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The low crackle in the fireplace echoes in the otherwise stillness of the night, but it does nothing to sooth the roar in Alexander’s chest. He lies, slumped against the spare cot in Washington’s private quarters. Pain radiates from his jaw and ribs. But the ache in his heart, cold and suffocating, hurts far worse than the bruises John left behind.
Washington kneels beside him, hands steady with a damp cloth pressed to the gash at Alexander’s temple. “Stay still,” he murmurs to a barely perceptible flinch. His voice is quiet, commanding as ever, but a twinge of worry hangs on his voice.
Alexander winces as the cloth touches his skin, but it’s not the physical pain that stirs the anger rising in his throat. “You knew, didn’t you?” His voice comes out hoarse, each word jagged. “You knew he was a traitor.
The General’s hand freezes for a moment before he resumes cleaning the wound. He doesn’t meet Alexander’s gaze.
“That’s why you kept me in the dark,” Alexander sharpens each word, devastation curling into fury. It’s not just John, but Washington too. “You didn’t trust me.”
Washington sighs deeply, sets the cloth aside. He shifts to sit across from Alexander. “I did not want to burden you with that knowledge,” he says, measured and weary. “Not with everything else you’ve been carrying."
Alexander lets out a bitter scoff and pushes himself forward, ignoring the wave of dizziness. “You didn’t trust me to handle it, you mean. You thought I'd hide him.”
“Hamilton…”
“You thought I’d side with him.”
Washington’s silence stretches too long, and Alexander’s heart cracks with the strain.
“I’ve fought for you,” he chokes. His voice breaks. “I’ve bled for this cause. How could you think I’d betray everything for him?”
There’s a short pause, and Washington’s face softens just a little. He looks down at his hands. “I didn’t think you would betray us, Alexander. But… I feared what it might do to you to know the truth,” Washington keeps his voice low, almost hesitant. “John was, he is , important to you. I didn’t want you to have to make that choice.”
“You should have told me!” Alexander shouts, voice twisting in frustration and pain, spilling out in waves. “I deserved to know, not find out by accident while you kept me in the dark like a child!”
Finally, Washington lifts his gaze and his eyes meet Alexander’s. A flicker of something unspoken- guilt, maybe, or sorrow, passes his eyes. “I was trying to protect you.”
Alexander shakes his head, biting back a fresh wave of anger. His head pounds, blackness threatening to overtake his vision, but he clings to consciousness. “Protect me from what? From the truth? From the fact that John’s a traitor? You let me walk into this, you let him-” He cuts himself off as a sound like a strangled sob rips from his throat. The memory of John’s fists connecting with his head, his ribs is raw and painful. He draws a ragged breath.”I thought you trusted me. But you don’t.”
A hollow ache settles in Alexander’s chest, dampening his rage into devastation.
Washington’s jaw tightens and for a moment Alexander expects to be chided. But instead the General lowers his head again. “I do trust you, Alex. More than anyone. But sometimes… trust requires difficult decisions. Once that you won’t always agree with.”
Alexander turns away, stares blankly at the flickering fire. The betrayal from John is one thing, he can almost understand it, as much as it crushes him. But Washington’s secrecy, his doubt in Alexander’s loyalty, whether he admits it or not, is a wound that cuts deeper than his physical ones.
“I’m sorry,” Washington says softly. The words hold weight, but they feel distant.
Too little. Too late.
Alexander’s chest tightens again, throat raw with unshed tears. “John was… he was my,” he whispers, voice shaking with the words he knows he can’t finish. “I thought…”
John was not supposed to leave him, not like this. John is supposed to be by his side- not call Washington, call Congress hypocrites. Not betray their cause, betray him. Washington was not supposed to keep this from him. Let him walk around, blind to the truth while his lover plotted with the enemy.
Washington is quiet for a long moment. “I never wanted this to fall on you. I thought I might spare you. But maybe… maybe I was wrong.”
“Maybe you were,” Alexander says, the bitterness creeping back into his voice. He looks back to Washington, face twisted with grief and fury. “You should’ve told me the truth. Even if it hurt. When he’s caught, he’ll be hung…”
“Alexander…”
“Will you keep that from me too?”
“You need to rest,” Washington says quietly. He gets to his feet, clearly weary with the heavy weight of the betrayal as well. He extends a hand, offering to help Alexander stand.
Alexander glares toward the fireplace again, refuses the hand. Washington waits for a long minute, silent. The air is heavy between them.
The pain of betrayal, of being kept in the dark gnaws at his core. Washington reaches over, picks up the cloth, and slowly returns to his desk. The nearby fire crackles, a branch snaps. Alexander leans his head against the pallet and glares into the flames. The cuts and bruises will heal in a matter of days, but this fracture between him and the people he’s always believed he can trust implicitly, burrows its way into his chest and holds tight.