Alexander Hamilton never thought this would happen.

It had only been a few weeks since Hamilton had been sent home from his duty as a soldier due to some behavioral issues, one involving lots on screaming and oddly emotional moments.

On his carriage’s way home, miles from any Continental camps or Patriot towns, he had been ambushed; twenty redcoats against two carriage drivers and Hamilton.

Turns out, the idiots had accidently turned a very Patriot looking carriage straight into Loyalist land.

Safe to say, they lost. Though Hamilton did make sure to bite one of them on his way out!

But, alas, the free spirited Hamilton spent most days pacing behind bars instead of running around battlefields. He despised it.

But when the news of Hamilton’s capture reached King George III? Well, he was anything but.

Truthfully, the man was shocked at the stupidity - but also delighted at the prospect of getting a soldier so important to the highest of the high in the Continental Army.

George instantly requested to meet the man in person - he was curious, alright? - but was … disappointed.

Hamilton looked rough when he came in. ROUGH.

The man had welts and scars and marks all over him. Almost like he’d been in a carriage haply and some ambush with it (I mean …).

And despite what others suspected? George helped.

George instantly had Hamilton sent to a physician, tested for any infections or diseases, a change of clothes - everything he needed. The man even received a room in the King’s palace - it was … stunning.

Hamilton assumed it was a trick at first. It had to be, right? This was a literal tyrant. Not some … angelic savior to pull him out of the same very King’s jail.

He reluctantly - reluctantly - accepted the room. The clothes. The food and medicine, and everything else shoved into his face. Might as well.

Slowly, George seemed to phase into his life - happily passing his room, inviting him to dinners, giving him a random abundance of gifts - simple things that Hamilton couldn’t risk saying no to.

But over time, Hamilton actually kind of … liked George.

Now listen! He was still a firm Patriot! No taxation without representation and the Boston massacre and dump the tea and everything like that! But, still … he could admit the King was … kind of, maybe cool sometimes?

The meetings and gifts slowly became less like salt in his captured wound and more like small breaks from pacing around the same five palace halls all day (he eventually got permission to wander a whole wing of the damn place!).

It wasn’t terrible. Not by far.

… he might even dare say that he preferred the company of George over the company of Washington back at home. But do not tell a single goddamn SOUL that Hamilton dared to think that.

The affection for George was purely platonic, of course. Closer to a mentorship than anything. It was quite nice, still.

It had been another day of sitting blankly on his royal bed - staring back up at the ceiling, his breaths slowly making his chest heave up and down.

It was … a little boring. But he’d manage. Maybe.

A sharp sound of knocking brought him to his senses, quickly pulled from his absent wandering to quick witted attention.

Hamilton pulled up and stretched once, grabbing open the door and opening just the crack - and when he saw the other side through that small slit of wood?

George stood, staring in like he already knew what would happen.