Hamilton sat, eyes scanning over the letters he had received from his blonde comrade; from Laurens. He knew the man had been highly successful in recent mission, and he knew he couldn't feel no more than proud of the man. 

Though, he longed for him, for his presence, for his touch. Why had they seemed to feel so far apart? So much distance between them it felt almost maddening. 

Laurens, despite the boundaries placed around Alexander's heart, had shattered through. He caught the man in such a frenzy that reality seems altered when they could not be together, when they weren't in arms reach.

Had it been foolish for the walls to have been weakened and to have fallen so fast? Was it foolish to keep pining for a man like Laurens? Was it foolish that Hamilton craved so much more than what he already had? 

Was it fair?

The answer to all of the above... is no. 

Hamilton needed to let someone into his life, someone he could trust, someone he could hold close with no regret or remorse. Laurens is a magnificent man, one who had been trusted with command, one who deserved it nonetheless. 

Something so unique and so beautiful is the relationship they shared. Something that can't be expressed through words, but a desperate soul would try. 

Hamilton would try. 

He was blessed with an ability of expression, writing breathing on the page as if it were written to life. A bestowed gift that not many have, especially those who have gone through much similar to the past of Alexander. 

Still, he wrote:

'Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you I love you.' 

So innocent, yet so powerful. Something that would ponder in the average mind. Had it been a remark of friendship? Or an urge of romanticism simply disguised behind the few words?

Hamilton didn't ponder much, he still only wrote:

'I shall only tell you that 'till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done.' 

Matter-of-fact, Mr. Laurens had done it almost too well. The values of traditional love had yet to teach Hamilton any lesson, though Laurens had slipped through and established something much more eloquent, divine. 

Something that would lay a hand on Hamilton, speak through him, show him it was not worth hiding in the past; instead he should jump out, take life by the reigns. Love life and love those around. Let some in, leaving the walls strong against those who must be kept out.

Hamilton pushed the thought aside; yet he continued to write:

'You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much I desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others.'

It's not all that simple, really. 

The opinion of mankind is something the differs from person to person. Some prefer having many close, some prefer very few.

Keeping oneself free from attachments though? 

No matter how high the desire is, you'll have one or two who will bombard such areas, and simply slide by with no question. And the singularity of personal happiness can't entirely be regulated by the outside, no. It did not matter how they felt, for Hamilton could act upon himself, is that not true?

Or perhaps he worried that he would lose those who so easily bombarded his thoughts, and so easily overthrew them. Perhaps that fear still ached in his bones; it has since his childhood. 

But, much as he had all those years before, Hamilton kept writing; 

'You should not have taken advantage of  my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent.' 

Consensual intake of affection? Surely that had to have made since. 

Laurens should have been cautious, should have been slow, he should have waited for Hamilton to take his love and accept it, shouldn't he?

But oh, how strange the heart could work, how easily it could let such strange forces in. Such a burden to a man who wanted to be left alone. 

Such a burden, as it seemed, to a man who could only write: 

'But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have artfully instilled into me.'

Acceptance is something that is often a scenario hard to come to. More or less if it is an argument between the brain and the heart. 

But the heart, goddammit, will simply find a way to woo the brain to its side, to express the same thoughts and opinions it may have. Much like a good politician, or lawyer, the heart will always win. 

Truly, it is something so skillful, so beautifully established, what Laurens had pulled Hamilton to believe in; even if it is only him. They shared a bond that not many could say they have had. 

Poetry, novels, and simple songs could not match what is shared between these two men.

Hamilton knew, but he could only write:

'I have received your two letters one from Philadelphia the other from Chester.' 

Must he really slip into such serious matters when he had not yet debunked the entirety of his thoughts and feelings on the first subject?

Was it healthy putting his job first when he should really focus on what his heart was screaming out for?

Hamilton could do nothing more than indulge his mind in the art of writing;

'I am pleased with your success, so far, and I hope the favorable omens, that precede your application to the Assembly may have as favorable an issue, provided that the situation of affairs should require it which I fear will be the case.' 

Favorable omens, he wished so much more than favorable omens, he wished the best. Laurens was a man on a mission, that mission being to raise his battalion. 

To lead a group of men enslaved on a mission of freedom and victory; to truly know what freedom is.

God, how complicated that could be, especially in the eyes of those lead by no more than political and social beliefs. That could detain if not completely overrule the plan Laurens had.

Yet, the fear was silenced, and Hamilton wrote:

'But both for your country's sake and for my own I wish the enemy may be gone from Georgia before you arrive and that you may be obliged to return and share the fortunes of your old friends.'

To the Heavens, and back down to Earth, Hamilton found himself praying for Laurens's return, for his safety. Something that he not often did. 

Love can be expressed in so many ways, worry being one the many. He hated the idea of Laurens arriving in the Southern Colonies, only to immediately be surrounded and shred to the last limb by those who opposed; it haunted his mind nightly. 

And within the worry; the light hope of the man returning soon left his heart light, when it so often felt unbearably heavy. 

Within the light, and the dark, Hamilton would only write:

'In respect to the Commission, which you received from Congress, all the world must think your conduct perfectly right.'

Congress, though slow, had made the correct choice in selection. There is no better man than Laurens to bestow the honorable rank 'lieutenant colonel' onto. Something he had beforehand declined. 

Hamilton couldn't understand how he shoved something of such to the side. Had it been for his own sake? Or for the sake of those he loved?

No matter the question, Hamilton could only write:

'Indeed your ideas upon this occasion seem to not have their wonted accuracy; and you have scruples, in great measure, without foundation.' 

Was Laurens the one with doubts and hesitations of morality in this cause? Or was it Alexander accusing the man of feeling the same feelings that he expressed?

His habitual accuracy, Laurens would do just fine. He was confident in his actions, but Alex couldn't help but worry more and more each day they were apart, each day they couldn't be together. 

Pity, isn't it?

Still, Alex would only write: 

'By your appointment as Aide De Camp to the Commander in Chief, you had as much the rank Lieutenant Colonel, as any officer in the line--your receiving a commission as Lieutenant Colonel from the date of that appointment, does not in the least injure or interfere with one of them; unless by virtue of it you are introduced into a particular regiment in violation of the right of succession; which is not the case at present neither is it a necessary consequence.'

Was he jealous? Did he wish he could have something similar, have a command of such? 

Or was it perhaps the ever rising anxiety that kept him the the edge of his seat? The anxiety that kept his fingers pinched so harshly against the quill? The anxiety that kept him from smiling when he knew deep down he wanted to be happy? 

Nothing felt the same, yet Hamilton kept writing:

'As you were going to command a batalion, it was proper you should have a commission; and if this commission had been dated posterior to your appointment as Aide De Camp, I should have considered it as derogatory to your former rank, to mine, and to that of the whole corps.'

Simple, jealous Hamilton.

Wishing so simply that he could join John in his commands, simply so they won't be so far apart. 

Would it have really been so degrading to change Laurens's rank? Or was Hamilton simply trying to hide that fact that he had been, and still is, highly jealous of his blonde comrade; the man he loved so dearly? 

He couldn't decide, so as he did so well; Hamilton continued writing: 

'The only thing I see wrong in the affair is this--Congress by their conduct, both on the former and present occasion, appear to have intended to confer a privilege, an honor, a mark of distinction, a something upon you; which they withhold from other Gentlemen in the family.'

He read the writing over, and over. What seemed to so clearly be his anxiety written across the paper, he seen as no more than a reminder that Laurens had gone far. 

But, he did see it as wrong. 

Family... What did he mean by family? Did he mean the aides? Or had he been more concentrated on Laurens's family alone. Laurens refused the offer for the rank the first time, but gladly took it the second. The command could have easily been given to another. But was it so selfish of Laurens to take it for himself when some other could have taken it for him?

Contemplation, but Hamilton would still write: 

'This carries with it an air of preference, which, though we can all truly say, we love your character, and admire your military merit, cannot fail to give some of us uneasy sensations.'

Was he now stating that he couldn't trust Laurens full with a command? With leading men? 

He said it himself that Laurens is excellent, if not excelled in the military. Reckless, strong, a leader. But, god... How it pains him to have such knowledge. To know Laurens could get himself shot, killed even. 

He had been injured before, once during the Battle of Germantown back in '77. Hamilton had found out and gone into a frenzy, yet he wanted to help Laurens, he hated the knowledge of the man being hurt. God, he didn't want him to do this.

Concerned and considerate, Alexander wrote:

'But in this, my Dear J I wish you to understand me well. The blame, if there is any, falls wholly upon Congress. I repeat it, your conduct has been perfectly right and even laudable; you rejected the offer when you ought to have rejected it; and you accepted it when you ought to have accepted it; and let me add with a degree of overscrupulous delicacy. It was necessary to your project; your project was the public good; and I should have done the same. In hesitating, you have refined upon the refinements of generosity.'

Generous? Had he used that word right? Simply by hesitating in the command, does that truly make Laurens... Generous?

Hamilton would consider that so, yes. He adored the man, yet never wished for him to pull ahead farther than Hamilton himself could stride. 

Yet, Alex had been left behind, his call for command still unanswered by the godforsaken Congress. 

With his diligent delicacy of words, and within the fine structure of the line, Hamilton wrote:

'There is a total stagnation of news here, political and military. Gates has refused the Indian command. Sullivan is come to take it. The former has lately given a fresh proof of his impudence, his folly and his rascality. 'Tis no great matter; but a peculiarity in the case prevents my saying what.'

Ah yes, dive into the foolish behaviors of others, and slowly reveal how insensible they are. It is true that the former had much been foolish, what a great change of subject! 

Formal credibility, such an odd thing to inlay on a single man, and a mistake to have done so with Gates. Or, Hamilton would consider that. 

Thinking of what he could possibly write next, Hamilton sank into his chair. Of the most recent events, only few caught his need to be brought up. 

And so, he began writing:

'I anticipate by sympathy the pleasure you must feel from the sweet converse of your dearer self in the inclosed letters. I hope they may be recent. They were brought out of New York by General Thompson delivered to him there by a Mrs. Moore not long from England, soi-disante parente de Madame votre épouse. She speaks of a daughter of yours, well when she left England, perhaps ⟨– – –⟩.'

A relative of Laurens's wife...

Laurens had married yes. Long before Hamilton had known about it. Had he loved the woman, or merely pitied her? And he had a child with her and simply left them behind for a military life? Hamilton felt used for a moment. Had his friend simply taken advantage of him, or was he simply over thinking the cause?

But why is it that the thought only made Hamilton's jealousy spike even more? Perhaps it's because Laurens lied to him. 

Or perhaps its because he had fallen more deeply than he anticipated. Perhaps he believed that Laurens was his, and only his to love. 

Jealously driven, Hamilton could only write:

'And Now my Dear as we are upon the subject of wife, I empower and command you to get me one in Carolina. Such a wife as I want will, I know, be difficult to be found, but if you succeed, it will be the stronger proof of your zeal and dexterity.'

Wife? A wife? What was he thinking? 

He hadn't wanted to marry, not yet. 

Or was he simply trying to make Laurens jealous too? A simple see-saw cause and events structure of who's jealous over what. After all they've been through, the events they've engaged in, Laurens could have simply told Alex that he was married. 

Was it all that hard?

No matter, Hamilton continued writing:

'Take her description—She must be young, handsome (I lay most stress upon a good shape) sensible (a little learning will do), well bred (but she must have an aversion to the word ton) chaste and tender (I am an enthusiast in my notions of fidelity and fondness) of some good nature, a great deal of generosity (she must neither love money nor scolding, for I dislike equally a termagent and an œconomist).'

He stared over the words, cringing at each little line. 

Each word, more and more, began to sound like he was describing John. Young, handsome... Something he commonly described Laurens as. Not to mention the man, too, was well shaped. Sensible, another characteristic John fairly often portrayed. 

Why must he torture himself like this? 

Why ask for a woman when he wants Laurens? Why can't his orientation simply be taken as a normal thing? Why must he keep the torture at a high?

Questions piled on top of questions, but Hamilton still wrote:

'In politics, I am indifferent what side she may be of; I think I have arguments that will easily convert her to mine. As to religion a moderate stock will satisfy me. She must believe in god and hate a saint. But as to fortune, the larger stock of that the better. You know my temper and circumstances and will therefore pay special attention to this article in the treaty. Though I run no risk of going to Purgatory for my avarice; yet as money is an essential ingredient to happiness in this world—as I have not much of my own and as I am very little calculated to get more either by my address or industry; it must needs be, that my wife, if I get one, bring at least a sufficiency to administer to her own extravagancies.'

He didn't need a wife, he didn't believe he needed a wife. Instead, he needed a different way of earning, something to at least gain a bit of money before he was even to marry. For if the wife held nothing, they wouldn't be able to sustain.

Even then, he was too indulged with military life, and his own preference to do anything that would earn him wealth. He wasn't fit to marry. 

He didn't feel fit to marry. 

It made him sick to think about. Marrying someone for the mere cause of self gain... When he could have someone he truly wanted. 

Still stuck in the middle, Hamilton kept writing: 

'NB You will be pleased to recollect in your negotiations that I have no invincible antipathy to the maidenly beauties & that I am willing to take the trouble of them upon myself.'

He made it sounds as a burden to marry a woman. Had he intended it? Not quite. Though, his heart itself was trying to break through and write for him. He was tired of small indications and slight hints as to what he wanted when the answer itself was so clear. Yet, he couldn't pull himself to say it. 

Somehow, Hamilton would keep writing, 

'If you should not readily meet with a lady that you think answers my description you can only advertise in the public papers and doubtless you will hear of many competitors for most of the qualifications required, who will be glad to become candidates for such a prize as I am. To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you to give an account of the lover—his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c. In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don't forget, that I ⟨– – – – –⟩.'

There it is, the sense of humor he was hoping to express before the letter itself had come to an end. The little bit that showed, in the end, he could never truly stay mad or jealous around Laurens for long. 

A simple reminder of the times they shared, and the humor they express seems to be fair, shouldn't it?

Or is the dirty reminder merely just craving, could it merely be lust? Had his only intentions truly been to bed Laurens? 

Love. Fucking. 

Is there a connection in some way? 

He would consider is later, for now, he continued writing:

'After reviewing what I have written, I am ready to ask myself what could have put it into my head to hazard this Jeu de follie. Do I want a wife? No—I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employ a proxy. Did I mean to show my wit? If I did, I am sure I have missed my aim. Did I only intend to frisk? In this I have succeeded, but I have done more. I have gratified my feelings, by lengthening out the only kind of intercourse now in my power with my friend. Adieu'

Honesty now leaked through the letter. 

Hamilton sighed as he reread the words. Perhaps he had only been entertaining himself with the thoughts of jealousy, the thoughts of anger, and the thoughts of love. 

Or perhaps it would be entertaining to Laurens, reading how Alex seems to crave him. It's a sight to behold, truly.

Now, all Alex had to do, was sign off on simple terms. 

So Alex dipped the quill, and he kept writing:

'Yours.

A Hamilton

P.S—Fleury shall be taken care of. All the family send their love. In this join the General & Mrs. Washington & what is best, tis not in the stile of ceremony but sincerity.'

He carefully read the words over, and over, and over. The feelings of anxiety could do no more than rest in his stomach as he prepared the letter to be sent. 

One day, he thought. 

In another life...

Perhaps he could have the being he desired. 

Perhaps in another life, Laurens could truly be his.