Hamilton Oneshots [DISCONTINUED]

26. George Squared (part one)

"Filthy..." George muttered as he wandered the bustling city of New York, holding his cane, or as he called it, his scepter, tightly to his chest. George always hated New York, well, he hated all of the United States, but the loud city was always high on his list of worst possible places to visit. In fact, George wouldn't have gone near the town, nor the entire country if there weren't pressing matters to be dealt with. All of those pressing matters happened to involve George's boyfriend, or rather, ex-boyfriend, George Washington, the two never got along too well. But one of Washington's colleagues had contacted him, saying that Washington wasn't doing well. The colleague, Lafayette, who George Frederick didn't hate quite as much as the others, wasn't specific, he only said that Washington was dying.

And no matter how much George used to fight with Washington, no matter how much they hated each other, or bickered, he couldn't deny he still had a deep undying love for the man, and he couldn't live with himself if he received word that Washington had passed away and he didn't even get to see him one last time.  So as he neared the hospital the beating of his heart quickened, pounding in his chest.

Frederick strutted into the lobby of the hospital, with his usual pompous walk, though it seemed to falter as he approached the front desk.  "Hi, I'm h-here to see George Washington."

The way too cheery woman at the front desk smiled at him, replying with "Okie-dokie" as she typed on her computer.  After a second of silent anticipation, she turned back to him, the sweet smile still cemented to her face.  "Room 222, on the third level."

"Thank you," George mumbled, walking towards the elevators, his heart sinking as he pressed the 'up' arrow.  He tapped his foot, waiting for the quiet ding as the elevator opened in front of him.  He stepped on, pressing the third button.  "Please be okay, please be okay," He muttered to himself as the elevator rose to the third floor, stopping with another annoying ding. George traversed through the hallways, all filled with the clean yet sickly scent of the hospital. George always hated hospitals, and as he approached room 222, he hated them even more.

He rose his pale fist to be door, gently knocking. He heard a croaked "Come in", making George wince, slowly opening the door.

"Freddy," Washington smiled as he saw his ex-lover appear in the doorway. The old nickname made Frederick smile, he forgot how much he missed when George called him that. But the smile was short lived, when he saw how utterly sick the man in front of him looked.  "I look like hell don't I?" George asked, noticing Frederick's sad looking frown.

"No, you look just as handsome as you always have, just a little..." Frederick examined George's appearance. His bald head was glossed with sweat, and his usually tan skin was pale, and weathered looking. Frederick gulped, frowning even deeper. "Sick."

Washington smiled faintly, a sort of bittersweet expression, full of sadness and love. "Yeah Freddy, I suppose I do."

George pulled up a chair next to Washington's hospital bed, taking his hand without question. "What happened?" He asked, giving George's hand a small squeeze.

"Cancer," Washington mumbled, staring off at the wall. "I'm on my last leg, I've practically got one foot in the grave. The doctors say I've got about seven months left," Frederick couldn't help the tears that pooled in his eyes.  "Hey, don't cry, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," Frederick choked out, starting to sob. "I'm sorry I was always such a brat to you, and that I didn't try hard enough to make us work. I missed you so much, I love you so much, and now that I see what I've done wrong you're dying. H-How am I going to live with myself when you're gone," Washington frowned, looking up at George, who was shaking from how hard he was crying. "Please don't leave me Georgie, you can't.  I don't want you to go."

"You'll be okay, baby," George said, giving Frederick's hand a squeeze.  "You'll go back to England and you'll find someone new.  It's alright."

"But I don't want someone new!" Frederick exclaimed, his lip quivering as he stared at Washington.  "I want you.  I want to live in our old apartment, I want to get to sleep in your bed every night and wake up next to you and I want to smell like your cologne and wear your clothes.  I don't want to move on.  I can't move on George."

Silence fell upon the room, neither wanting to say anything more.  Frederick took a deep breath, glancing back up at George.  "Is there any way you can make it through this?"

Washington looked up at him, giving him a weak smile.  "Well, if the chemo starts working, I might have the tiniest chance.  But it hasn't come close to working, so I don't think so, Freddy.  It's pretty much inevitable.  I'm going to die," Frederick wiped his tears, resting his chin on George's hand wrapped in his own. 

"But you're saying there's a chance?" Frederick asked, a twinge of hope in his voice, giving George a glance.

"I'm saying you shouldn't get your hopes up.  There's a small chance, but it's really slim, honey.  Don't let yourself believe I'm going to live when the chances are I'm not," Frederick looked down, avoiding George's eyes.  "I love you, my king," Frederick smiled, George always called him his king, especially when Frederick was sad, being called that always made him happy.  "Come here," George slid over slightly, beckoning Frederick to lay with him.  The hospital bed was pretty small, but Frederick laid down, cuddling into George's side.  "I'm glad I'm getting to see you," George smiled, kissing Frederick's forehead as he wrapped his arms around the slim man.

"I never should have moved back to England, how could I be such an imbecile," Frederick muttered, burying his face in George's chest. "But I'm not going to leave you again," Frederick said, matter of factly. "Not ever."

A/N: Thinking of doing a part two, would y'all want that?