouts out behind me and, before I know it, someone is dragging me back up to my useless feet. The dark crimson covering my hands smells of metal, of gunpowder, of death, and-
I can't- I can't do this-
Why- why is this happening-?
"Solomon," someone breathes, harshly grasping my shoulders. I can't register what the purple ribband means, not when all I can see is red red red red- "Oh, Dieu merci, you're alright, I was so-are you alright?"
"I- he's dead- he's- so much bl- oh my God, how could this happen-?"
Lafayette sighs in relief- but there's nothing to be relieved about- a gunshot bursts against my eardrum. "It will all be over soon, do not worry."
He then looks upon this hell, sighs, doesn't even bat an eye. "Kill them all."
No, no more, just let me leave, just let me- "No, you can't, please don't hurt anybody-!"
His green eyes soften, but all I can see is that murderous glint of the dead ranger. "Mon cherí, if we spare them then they shall slay more of our own." He grips my shoulder, eyes dark with knowing too much. "I have dealt with Simcoe's men, and they are slippery snakes- all to the last one." He grips his saber, and it's red with blood of all of the people he's killed, all the families he's destroyed-
"No, please don't- you can't do this- Please, you can't! Why can't we all just-?" I don't know if the liquid running down my face are tears or blood, and I can't- get it off get it off-
"It is alright, you are safe."
I gasp, lungs working too quickly. "No, Margaret is still- God, she's still-"
His gaze sharpens, and he squeezes my shoulder, before shouting out "Get the nurse!"
As he releases my shoulder, I fall to the ground, surrounded by fellow bluecoats. It's alright- help is here. Everything will be alright. It has to be.
And then suddenly, it isn't.
The queen's ranger aims at me.
No.
He's not aiming at me, and that's so much worse.
He's aiming at-
He's aiming at a woman who's running back to our side.
Peggy.
No no no nO NO-!
Before I could scream, he shoots.