John Laurens & Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, John Laurens/Alexander Hamilton.
WE ARE MORE THAN WILLING TO DIE
I claim no ownership to these characters. The Broadway show Hamilton: An American Musical belongs to Lin Manuel Miranda.
Summary:John's satisfied. He didn't throw away his shot, and had somehow walked away from the duel unscathed. Still, Alexander himself doesn't seem satisfied, his willingness to die is unsettling to John.
John Laurens is satisfied, and is ready to be the one to uplift Alexander's spirits after he's called inside Washington's tent. Who'd have thought Lafayette would be the one to uplift his spirits, because Alexander Hamilton keeps shooting off at the mouth?
We are more than willing to die
John feels his heart race in his chest, a constant thumping against his ribcage that makes his ears be deaf to any sound that's on his surroundings. Having faced death and coming out unscathed was truly a experience that filled him with both stupid glee and a bone-shaking nervousness. Probably the adrenaline still pumping though his system. And probably the sudden, inexplicable ripple of rage that flared though him when the general had approached the bleeding Chales Lee.
Yes, he was satisfied, but seeing Washington behave with such politeness to the very person he had challenged to a duel for the sake of protecting Washington's pride was infuriating. How could he behave like that to the person that had spat over his name? He had also challenged Lee in behalf of Alexander, of course. But the sentiment of them both was the same— they wished to make Lee see the error in his ways, see what you get for talking garbage about someone of the magnitude of Washington, who was already doing so much for them, planning, trying to get them the winning grounds.
Charles Lee, the same bastard who had called back their forces as they had been ordered to attack, was certainly a coward that was undeserving to breath and stay in the same places those who where sacrificing themselves stood. John was satisfied, having shot him in his side, having seen the pained look on his features. Call him sick, but he had savored every second of Lee gasping for air and looking in despair at anything, at anyone. He had enjoyed how he clutched Burr's clothes.
His breathing evened out eventually, and he raked his fingers through his hair, letting one last shaky breath before stepping toward the tent of George Washington. Alexander had been called out to have a private talk with the general, and John wanted to wait for him to come out and celebrate, probably uplift his friend's spirits, since he guessed from Washington's curt tone towards Alexander that his friend was in for a reprimand for his actions. Most likely for not stopping the duel from happening, seeing he had served as John's second.
And Alexander had a reputation, of how he could use words to walk himself out of trouble, or in trouble. Alexander had also made it clear he wanted to challenge Lee, and be the one to hold the gun, opposite to Charles Lee. George Washington's train of thought, if John guessed right, was that of Alexander refusing any peace that was offered, of Alexander wanting to see his desire being fulfilled through John. And certainly, John would put his life on the line for Alexander any time the man asked for it— but only because Alexander was, in fact, the closest friend he had. An offense towards him was an offense towards Laurens himself. Lafayette, Mulligan, they both were also of his closest friends, and he would undoubtedly take a gun if necessary to protect their pride. John had taken it upon himself to honor his friend's wishes, as well as his own.
The exchange inside the tent came to be clear, Alexander's tone, although seemingly controlled and clipped, was loud enough for him to make sense of the words. And Washington, always the one to lose a bit of his composure in front of Alexander's words, was letting his words be heard, loud and clear, obvious anger or frustration in them. Laurens stood carefully outside of the tent, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting to hear their exchange.
"—I could fly above my station after the war!"
"Or you could die, and we need you alive!" Washington hollered, patience seemingly thin by now.
John flinched at the tone, not used to seeing or hearing the general's temper. George Washington losing control of his cool was downright scary to him, for multiple reasons— but mostly because whatever had caused it surely was bad. Of course Alexander possessed a strong front. He could take their general's rebuke without so much of batting an eyelash, and keep with his work. He smiled at the thought, proud of his friend's will.
And all of a sudden, all warmth left him.
"I am more than willing to die—!"
He felt frozen to the spot.
Felt his blood turn to ice, the coldness embedding itself on his chest. His smile, frozen on his face, slowly melted away and he frowned, his thoughts seemingly having stopped.
"Your wife needs you alive. Son, I need you alive!"
The gun Hamilton had given to him slipped from his hold, and he felt his fingers cold now that they were bare, no longer around the pistol he had put his faith in moments before. Once again blood rushed to his ears, and he turned on the spot, long strides carrying him towards an unsure destination. He wanted to go to his tent and mull over his friend's words.
They had sounded so desperate, the words, as if Alexander had already given himself to death, as if he was resigned to meet his fate sooner rather than later. And John got that. They were at war, for god's sake! Men died everyday in the raids, in the fights, in the encounters they kept having with British forces, even between themselves, just as now Lee might be marching to his death if the doctor didn't treat him right, if John had shot him in a vital spot, if he had bleed to the point where there was no turning back.
But Alexander, tone rough as his voice cracked, had spoken those words with more heart than necessary, had spoken them with a firm belief he'd die in the battlefield, with a fire John saw whenever he got his pen between his fingers and paper under it.
"Lafayette!" He called out to his friend, entering his tent without asking permission. He flinched at the way his voice sounded to his ears, so strained.
The French man quickly stood from his place, and went to cup John's face between his hands, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks, wetting them further. "John? Is all okay? Why are you crying, dear?"
Deep in his thoughts, John hadn't noticed the hot tears rolling down his cheeks, and he blinked in surprise, feeling them finally, spilling from his eyes and being caught by Lafayette's warm thumbs.
"Alexander wants to— he's so willing to fucking die." He spat, disgust —or dread, he couldn't quite tell— churning on the pit of his stomach.
Lafayette's brows rose, and he made a small 'Oh', before his arms were firmly wrapping themselves around John's shoulders, bringing him closer. A hug John so much needed, so he hugged him back.
"What did he say to you? The Lord knows he likes to speak without thinking."
Pulling himself away from the hug, John shook his head, and dried his cheeks with the cuffs of his coat. "It's not— I mean, he and Washington were speaking. And he just… goes and says that he's more than willing to die. You should've heard him, Laf!"
Lafayette smiles at him, and the way his lips curl, the softness and warmth of his smile bring some peace to Laurens' troubled mind. "Oh, mon chéri. You know Alexander's ways. You know his wishes to rise up and leave a mark when he's gone." Lafayette says, his tone calm, steady.
"I know, I know! It's just that— How can he tell me to not throw away my shot when he sounds like he's ready to throw away his?!" John asks, desperate for an answer.
"Shh, John." Lafayette's fingers thread carefully over John's hair, and he slips his hair free from its restrain, wanting to give John some more space, some more freedom. "We know Alexander Hamilton is someone who would never throw away his shot. The Alexander Hamilton, our Alex would never, ever do that, hear me?"
John nods slowly, and sniffs, closing his eyes to let himself be lost to the way Lafayette's fingers move though his hair. "I know, I know."
"Besides, do you think our Alexander would just be content with dying in glory, on the battlefield?" He joked, smirk on his lips. "He'd be getting out of his tomb to just do more. You know he's hard to satisfy."
John laughs, and smiles up at Lafayette. "He'll never be satisfied."
"We might not live to see our glory." Lafayette repeats softly, the beginning of a chorus they'd often sing in their drunk stupor. A reminder of what moves them day after day, of what they fight for, of their friendship and camaraderie.
"We will gladly join the fight." John repeats, and his chest feels less heavy, knowing they'd give their all for the revolution, for their freedom. They'd die for it, if necessary.
If Alexander's resolve was to simply die for their cause, after getting so far, after just a small taste of freedom, he wouldn't be here. They wouldn't be friends, surely. Hadn't that fiery fire burning with such intensity drawn them all together? Hadn't his flame touched many people, starting a fire that burned bright even in the chilliest and darkest night? Alexander Hamilton wouldn't throw away his shot just like that.
John understood that, as much as Alexander was willing to die, he was even more willing to keep going, leave a deeper mark in his wake, a reminder of who exactly he was, of what he could achieve and his dexterity.
"Now. Do you want me to speak to him about this, John?" Lafayette asks, and John shakes his head in negative.
"Nah. I mean. I was willing to die just moments ago, right?" And a short dry laugh escaped him. Lafayette offered him a small smile. "I'm just— he inspires me so much, you know, Laf?"
"He's like that."
"I was more than willing to die for him." He says with another laugh, this one to cover up the upcoming tears. "Gosh! He's one of a kind. But, you know what's more screwed up? I'd do it again. For him, I'd do it the necessary times." And the tears are again on his eyes, rolling down with mixed emotions.
Relief, after acknowledging Alexander's willingness to die didn't meant he'd stand still and let death catch him. He was happy that he wasn't hurt, that he had protected Washington's name, that he hadn't let Alexander down. He hadn't thrown away his shot. Nervousness, because he was knee-deep in this shit. It was irrational how he'd give his life for Alexander any time. He was partly afraid, because he'd actually give his life for Alexander's—not necessarily throw away his shot.
'He can achieve so much. His words are put together in an astounding way.', John thought, knowing Alexander would continue to fight for what he believed. And he'd probably be more successful in it than any other man alive. Alexander's words held the force of nature on each syllable, on each letter. They were unrelenting, and had yet to meet its match.
"He's that charming, John." Lafayette tells him, and his eyes shine with certain sadness, reflected on his smile. "We'd be more than willing to die for him. It is scary."
And they both laugh, because that's just how close they are, how much they care for each other. That's how much they've been through, how much they held each other's back through and through.
"Man, he has us on his palm." John says, heaving out a sigh.
"That's Alexander Hamilton for you." Lafayette says, teeth showing in his wide smile.
John returns the smile, and whispers to himself, "For us."
"Now, chéri, go speak to him. Surely he's fuming after the general had a few words with him."
John beams at Lafayette, and nods, tying up his hair again. "Thank you, Laf. You're the best."
"Je sais." Lafayette says. And of course he knows he's the best, how could he not? "But don't let Alex hear, he'll get jealous." Lafayette says, hugging John goodbye before kissing both his cheeks.
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Any sentence/paragraph/word/idiom that makes no sense is all my fault, for which I apologize. You can point it out to me if you'd like!