Part 1

The man froze with his back turned to Washington, only to slowly stand to his feet. When he turned to face Washington he got a good look at his appearance—a clean cut suit, definitely an office worker and one of the hostages. Yet something about the man just seemed a little… Odd. He was scared, rightfully so, but what was he even doing down here?

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” the hostage whispered as his arms were folded over his chest—likely to stop the trembling of his frame. “There's a maniac in here.”

Washington’s expression shifted, brows furrowing and lips settling into a firm line. He couldn’t imagine what this man must’ve been through already. “Come, you need to get out of here. The door isn’t far from here, I can lead you-“

“I can’t l-leave,” the man put his hands up when Washington flinched at his tone. He trembled even harder, “I’m not a threat. I’m not-“

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry.” He had put his hand on his open holster, surprised by the man raising his voice. “I’m on edge and you startled me. You’re okay,” he took a step closer and patted the man’s shoulder, “what’s your name, son?”

“I-it’s Aaron,” the man whispered again and glanced suspiciously at the other man’s gun. “Please don’t hurt me, I’m only doing what I have to.”

“What you have to?” George let his eyes trail to the side, at the gas canister, “is the ventriloquist making you do this?” The floor looked damp in certain places, he could imagine the man wanted to set the building on fire if things got out of hand. Or worse, he’d smelled the gas when he came in, filling the entire first floor with a thick scent. The criminal was going to burn everyone alive—if they were alive when he did. 

The ventriloquist must’ve been making this hostage pour the gasoline, Washington was sure of it. 

“No,” Aaron shook his head, “Scarface. He’s making me do this. He’s making me do this while he negotiates with the cops outside… I don’t think he plans on negotiating this time.” A shiver ran through Aaron, his hands shifted from his arms to his shoulders—hugging himself as tears filled his eyes. “I’m so scared, please do something-“

Scarface?

He’d never heard that name, it must be another alias of the Ventriloquist. Washington hadn’t had time to read the man’s case file when he pulled this stunt, so he wasn’t sure what the man even looked like. 

He gently patted the man’s shoulder again. “Don’t worry, I’m your new commissioner, George Washington. You’ll be okay. Stay behind me, I’ll lead you to the exit. You need to warn the police.”

“I can’t leave,” Aaron insisted, “he’ll kill everyone if I leave. He’ll hurt more people. I have to go back to him-“

“You know where he is then?” If he did then Washington would go there. The last thing he needed was a hostage to lead him to the culprit of this mess. “And the other hostages? Is he with them?

Aaron’s countenance considerably brightened, nodding his head enthusiastically. “I can take you there,” he’d said almost jovially, as if the idea of going back wasn’t frightening. 

That was an odd change of tune for a hostage. He’d never had to deal with a hostage situation before, outside of soldier negotiations behind enemy lines, but something about Aaron wasn’t registering as a hostage, he was acting… shady.

However sketchy everything was adding up to be, Washington gave Aaron the benefit of the doubt. “… I’m not sure that’s a good idea-“

“No, you have a gun.” Aaron stated with a point towards his holster. “You can do something to stop him.”

“Using a gun in a building filled with gasoline isn’t a good idea,” Washington shook his head.

“Then you can tackle him, you’re built, so it should be fine. Come on,” Aaron was moving before Washington could protest any further. 

What an odd comment to make. 

“Hold on-“ he tried to grab Aaron but the slippery young man was off. He kept calling after him, and Washington wasn’t sure if he was intentionally ignoring him, or anxiously quick. He still followed, Aaron wasn’t safe here by himself, and he didn’t want to let the young man’s life rest on his heart when he could’ve done something to prevent it. 

“Aaron,” he whispered when the halls got too quiet near the fifth floor. It didn’t smell like gasoline anymore, instead like office coffee and printed papers. “Aaron, where are you?” The man couldn’t have gotten too far, he saw the elevator get off on the floor. The real question was this: 

Why wasn’t he responding anymore?

Laughter rang through the halls, not through a speaker, and definitely not Aaron’s voice. The tone was deeper, and almost hollow sounding, as if echoing—but he wasn’t sure how, the halls and rooms were filled to the brim and did not have good acoustics due to the lower ceilings. This whole situation was beyond perplexing. 

He called again more firmly, “Aaron, where are you?” 

“Over here, commissioner,” the stranger’s voice rang out to him from further down the hall. 

He furrowed his brows and pulled out his gun from his holster. Whoever this was, they sounded… wrong. Something about their cadence just didn’t sit right in the pit of his stomach. He scanned the rooms with his flashlight and gun, clearing each section. He arrived at one room, it was a regular office but in one chair there sat a wooden puppet in a suit and hat. 

Washington tilted his head slightly, the puppet didn’t feel like it belonged here. In fact, he knew it didn’t. Sure, it was dressed for work, but what purpose did a doll even serve in the workplace? Was this the puppet of the ventriloquist? Then he must be nearby. 

Click. 

George recognized the feeling of a barrel of a gun pressed to his back. He sighed, how could he have been so careless? Caught up by the out of place puppet. “You must be Scarface-“

“It’s me, commissioner.”

That was Aaron’s voice. Why was Aaron pointing a gun at him? Washington raised his hands slightly, “Aaron-“

“I’m sorry about this, really I am.” Aaron sighed gently, “but I don’t have a choice.” 

If he didn’t have a choice then the ventriloquist must be nearby. 

“Please, toss your gun aside,” Aaron asked. 

George sighed again, wondering if Aaron actually was the ventriloquist. He should’ve noticed the signs. “Aaron, I’m turning on the safety.” He said as he did so, “I’m going to put it on the ground now-“

“And kick it away,” Aaron asked gently—a stark contrast to the threat he was making. 

“Alright, alright,” he did as instructed, sliding the weapon a ways away, but not too far. Aaron went by him and picked it up, then went over to the puppet. 

The moment it was in his hand it sprung to life. “You idiot, he could’ve grabbed you while you were picking up the gun!” The puppet flailed its arms, smacking Aaron in the face. 

… then it happened again, and again. He felt sorry for the young man, clearly something awful must’ve happened for him to end up like this. Talking for a puppet and abusing himself in such a manner. 

They talked to each other, bickering. The puppet was so degrading and Washington’s heart ached. He was stunned by the performance, at first just watching in silence. This must be the disorder that the ventriloquist had, a second identity that was violent. He felt an intense wave of pity wash over him. “Aaron,” he whispered, “don’t hurt yourself, please.”

Aaron went silent and the puppet slowly turned to look at him before spewing a slew of nasty words at him. “Of course he thinks I’m some doll, ya can’t do anything but disappoint—and ya over there,” he looked to George, “I ain’t no puppet! I’m Scarface, remember my name because it’ll be the last ya ever hear-“

“No, Scarface, we can't kill the commissioner. He was so ni-“

“Did I ask for yar opinion?” The doll whacked Aaron again. Washington instinctively took a step forward and Aaron used the puppet to hold the gun. “Not another step, ya know what happens if I shoot down. We all go up in flames!” The doll laughed darkly. “Everyone including the hostages on the floor above!”

“Aaron, put the gun down. Are you off your meds?” He wasn’t sure what the man was taking, or how this mental condition was treated, but he was sure by the jittery way Aaron was standing that he wasn’t on anything he should be. “Maybe we can talk to your doctor together and get-“

“Ya’re talking to me, ya a*shole!” The puppet hissed, “I’m feeling awfully twitchy right now-“ the puppets hand flexed around the trigger of the gun. 

Washington put up his hands in surrender, he sighed gently. This was probably not the brightest idea, but he humored the young man. “Alright, Scarface. I’m here to negotiate. I’m the commissioner, I can offer you more than any other police officer can… besides, you’re not getting out of this building alive without a proper hostage. So how about you take me and let Aaron and the others go free?”

Aaron went quiet, it lasted only a moment before Scarface snapped at him, “quit staring, old man!” The puppet growled—no, Aaron did. The puppet turned to face Aaron, “ya’re so annoying, but I need ya! So no deal!” He looked back to Washington, “ya can free the other hostages and stay, but Aaron stays with me!” Aaron jutted the gun toward Washington through the puppet’s fingers, “ya got that, guppy?”

“Alright,” Washington spoke softly, “can you take me to the hostages? I want to help them first, are any injured?”

“They’re injured alright,” the puppet personality laughed darkly. Aaron looked confused and asked what he was talking about, only for the puppet to interrupt his questions, “go show him the room.”

Aaron was slow when moving, only going when he was hit once more. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m going,” he spoke timidly before looking to Washington pleadingly, “please step away from the doorway.”

“Don’t be so soft, stupid! Move out of the way, old man!” The puppet shot upward, knowing a downward shot would ignite the gasoline. 

Washington ducked instinctively before backing up, giving Aaron plenty of space. They went to the sixth floor and found a locked room with what had to be a hundred employees if not more. They all had their eyes closed and were slumped against the walls or desks. 

They looked dead. 

Aaron appeared to be just as shocked to see them. “What have you done?” He asked to Scarface, “m-my friends,” he cried, “my friends—why do they look like that? What did you do?”

“Your punishment, next time don’t take so long to get me out of that stupid storage lock. Dumb f*ck,” The puppet laughed while Aaron cried. 

Washington wasn’t sure how to react. He didn’t have time to piece together all the information Aaron had given him. He needed to get them out of there, now. He opened the door, smelling the stale scent of carbon monoxide. He reacted quickly, pulling the gun and puppet from Aaron’s hand. . 

“No!” Aaron screamed, “don’t hurt me!” He cowered, falling to the ground and curling up into a ball. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn't know!”

Washington turned away from the young man. Rather than dealing with Aaron first, he put the man’s feelings aside to get his walkie. He radioed to the police outside, informing them about the hostages as he tried to figure out where the gas was coming from. “Where is it, Aaron? Where is the gas coming in from?” 

“I don’t know,” the man sobbed. 

He needed to open the vent, if he didn’t open the vents and they were still alive—a couple windows maybe. He didn’t have a gas mask. Washington didn’t think any further, he aimed the gun in his hand and shot out the windows in the room. 

Aaron whimpered and pleaded for him to stop, but he dared not look at the man. After every window was opened, Washington took a breath in relief. He reported what he’d done over the radio before turning it off. 

Lastly, he turned to Aaron who was still on the floor. Washington tossed the puppet aside, outside of Aaron’s reach. He pulled out handcuffs. “Aaron…” Now that he had time to think about it, he couldn’t help but feel bad for the man. He clearly didn’t know what harm he was even capable of, he belonged in Arkham. “You know I have to handcuff you and take you back to Arkham, right?”

The man sniffled and nodded, “yeah. I know… I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” he repeated through tears. 

He patted Aaron’s shoulder gently, “I know, Aaron… I know,” but he still handcuffed the boy. Aaron was very violent. He’d proven that much even if it was unknowingly due to this mental condition. 

As the cops came upstairs, Washington brought Aaron down. He didn’t hold his arm very tight, Aaron was cooperating after all. Then he drove him back to where he belonged. 

The young man’s breathing sharpened as they walked closer, his steps getting smaller and smaller. “I don’t want to go back in there,” he whispered, “they’re so mean to me. Everyone is so mean to me. It’s not my fault, I had to…“ He looked at Washington with his impossibly dark eyes, an apology playing on his lips. 

“I know, Aaron.” He gently patted the man’s back. “They’ll help you here, and if anyone is mean to you, you can always call for me and I will come take care of it. I’ll talk to your doctors, I’ll talk to your roommates… I want to help you, but you have to go inside.”

Aaron looked down at his brown loafers, shifting them back and forth slightly. “I-… Can we just sit out here for a little while longer? I promise I won’t run, I won’t even think about Scarface—just don’t tell him I said that.” Aaron sniffled lightly, “he’ll hurt me again.”

He was going to say no, Charles was sure of it.

It wasn’t like Lee was the one who asked to meet, no—Johnathen Bellamy, his angel, he asked. Surely, this was meant to be their last time seeing each other. He was certain the man had grown uncomfortable with him, finally. If that were the case, what could it hurt to pop the question first?

He looked down at the ring box in his hand, popping it open to reveal an emerald ring with two diamonds on either side of it. It was gorgeous, it reminded him of Bellamy’s eyes, and it suited no other man more.

“Hey there, horns,” Bellamy spoke up as he leaned against the back of the bench, arms pressed firmly by Charles’s head. “You been waiting long?”

Charles closed the ring box, a red tint crossing his cheeks as he tucked it back in his jacket pocket. “A-angel! You startled me,” he choked out.

“I noticed,” Bell ruffled the short dark locks on Charles’s head before climbing over the back of the bench to sit beside him. “So… What was that?” His smile was broad as he spoke, his perfect teeth practically blinding Charles.

“… It was nothing,” Charles mumbled. He couldn’t do it. Lee turned his head away, “I was just admiring the view.” He closed his eyes with a small grimace. Admiring the view? While looking down? He was a great liar, but apparently not right now.

“Yeah? I bet you were,” Bellamy chuckled. He took Charles’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers.

It felt less like a break up now.

“It really was nothing-“ Charles began mumbling, but Bellamy interrupted him.

“I’m only messing with you, I saw it already.” Bellamy pulled an identical box from his own pocket, opening it with a flick of his wrist. “I was here to do the same thing.” It was a simple silver band. “It matches your eyes,” he smiled.

“Silver?” He had the most boring grey eyes imaginable, but to Bellamy they shined like silver? The sentiment made his heart melt, his lips twitched into a smile and his eyes softened. “Angel,” Charles whispered breathlessly, “it’s beautiful.”

“Now let me see yours.” Charles sheepishly pulled out the ring box, opening it to show him the ring. Bellamy paused when he saw it, the emerald ring. He must be thinking how ugly it looked, what was he thinking when he bought it- “it’s beautiful,” he smiled. “Oh, Horns, this is gorgeous. I couldn’t have done a better job if I’d done it myself. It’s even my favorite cut, you’re so thoughtful.”

Bell excitedly hit Charles’s shoulder, “okay, okay. Get on one knee—no, wait—should I do it? No, it’ll be cuter on you. Go ahead,” he gestured with his hands for Charles to get a move on. “Go on, go on.” He was tittering with anticipation.

Charles’s face was bright red, Bellamy still wanted him to ask? Even though he already knew about the ring? Was this not a proposal that was over already? “I-I-“

“I can ask for you—no, you should probably do it yourself.” He cupped Charles’s hands, “please ask me. I’ll surprise you, I’ll surprise you… Don’t be nervous, it’s just me,” Bellamy whispered.

Charles hesitantly got down on one knee, barely looking up at Bellamy through his hair. “I-… Bell… My angel… Johnathen…” Did he need to use every name he could think of? Oh what was he doing? “I-I-I-…” he took a deep breath, “I have something to ask you.”

“Yes,” Bellamy inched closer on the bench, “go on.”

The words were there, but they kept getting caught in his throat. “W-w-w-” He’d never struggled to whine his way through words before, so he rolled his eyes and settled on a complaint, “would you marry me?”

Bellamy didn’t even flinch at his tone of voice, he simply nodded with a soft hum. “I would love to!” He launched himself at the shorter man, knocking him into the grass.

Where they laid, Charles could see the beautiful sunlight playing across the other man’s golden hair, his green eyes shining like the emeralds they were. He was stunning, beautiful and angelic in every sense of the word.

“You know what they say, right?” Bellamy’s thin lips spread into a smile, “Every bell ring an angel gets its wings.” The man took the ring and slipped it on his finger, showing it off. “Get it? Get it? Get it?”

“Oh my-… you’re a genius, angel.” Charles chuckled softly.

“And don’t I know it,” Bellamy said before kissing the other man’s cheek.

Alex’s eyes darted, looking to the door—the window—anyplace he could escape to. He tried to flex his hands, his toes, but his muscles were locked in place. He couldn’t even tilt his head to get a better look at what was approaching the foot of his bed.

He needed to see it—needed to keep an eye on it. To track it and stop whatever it planned to do with him.

Stop it.

The figure whispered to him—something he couldn’t make out over his own frantic breathing. His chest heaved, the only part of him willing to move. Alex tried to part his lips, but only a small whimper came out.

He felt the bed shift, heard the creaking of the frame as weight settled on the end of it. It was climbing, the weight shifting upward toward his legs—then abdomen. He could smell the leather of its clothes before it came into sight. Then he saw it.

A man with no face.

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. The words repeated in his mind, his brain foggy with panic. What was he meant to do? What could he do?

The man placed its gloved fingers against his chest, spreading its fingers in five distinct points. It was like ice pressed squarely on his core, slowly numbing his skin beneath the fabric of his blanket. The man started pressing down. At first, nothing felt wrong, the weight was weak, almost gentle. Then the pressure increased: the hand felt like a drill boring into his chest, sinking into unbearable pain. His breathing was restricted, caged inside the hands of this monster.

“S-st-“ Alex tried to breathe, tried to beg. The sensation was so overwhelming, his lungs couldn’t expand and his nostrils flared uselessly.

Alex gasped awake, sitting up and clawing at his chest. The fingers weren’t gone, he could feel them as he dug his fingers into his flesh: scratching and tearing. He was itching to remove the weight of it all, to wash his body of the nightmare through blood.

“Alex—Alexander,” Eliza screamed as she hugged her husband, trying to capture his hands. “Please, calm down. You’re awake,” she cried, “you’re awake!”

He panted heavily, letting his arms go limp by his sides. It was warmer in her arms, so much warmer. Alexander could hear the sound of the crickets again, as they usually left their bedroom window open during summer. He sniffled, “I-I-... I’m sorry.” He glanced towards the closet door, except it wasn’t a closet anymore. That was where their shared dresser sat, the mirror reflecting their image back to them.

He wasn’t alone anymore, but that didn’t ever seem to change in his dreams.

She gently rested her head against his shoulder as he calmed down, looking up at him with those beautiful doe eyes. “... Was it the same dream?” She asked, no judgement in her tone, simply the love and affection she felt for him.

“Oh, Eliza… I’m sorry I always drag you into all of my messes,” he whispered as he cupped her face in one hand, pulling away once he realized he left blood on her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” his brows furrowed.

His darling spouse smiled apologetically, “let's visit a doctor again. I know you don’t want to, but I worry what might happen if I leave and you wake up like this. Look at your nails, beloved. You worry me so much, I can’t stand to see you this way any longer.”

Alex sighed, brushing his forehead against hers. “Alright, just one more… For you, I can do that much.”

For her, he would do anything.

His heart softened at the question, he knew exactly why she asked. “I think, after some time, he’ll find he has many reasons to. I know he said he wouldn’t, but he’s made so many friends here that I doubt he’ll want to leave.” He wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders, pulling her into a side embrace. “You don’t need to worry about him leaving, I doubt he will. Alexander has already decided that, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

“I hope so,” she whispered as she watched Charles reach down from the dock to splash water on said farmer. She couldn’t restrain the melodic laughter that escaped her when Alex hissed something at Charles and pointed at him accusingly.

“Are you planning on teaching him how to raise livestock?” Martha managed a farm of her own, with goats, cattle, pigs, and sheep. It made sense she’d want to share what she loved with her favorite young man on the island. At least it made sense to George. “He might not like all the maintenance that comes with it,” he chuckled, “since he’s a city boy.”

She giggled, “oh George. I would only teach him if he asked, suggesting anything to him is a battle I’m not willing to fight. At our age? It’s unnecessary.”

“Our age,” he shook his head, “you make it sound like we’re senior citizens already. You’re still so young, Martha.” Although she had been married once before… a widow now, the second reason she rejected his proposal.

She hummed softly, only nodding.

“… My dear,” he pulled his arm back and really looked at her. Her blonde hair was already starting to show gray, a hereditary trait she warned him about. She had soft creases around her mouth from how often she smiled. “I know you said no before,” he tucked some of the stray hair from her bun back behind her ear, “but would you reconsider?”

As he asked his question he moved from the bench they were on to kneel in the sand with one knee, pulling out a familiar box to her.

“No,” she immediately stood, “no George! I already told you no-“ Martha covered her mouth, her voice breaking. “I said no,” she sniffled, “don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

He smiled gently up at her and took one of her hands in his own as he opened the box to showcase the ring. “Martha Dandridge Custis, I ask you to look past the faults of this hopeless man and become my wife.”

“Oh, George… I can’t-… I can’t,” she wiped at her eyes with her small white gloves.

“You’ve said that before and I still understand. You’re a widow and you can’t have children, but I’m not asking you to move on from your last husband. Nor would I ever ask you for children, for I don’t need those to love you. I’m simply asking you to stay by my side and allow me to stay by yours. Forever,” he smiled softly, “if you think Daniel wouldn’t mind sharing you with me.”

She looked at him with tears spilling over her lovely blue eyes. “George-“ she pouted and blinked, “how am I meant to tell you no when you speak so beautifully to me?” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes and then pressed the back of her hand to the bottom of her nose as she smiled. “We don’t have to have a fancy wedding. Okay?”

All of George’s features melted into adoration as he gazed upon the woman who he had given his heart to. “My dear, I couldn’t possibly ask for anything more from you.” He pulled her glove off her left hand and placed the ring where it belonged—right next to her previous one.

Their peaceful moment was broken by whistling and clapping coming from the docks. “Nice going, general!” Charles called and Alex cheered for them. They likely didn’t hear the conversation from that far, but it was hard to misinterpret a ring.

Martha and George both laughed softly, looking at each other before waving at the boys. Then Martha added, “I want to go show Daniel.” She took George’s hand in hers, “let’s go.”

Together they went to Daniel’s grave near the town square. They couldn’t know for sure how he felt about it, but something in the air that day just felt warmer.

Not even three steps in and a massive spotlight turned on. George raised his arm, shading himself from the light. Then a massive projector screen rolled down from the ceiling, in the perfect position for where he was standing. If Hamilton wasn’t here, he at least expected someone to come here. 

When the projector turned on, Washington was greeted by… feet. Two black and white bowler shoes to be exact. Then the man appeared startled, lowering his feet and sitting up straight. “Oh-… Oh! Hello there, and who are you?” He leaned closer to what George assumed was a screen broadcasting his position. “Ah! The new commissioner, it’s good to see we have some fresh eyes on the case. I assumed you would be another idiot.”

Intelligence, it was all about intelligence. With the man—Alexander—seeing him as an equal he was genuinely happy, and not succeeding in trying to hide it. “… No, I guess not,” he put his gun back in its holster. Hamilton wasn't here, that much was made clear by the background in his video, so there was no point in having his gun at the ready—even if he didn’t latch the holster. “It was just a riddle and a box-“

The Riddler interrupted him, “ah! See but most people ignore the box. You ignore the box and you miss out on the whole point!” He laughed ecstatically, “Isn’t it so exciting?!” He spoke like he was buzzed, George noted that. “You have to be very clever to decipher my riddles. No one has been able to do so before now!” 

He paused and squinted, looking over the other man’s features. He acted almost like a kid, a kid who was doing something they shouldn’t be doing and waiting for someone to stop them. “… Alexander Hamilton-“

He began his spiel only to have Alex interrupt him again, speaking at ten words per second. “Hey, I’m on duty right now. It’s the Riddler,” he scratched his jaw with his index finger, ruffling his goatee.

“… Alexander Hamilton-“

“You’re no fun,” Alex pouted.

“This isn’t about fun,” George shook his head, “this is about people's lives. You threatened the police force, Alexander.”

“Yeah,” he pronounced his word like it was obvious why he would do such a thing. “… You don’t know why? Ooh. Is it because you just got here? Hm?” He leaned into the camera. “Is it because you just got here, or because… You don’t care to see?”

Washington took a deep breath, shaking his head once more before speaking. “Don’t see what?”

“The corruption in the police force obviously! And in the asylum! You say Arkham is a safe place, but have you ever been there? It’s the same as Gotham! You can’t stop this place from being rotten when the force trying to bring it to order is rotten too!”

“Alright,” he put up a hand, “stop yelling at me.” The empowered speech was rattling, but Washington wouldn’t admit that much. He folded his arms and considered the other man’s words. If there was corruption, he needed to know about it. “Do you know who exactly is corrupt on the force? Or is this just a general term you use?”

Alex paused, seeming genuinely taken aback by him actually listening to him. “… I might know a few,” he folded his arms and his dramatic energy died down as he settled into seriousness. “Would you even do anything if I told you?”

“That depends entirely on whether you’re honest or not,” Washington replied simply. Looking at Alexander now, he seemed more mature, someone more easily reasoned with. 

Hamilton sat back in his chair, he pursed his lips as he looked side to side in thought. “I guess I could be honest with you,” he sat forward once more, “if you beat my game-“

“No.”

“But-“

“No,” he said again more firmly. “Alexander, you are going to come here right now and we’re going to talk about this face-to-face. You are far too smart to be playing games.”

“But these games-“ he growled, “I’m not lying! Okay!?” He lost his temper and slammed his fist against his desk. “You're not listening to me,” he hissed, “I hate it when people don’t listen to me! Look, your inspector, you know he’s dirty. If I were lying, why would I tell you that?! Huh!?”

Washington’s expression softened, “Alexander, I never called you a liar. I did not doubt you were telling the truth.” He sighed, “you just aren’t going about this the right way. Look, it's my job to keep our task force clean. If you have complaints, I'd appreciate it if you'd formally write a note of grievances.” 

He pursed his lips again, looking to the side at something off-screen. “… Alright, commissioner.” He looked back at the camera, “I’ll write you a list of every corrupt official that I know—if,” he added before George could speak, “you play my game first. See, I like games, I like them a lot. Those who play my games have to be of my intelligence or higher, and that’s a rare find on earth. So, what’ll it be?”

He was going to say no, but Alex seemed to take note of this and quickly added, “and, and! I’ll let you—uh—oh, I’ll let you take me back to Arkham! No struggle put up whatsoever… Now?… Just. one. game.” He smiled devilishly, his hands folded neatly on the desk. 

That was the least persuasive he’d seen Alexander so far. It felt like agreeing would lead to the worst thing imaginable, but if he wanted the names and Alex not to put up a fight he would need to do this… The box wasn’t too bad, the riddle was easy… How bad could one game be?

“Okay, Alexander,” he nodded, “show me what you got.”

“Yes! I’m so excited,” he grinned broadly with a lilac twinkle in his bright blue eyes. His face dropped from the screen in an instant, his laugh echoing throughout the building speakers as it did. Then, on the same screen, a clue of white text on a dark screen appeared. 

The game had begun. 

And quite the game it was. Washington’s jacket got lost along the way—somewhere in the third building for sure. His tie followed in the fourth. Where he stood now, in the empty stadium, sleeves rolled to his elbows with sweat beading down his forehead, staring at the defused bomb on the table in front of him. Finally, he let his hands tremble, a sensation he had been fighting back as long as he could. 

“Alexander!” He yelled, breathless. “Where are you?! No more games!… No more,” he sighed. 

No one answered. 

“Alexander?” He’d just heard the man’s voice over the loud speakers in the abandoned stadium. He knew the man was somewhere nearby—likely in the stadium’s speakerbox. He just was too exhausted to even move another step, he rested against the table. “Are you not a man of honor?”

Then he heard it. 

“Congratulations, commissioner.” Washington turned to see the man walking over—Alexander Hamilton. “I’m right here, ready to go back to Arkham. This was so much fun, don’t you think?”

Washington exhaled sharply, rubbing his eyes. “Alexander, you rascal… You’re just making it this easy?”

Alex laughed at his statement, “easy? Oh, commissioner… What was your name?”

It was in his case file that he gave nicknames to everyone, to actually have him ask for his name was a startling change. “Washington,” he cleared his throat, “George Washington.”

“Commissioner Washington,” Alex offered him a hand up. “It’s been an absolute delight.” He helped the other man to his feet. “Well, I guess it’s time to take me to Arkham.” Alex put his hands out in front of him, ready to be cuffed. 

Washington looked at his hands and then met his gaze once more. He smiled gently and patted the young man’s shoulder, “let’s just get to the car. I’ll walk you in when we arrive.”

Alex blinked before smiling his signature broad smile. There was a moment of silence as they walked to the exit of the stadium, but Alex was the one that broke it. “Commissioner?” 

“Yes, Alexander?” If Hamilton had shown more aggression, maybe he would’ve referred to him by his last name, or even his full name, but the young man hadn’t shown much other than the occasional outbursts when he’d lost a minigame in his grand scheme—even the bomb at the end seemed to have more time than it actually said. 

“Would you come visit me at Arkham?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” he beamed, “I would love that.” It looked like the commissioner had at least one supporter of his new role in Gotham. Alex had shown him that much on the day they first met. 

Pursing his lips, he debated whether or not he wanted to indulge Alex on this for only a second. He didn’t ever have much time to debate such things when Alexander was right in front of him though, so it mattered not. Inevitably, he did walk over to him.

“Yes, Hamilton?” He’d responded with the most polite smile he could muster. The event Alex just witnessed was not one he really wanted shared, but it seemed that was bound to happen eventually, seeing as the person who saw it was Alexander Hamilton.

Alexander knew Aaron was expecting him to mention the argument with the principal, but he’d already seen it. What reason would he have to question it? “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Aaron blinked for a moment. At first, he couldn’t find the words to say, opening his mouth but closing it shortly thereafter. “Well… You never asked.”

A quick laugh escaped Alex at that. “I figured that wasn’t something I would need to ask. Parents just tend to talk about their children, don’t they?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I never really thought about it. When I’m at work, that’s what I’m focused on.”

“I see,” Hamilton looked over at their kids. They were discussing their favorite goldfish crackers. “How old is—Philip mentioned her name, but I can’t remember.”

Aaron smiled gently, watching both of them too as they spoke. “Theo,” he offered. “She's five. Your son?”

“Pip is six, he’s a very smart kid.”

“He’s certainly a lot like you.”

Alex quirked a brow, looking back at Aaron. “Well, I agree, but I’d like to hear your points. If you’d be willing of course.”

Burr smirked, “if I said I’d rather not, would you allow me to get away with it?”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” He sighed, “luckily for you it doesn’t bother me.” Aaron looked back over at their children. “He’s very confident, I’m assuming he’s not unlike you in that he’ll take on a fight regardless of whether or not he could win-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s cocky, on you anyway. On him, it’s kind of adorable, reckless, but at least he stands up for what he believes in. That is also not unlike you.” Aaron met Alex’s gaze, “you’re both very smart, yet you let your impulsive heart cloud your judgement at times, taking on things you would have handled better had you stopped to think. In this scenario, I appreciate your son helping my daughter, but you should really be working on helping your son find better alternatives than participating in altercations.”

Jefferson set the book aside and stood to his feet. He looked at Lafayette for a moment before he spoke, "it does you no good to dwell on it. Remember the good and move on, unfortunately that's all you can do."

"Why couldn't he have stayed?" The words were quiet, more thought than question. Lafayette had offered. Hercules had considered it seriously—longer than most would have—and then said no. Which was almost worse than a quick refusal. "Why couldn't he have chosen forever?"

"Because, like you, he was un sentimentaliste."

"Yes," a small, genuine smile crept onto Laf’s face. "You’re right, c'était un sentimentaliste. It made me love him more,” his gloved fingers found the edge of the frame, "him and his terrible tea."

Thomas laughed; a real one, short and soft. He crossed the room and put a hand on Lafayette's shoulder. "That was nearly two hundred years ago, let him rest."

Lafayette didn’t answer right away, staring at the painting just a little longer. A few beats of silence passed, Thomas having slid his hand off the other man’s shoulder. Then he stepped back from the painting, something settling in him, the way it always eventually did.

Thomas cleared his throat, "how about we bake some of your tarts. That’s what you’ve been trying to bake recently, right?”

If you like what you see, you can read the full thing on my Ao3 here.