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

LXXX: Three Feigned Friends

❝Forgive those who have hurt you.❞
—Les Brown

Something about Mount Vernon always felt welcoming. It shouldn't be so, considering it is the home of a man who ordered the mass killing of civilians, but it is.

October 29, 2060.

We arrived at Mount Vernon early this morning and we're greeted like family.

Martha Washington, seeing as we hadn't had breakfast yet, invited us to sit at the table as she stacked pancakes up. Later on, Alexander noticed a book on the coffee table — a book he recently read. Martha Washington nearly did a backflip, because she, too, recently read it. Even if I couldn't contribute much to the deep conversation they had about the book, I enjoyed listening to them discuss symbolism and figurative language.

Wash and Eleanor, who had been gleefully anticipating our visit, put on a short performance for us — to my utter surprise, it was a recreation of one of the scenes in our movie. I expressed my wonder with passionate clapping. Afterward, the two young children sat before us and asked us to tell the story of the event with as much detail as we could. I let Alexander do it. He's much better with words than I am.

Before lunch, Washington showed Alexander and me pictures of his horses. He was especially passionate about a certain horse he called Nelson. In his younger days, he told us, he took part in many horseback competitions. Judging by the wall of awards and ribbons Martha Washington kept in a shadow box upon a wall in the main hall, he is quite the talented horseman.

It was strange. I never felt so at home in a place that wasn't home.

It was after lunch, however, when Alexander and I eased into business. Washington stole us into his office, offered two plush seats across from his, and we began to discuss.

"I'm afraid I haven't had the chance to ask you two how you are fairing."

Okay, I didn't expect the conversation to start that way.

Alexander clears his throat. "We're fine, all things considered."

Washington's blue-grey eyes flicker with doubt and avert to my direction, somehow trusting me to tell the truth. Something about those eyes yanks the sincerity out of my throat without permission.

"We're highly concerned," I murmur.

Washington nods. "I understand."

Does he? Does he really? I don't think a man like him can understand, but I don't say so and accept his gentle words.

"It seems with every passing day, this war continues to bring more and more hardships. I never expected peace in the middle of conflict, but I suppose I deluded myself into believing there ought to be time to breathe."

Washington allows a second of silence as if expecting Alexander to say something; most of the time, Alexander would take a single silent moment as his chance to speak, so I expected it as well. But when he doesn't say a word, Washington continues.

"What I want to discuss is rather confidential information. There's hardly anyone in the country who knows what I plan to tell you."

We scoot in.

"As of the past three weeks — even before the startling confession from that AmeriCom in Chicago — there have been abnormal travels to Alaska," Washington says.

"Abnormal in what way?" I ask.

"Abnormal in the sense that there have been large swarms of people from mainland America traveling to Alaska, but not coming back. Abnormal in the sense that these people who are traveling to Alaska have never been to Alaska before. Abnormal in the sense that self-proclaimed leaders and organizers of the AmeriComs across the country have all gone to Alaska in these past few days."