Writing progresses friends! I’ve had two extra long days at work, so I don’t have my latest prompt quite finished. I got one from an anon that has turned out to be much longer than my usual little blurbs, and then I started a second one. I’ll get tboth prompt and whumpy/fluff bonus posted tomorrow evening! Here’s a little bit from the prompt I was sent:
He cannot say what kind of reaction he was expecting. General Washington is not an emotional man, especially in public, but he does not even acknowledge Hamilton. He stares at him, brows drawn, his expression unreadable. Alexander has mastered understanding those expressions, emotions, even the most subtle ones when there is little other evidence to go by. Here there are no clues.
Seconds tick by and Hamilton finally snaps to attention, recalling the audience. “Sir,” He greets, the word rolls strangely off his tongue. “The rumors of my death were untrue.” He thinks he tries for a light tone, but he does not hear much of his own voice. It’s now, after his sudden jerky movement to salute, that his body tells him his energy is spent, and dark spots dance across his vision.
His shoulders slump, knees give out. Alexander falls forward and vaguely realizes he is about to pass out with a full audience observing. An audience including—
Strong hands arrest his fall, shift him so he’s resting against something soft. He lifts his head, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Later Hamilton will be mortified at the thought of showing such weakness in front of witnesses.
Oh. Right. And he’s just collapsed right into his General’s arms. Even more horrifying. Washington his holding him up, scrutinizing him, his expression unchanged.
As the darkness reaches up to take him, Alexander realizes the General is angry.
Of course. He has every right to be. His mission was a failure. He failed. Failed. Everything he’s worked for could end right here, a notion more heart wrenching than the notion of half the camp watching him.