Dun dun dunnnnnn….. CHAPTER SIX! Sorry this took so long. I am so grateful that all of you have made it this far. Thank you for reviewing and favoriting and following my work. And special thanks to CloudyFlight, whose review prompted this chapter. ,

Seconds pass, blending into minutes, turning into hours. It takes a while for Alexander to calm down, but he manages it, still safe in Washington's comforting embrace. Only when he's sure that he's gotten a firmer grip on his emotions does he meet the President's eyes.

Washington smiles down at Alexander, lightly brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. Alex is able to muster a faint smile in return, before the shock of what happened kicks in. Washington saw the mark on his throat. Somehow, he knew James had done it. Well, there weren't many options were there? Who else would've tried to strangle him. Third, he'd started panicking, and Washington hadn't been angry? He had sat with him, reassured him that everything would be alright, and held him like Alexander was his own son.

He hangs his head, ashamed to meet the man's gaze after this, as his father once put it, "wretched display of pathetic weakness." A hand lifts his head up. Alexander looks back at Washington, who has nothing but concern and pure affection in his expression.

"Son-" Washington begins, but Alexander cuts him off, not even realizing that the man had started to speak.

"Are you angry with me?" Alexander questions. Thinking that this may sound too challenging, he adds, "I would be angry with myself, too. I- I'm sorry, sir, Your Excellency." He stares at the floor.

Taken aback for a moment, Washington can only look at Alex. Then, he abruptly shifts Alexander so he's facing him, before grabbing his shoulders and saying seriously: "No. Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for, absolutely nothing. And I'm not angry. Not with you. If I'm angry with anyone right now, it's your father. Understand?"

Alexander nods his head slowly, still rather uncertain. He glances at the clock. It's a quarter past seven.

Washington follows his gaze, and also takes note of the time. Rising to his feet, and pulling Alexander with him, he steers the boy towards the door. "Come on. I'm walking you home tonight."

Emitting murmured protests, but not putting up much of a fight, Alexander allows himself to be led out of the building and into the cool night air.

It was awkward, really, having your employer walk with you to your house. Even more so when they keep shooting concerned looks your way.

Alexander kicked a stone, and it clattered away into the darkness. Washington glanced over at him, worry creasing his face. The man kept looking into the shadows as if he expected something to jump out at them.

Though Alex didn't know it, Washington was hoping to find James at Alexander's house. New York was a large city, and honestly James could be anywhere. The sooner the man was tracked down, the better, as far as Washington was concerned.

But when they arrived at Alexander's home, it was dark. The house was empty, the only noise being the slight creak of the door hinges as they swung open. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, Alex bounced on his toes. Sanctuary. He turned to bid the President goodnight, but as soon as he did he was enveloped in a tight hug. Washington gazes down at him. "Remember to lock your door. I'll see you tomorrow, son." Alexander nods, shocked by the sudden display of affection, and Washington briskly walks back out into the night.

Alexander does as he is told. The door is secure, the house is quiet, and all is well. Little did he know how quickly that would all change.

James is still a b****. But here's his perspective.

He drains the tankard before slamming it onto the bar. The bartender looks up, pausing in his wiping out of the glasses, and gazes back at him sympathetically. "Rough day?"

"Yeah."

"Ah. So who did what?"

James's eyes flicker up to meet the other's in surprise. The bartender grins back. "I've worked here for a long time. I can tell someone's pissed you off."

James allows a slight smile. "Huh. Learning people skills in a bar. That's a new one. To answer your question, I'm having issues with my son."

The other man nods sagely. "I see. So is it just a petty argument or something more?"

"Well, it's a bit more. I haven't seen him for a long time, so I decide to visit. And when I see him, he acts like I've done something horrible to him. And then he starts disrespecting me, so of course I've got to do something about that. Finally I got it through his thick head, but he'll probably have forgotten by tomorrow and I'll have to teach him all over again."

The bartender rests his chin on his hand. "You know, I was always told that the best reward for disrespect is a good dose of pain."

James sighs. "Been there, done that. I'll bet he had some bruises today."

"Well, try harder. In my family, disrespect was always treated with a good hard blow from a poker, and maybe a broken bone or two. No one forgets that sort of thing very quickly."

He ponders this for a moment. It'll likely work, but breaking bones is out of the question. He wants the boy to be able to go off to work each day, and that sort of thing will likely not go unnoticed. Especially from Washington. James is not blind, he can see that the President appears to be more fond of his son than he'd expect from just an employer.

Well, Washington admitted himself that James had the right to make his own choices, and he'd also urged him to make choices that would benefit Alexander. This certainly would. The boy would cease to be so obnoxious if he could just learn to keep his mouth shut. Tomorrow he'd pay a visit to Alexander at his home, or, if he wasn't there, he'd just go on over to the offices where he worked. He'd finally be able to resolve the issue of the boy's disrespect once and for all.

Annnnnd, back to Alexander's perspective.

The silence of the house was welcoming. No one bursted out at him from the shadows, and he was free to nurse his bruises in peace. Alexander sat on his bed, staring out the window at the garden. It was so calm, lit by shafts of moonlight.

His mind wandered back to the subject of Washington. The man was truly a mystery to him. Did Washington really care for him or was he just being kind? Part of Alexander scolded himself for wanting the former to be true. No, no, no. Washington was only trying to help him, just because he is a kind and honorable man, nothing else.

But he'd called Alex "son", as if the appearance of James had made no difference, as if Alexander wasn't James's son at all, but his. He'd comforted him, and he had walked home with him to make sure he would be alright. Surely that could be a little more than just kindness, right?

Alexander rolled over and buried his face in the pillows, lost in thought, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, the sky was a heavy gray, and low rumble of thunder echoed across the city. There would likely be a storm.

Rolling his collar up to shield against the wind, Alexander shivered. He'd never liked storms, not since the hurricane, and it would not do for him to show up at work sopping wet, so he walked faster.

Even so, by the time he ducked into the offices, a light rain was already beginning to fall. It was gloomy inside, the loss of natural light replaced by stuttering candles.

No sooner had Alex shut the door to his own office than the real rain came. A torrential downpour thundered outside, drowning out all other sounds. Well, it was better than hearing Jefferson's voice. Settling into his chair, Alexander picked up his quill and wrote like there was no tomorrow.

As the day progresses, the storm gets wilder and louder, until he could have played an organ and no one would have heard a single note. (Sorry, can't write good analogies) When his clock strikes three, an unexpected and much unwanted visitor strolls in the room.

James is grinning, smug and cruel, and he carries in one hand a long, slender bundle wrapped in rough cloth. "Good afternoon, son. Hard at work, are we?"

He looks slightly hungover, and there's a rather vengeful light in his eyes. He's running a thumb over the bundle in his hand, evidently itching to unwrap it.

Alexander gives James a scornful glance. "Yes. And if you had any decency, you'd be too."

His contemptuous words are met only with a roar of fury. James surges forward, and his cloth wrapped bundle falls to the floor. It hits the wood with a thump and a clatter, revealing what James has brought with him. An iron poker, long, heavy, and adorned with curled spikes, like talons.

Alex has no time to comprehend the appearance of the weapon before James has grabbed him by the collar, and yanking him up. His voice is just an angry hiss. "You've already forgotten your lessons, fortunately, someone was able to give me some wonderful advice last night, this'll teach you."

Briefly releasing Alexander, James scoops the poker off the ground and stalks back over to him. Before he can say anything, James is swinging his weapon, and it catches him on the leg.

The force of the blow nearly knocks him over. Another one lands on the opposite leg, and he barely stifles a whimper of pain. Another blow falls. This time James strikes him in the ribs, and a shriek bursts out of Alexander.

Blows continue to land on Alex, catching him in the legs, his ribs, his hips, until his body aches.

Eyes wild with anger, James adjusts his grip so he's holding the poker like a spear. Jabbing downwards, the most prominent point cuts open Alexander's breeches at the calf, leaving a bloody streak in its wake. The cut is deep and wide, and he can't hold back his scream. No one hears. The storm drowns out all sound.

He feels as though he may lose consciousness. From pain, from fear, and, if he doesn't get that wound bound soon, from blood loss.

And then…..the door opens, and someone is striding towards them, pulling James off and then they are gently helping him lean against the wall, wrapping a piece of fabric around his leg to stem the bleeding. Finally, from pain, fear, and pure shock, Alexander passes out.

Washington's point of view!

The storm was incredible. Incredibly loud. He couldn't concentrate, so he decided to walk around and check on his employees.

Pausing for a while to speak with Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, he proceeded down the hall to Alexander's office.

A knock on the door prompted no response. It was slightly concerning, but the storm was so loud maybe he just didn't hear.

Washington opened the door. James Hamilton is gripping a poker, and as he watches uses it to slash a deep cut on Alex's leg.

Surging forward, he drags the man off of Alexander, and eases his boy into a sitting position against the wall, using a nearby piece of cloth to bind the wound on his leg, but not fast enough. Alexander's eyes roll back in his head, and Washington panics for a moment. A quick check reveals that his boy is just unconscious.

Satisfied that Alexander is in no imminent danger, he turns back to James, his rage mounting. "What is the meaning of this? How could you attack him like that?"

James leans haughtily against the poker, using it like a cane. "Mr. President, I was only trying to discipline my son. I believe you told me that, being his father, I know him better than you do, and that I should act in his best interest. Well, that's what I'm doing. If he learns to keep his mouth shut, he'll get in less trouble. And as an added bonus, he'll also annoy you less."

Washington makes a furious noise in his throat. "Alexander does not annoy me. And I am questioning that you know him at all. I think I am correct in saying that it has been many years since you saw him last, and people change."

James snorts. "Ha. Alexander still can't shut up, and he still has no respect for authority. Please consider that I am only trying to improve his character."

Raising an eyebrow, Washington responds, "Oh? I've not had any problems with him. Well, the whole 'don't call me son' fiasco, but he's not about to tell James that. Perhaps Alexander's definition of authority doesn't include people who show up out of nowhere and start beating him for not showing respect they don't deserve."

The other man's eye twitches. Washington watches, knowing that James will not dare to attack him, even though he'd clearly like to.

It doesn't matter. Washington has more pressing matters to attend to. He has to take care of his son. Ignoring James, he turns back to Alexander. To his surprise, the boy's eyelids are fluttering. He blinks, once, twice, and then lets his head fall against his chest with a moan.

"It hurts…..why does everything hurt?" Alexander looks up at the two men standing over him. Then his gaze settles on James and his brow furrowed. "Oh. I remember now."

Washington leans down and helps Alexander to his feet. At one point his leg gives way and when he does manage to stand, he's clutching the President's arm for support.

He hisses at James, "Leave him be. You've hurt him enough for one lifetime."

James glares back at Washington, before turning to Alexander with a smirk on his face. "I suppose I won't be seeing you again. You're still my son, however, so if you want to…." He leaves the question unfinished.

Alexander won't meet either of their eyes. He mutters something under his breath. James's smile widens. "What was that?"

"...your son."

James looks victorious. "That's right. Now, come along."

"No. Not your son." Alexander retorts sharply.

Now furious, James snarls, "Blood is blood, and nothing you can do will change that. Face it. I'm the only family you've got left."

"I've got Eliza, and my children, and…" he trails off.

"He's got me." Washington says firmly. He tightens his grip on Alex's shoulder, reinforcing his statement. Alexander glances up at him in shock.

James makes a harsh disbelieving noise. "What would you want with a useless bastard who talks incessantly and lacks self control?"

Perspective Switch! Alexander.

The first thing he's aware of when he regains consciousness is the pain. His whole body aches. James is quite formidable with that poker.

Standing by Washington's side, Alexander listens to the older man berate James for the abuse. Then James addresses him, asking if he would ever see him again. No. Never. Not ever again.

Of course James is angry when he refuses. But what if he was right? What if James really was the only family Alexander had left? But then…

"He's got me."

A surge of emotions overtakes him.

Yes yes yes...wait, no, this isn't right, he can't mean it, no, no he doesn't mean it. But maybe he does….

Washington grips his shoulder firmly.

Yes he does mean it, he won't be like James, he is good and honorable and he cares, and he won't be like James. Father isn't like James.

Father….

But of course, James has to go and ruin it all. "What would you want with a useless bastard who talks incessantly and lacks self control?"

It's a valid question. Out of all of the people he works with, why would Washington favor the one with the unfortunate past and the problem with authority? Alex doesn't want to hear the answer. He hangs his head, waiting for Washington to realize that he is making a mistake.

Washington takes a minute to respond. He appears to be mulling over his answer. James is beginning to smirk again, and Alexander feels something akin to despair building in his chest. When the man finally answers, his voice is firm and confident.

"Alexander isn't useless. He's quite intelligent and if you'd give him a chance, I'm sure that he would impress you. I want him to be happy, and evidently your presence is not helping. So you need to leave."

The room is silent for a count of three, then James spins around and stalks out of the room. Alexander is left alone with Washington, and suddenly his leg gives out. The President catches him, shifting him so that he is supporting the majority of Alex's weight. Outside, the storm has stopped.

Leading Alexander back to his desk, Washington helps him settle into his chair, before telling him, "Wait here. There's something I need to attend to."

So Alexander waits patiently, as the minutes tick by, and he starts to wonder if maybe Washington did realize he made a mistake.

He tries to stand up, but his injured leg just can't support his weight and he collapses back down. Not to be deterred, he grips the desk firmly and uses it as leverage to push himself upright.

It works long enough for him to grab the poker, which James had cast aside before he left. Leaning on it heavily, he limps slowly towards the door. Before he can reach it, it opens.

Washington is back, bearing in his arms a roll of cloth bandages and a pitcher of water. He stops, seeing Alexander halfway across the room. "What are you doing, son? Sit down, before you hurt yourself even more."

Alexander complies, sitting down and carefully removing the makeshift wrap covering his wound. Washington gives him a damp cloth, watching as he dabs gently at the gash, cleaning away the dried blood surrounding it. When Alexander is finished, the older man winds a bandage around the boy's leg, securing it firmly in place.

"He's wrong, Alexander."

Startled, Alex glances up at Washington, who looks back at him, dead serious. "You know that, don't you?"

Not sure what else to say, Alexander merely responds, "Yes sir."

Washington smiles softly in response. "Good." Reaching out, he ruffles Alex's hair, prompting a quiet laugh and a grin from Alexander.

"Son, how about you come home with me for tonight? There's room for you, and frankly, I don't think you should try to walk home, not with that leg of yours."

He's shocked. How to respond? Washington's invited him to come stay with him, for a night. But the President is correct. It would be unwise for him to try and walk home. So there's really only one thing for him to say.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

Washington has a coach waiting outside the building. It's not a long drive to the President's lodgings at 3 Cherry Street. The carriage smoothly rolls to a stop outside the handsome building, and Washington opens the door to the house, ushering Alexander inside.

Though he can't make out much, it appears to be a fine house, beautifully decorated. Leading him into a small room, Washington tells Alex, "Wait here for a moment, son. Feel free to read whatever you'd like."

Gazing around in wonder, Alexander realizes that the room is a library, illuminated by a fire in the grate. He picks up a book from the stack on a small table, and sits upon a couch, flipping open the book.

Washington returns to find Alexander deeply absorbed in a book. Chuckling under his breath, he picks up a book for himself and settles onto the couch beside Alexander. A warm feeling spreads through him when his boy leans against him, curling into his side.

The sun rises the next morning to find two people asleep on a couch in a small library, books still open in their hands. Alexander's head is resting against Washington's chest, and the President's arm is wrapped around Alexander's shoulders. Father and son sleep on, blissfully unaware of time passing around them, content to spend the morning in this room, happy and at ease.

Because no matter what they tell you, family doesn't have to be connected by blood. Family is who you love, and who loves you.

So raise a glass to family, to something they can never take away, and no matter what they tell you, it's something that you can create for yourself.

Alright that's the last chapter. I'm sad to end the story, but I hope you all enjoyed it. I cannot express enough how so incredibly thankful I am to all of you for reading. Please give me some feedback. Also, if there's anything you'd like me to write in future stories, tell me and I'll be glad to do so. Raise a glass to all of you. You're all amazing. Thank you so much. ~RedCoatsRedder