AYO! IT'S ME! I am back with this fanfic that was requested by AlexanderHamilton111. It is probably going to be a set of two one shots. Anyways, here's the first one, hope you enjoy it!

Washington first heard the rumors from Charles Lee. Well, not directly, even Lee was intelligent enough to know not to blatantly insult the General's chief of staff in front of the man. But he caught the muttered phrases that the man passed around the fire at night among his friends.

"...charity case, obviously. I mean, there's no way some bastard immigrant from nowhere could work his way up to Washington's right hand. I'll wager that he's either made up some far- fetched tale or falsified his true origins. How clueless does Hamilton think we are? Surely he has taken some notice of the rumors that have been swirling around him for months now. See, this is only proving my point, he's so thick that he can't see what's right in front of him."

At this another man coughed, and spoke up. "I don't know about that, I've seen some of the essays he wrote for the newspapers in New York. He seems to be bordering on genius. Maybe what you've heard about his roots is wrong? It's possible."

Lee snorted. "There is no doubt in my mind. Can't you tell? His accent isn't English, nor is it any one I've heard from a country in Europe. And it's definitely not from any of the colonies. That's not even getting in to the records he used to enlist. They were empty of everything save for past experiences and date of birth. Now, why would someone not want their origins revealed unless they were shameful? No, gentlemen, Washington's dear little aide has quite the unfortunate background."

Washington had sat stock- still at his desk as he listened to the men outside speak. It was true; Hamilton's enlistment papers had been nearly blank. And as he thought more on the subject, he realized that he knew very, very little about his chief of staff, save for what meager information he had gained from papers and from coaxing. Apart from birthdate and career, he knew that Hamilton's mother had died when he was young, and that he was from an island. Other than that, his past was essentially a dark quagmire of mystery.

Outside, the topic of the men's conversation moved on, but Washington's thoughts remained on Hamilton. He would like to see if the murmurings had been correct, but it would take a good deal of persistence and careful wording to get an answer out of the boy, who was quite stubborn and never spoke of himself. It would be necessary to tread carefully, for Hamilton was closed up even at the best of times, which these most certainly were not. Oh, and he would have to stop the spread of these unfortunate rumors.

The next morning, right on time, Hamilton came sweeping into the General's study, bearing in his arms a stack of correspondence from Congress, no doubt. "Good morning, your Excellency," he stated briskly. "I have some letters from the men in Congress, and also a few from General Putnam. If you would wish me to do so, I can go draft the responses now." He stood straight and at attention before Washington's desk.

"No, Hamilton, stay for a moment." The boy fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, looking nervous. "Did I do something wrong, sir? I-" Washington cut him off, raising his hand placatingly. "You have done nothing wrong, Hamilton. It has just come to my attention recently that I know very little of your history." The boy stiffened almost immediately.

Ah. So there was some truth to Lee's mutterings. But how much of it was truth, and what was error?

"There is nothing about me that you might need to know that I haven't made sure to tell you, sir." Hamilton did not meet Washington's gaze, instead choosing to stare pointedly at a quill resting on the General's desk. "You may think that to be so, son, but in reviewing your papers I have found that I am surprisingly lacking in information on your background. So, tell me, Hamilton, where are you from?"

Of course he should have been more specific. Hamilton being Hamilton, he found a way to dodge the question. "I am from an island, sir." Washington sighed. "Yes, Alexander, I know as much. Was it nice, on that island?"

And that. That was the wrong thing to say, he knew it the instant the words left his mouth, and he saw the boy's reaction. A dozen emotions flew across his face, from sadness to anger to fear and even worry. "It- it was enough, sir. I am here now, so it no longer matters. Is there anything you would have me do, any missives or correspondences you would have me write?" Hamilton's expression was closed off, making it clear that the subject was closed for the day.

Washington waved him on. "Yes, Colonel, if you could please draft the responses to the letters you are holding, and bring them to me as soon as you finish?"

Hamilton nodded. "Yes, your Excellency. I shall be finished before sunset, sir." He turned and breezed out of the room, walking at such a fast pace he was nearly running. Washington sighed and twirled a quill in his fingers. He would try again later.

His aide returned at sunset, just as promised. "I have the papers you requested, your Excellency." he announced. "Thank you, Hamilton. Please, get some rest now. Tomorrow will undoubtedly be as long as today."

A head nod, a 'yes sir', and Alexander was gone.

The next Washington heard of his aide's past was in the aftermath of a fistfight Hamilton had been involved in with a group of young men. Washington had dragged him into his tent, battered and bloody, with bruises blossoming across his limbs, looking for all the world like an angry cat.

"Do you have an explanation for this, Colonel?" he growled as he glared down at the young man standing at attention across from him. The young man met his gaze with a formidable one of his own. Washington slammed his hands down on the desk, noticing Hamilton's slight flinch but not commenting. "Well?"

Hamilton looked straight ahead, not meeting Washington's eyes. "Sir, Captain Jones has been spreading vile rumors and I merely wished to put a stop to them." He still kept his gaze trained firmly upon the fabric of the tent behind the General. Washington pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation. "I should have you punished for insubordination, Hamilton. What rumors could have possibly warranted this?"

Alexander stiffened. "I assure you, sir, that what Captain Jones has been spreading around is of no consequence to you or the army as a whole. If you would allow me to duel him, we might settle this whole matter in a much more gentlemanly way-" Washington didn't let him finish.

"NO, Hamilton! I will not tolerate dueling within this camp. Now, tell me exactly what Jones said, or there will be consequences."

The boy shrank back slightly at the word 'consequences'. In any other situation, this would have been a cause for Washington to be concerned, but he was far too angry with Hamilton to expend energy on the matter.

Nevertheless, Hamilton plowed on. "He said that- that I was a bastard orphan, and he told his fascinated crowd that my very presence here is an insult to anyone who fights for the freedom of our nation. And when I set foot outside your tent I shall probably be the subject of much ridicule, sir, so if it is agreeable to you, I would like to get it over with and return to work, if you will still have me."

Oh. What had he done? Now more so than ever, Washington wanted to know the boy's origins. "You are dismissed, Hamilton. I shall see to it that Captain Jones is justly punished for spreading rumors and for fighting. However, if I ever find you fighting again, I will be very displeased with you. Is that understood?"

A look of unmistakable relief spread over Alexander's face for just a moment until it returned to a blank mask. "Yes, sir." As Hamilton exited the tent, Washington heard, much to his chagrin, jeers from the men outside. To Hamilton's credit, he gave no response, although the pounding of boots on earth could be heard, and the laughter from the men reached a crescendo.

Something told him he would have to track Hamilton down, sooner or later, and decided to wait it out. The boy would return in an hour or so, if he had even gone anywhere. Washington firmly told himself that he wasn't worried, and that it would be ridiculous to go after his aide. His boy would be fine.

Darkness fell. There was no sign of Hamilton; he had not even come back to the aides' office, and his quarters were empty. Washington felt the stirrings of worry in his gut, and kept telling himself that Hamilton was perfectly fine, in no danger whatsoever, probably holed up somewhere else to write.

Except when he asked Hamilton's two friends in the camp, the Marquis de Lafayette, and John Laurens, they too had no idea where their 'Little Lion' as the Marquis called him, had gone off to. Then Laurens voiced an idea. "There is a little clearing in the copse of trees over at the south edge of camp, that we sometimes go to for some time to relax. Alexander brings his writing there sometimes, when he's been inside for too long and we kick him out of the office to get some air."

"Thank you, gentlemen. I will be sure to check for Hamilton there." Lafayette spoke quickly. "Mon General, I could go check for petit lion, it would be no trouble." Washington waved a hand. "No, thank you, Lafayette, I will go. I fear I may have contributed to his disappearance, and anyways, it is a fine enough evening for a walk."

It really wasn't. The wind blew cold and cutting, and even with his cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders the chill still got to Washington. He followed the trail that Laurens had pointed out to him, winding through the trees until he reached the clearing he had been looking for. Upon seeing the sight in the middle of the space, a heavy guilt settled in his stomach.

Alexander sat huddled in a pile on the ground, shivering and sobbing quietly. No papers or quills littered the ground around him, so he evidently wasn't here to work. Washington wasn't quite sure if he should go over to the young man, or give him some space, so he lingered at the edge of the trees, waiting. When a violent cough began to rack the boy's body, Washington made up his mind. If Hamilton sat out in the cold any longer he'd probably get another bout of illness, and Washington did not want to be the cause of it.

He walked forward. Alexander did not hear him, and took no notice of him until Washington draped his cloak over the boy's thin shoulders. "Come here, Hamilton. You're bound to be freezing. Let's get you back to the camp, shall we?" He hadn't expected his aide to flinch violently enough to dislodge the cloak, or the way he frantically scrambled backwards, out of the General's reach.

"Sir! I am so sorry, I did not mean any disrespect, I was merely getting some fresh air, it was getting stuffy indoors and I decided to-" he broke down. "S-sir, I, I…" a gusty sigh escaped his lips. "I expect you've come to tell me to leave." His voice was bland, his eyes dull. "I am sorry for not going sooner, I intended to this afternoon. I shall be gone before sunrise, sir."

Washington grabbed his cloak off the ground and wrapped it again around Hamilton's shoulders, more firmly this time. It absolutely swamped the boy, and a sudden fondness bloomed in his chest. "Don't be ridiculous, son. Now come here. You need to get back inside before you catch your death."

The trek back to camp passed in uneventful silence. Hamilton's head was bowed, and he was quiet for once. Washington kept a hand on the aide's shoulder. Leading Hamilton right up to the small house that they were using as headquarters and bringing him into his study, Washington gestured at a chair near the fire. "Sit, Hamilton. Warm up." A few moments later he shoved a small glass of whiskey into his boy's hand. "Drink."

Hamilton obediently raised the glass to his lips, sipping cautiously on the drink. His eyes never left Washington, who sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. "Forgive me, Hamilton, but after the events of today I want to know your background. I promise that I will listen to every detail of your story, and I will not punish you for it."

Despite the reassurances, Hamilton looked almost fearful. "Sir, it is not a tale one would typically bring up in polite society."

Washington inclined his head. "But it is only the two of us. Go on, Alexander. Take as long as you need."

A shudder. A small sigh. Then, Hamilton began to speak. "Well, your Excellency, I was born on an island in the Caribbean, called Nevis, but I was raised on St. Croix. My father left when I was young, but it was alright, because he was drunk often and…it wasn't as if my parents had been married, so I suppose he felt it was alright to leave his bastard sons." He sounded bitter.

Practically rising from his chair, Washington stated calmly, "Did he hurt you, Alexander?" The boy's eyes cast downwards. Fury began to boil inside of him. His boy…. "Continue, Alexander."

"My mother died not long after, and my brother and I were left with nothing. We were able to move in with my cousin. Except he commited suicide. My brother was apprenticed to a carpenter, and he didn't stick around. So I got a job as a clerk. It wasn't the best, but it was enough. A hurricane struck, and I wrote about it. Through the kindness of the people I was able to come here. And that is all, sir."

Hamilton had been reluctant enough to give Washington even the bare minimum. There were still details left unsaid, but those were the boy's secrets to keep. He wouldn't push any further. "Oh, son, I am so sorry. I shouldn't have forced your hand." Before he even knew what he was doing, he had pulled Alexander tightly to his chest.

Even though he knew it was far too soon for such a familial gesture, Washington couldn't find in in himself to care. The boy was stiff in his arms, trembling slightly, hovering in between wanting to return the embrace or push away. In the end, the former won and he buried his head in the older man's chest.

Moments of silence passed before Washington spoke again. "I'm going to have a few words with Lee." He remarked, and felt Hamilton snickering against his chest. Smiling softly despite himself, for he knew that Alex would revel in anything that involved Lee being punished.

They exited the tent into the cool night air.

The following morning Lee could be seen looking downright murderous as he tramped around the camp, and Alexander Hamilton was desperately trying to keep from laughing.

Done! And of course it ended with fluff I like to write fluff. Hope you liked it! If you have any other requests I will be glad to take them. ~RedCoatsRedder