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Chapter Text

General Washington had requested an early morning meeting in order to best prepare for the upcoming week. To that end, the Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton, and John Laurens were standing bleary-eyed in their general’s tent as new battle tactics were shared and old debates were analyzed. Alexander stood in between Lafayette and John, his head just grazing the top of both men’s shoulders, his eyes fervently fixated above to the older general in front of him. He either did not notice or did not care about this difference as he engaged in discussion with more fervor than the remaining three men combined.

John was quieter than usual this morning, Lafayette noted. He occasionally shot Lafayette an amused glance when Alexander stuttered over his words in his haste to get them out, but apart from that, he seemed to lack his usual virility. Perhaps the troubles of revolution were finally starting to take their toll, John being their first casualty.

“Surely you do not propose that we continue westwards?” Washington asked.

“Your Excellency! On the contrary, we know that-,” Alexander was abruptly cut off as John let out a sudden cough that rattled deep within his chest. Washington gave John an appraising look as Lafayette and Alexander turned to him, startled.

“I apologize for my disruptive disposition today,” said John, waving aside their concerned looks with a hand and a smile. “It seems that some clever condition has taken advantage of my unrested body.”

Perhaps that was the root of his quiet demeanor, Lafayette pondered. Could it be as simple as a troublesome cough? Alexander’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at John’s seemingly flippant attitude, but his face betrayed no other emotion as he finished his sentence.

To the regular acquaintance, Alexander’s response (or lack thereof) might have come across as callous, almost cruel. But of course, as a true observer and close friend of both men, Lafayette had long since arrived to the belief that despite any attempts to the contrary, Alexander actually cared a great deal for one Mister John Laurens. In fact, Lafayette would posit, their relationship extended beyond mere affectionate fraternity. He would even go so far as to swear on both his life and the life of his dear mère that Alexander and John were deeply in love – although of course, they had never admitted to such a relationship nor he would never dare say such a provocative idea out loud.

But spending countless hours with dear friends will eventually reveal certain idiosyncrasies about said friends, and Lafayette had deduced that there was some deeper connection between the two men. He could not point out when their friendship evolved to romance, but once he had noticed how they acted with each other, how they responded to each other, he knew that there were underlying ripples.

When Alexander would spend the greater part of an hour deconstructing the arguments and strategy of one Charles Lee to the detriment of his neighbors’ suppertime, John could simply rest a large hand on Alexander’s slender wrist and give him a small closed smile. Alexander would snap his jaw shut and finally begin to examine his cold meal, John would remove his hand and continue eating as if nothing had occurred, and Lafayette and their forth companion, Mister Hercules Mulligan, would steadily refuse to glance at each other. When John would start on a third pint and begin to extrapolate on the merits of a fully black battalion, Lafayette did not miss the flush that came over Alexander’s face and his inability to remove his dark gaze from the passionate young Southerner. And every evening, John would be the one to cajole Alexander into leaving behind his makeshift desk to their shared tent (and was that simple luck, pondered Lafayette, or the result of one convincing aide-de-camp). “Our little lion needs rest to sharpen his claws for tomorrow’s fight,” he would jokingly claim to the fellow aides, and Lafayette could not help but notice how John would lock a possessive hand on the nape of Alexander’s neck, effectively steering him to their shared quarters.

The trials of war were many. Although they never dared speak aloud about their suspicions, Lafayette knew that he and Hercules shared a silent agreement, that with the harsh realities that war brought, the revolutionaries needed to find joy when possible. And as long as John and Alexander could keep…whatever was happening between them just like that – between them. Lafayette knew that he could hold this unnamed secret in confidence.

Of course, Lafayette was drawn to these two men prior to any hidden revelations on illicit romance. Alexander had endeared himself to the Marquis immediately upon first meeting; he had never before met such a proud and ambitious man, an intellectual equal, so intent on making impact. And John – the noble, young Southerner determined to correct society’s ills. Their romantic predilections were not for his judgment – their intellectual abilities and zest for life were what attracted Lafayette to them in the first place. Let them follow their passions, thought Lafayette, for only God can pass final judgment.

The meeting with Washington continued on, pausing only with increasingly deep coughs from John and Alexander quickly glancing over in concern. By the fifth rattling cough, Lafayette shot John a look – it was surely a trick of the light, but it seemed that John’s skin was growing paler with each passing second. After the seventh coughing eruption, Washington again paused his analysis of upcoming army movements. “Laurens, I do not seek to offend you, but perhaps I would be better served for now with you in your own bed.”

“Sir, I would ordinarily fight for my honor as a man, but it seems that in this case, I would be better served in admitting defeat.” John shrugged and then grinned lasciviously at Lafayette. “I have never suggested I am anything more than a humble mortal although some stories might say otherwise.”

Lafayette chortled as he caught Alexander rolling his eyes behind John. “Mon ami, you have described your godlike abilities before, but I do not think Jupiter and Mars sounded like you do now.”

John began to laugh, which quickly transformed into a deep wheeze.

Washington stepped forward. “You two may take your leave as well. Bring him to his quarters and let him rest,” Washington nodded to Lafayette and Alexander. “Return here this afternoon for a final recommendation of this week’s activities.”

As the three men exited Washington’s tent, John let out another rattling cough and paused, hand thumping his chest. Lafayette and Alexander shared a quick glance before Alexander raised a hand to softly tap John’s shoulder. “My dear friend, it would not due to have you fall ill,” he softly said.

“Our little lion is once again correct, mon ami,” agreed Lafayette, “Our revolution can wait for one day if your health would be the price of immediacy.”

“I pray, dear friends, do not spend your time concerned for my health!” John smiled, winking extravagantly at Alexander, his eyes bright against his chalky complexion. “I will, however, heed your advice. Washington requests for us to return this evening? Then I will rest now.”

John started in the direction of his tent. Alexander automatically moved to follow him, but John halted him by raising a hand. “Do not worry yourself needlessly, my friend! I will take a quick rest and be ready for our next meeting with His Excellency before even you, dear Ham!”

Alexander’s brow furrowed, but just as he opened his mouth (to, Lafayette did not doubt, present eleven arguments as to why he should follow John back to their quarters), John pressed a forefinger against his lips, quieting him.

“You complete your duties for the day,” he quietly said, lowering his hand from Alexander’s face. Alexander nodded, and John stepped back. Giving Alexander a friendly smack on his upper arm, John turned to Lafayette, smiling. “Take good care of this little one today, my dear Marquis! It would be a true shame to lose him after all that he has put us through!”

Lafayette responded with an extravagant bow - both to John’s obvious delight and Alexander’s embarrassment. “Mon ami, do not worry! I will protect our friend from anyone who seeks him harm, whether it be from quill or sword or bullet!”

“John,” grumbled Alexander “Just promise us you will recover, so that I may have the opportunity to murder you in your sleep.”

“Alexander,” John said softly, quickly glancing around to spot any potential witnesses. Apparently, he did not consider Lafayette to be too much a threat because he continued, “Do not trouble that brilliant head with concerns of my health. I am a Laurens! Hardy and strong! I need rest, but I will be unable to do so if I can feel you so close to me.”

That was a risky statement, even if just in front of Lafayette – even John seemed to sense that he had overstepped because he quickly stepped further away from Alexander who suddenly looked very small and helpless. Lafayette stepped forward, hoping to break the growing tension. “You will tell us if you feel like your condition worsens, yes, mon ami?”

After John nodded, Lafayette continued, “I will send Mulligan to retrieve you if we are unable to before our next discussion with Washington.”

John gave a final salute, and turned and retreated to the tent, Alexander giving him a lingering look of concern.

“Do you truly think he tells the truth,” muttered Alexander as he sidled up to Lafayette, the two men turning towards the main camp.

“I am sure our friend will be fine,” assured Lafayette. But he did wonder – didn’t John seem so pale?

Chapter Text

The next few hours passed by without incident. Alexander had his letters to write, arguments to debate, and errands to run, while Lafayette consulted with other men on French diplomacy customs. Lafayette had taken a pause in describing the classic French etiquette of sharing wine (surely these Americans were exaggerating their coarse humor – if not, then who knows how these trade negotiations would conclude) by bringing John some hot tea over only to find Alexander fussing over the placement of the blankets covering John. John was looking at Alexander tenderly and only looked up as Lafayette approached with the drink.

“It seems like our Ham has traded in his quill for a nurse’s apron,” said John amusedly, “Although he does make a fine nursemaid.”

But even his good humor could not hide the dark circles under his eyes, so vibrant against the parchment-white pallor of his flesh. Even his lips, now curved in a smile, were chapped and pale. Alexander’s mouth twitched at the “nursemaid” comment, but he steadfastly continued his tasks of tightening the sheets around John.

“I simply told him that it was surprisingly cold for May, and now he has taken it upon himself to steal every blanket in the camp for me,” John continued as Alexander took the tea and placed it on a small stool by John’s bed.

“John, you know our friend cannot do anything partway,” said Lafayette, cutting in as Alexander opened his mouth to speak. “And were we not commenting yesterday that this seemed to be an unusually warm spring season? I think in this case, Alexander is correct in his decision of more blankets.”

Alexander shot him a grateful look before pouring a cup of tea. “You must drink this while it is still hot – the blankets will only do so much.”

“I promise, my dear friends, to drink the tea. But now I should worry that you both are neglecting your formal duties to play nursemaid! Please, let me drink my tea and rest. I should have healed in time for our next meeting with Washington this evening.”

Both Alexander and Lafayette protested, but John insisted (“It is truly the fault of you both that I am exhausted! You keep me up laughing with your tall tales, and finally when I am ready to sleep, you insist on sharing the merits of tea!”) before finally turning over and closing his eyes. He did look exhausted, Lafayette thought – perhaps even feigning sleep would be good for him. Those hollow circles under his eyes!

“After this meeting with Washington, I would argue it most necessary to keep John tied to that bed until he is truly himself,” whispered Alexander as they left the tent.

“I would agree with that sentiment,” murmured Lafayette. He ordinarily would have laughed at Alexander insisting on the importance of sleep. More than once, he had turned towards Alexander during a mealtime conversation only to see the smaller man suddenly slump forward unconscious, forehead cracking against the table and hair landing in the soup before him – John, Mulligan, and Lafayette had howled with laughter as Alexander groggily lifted himself up, face scowling, hair dripping with soup, and an angry bruise forming on his forehead.

But now he simply agreed with the smaller man beside him. John’s coughing earlier today and his pallor just now – the man needed to be in bed, not discussing army movements.

Dear God, let John recover quickly.

“How is our Laurens?” Washington asked. Lafayette and Alexander, standing before him, exchanged a quick glance.

“His cough would not cease, sir,” replied Alexander, “We sent him to his tent to rest as you recommended. Before I took my leave, he was most insistent that he would be recovered enough to attend this discussion but I daresay he is still convalescing.”

“Mulligan had made a generous offer to retrieve him if he woke up,” added Lafayette. “John was still sleeping when we made our way here, and neither one of us dared disturb him.”

Washington gave a curt nod. “I agree with your assessment – let the boy rest. Until then, Hamilton, I would require you to write-,”

Before he could finish his sentence, Hercules Mulligan burst into the General’s tent, and the three men turned towards the disruption. “Your Excellency – sir – Laurens, he seems to have taken a turn for the worse.” Out of the corner of his eye, Lafayette saw Alexander straighten his back.

“I had called his name outside his quarters so as to allow him time to ready himself. But he did not respond, nor did he answer when I called again. So I opened the canvas and…” Mulligan faltered.

“Mulligan, and what?” demanded Washington.

“He seems to have succumbed to a dreadful malady – his skin is ashen yet heated, and he violently shivers, despite being under several blankets. He called, sir…” Mulligan paused and shot Alexander a quick look. “He called, sir, for Alexander.”

Alexander paled and jerked forward, as if he had just been hit in the stomach. Lafayette knew that he looked just as surprised as he felt. How could John have worsened in so short a time? It had only been a few hours since he last saw him teasing Alexander about nurses and blankets. He certainly did not look like his usual robust self, but nothing to cause Mulligan’s current reaction. And, Lafayette realized with a guilty twist, he had just left his friend there. He had left John, ill in his bed, to conduct errands, to teach crude Americans the refined ways of the French. He had left with Alexander, leaving behind John who was rapidly declining in a sickbed, to complete tasks that could have waited at least a bit longer. Oh, Alexander…

Lafayette turned quickly to Alexander who looked nauseous – most likely he had come to the same sick conclusion.

“Sir, I do not want to offend,” added Mulligan, “But John might find some comfort in seeing his friend. Perhaps I could bring Alexander to him?”

Washington did not immediately answer, and Lafayette could see Alexander, feet frozen to the ground but body fully vibrating with the need to see John for himself.

Finally - “You have my permission to leave and tend to the boy, both of you,” Washington acquiesced, and both men turned to follow Mulligan out of the space. “Fetch the doctor as well, Mulligan. Laurens is a force. I do not doubt that he will fight whatever illness comes his way, but I am confident that he will be better able to do so with good company. Monsieur Lafayette, do keep me informed of his status.”

Chapter Text

Alexander burst into the tent with Lafayette and Mulligan on his heels. Seeing John on the bed however caused the three men to stop still in horror, Lafayette sucking in his breach.

John lay under the rough homespun blankets, his once-white nightshirt now translucent and plastered against his neck. Even though his teeth were chattering, beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and were rolling down his temples into dark hair pushed back behind his ears. His face was pale white, but his cheeks were flushed a dark red. The tea Lafayette had brought earlier sat untouched next to the bed. John stared at the men in front of him, showing no recognition.

“Father, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I will study,” John babbled, wildly looking from Alexander to Lafayette to Mulligan as tears leaked from his eyes, joining the sweat’s path into his hair. And those eyes…ordinarily so friendly, they were now jarringly discomforting. Bright red surrounded the dark brown pupils, giving him an otherworldly appearance.

“What – what is it, John,” gasped Alexander, suddenly starting forward. He quickly leapt to the other side of the tent where John lay.

“I swear on my life, he was himself this morning,” said Lafayette to Mulligan, joining Alexander by the bedside. “How could he have worsened so quickly?”

John did not respond, but instead let out a soft cry. “Father, please…” His words quickly turned into a deep cough.

Alexander let out a harsh sob, his thin hands pressing down on John’s chest to keep him steady. “John, my dearest, it is your…Alexander.” He turned frantically to the men standing behind him. “What is happening? Why does he not know me?”

“I saw him just a moment before I came to fetch you,” Mulligan said, large hands wringing as he stared at the scene before him. “And he had asked for you!”

“Mulligan, s’il te-plâit – we need to immerse him in cold cloths, the temperature is too high.” Layafette motioned to the large man next to him, who quickly retrieved a pitcher next to the tent’s opening. They quickly stripped Alexander’s still-made bed (it was certainly not the time to ask about why exactly his bed was untouched) of its sheets and wet them. Alexander then carefully pulled back the dry blankets to arrange the damp sheets around John’s hot torso and over his forehead. Lafayette meanwhile tucked the blankets around John’s feet in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering so violently.

“John, do you recognize us?” he asked, but even as he spoke aloud, he knew his words would be falling to deaf ears. John was lost – trapped, even – in the terrors of his own mind.

“I will fetch more water and the doctor,” whispered Mulligan, hurrying out of the tent.

“What has happened to him?” murmured Alexander, now continuously smoothing down the blankets covering John as if he did not know what else to do with his hands.

“Mon ami, we will do whatever is possible.” Lafayette hoped that Alexander could not detect his own fear and guilt. He had always prided himself on his loyalty – to France, to his family, to his friends.

Alexander seemed to have been dealing with similar feelings of blame because he shook his head in anger. “Why did I think it necessary to leave him? You saw how pale he was! Why did I leave?”

Before Lafayette could respond, Alexander fully knelt down by the bed and whispered, “I am so sorry for having failed you,” to the prone figure before him.

Lafayette gently touched Alexander’s back. “I am sorry too, mon ami.”

Both men turned as Hercules returned to the tent with the camp doctor following his footsteps. “Lafayette,” said Hercules, “The doctor will want to see Laurens for himself.” Lafayette caught the warning tone in his friend’s voice and gently moved to pull Alexander’s trembling form away from the bed. It would not do to rouse suspicions now, not while John was fighting a feverish frenzy. Alexander seemed to understand and allowed himself to be pulled aside as the older man took his place by the bed. The doctor felt John’s forehead and examined his eyes and throat. As he went down his ministrations, the remaining three men stood quietly behind him, watching him prod their ill friend.

“You did well in keeping him cool,” the doctor finally pronounced. “This fever attacks quickly.”

“What else can we do for him?” asked Lafayette. Surely having concrete tasks would suit them all better than sitting with nothing? They were respected aides-de-camp for a reason, after all. Alexander in particular might benefit from having specific jobs – Lafayette had never known the young man to be comfortable with idleness, and having set responsibilities might assist in alleviating any outstanding guilt.

“We must keep him cool and steady throughout the night. If he can get down this blasted temperature, I daresay he will be back to his senses soon. If he cannot, then my recommendation would be to call for the priest.”

Well, perhaps not exactly what Alexander needed to hear.

Mulligan had returned to Washington’s tent to share John’s status, leaving Lafayette and Alexander with their ill compatriot. The doctor had provided what little medicine he had available – supplies were dwindling, he had apologetically said – and had asked them to alert him should John experience any new symptoms.

John had (thankfully, in Lafayette’s opinion) fallen asleep. His cries had slowly died down as exhaustion took over, and now the young man lay still in the bed.

Lafayette and Alexander sat in silence, John’s rattled breathing the only noise between them. Lafayette had moved to a seat near the foot of John’s bed, allowing Alexander to sit on the chair next to the unconscious figure on the bed. Alexander’s slim form seemed to curl smaller into himself as he clutched John’s hand. Suddenly-

“La-Lafayette.”

Lafayette raised his head at the quiet utterance of his name. Alexander had not turned towards him, choosing instead to continue stroking John’s limp hand, but continued speaking. “Did I ever tell you of my existence before Washington? Before New York?”

His hands tightened on John’s own as John let out another rumbling cough and winced in his sleep.

“Non, mon ami.” Alexander never referred to his life prior to joining forces with Washington. Lafayette had always assumed that Alexander did so out almost as a code of honor – that only the present consumed him, and whatever loyalties he had beforehand were long substituted for the priorities of the revolution. But perhaps there was another reason for Alexander’s silence.

“I was born…not here, but on an island a journey away.”

He paused there to pull up the blanket closer to John’s chin, and Lafayette murmured softly, prompting him to continue.

“I lived with my mother and brother when my mother and I came down with the same affliction. Both of us were confined to the same bed as fever took over our bodies and minds.”

Alexander spoke slowly, never taking his eyes off John, as if he feared that if he removed his gaze even for a moment, John’s rattling breathing would stop.

“The doctor feared that we would pass the illness to others, so we had no company besides him for days. He removed my brother from the house, leaving just the two of us trapped in hell, holding each other. Even now, I could not tell you if we lay there for three days or three weeks – I did not know where I was…” His voice, usually so robust and frenzied, was now barely above a whisper. Lafayette had to strain to hear his next words.

“But then I returned to the island in a sweat. I had overcome my fever – I could think, I could swallow, I could breathe. I was…I was too frail to even sit upright, but my mind, my friend, my mind. It was back on this earth.” Alexander trailed off as John let out a small moan. “John, I am here. Sleep, my heart.” As Lafayette watched, Alexander lifted a trembling hand to gently stroke John’s dark hair. He slowly caressed the sweaty locks, running strands of hair in between his fingers as if he were committing texture and color to memory.

Alexander glanced over at Lafayette, who flushed at having been caught observing this secret intimacy. But if Alexander were embarrassed that his actions were witnessed, he gave no indication. Rather, he gave a small shrug, lip softly quirked upwards in a tight expression of admittance. The horrors of war forged a deep friendship between the men – Lafayette knew, and Alexander seemed to know it as well, that no one in their trusted circle would seek to betray each other. And at this moment, with John shuddering and delirious before them, Lafayette understood what Alexander was communicating: what else could Lafayette inflict upon him to cause additional pain?

John quieted down, face etched in a frown, as he continued sleeping. Alexander kept up his gentle touches as he continued his story.

“My mind had returned. Then I remembered…I remembered my mother. She had been so ill and had clutched me to her breast as I fought the pain invading my body,” He inhaled slowly. “I turned towards her. I could only move my head, you see, I had lost my strength. It felt like stones had crushed my very bones as my thoughts were tossed into delirium. I turned to see my mother…my mother’s body, I suppose, still and silent next to me, her hands still grasping my nightshirt. God had taken her, you see, as I lay next to her. She left this earth and God forgive me, I stayed behind…”

Oh…Alexander. “My friend…I did not know.”

Lafayette stared at the man now delicately perched on the chair. Such horrific trauma! Now he realized why Alexander never discussed his childhood – that horror was not something that should be relived.

“It must have been a Sunday,” said Alexander, glancing at Lafayette almost as an afterthought. “The doctor had forbidden visitors to our sick bed, but even his presence was lacking, you see, when I found my way back to my true senses. He must have been in church, he must have been with his own family. Perhaps he even thought that there was no use in checking in on us, that we were too far gone to be saved. Not a soul came to that room, to that vile bed, for the whole of the day. I lay there on that…that grave of a mattress, too weak to move away from my mother as sunlight streamed in and then made way for moonlight. I even lacked the strength to remove my clothing from her grasp.”

He took a shuddering breath. “The doctor arrived the next day. He had a couple slaves remove my mother’s body, and that was the last time I laid eyes on her.”

Lafayette remained quiet as Alexander swallowed. He wanted to embrace this remarkable human, to protect him against whatever additional evil was in his path. He had met no one who was Alexander’s intellectual equal, who could fully match his fervent nature. But looking at him now curled up in front of him, he was struck by how very small this young prodigy was.

“Lafayette, I fear that John will follow the same path as my beloved mother. And I fear…” Alexander swallowed back either a moan or a sob, Lafayette could not be sure. Either way, Alexander closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them and continuing, “I fear that if my John is taken, I would be a man lost in this world, lacking the possibility of any refuge. I would be an unmoored ship lost at sea. I would be doomed to live in hell on earth until I could join him in whatever is beyond.”

Again Lafayette was struck by the need to shield Alexander from this pain. Had he not gone through enough anguish already? Why did he continue to be tormented with the loss of his loved ones?

“Ohhh,” John suddenly groaned, “…we’ve been shot…”

Alexander and Lafayette sprang forward as John’s eyes suddenly flew open. His bloodshot eyes stared ahead as he let out another moan and gasped, “The British…a bullet has hit…”

“We are safe, my heart,” whispered Alexander, frantically patting down John’s sweating forehead with damp cloth as Lafayette retucked John’s icy feet under the woolen blankets. John’s forehead creased between his eyebrows, mouth turning down, eyes turning towards Alexander. As Lafayette rubbed John’s feet over the blanket to warm them, Alexander clasped his face and softly ran his thumb down John’s flushed cheek.

“John, can you hear me?” he whispered.

Lafayette paused in his ministrations as John continued to stare at Alexander. “Who is this angel?” he breathed, turning his face so that his lips bumped against Alexander’s palm. Alexander exhaled sharply and quickly wiped a falling tear against his shoulder.

“John, you know me,” he whispered, Lafayette wincing at the ragged pain in his voice. John only sighed and let his eyes fall shut again. As the young man succumbed to his troubled sleep, Lafayette quietly returned to his place at the foot of the bed. It would do no good to keep John awake while he was not lucid. Let the man rest and attempt to fight through this sickness.

Alexander meanwhile had shifted his weight to lean his elbows on the mattress before him, expression still frozen in complete desperation and hands still holding John’s face. “My John, my one John Laurens,” he breathed. Lafayette averted his eyes, attempting to preserve some notion of privacy. After all, it would not to spy on a woman and man exchange affectionate gestures. It seemed simply courteous to offer his friend the same respect.

Alexander, at the present moment, either had forgotten about Lafayette’s presence or truly did not care. He simply closed his eyes as if he were already trapped in the very hell on earth he had described and gently pressed his lips against John’s sweaty temple.

Lafayette quietly stood up and pulled off his coat. Alexander did not acknowledge the movements next to him – his attention, usually so wild and frantic, was entirely focused on the young man on the bed – but as Lafayette draped the coat around his slim shoulders, he whispered, “Merci.”

Lafayette hummed a soft assent as he returned to his seat at the foot of John’s bed and partly closed his eyes, watching through his lashes Alexander gently tend to John. He maintained his rhythmic slow breathing, unwilling to disturb the appearance that the smaller man now had complete privacy.

“John, my heart,” he heard Alexander whisper, “You cannot leave me.” A muffled sob. “You must not leave me – not now that I have finally found you.”

As Alexander continued to murmur to the ragged man on the bed, Lafayette let his eyes close. Let Alexander be alone with his love while he still could. His last thought before he succumbed to sleep was directed towards John. If he were looking to try his friends’ nerves, he had certainly made his point.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lafayette stirred as sunlight attempted to penetrate the tent walls. He opened his eyes to find Alexander asleep on the bed and curled beside a still sleeping John. He had clasped John’s hand against his mouth in a paradoxical tableau of both sensual kiss and silent suffering. John did not seem to have moved to accommodate his bedmate – most likely, he was unaware that Alexander was even there. Alexander’s slim body was subsequently twisted around John, awkwardly balancing half off the body. Surely it was due to his own tenacity that he had not fallen off the bed during the night.

Lafayette cleared his throat to alert the younger man of his presence and moved to stretch his legs. Without moving John’s hand from his mouth, Alexander opened his eyes and blinked blearily in the new daylight.

“How is our dear friend, mon ami?”

Alexander let out a soft sigh as he lowered John’s hand from his face and adjusted himself into more of a sitting position. He moved deliberately, carefully adjusting his limbs so that John remained asleep. “His fe-fever,” he whispered, apparently not daring to speak louder and risk disturbing John. Lafayette kept his face expressionless as Alexander gave a quick shake of his head and cleared his throat – never before had the young aide-de-camp been so unable to verbalize his thoughts.

“He has not displayed any more delusions, but that is just because he has been sleeping. And his skin is still so hot to the touch.” He gently wiped John’s hair off of his still-perspiring forehead and looked helplessly at Lafayette.

Lafayette moved closer to the pair and pressed his hand against John’s ruddy cheeks. Merde, he thought. John still felt as if he had pressed his face against a hot iron and had severely burned himself.

(As Alexander continued to trail his thin fingers up and down John’s arm in a soothing gesture, Lafayette was reminded that this was not the first time John took it upon himself to be Alexander’s patient.

He and John had been sitting outside on a log pulled over to a roaring fire. Alexander sat apart from them, dark brow furrowed, teeth gently chewing his bottom lip, and eyes intent on a heavy book in his lap. Even though John and Lafayette were in conversation, John’s eyes kept darting over to Alexander who continued to read, unaware of the secret glances bring thrown his way. Finally, he raised his voice slightly and declared, “Well, monsieur de Lafayette, I think it has been long overdue for a challenge of physical prowess.”

Alexander glanced up from the book at that statement, but then quickly returned to his original focus. John stood up, motioning for Lafayette to join him. “The man who can stand on his hands while balancing on this log the longest – he shall be the victor,” he declared jovially. “With strength and agility comes the champion of the Revolution!”

Lafayette laughed as John gave him a large wink. “Mon ami, then I will follow your example.”

John raised his hands over his head, shot the seemingly oblivious Alexander another quick look, and sprang forward into a handstand on the log. Lafayette gave a cheer as his friend grunted, arms trembling beneath him, and he could have sworn he heard a faint chuckle coming from Alexander’s direction. As John adjusted his hands to better accommodate his weight, Lafayette looked over to see that Alexander had pulled his book up to his nose and was silently peering over the top, his long-lashed eyes directed at John. Suddenly the log rolled out and John fell to the ground face-first with a sharp yelp.

Lafayette doubled over, whooping with laughter, as Alexander scrambled over to his fallen friend. His book lay forgotten behind him, thrown hastily upside down on the ground. “John!”

John rolled over with a groan, dirt smudging his freckled flushed cheeks. “Perhaps we should wait on our challenge until my dignity restores itself.”

Alexander made noises of sympathy, and John gave dramatic pain-filled “Oohs,” as Alexander gently examined John’s slowly forming bruises. But Lafayette did not miss John’s twinkling eyes and small smirk. So that was what he was really after.)

Of course, this time John was not showing off or feigning injuries for the sake of Alexander’s touch. Now he lay completely unresponsive even with Alexander’s gentle ministrations, and Lafayette was slightly surprised that he was more uneasy with this lack of reaction than with John and Alexander’s illicit flirtations. “I will fetch us more water and cloth. The doctor did say we must keep him cool,” he decided and Alexander nodded in agreement.

“Would you like me to…”

“No, mon ami, you keep watch. It would seem that your presence does John a fair amount of good. You are, after all, his ange.” Lafayette could not help but give him a quick wink with the intonation.

Alexander flushed slightly and smiled at that comment. “Then I follow your command, dear Lafayette. I will stay at my post.”

Another day passed. Lafayette and Hercules took turns both in providing John with water and in carrying out Washington’s daily tasks. Washington had asked for regular updates, certainly, but he could not afford to pause the entire war for one ill aide.

Alexander did not move from his seat beside John. When it was Lafayette’s turn to check in on their patient, he brought with him bread and brandy for Alexander. Both plate and goblet sat untouched as the day slipped into nightfall.

Lafayette entered the tent that evening, prepared for another night of keeping a vigil over John, to find Alexander not at his usual spot but instead pacing in the tent’s cramped space. “His fever, I do not understand why exactly his fever will not drop. And he will not awaken, even when I drip water down his throat.”

“Perhaps that is a blessing, mon ami,” Lafayette said. “This way, he will not be subject to that delirium. And his cough-,”

He was interrupted by an agonized groan rising from the bed. Lafayette whirled to face the bed, expecting to see John sitting up and awake, but John remained unconscious. His face however was pulled into a tight frown, his forehead creasing.

Alexander quickly hurried back to the bed to sit beside John. John moaned again, turning his head sharply from left to right, but Alexander soothingly hummed and fingered the strands of his hair.

Once John quieted (the only noise he now emitted was a sharp huff of air as he exhaled), Alexander picked up a damp cloth and delicately rested the cloth on John’s waxy forehead. “Yes, he no longer has that cough, but how can that be a good sign since he refuses to come to consciousness? I fear that this heat may soon consume him.”

Lafayette could not disagree with him. John was still too hot – it could not be good for his mind, for his blood, to be trapped in such a furnace.

“Perhaps he requires more…” Lafayette did not finish his sentence, but instead retrieved another damp compress to give to Alexander They did not have snow or ice at the ready, but they could work with what little they had available.

Both men looked up as the tent flaps opened and Mulligan entered bearing wine and dried meat. Lafayette gratefully accepted the cup and took a hearty gulp, but Alexander waved aside the proffered nourishment.

“You need to eat,” said Mulligan, as Lafayette hummed in agreement. “You are already nothing but bones. John will swear eternal war on us if he wakes and you have wasted away.”

Alexander did not respond to the light teasing, continuing instead to wipe down John’s face and neck. John did not respond to the contact but his breathing became more labored. His chest rose and fell dramatically as if he were forcing himself to expel air. And the rumble...his cough may have evaporated, but his chest sounded like something wet were strangling his lungs as he harshly exhaled. Despite Alexander’s attempts to keep him cool, beads of perspiration rapidly formed on his skin and ran into his dark curls. And his skin – Lafayette had never before seen a grimmer shade of yellowish white.

(Even when Alexander had been afflicted with a bullet wound in the leg – John was not pleased with Lafayette when he discovered Lafayette had invited Alexander along on that particular raid – and the skin around the bullet hole turned a putrid green, Lafayette could still say he had never been so close to someone still alive with that grotesque a pallor until John at the present moment. Alexander’s wound was certainly gruesome to look at, but judging by his crossed arms and petulant scowl as John fussed over its dressing, he was clearly in minimal danger unlike the poor man now on the bed.)

“Perhaps,” murmured Mulligan to Lafayette, “It is time to retrieve the priest. And if it is at all possible, it is time to find Washington.”

Alexander sharply inhaled, but did not speak.

Chapter Text

Washington was able to set aside his quill and come to John when Lafayette delivered the grim news that final prayers were being considered. The local priest arrived and went, Alexander steadfastly refusing both to acknowledge his presence and to move from his post beside John. The priest attempted to engage him in prayer, which was returned with a harsh exhale as Alexander focused his attention instead on warming John’s hands between his own. John continued to lay prone in the bed, brows pulling together and jaw clenching every now and then as if he were listening to an argument with which he disagreed.

Lafayette could not even remember whether the priest had engaged in last rites once he had ushered himself out with a slight bow. (Judging by Washington’s somber visage and Alexander’s eerily expressionless face, there may have been some suggestion of John’s potential passing. Lafayette’s ears must have fully rejected that idea.)

Washington himself did not attempt to offer any platitudes or prayers. He simply clasped a large hand on Alexander’s shoulder and gently squeezed. They did not speak, but Lafayette caught Alexander turning his head slightly and shooting Washington a quick grim smile. Given their deep relationship, perhaps that was all they needed to communicate.

Turning to Lafayette, Washington let his hand drop from Alexander and softly said, “You and Alexander may sit with him until...I daresay that he will now need your prayers and God’s intervention.”

Lafayette did not let his expression change, even as he understood Washington’s message. He would be strong for his ill John, for his suffering Alexander – for his few close friends whom he had managed to develop in this strange new country and for whom he would gladly take a bullet.

Washington eventually left the tent, leaving Lafayette and Alexander once again alone with the unconscious John (at least he seemed to have ceased sweating – the contradiction of his chattering teeth and perspiring forehead had been disturbing). “Lafayette…I fear that you have seen a rather indecent side of my character these past few days,” Alexander whispered. “But I…John-” His voice broke off with a choke.

“Alexander,” said Lafayette seriously. “I need you to know that I will not pass judgment on you. I cannot. You…and John – you are my brothers.”

Alexander turned towards him with that pronouncement, and Lafayette felt his heart break at his expression. He had never before seen Alexander looking so miserable, his large dark eyes shining not with his usual enthusiasm but with complete despair.

“I promise,” Lafayette again assured, desperate to give Alexander some type of relief, even if he could not force John to wake up.

Alexander gave a hollow smile, and Lafayette was struck once again by how young this remarkable man was. He had survived such horror already in his short time on Earth, and yet he still managed to be the true fire of the revolutionary effort, attracting people to his vibrant light and energy like moths to an ever-shining candle.

“Well, given John’s current condition, I daresay you will not need to be concerned with this particular predilection for much longer.” Alexander ended this with a gulp, as if worried that by stating his fears aloud, he was ultimately passing a sentence on John.

Lafayette grimaced at his tone. “Alexander, you will not speak like this. John needs you.” He paused as Alexander swallowed again and then repeated, more gently this time, “He needs you Alexander.”

Alexander blinked and gave a short chastised nod. “I apologize Laf-,”

“Not to me,” interrupted Lafayette. “To John.”

As if in agreement with the Frenchman, John suddenly let out a gentle sigh. This sigh was different from earlier. Earlier, each breath sounded like a tremendous battle had taken place. John had sounded like he desperately fought for each gulp of air, and with each exhale, he was brought back to the beginning of the fight, much like Sisyphus forever rolling his boulder up the hill. But this sigh sounded like a young man seeing his true love for the first time. This breath was different. This sigh seemed alive.

Both Alexander and Lafayette stared at John (had he heard them?), but perhaps that was the extent of his ability and he returned to his now-usual labored breathing.

But certainly that breath was hopeful?

“There, you see, mon ami? He agrees with me. He wants you to know that he fights for you. He wants to return to you.”

Alexander looked from Lafayette to John and then back again. His eyes were wide. “You think he could hear us?”

“Go on, tell him you wait for him,” encouraged Lafayette, motioning towards the mattress. No one else would be entering the tent that night. They had complete privacy.

Nodding, Alexander slowly crawled into the bed, wrapping his thin frame around John’s broader one. He pressed his lips softly against John’s temple as Lafayette pulled up a fallen blanket to cover them both.

“Please keep fighting, my heart,” he whispered in John’s ear. “I will not doubt you.”

As Alexander continued to whisper to John, Lafayette settled himself back into his now-usual seat with his feet propped up against John’s mattress. Whatever John needed to bring him back only Alexander could provide. But Lafayette could be there for Alexander as a friend and source of strength. He was ready for another night.

A soft cough rustled Lafayette out of a fairly unpleasant dream about being caught in a surprise raid with the British. A gentle rustle of sheets. And then – “My…Alex...?”

“John!”

Lafayette shot up from his usual spot at the foot of John’s bed, jolted by the sudden exclamation. Alexander was still on the bed, but now crouched over John’s body with his hands on John’s face. John still lay in the sweat-stained bed, but his eyes (his open eyes – his wonderful clear open eyes!) now squinted as the early morning’s dim light came through the tent sheet. “It would seem that I have not gone as far as I thought.” His voice was cracking and weak, and it sounded like the most beautiful noise Lafayette had ever heard.

“He is awake, Lafayette!”

Lafayette hurried over to John’s other side and knelt on the ground, relief coursing through his veins like hot brandy. John winced at Alexander’s piercing exclamation, but wheezed out a small chuckle. “I see that…our Hammie…has still…” His voice trailed off, but Lafayette jumped in with a small laugh.

“Still has not learned to control his volume, oui? My friend, you could promise him the world in exchange for silence, and you could still not cure him.” Lafayette pressed a hand against John’s clammy forehead only to sigh in relief – whatever desperate fever had ravaged his body had somehow broken in the night.

John’s cracked lips curled upwards at that – teasing their young friend had always been a remedy. Alexander ignored the light ribbing and pressed on, face shining. “But how do you feel? Are you uncomfortable? Do you know where you are?”

“I seem to have been…unngh…trampled. My body feels…like it has…been crushed,” mumbled John, and Alexander hummed in concern. He gently wiped away John’s sweaty locks away from his eyes and then smoothed down his hair, allowing his fingers to tangle in the dark curls.

“That is to be expected, mon ami,” said Lafayette. “You did scare us with that cough.”

John managed a slight shrug, breath hitching as he moved his joints for the first time in days. “I…felt you needed something…to do…”

“Oui, mon ami, and I gladly debate your choice of distraction with you when you are fully healed,” smiled Lafayette, and John weakly chuckled. Alexander had been gazing at John with almost a reverent expression as if John’s eyes had exposed to him all the deep secrets of the world. He lowered his hand to gently graze the dark stubble, which had slowly formed on John’s jaw.

“I daresay…that I will be ready to take…you on….Monsieur le Marquis…”

“Lafayette, he has been,” Alexander shot Lafayette a thankful, unsteady smile, “He has been a true friend these past few days. I should think without him, I would have joined you on the sickbed or else would have lost any mental capacity.”

“You are… a skinny little thing…” John’s sparkling eyes belied his teasing tone.

“Alexander has been the most loyal companion to you, John,” Lafayette gently affirmed. “He has refused to move from your side, even for a moment.”

John turned his eyes back to Alexander, a broader smile now on his chapped lips. “I confess…were I not so weary, I would think you were a statue of Ancient Rome…I admit to never have seen you so still…”

Alexander let out a soft laugh as a tear trickled down a cheekbone and landed on the bed sheets. “Dearest Laurens, you of all these soldiers know that I am not one to leave my station.”

John grazed his trembling thumb under Alexander’s eye, wiping away the tear track, and then softly caressed the younger man’s cheek. “You know…I saw this face in my dreams…You were always there to call me back down when I felt myself losing all touch.”

Alexander sighed softly and moved to place a chaste kiss on his hand.

“My beauty…” John breathed, and he ran a thumb over Alexander’s lips, gently tracing his full mouth.

John and Alexander seemed to have completely forgotten that they were not alone. Lafayette quietly coughed and made to rise, and both men started, turning two sets of relieved eyes to their friend. “I will inform His Excellency of your improved condition. He will be most pleased, as well as our friend Mr. Mulligan.”

“Thank you,” Alexander murmured as John’s hand moved to entwine itself in Alexander’s unkempt hair. “For what you have done for John…and for me. You have done us both a service that we can never repay you.”

Lafayette simply nodded. As he moved to leave the tent, he saw Alexander lower himself beside John who moved his arm slightly – enough to allow Alexander to curl up beneath it, but not so much so that his hand was removed from Alexander’s dark hair.

Lafayette did not disturb the two lovers as he exited and tied the tent shut again. Sure enough, John would be able to move from the bed, the daily troubles of revolution would restart, and they would have to go back to their secret glances, light flirtations, and discrete touches. They would once again have to prioritize official responsibilities over…whatever existed between them. And John would continue to show off for Alexander with handstands, and Alexander would eat and sleep because John would say so, and all declarations of love would only happen in the privacy of their own quarters.

But at this particular moment, they could just breathe.

END