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Laurens might throw himself out of the window at any given moment, ‘accidentally’ fall down the considerable tall staircase, or resign from Washington’s office all together, for he cannot stand his father’s presence any longer.
It is not only that they spend more time attending several events with Congressmen or other influential families from Philadelphia than doing their actual job of aide-de-camp, (though this is theoretically also is a part of their work, only usually a rather small one) no, they also have the misfortune to stay in Henry Laurens’ residence.
Military and family should not mix, Laurens was sure after only an hour after Hamilton and he arrived, later than the rest of the family because of the duel between Laurens and Charles Lee, an affair he did not regret until his father found out about it, clearly much more displeased than Washington. Two weeks later, however, Laurens finds himself satisfied with his actions once more, though the disappointment in his father’s eyes remains clear.
Henry Laurens never was the most affectionate father, but since their arrival, Laurens finds the man even colder and more tense than before, mostly complaining about some matters of Congress, the jests between Meade and Tilghman that he finds not funny at all (which doesn’t surprise Laurens in the slightest), Laurens being in the army all together, or the lack of correspondence between Laurens and his wife.
And his wife... that be an entirely different topic. Whenever Henry Laurens enters the room, Laurens must listen to every word his father speaks, always silently praying he will not say this one word, this one word that could destroy so much he never dreamed possible.
More than once Laurens had to steer the conversation to an entirely different topic, or leave the room with his father all together, always earning confused glances from the other aides, always doing his best to control his face, the panic that must be obvious in his features.
That he has a reason for this panic is entirely his own fault, he is aware of that, and he is also aware he should tell Hamilton, but it is far too late now, and with his Laurens’ father so close, he does not dare to steal Hamilton away from the office as he would elsewhere, even if he is, for the first time in over a year, in possession of his own room.
He fears he has become too cold towards Hamilton since their stay in this house begun, but whenever they share any kind of affections, even as small as a brush of their hands, Laurens fears his father standing behind him, the horrified expression on his face should he know.
Right now, however, Henry Laurens does not stand behind Laurens, but in the door of their aide-de-camp office, (a parlor, as both studies are occupied by Washington and his father) turning about again, doorknob already in this hand.
“Ah, Jack, do remember to inform me whether or not you will be present for dinner tomorrow.”
“I doubt I will be, father,” Laurens replies, only looking up for a second to see the man nod, the sound of the door closing relieving Laurens immensely.
Laurens can feel both Hamilton’s and McHenry’s eyes on him, then hears quiet chuckling from Hamilton. When he looks up, he finds his friends grinning at one another.
“What?” he asks, mildly annoyed and primarily confused. “Is it so absurd to you that a father would want to know about his son’s attendance at dinner?”
Laurens looks back and forth between the men, only to see their smiles widen.
“No, it is not absurd at all, Jack,” Hamilton says, stressing the last word, earning a laugh from McHenry and an eyeroll from Laurens.
Oh. That.
“Only a-”
“It does fit him, does it not?” Laurens thinks he has never seen McHenry and Hamilton stare into each other’s eyes for so long.
“I think it fits him perfectly.”
Hamilton and McHenry both turn back to Laurens, who fears he flushes terribly. That stupid nickname. It has a reason not even Hamilton knows of this name; it makes Laurens feel like a child. Well, he is thankful his father does not call him Jacky anymore.
“I cannot believe you would not tell us, your dear friends, of this wonderful name!” Hamilton exclaims, feigning a wounded expression.
“It is hardly worth mentioning,” Laurens mutters.
Hamilton leans forward, his smile changing into an endearing smirk. “But why, Jack? Such a delightful piece of information deserves to be shared widely.”
Laurens scoffs. “I am not a child anymore. Surely, if my father would want my name to be Jack, he could have given me that name. I much prefer John.” He turns back to the report, hoping that Hamilton and McHenry will let him be, but he knows his friends, knows they love to tease.
“But the question is, do we agree with that?” McHenry asks, tapping his chin with the end of his quill.
“It is quite the charming name. Very much endearing. And much shorter than ‘Laurens’ as well.”
“Only one syllable!” Laurens protests.
“I think he secretly loves it,” McHenry whisper-shouts across the room.
“I do not-”
“We shall keep it, then.”
“No, you will not-”
“Oh, yes, Hamilton, yes, we shall keep it.”
“If you think to keep it, Hamilton,” Laurens says, “I think I shall only address you as ‘Hammy’ from now on.”
“But Laurens, you would not be successful with that, as I mind the name not at all.”
Laurens groans. “Oh, please, could you-” he starts, only to be interrupted by the door, Harrison entering the room.
“Ah, Laurens, have you finished the report yet?” he asks, and before Laurens may reply, he gets interrupted by Hamilton and McHenry.
“But, dear Harrison, this is not Laurens,” Hamilton announces theatrically.
“This,” McHenry continues, his tone just as dramatic as Hamilton’s when Harrison’s expression turns confused, “is Jack.”
“Oh piss off,” Laurens hisses, rolling his eyes, then looking back up at Harrison again. “I shall have it done in five-”
“Jack?” Harrison repeats. “Did you say Jack?”
“Jack,” McHenry and Hamilton echo together.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” Harrison suddenly exclaims, sounding so happy it seems unlike him.
“Wonderful, sir?” Laurens groans, dropping his head into his hands.
“Yes, I think myself deserving of such an excellent nickname, as you are so fond of the name ‘Old Secretary.’” Harrison smirks like Laurens has not seen before, as if this, a stupid name, be the joy of his life.
“I beg you Harrison, you, certainly the most professional man of this office, the most dutiful, must understand the torture one must go through if one is called by the wrong name.”
“You are a dramatic man, Jack,” Hamilton comments dryly.
“Call me dramatic, Hamilton, but I only speak truth. The General- God, and my father as well- will think that we have lost all of our professionalism if they would hear us use such familiar names.”
“No, certainly not. They would only think-”
“The report, Harrison.” Laurens holds out the now finished report to Harrison.
“Ah, yes, of course. Thank you, Jack.”
Laurens would have hoped that it would end there. He would have hoped because he is well able to guess his dear friends will not let the name die so soon.
When he enters the parlor-turned-office the next morning, only Meade and Tilghman are about, quietly talking beside one another while drinking their coffee.
“Good morning, Laurens,” Tilghman greets him when he enters, and he is very relieved to hear the nickname has not spread to these two of all people. Though he loves them dearly, he has no doubt he shall never hear his real name from their mouths again should they be privy to the joke.
His hopes die down, however, when he hears footsteps right behind him, feels Hamilton squeeze his hand for only a single second while he passes Laurens and declares, “But have you not heard it, Tilghman? Our dear ‘Laurens’ much prefers to be addressed as ‘Jack’ now.”
“Jack?” Tilghman questions with an eyebrow raised, but smiling at the same time, as if he is unsure if Hamilton is being serious or not.
"I do not," Laurens snaps. "Hamilton and McHenry have simply decided that—"
“John is rather plain, is it not?” Meade asks innocently, raising his cup to his lips.
“And if we should continue calling him Laurens, then that may cause confusion with his father being a Laurens as well,” Tilghman says, tapping his fingers on the table in mock consideration.
“I do suppose ‘Jack’ is the most logical alternative.”
“And he does look like a Jack today.”
Laurens groans internally, rubbing his temples. “I beg of you, Tilghman, Meade, do not encourage them.” He has, however, not the slightest bit of hope that Meade and Tilghman will not be encouraged themselves. They should never miss out on a jest, and partaking in it.
Laurens tries to ignore the exchange of glances between the other men in the office, instead fills himself a cup of coffee – he would normally fill one for Hamilton as well, but feels like he does not want to this morning – and tries to concentrate on his breakfast rather than the foolishness of the nickname fiasco slowing spreading around him.
And so, Laurens has to endure the annoying moniker. When he leaves the room with these day’s General’s orders and leaves the door open, ‘Jack’ is called back by Hamilton to close it, earning an amused glance from James, his father’s servant – no, slave, not servant - who happens to pass by the room at the moment.
“Why must you do this?” he mutters after he returns to the office and sinks back into his chair with embarrassment. James is familiar with the name, of course, from Laurens’ father using it, but he does not like the thought of James thinking him so unprofessional, though he does not know why he should care for the man’s opinion.
“Why should we not?” Meade asks with feigned innocence.
“It is an expression of our friendship, after all,” Hamilton adds.
“Yes, what kind and considerate friends you are,” Laurens says, pulling a face. “I shudder to think what you might do as my enemies.”
When Laurens and Tilghman attend a tea the same day, Tilghman asks him, “Jack, could you pass me the sugar?” which their kind hostess apparently does not notice as strange at all.
Laurens glares across the table as he slowly shoves the sugar toward the family’s daughter who sits on the opposite side of the table, as far away as he may.
The next day, Meade, Hamilton and Laurens work in the office, the rest of the family attending Congress, when they hear a knock upon the door, and after he is called in, a young Captain pokes his head through the door, waving with a letter.
“Ah, I was told to ask for... Jack?” The Captain, at least, appears quite confused with only being given the first name of the receiver of the letter. “Colonel Harrison said he would know where to bring the correspondence for the General.”
“Of course, I am sure Jack can show you to his office,” Hamilton says with an audible smirk and a nod to Laurens, indicating that he was the man the Captain seeks.
If Laurens did know the man, he would refuse to reply, would wait for one of the men to use his actual name, but with the confused Captain in the doorway, Laurens finds he has no choice but to stand up and take the letters from the young man. He does not show him to Washington’s office, however, but dismisses him before he walks over to Hamilton’s desk beside Laurens’ and smacks the pile of new correspondence upon the table, upsetting the inkpot so a few drops spill, luckily on a blotting paper.
Without another word, Laurens returns to his own desk, grips his quill and continues on the French translation he currently works on. He hears the two men snicker behind him but decides to instead make his annoyance known by ignorance; an ability any living in the presence of Henry Laurens for too long is sure to master.
Most days, Laurens is able to mostly ignore the other aides’ jest, if only because several social calls give him little time at his father’s house, which he now appreciates for multiple reasons.
Each time on of the men slips, accidentally calls Laurens by his right name, another will correct him, and often Laurens does not try to protest anymore, for he does know – no, he can only hope at this point – that his friends may tire of their joke rather sooner than later, and remember their friend’s correct name once more.
His hopes are in vain, however.
Even with Laurens ignoring most of the comments being made, the aides do quite enjoy their jest, since they know it still annoys Laurens greatly, and perhaps his giving up only encouraged them.
And so, Laurens accepts his fate and endures the nickname until he no longer can.
Washington stands in the office, discusses some matter with Harrison, when Hamilton offhandedly asks, “You said we are to leave at twelve, did you not, Jack?”
Because luck is not usually on his side, the room falls silent in the exact second Hamilton utters the ill-fated name.
Laurens glares at Hamilton, does not even think about the General’s presence in the room until he hears Meade’s quiet chuckle, sees Tilghman turning away with suppressed laughter. Laurens raises his eyebrows at McHenry, also grinning but the only man in the room who is in his view not totally absorbed in his mirth. McHenry’s grin only widens, and he makes a motion for Laurens to turn his head.
That is the moment Laurens remembers Washington still in the room. He turns his head slowly and sees an expression on the General’s face that can only be described as fond. Laurens knows he must flush a deep red, though could not point out the exact reason for his reaction. Washington, thank God, does not comment anything, though he does look at Laurens expectantly, as if he does not know the answer himself.
“Yes, at twelve,” Laurens finally mutters, turning back to his work in front of him.
“Well then, gentlemen,” he hears Washington say behind him several seconds later. “I will see you all at twelve.” With that, he takes his leave from the office.
Instantly, Meade’s laughter grows louder, Tilghman joining in, then Hamilton also, Harrison and McHenry not laughing loudly but smiling wide. Everyone is amused, it seems, except Laurens. He glares at Hamilton until the man notices and stops laughing.
“In front of the General, Hamilton? Really? Was that necessary?”
Hamilton shrugs nonchalantly, feigning innocence. “I cannot be held accountable for what slips out in the flow of conversation, Jack.”
“But not when the General is present.”
“He said nothing of it,” McHenry interjects.
“He did not, but can you read his thoughts?”
“I do understand that you do not want him to adopt such familiarity himself,” Harrison says, “but you should know he will not. Nor will he think it unprofessional.”
“Yes, I think he will think that we really are like family,” Tilghman adds.
“Should not everyone have a say in a family?”
“You do have a say,” Meade says, “We only have decided to collectively ignore your opinion.”
“Ah, yes, how thoughtful of you.”
“I truly do not understand why this angers you so, Laurens,” Hamilton says quietly, his expression now appearing almost concerned.
“Well, in truth, I do not either.” Laurens huffs. “I only think that enough is enough.”
“So, you are saying you want us to stop?” McHenry asks.
“I would appreciate it if you did.”
“Cannot endure it any longer, can you?” Tilghman laughs.
“I have endured it for over two weeks, can that not be enough for you?” Laurens knows his voice to be growing more annoyed again.
“It only shall be so difficult for us to adjust to calling you Laurens again. That feels like putting such a big distance between us once more,” Meade ponders dramatically.
Before Laurens has to defend himself again he is interrupted, to his own surprise by Harrison. “No, I think Laurens is right,” Harrison actually says. “We have had our fun, gentlemen. You must not overdo it.”
“They already have,” Laurens mutters, but he thinks no one else hears it, except maybe for Hamilton, who also begins to nod along with Harrison.
“Perhaps it does start to become less funny,” he says. “It was our intent to tease our dear Laurens, after all, and not to torture him with this.”
McHenry quietly agrees to both Harrison and Hamilton’s words and then, by some miracle, Meade and Tilghman also declare themselves willingly to drop this joke.
So it seems, only five minutes later, that Laurens shall be free of this name he mostly left behind for good this time.
Later in the evening, Laurens has already retired to his room for the night. His eyes are closed as he is lying on his back on his bed and if he was not still fully dressed, he would likely already be asleep, the day having been a busy one with an early rising, correspondence to handle, attending Congress and a tea, and then more correspondence again.
When Laurens is just trying to figure out how to spend as little time on his feet this evening as possible, he hears a knock from the door.
Surely, only one man would knock this late.
“Yes?”
Laurens does not open his eyes. He recognizes each aide’s specific pace by now, this one in particular, so he only has to listen to the nearing steps to know that his guess who knocked at his door was correct. Laurens only dares to blink up at the man when he feels the dip of his mattress and Hamilton’s weight settles down beside him, not quite lying down but also not quite sitting up anymore.
“Hello,” Hamilton whispers.
“Hello,” Laurens whispers back, closing his eyes again.
A soft kiss is pressed to his eyelids.
“What do you want?”
“Ah, you think I want something?” Laurens can hear the exact expression on Hamilton’s face. Surely, both of his eyebrows are raised, he is biting his lip so he does not start smiling too widely, giving his face an overall incredulous expression.
“You always want something.”
“Only your time, in this case.”
Laurens suppresses a yawn as best as he can. “I fear I have little of that before I fall asleep, even if I should be talking to you.”
“I will ensure that you have more time until sleep claims you.”
Laurens’ eyes shoot open. He grins at Hamilton wickedly.
“You think so basely,” Hamilton chides. “I have insinuated nothing of the kind that your face suggests.”
“Well, I do need to undress in either case, you might as well help me with that.”
“It would be practical,” Hamilton says. He rises from the bed again in one fluid motion, holding one hand out to Laurens to pull him up with him. Laurens does not exactly want to leave his quite comfortable position on the bed but he takes the offered hand, knowing it shall be even warmer under the sheets later, with a familiar body beside him, if he is lucky.
Hamilton seems to take his new role as personal valet in this moment quite seriously, immediately starting to assist in easing Laurens’ coat off his shoulders. Laurens really does not have to do anything but to listen to Hamilton’s voice.
Hamilton talks to him of Congress’ discussion of this day, he of course having a lot more opinions on the discussion than the rest of their office combined and then continues on about the rest of their army encamped at Middlebrook and complains about Laurens’ room being particularly cold, despite of the fire burning in the fireplace behind them.
Laurens does not feel cold at all, despite only standing in his shirt and breeches now. With Hamilton simply helping him because he can, because he believes Laurens is exhausted and would appreciate the help, all the while talking about whatever comes to his mind, he is filled with even more fondness for him tonight, even if he has done his best to torment Laurens for the last weeks.
“Are you listening, or are you still half asleep?” Hamilton asks as he walks Laurens back towards the bed so that he can remove his shoes.
“No, I am listening,” Laurens says. “You are complaining about Congress, Middlebrook and the temperature of my room.”
Hamilton just snorts in reply, kneeling in front of Laurens to remove one shoe, then the other. He stays quiet as he does such, making the gesture all the more intimate.
“It really is a shame that you are stolen away from us each night,” he finally says, staying on the floor despite his task being done.
“With from ‘us’ you mean to say from you, I imagine.”
Hamilton makes a small offended sound. “Do you think I am so selfish that I would claim only myself to miss you? Meade really misses having someone to kick in his sleep.”
“Hmm, you only miss watching me suffer.”
Hamilton gets up from his kneeling position quite suddenly, and without any warning, he is settled upon Laurens’ lap, legs placed on either side of his body.
“I do not have to miss it,” Hamilton counters, his voice low. “We have all let you suffer throughout the last weeks, did we not, Jack?”
Laurens’ exasperated reply is choked off by his own confusion. After all his father’s patronizing, always using the name which makes him feel a child, after a man in his past he still tries to forget, after all the teases of his friends - and also of Hamilton - using this name to simply annoy him, he truly believed that he does hate it.
And yet, when Hamilton says it, so low and deep and close to Laurens’ ear, Hamilton’s motivation to annoy Laurens further stays entirely unsuccessful.
In fact, it does much the opposite now. It makes Laurens dart forward, kissing Hamilton hard and unexpected, so Hamilton breathes in sharply through his nose. Laurens’ grip on Hamilton’s waist tightens, trying to keep him from shifting around too much in his lap. They really cannot risk much in this house, so better not to provoke it.
“Jack is not such a terrible name after all,” Laurens declares after he has leaned away from Hamilton again.
“What?” Hamilton laughs. “What you expressed only this morning was the exact opposite.”
“Can I not change my mind?” Laurens asks.
“No, you can. Only, after two weeks of this, it seems unlikely you should do so now.” Laurens knows that Hamilton knows exactly what the answer to his question shall be when he asks, “What has changed?”
Laurens suddenly feels rather shy about this. “Perhaps I should like it when you call me Jack like this.”
Hamilton taps his chin in feigned consideration. “But as our dear friends, I have promised not to call you such again. You must allow me to do so, if this the case.”
“If you promise me that this shall be our private joke from now on, I shall allow it.” Joke, perhaps, seems to be the wrong word here. This does not feel like a simple joke now.
Hamilton grins, leans in, whispers against Laurens’ lips, “Well then, Jack.”