Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

XV: Seven Soldiers Walked Into a Room

❝Isn't that what stories do? Make real things fake, and fake things real?❞
—Marie Rutkoski

Aaron was the only one who could settle the situation. By the time all the weapons were lowered and he got a "sort-of" explanation, a crowd of soldiers had already gathered around Lafayette's cabin, interested enough to await answers, but too cowardly to go in and see for themselves... and in a way, I'm grateful.

God, we must have looked like animals. Blood spilled on the floor, uniforms undid, disgusting words thrown. Alexander and Lafayette, at the same time, tried to explain what happened, but neither could give a good story. Instead, Burr and John escorted us separately from the situation, taking us to one of the medics.

That was about an hour ago. I got the treatment needed for my head, consisting of a bandage around my skull, a pack of ice, and a small bandaid on my cheek and neck. I don't know what treatment Lafayette will get for his leg... I dug that knife pretty deep in.

After a quick conversation between Burr, Lee, and John, it was decided that we needed to be taken away temporarily to get each side of the story. Thus, I was ushered into an Ocelot with John with the intention of driving far away to put distance between me and the crime scene. According to Burr, it will "clear my head and spark my memory."

Despite his protests and fair argument, Alexander wasn't allowed to join me. When Lafayette gets healed, he'll be driving in the opposite direction with Burr, but that's not what I'm concerned about.

For the past hour, John and I have been driving East, getting nearer and nearer to Moscow. If I were in my right mind, I'm sure I'd get more and more apprehensive as the city nears. Alas, I can't focus on anything other than the hula dancer on the dashboard, her plastic hips swishing side to side with every bump on the unpaved-road we go over. I imagine in my mind what the ukulele she's holding would sound like if she were real and in the back seat, singing in my ear.

I was so focused on the hula dancer that I hadn't even noticed that the Ocelot came to a stop in the middle of the road in a small abandoned town. The town looks mildly familiar, but nothing familiar enough to spark interest.

My eyes travel to John in the driver's seat, and I find him utterly intriguing. In my dizzy, hazy mind, he's the most fascinating spectacle I've ever seen. His concentrated and disgruntled expression only enhances his masculinity. I can almost taste the tension and anger emanating off him. It's awfully attractive.

The purring of the Ocelot ceases when John pulls the keys out of the ignition, tossing them carelessly on the dashboard. I expect him to make another move, but for a solid two minutes, he remains still, staring out the windshield with a scowl on his face and his hands in his pocket. I would start the conversation if I wasn't so feeble-minded.

I wonder what Lafayette is going to say to Burr about what happened. Will he tell the truth and say he attacked me upon hearing my accent? Will he lie and say I attacked him with no reason? If he does lie, then I am doomed. They'll trust Lafayette over me any day! If they take his words like scripture, they'll truly think I'm Russian... I am Russian, but that's none of their business.

My mind pounds painfully and I press my fingers against my temples, trying to ease the extreme pressure. It feels like a drill is going in on my skull, trying to reach my brain. John quickly notices this and breaks his previous silence.

"You were given ice for a reason, (Y/N)," he sighs sadly, reaching for the bag of frozen water on my lap. He holds it out for me, and after comprehending what he said, I take the bag and press it against the most painful point.

John leans back in his chair, reclining it back ever so slightly, his eyes focused on some unknown spot in the distance. The anger in his eyes quickly vanishes and is replaced with gloom. The sun is setting behind us, and in the dimming light, I'd expect the golden flecks in his eyes to stand out in a similar way that Alexander's violet eyes stand out in the dark. And yet, this doesn't happen. His sorrow overcame every nook and cranny of his being and started spilling out of his eyes.