Work Text:
To: Benjamin Rush
From: Aaron Burr
Where did you guys go? We all need to regroup.
Charles unlocks and opens the door with one hand, hanging off Aaron’s shoulder. He has a surprising amount of hand-eye coordination, a comforting contrast to the slight tremors in his hand. They walk through the threshold, and Aaron uncerimonally throws him down on the bed.
"Ow!"
Aaron snorts, heading for the bathroom.
"Dick!"
******
Ten minutes later, Aaron is bandaging a split knuckle.
"So…." The sound of teasing creeps into Charles’s voice. Aaron doesn’t bother looking up.
"So?"
"So, you just basically saved my life."
"I did not ‘save your life’. I just prevented you from making a fool of yourself."
"Point still stands. You put yourself on the line for me. In front of many, many people, may I add."
He just sighs.
"Your accent gets thicker when you’re being cheeky."
Lee considers this for a long moment. Aaron takes the chance to tape his dressings down, and begins packing up their- large and growing- first aid kit.
"People aren’t going to like you much now, especially when the news of why I got jumped get’s out."
"I know." And Aaron hates it. He wishes he could go back a few weeks. A month or two, even. He simultaneously wishes he had never met Charles, and that he could have known him his whole life. He walks into the bathroom, considering. He feels very out of his depth somehow, like the real fight is happening there, on that stained mattress with its broken springs, while the arguments of tomorrow dance outside. Washington and his lecture hall have never felt farther away.
He puts the kit back under the sink.
"Hamilton warned me that this could happen." He mutters quietly, coming out of the bathroom.
"What?" Charles' voice is strong and clear. He is not quite angry yet, but Aaron still retreats back into himself, taking it as a warning. He stops in the doorway.
"Nothing. He just- It doesn’t matter now." It’s too late, though.
"He warned you that hanging out with me would lead to your heart growing three sizes?" The joke comes, and his voice softens. And suddenly Aaron feels like an idiot.
"You could say that."
A pause. He walks over to his own bed, and folds up his legs. He sits criss-crossed, slightly uncomfortable.
"He thinks we’re dating."
Another pause, before Charles bursts out laughing. Aaron tries to join him.
"Really? Wonder how he guessed that one."
"Maybe it was the whole saving your life thing. Although who knows?" Aaron deadpans. Charles starts into another fit of inappropriate laughter. It suddenly occurs to him how easy this could be. How easy it is . He watches as Charles comes down from his high, ever so slightly enamored with how his hair shines in the warm lamp light. "Well?"
Aaron shakes the thought away, looking to the floor.
"Well what?"
" Are we dating?"
The haze is broken again. The room goes cold. Forget out of his depth, Aaron is out of his mind.
"I- No."
He expects Charles to have some expression on his face- disappointment, maybe- but when he looks up he sees nothing. Nothing but dull hair, and a look of understanding he is coming to loath.
********
He sleeps in his own bed that night.
********
The next morning, Aaron wakes up before Charles does. This isn’t unusual. He has earlier classes, while Charles doesn’t even have to leave the dorm before 11:00. But their talk last night makes him feel like he’s walking on a graveyard. He tries not to disturb the morbid tranquility. The ghosts sleep as he turns on the coffee maker and tries not to look at the lump on the other bed. He’s packed and showered with little more noise than the squeak of the faucet turning, and it’s only 7:45 when he steps outside.
The morning chill forces him to pull his coat around himself a bit more. Thanksgiving is next week, but it already feels like January. He’s not adverse to a little frost- growing up in North Jersey taught him that- but this feels excessive. Unfortunately, it’s typical. He remembers two years ago, when everyone from farther South came up North for the first time. Thomas Jefferson’s hair had never been more flat. Aaron had never been more smug.
He’s not feeling as superior as he walks down the brick lined paths. He forgot to bring a hat again, so his head is getting a front row seat to the temperature. He originally shaved his head for practicality, but each winter the internal debate sprouts up again. He supposes he could grow it just a bit, like James does, for the sake of comfort. Only issue is, his hair’s been like this since he was 11. It’d be weird to change it now. He wanted to look like his favorite action figures. His uncle agreed to it, lucky for him, although his aunt found it positively repulsive. She came around. Eventually.
A few hunched over students determinedly march in different directions, nothing but their destination in mind. Those who are up this early tend to have somewhere to be. As does Aaron.
*****
Friday classes are less cumbersome than most, especially the early ones. The campus is still waking up, no one has entirely registered consciousness yet. But after lunch, there is a definite shift. That’s when the classes required by his major are. He enters Introduction to International Law at 1:00.
The door opens with a creak. The Political Science building is older than some of the professors. When he steps in, the small class goes silent. There's only about ten people in the room, sitting in small circles, crowded around the creaky desks. International Law is not the campus hot-spot. John Adams, the professor, isn’t there yet. Aaron takes his usual seat toward the middle, avoiding looking anywhere but his desk. The quiet still looms over the room as he pretends to pull out his notebook. He feels like he’s in middle school again. The chatter finally picks back up, although it’s a note lower, and is filled with whispers.
News travels fast, apparently. He wasn’t exactly popular before now, but this still feels like a slap in the face. If he was planning on being so "controversial", he most likely shouldn’t have been a Law student. His peers are made for gathering information, and then using it to make an argument on someone's innocence. Or their guilt.
Aaron sighs. At least he didn’t go into Journalism.
He contemplates as he digs through his bag for a pencil. His first two years here were characterized by drowning himself in work and avoiding most of his classmates. He was used to different kinds of looks. His parents’ reputations preceded him, and their shadow was his defining attribute. He tries not to feel some kind of way about it. Now his notoriety is made up of his attachment to Charles. He’s still not quite sure what to think of that.
Adams finally shows up, (10 minutes after class is supposed to start) and Aaron doesn’t think
for the next 2 hours.
*****
Aaron wouldn’t call himself an activist. He’d gone to the occasional protest, and retweeted all the posts he felt obligated to, but he never felt like he made any real change. Unsurprisingly, college was what made a renegade out of him. He joined an upstarting Women’s Rights group freshman year, and hasn’t missed a meeting since.
Angelica Schuyler, another freshman, was the club leader, and the most intimidating person Aaron had (has) ever met. She clearly thought this was just something else to put on his record, and it still worries him how right she might have been back then. She was suspicious and slightly cold towards him. Elizabeth, or Eliza, her sister, and was much less distant, but still not entirely trusting. The first year was bare bones in terms of members, allowing (or forcing them, as Angelica once put it) to grow closer. Next year they were joined by an influx of new people, including Eliza and Angelica’s younger sister, Peggy.
Aaron now considers the three of them his friends. Or at least Eliza and Peggy; Angelica still scares him.
******
Fridays also happen to be club meeting days.
***
The club gathers in a cafeteria in an old science building. Originally, they met in Angelica’s dorm, when her roommate was out. The university relented a year later after the relentless request forms for a new room flooded their offices. It’s quite a large room, and the ceiling seems to go up for miles. The lunch tables fold up into the wall, and the floor is a cold white.
Aaron trudges into the hall right at 5 pm. About 6 of the 57 are here. Only about half will end up coming. It’s difficult to keep track of everyone in this school. He knows they aren’t the biggest club, but when he comes in each week, he can’t help the sliver of pride that lights up from knowing he’s a part of something like this.
It still feels terribly cliche.
He spots Eliza over by the snack table, an addition she brought with her from her GSA club in highschool. He goes to her, perhaps slightly more hunched over than usual. She doesn‘t notice him at first, occupied by the cupcakes she most likely made last night. They seem up to her usual standard.
"Hello."
She whips around.
"Aaron!" She beams at him. There’s no way she hasn’t heard, and even now Aaron can see the cracks in her smile. Hamilton would’ve told his girlfriend about his thoughts on the Pennscoop article. It must have taken 2.5 seconds for her to figure why Lee was jumped. And she, along with most of the campus, worships Washington. Aaron’s finally paying the price for his unflattering company.
"Hello." He repeats. His own smile is flawless and doesn’t betray anything. "Need help?"
She lets him play along, and they dance through the arbitrary small talk, until Angelica calls the meeting to order. She’s taken quite a few tips from the mock trials Aaron told her about. It’s like every other meeting, they talk about the upcoming rally, and once again ask for volunteers to give out pamphlets.
Aaron raises his hand cautiously. Angelica ignores him. Instead, when she reads out this week’s "assignments", Aaron’s on poster-making duty. Even though he doesn’t have an artistic bone in his body, when they’re dismissed he walks over to the corner of the room, where Angelica and a few others are talking around a large sheet of 24x32 paper.
"So I was thinking we could go with a more red-centric theme for the 9x11s."
"No way! By the time December rolls around they‘ll be blending in with all the Christmas stuff."
"Aaron!" Angelica looks grateful for the distraction, the slightly desperate way she says his name proves she needs an out.
"Hello." He‘s sensing a pattern in his everyday speech.
"There‘s someone I want you to meet." She grabs his arm and pulls him over to a woman on her phone, uncaring of the colorful argument going on in front of her.
"This is Theodosia."
Theodosia looks up, bored, and-
Aaron freezes. They make eye contact for much longer than necessary. Theo ("Can I call you Theo?" he wants to ask.) is at least 5‘6 with clean braids, locked in an updo that goes down to her shoulders. She‘s older than him, and is dressed in a clean T-shirt and jacket with some sort of smart-looking pants on. It‘s an odd combination, but it works, and it‘s not like Aaron knows much about fashion anyway. She‘s darker too, and he wants to put his hand on hers, measure each and every way they differ. He looks down at those hands, and finds-
An engagement ring.
Fuck.
"Theo, this is the guy I was telling you about." Angelica goes on, oblivious.
They‘re still staring at each other. A smirk goes across Theo‘s face, and she stands up, pocketing her phone. She sticks out her hand, the one without the ring.
"A fellow Mary Wollstonecraft fan? Angelica never mentioned you had taste." She says, pointing to his shirt.
"He doesn‘t, usually. he‘d eat only wet bread if he could."
Aaron tries to summon a sentence.
"I‘ll have you know yeast is a perfectly fine way of gathering nutrients."
Theo laughs, and it‘s like a church bell.
"Well it‘s a pleasure to meet you."
Her voice is silk. Wary, Aaron takes her hand, shaking it lightly.
"I‘ll leave you to your devices." Angelica says, with the air of someone who's seen this before. She walks away. They are still holding hands. Aaron's brain restarts, and he pulls away.
"So what do you do?"
Theo‘s smirk turns into a more gentle smile.
" Just another grad student. I do research under Professor George Washington. Planning on going for my doctorate, if I survive this term. What about you?"
He‘s screwed .
***
Angelica set him up. She‘s trying to influence him in some way, no doubt. It‘d be amazingly convenient if a graduate research student of Washington‘s showed up at a meeting one day. And Angelica just so happened to want to introduce him. He wonders if Theo knows what she‘s a part of. She knows about the fight, surely, but did Angelica ever approach her with this plan?
He hopes not, because when Theo pins him against the wall in a random science hallway, engagement ring long forgotten, he doesn‘t say no.
****
Rush never responds to his texts.
******
A crappy piece of footage. Something crackles in the background. The camera is obstructed by something. The angle changes and it‘s shown to be a pair of jeans. The phone moves to be half hidden behind a table, revealing a small classroom. It’s clearly office hours, and only a few people are sitting in the wooden seats. A boy, Thomas Conway, and a professor, Granny Gates, are having a conversation. Conway sits in the front row, clearly agitated.
"All I‘m saying is that he‘s clearly a dumbass, man! You‘d be stupid to fire someone like Charles. The guy is the only reason Washington wasn‘t completely fucked during mid-terms last year."
"I‘m not disagreeing with you, but are you sure his supposed lack of effort was the only reason Mr. Lee was let go? Professor Washington may have had ulterior motives."
"No shit he had!"
Gates visibly scrunches up at Conway‘s grammar.
"There's no way in hell he would‘ve fired him if it weren‘t for the presentation bullshit! Georgie just can‘t take people not sucking up to him all the goddamn time."
"Thomas, you need to calm down." Gates seems flustered.
"But you agree with me! We can‘t have professors like that, man! Listen, me and some buddies of mine are trying to get him out of here. Charles is helping. Washington is just some-"
The camera cuts off.
****
Charles is out, somewhere. Aaron doesn‘t really care where. Theo is occupying him for the moment, as she pushes him back onto his uncomfortable mattress. They‘d both prefer to be at her apartment downtown, but her fiance- Jaques, according to Theo- is off work today. So here they are, in a cramped dorm with the ticking time bomb of a roomate coming back. Aaron would rather have Charles not see this.
Things are just getting good when there‘s a loud banging at the door.
"LEE!"
That is certainly not Charles. Theo parts their lips. She quirks an eyebrow at him.
"Expecting someone?"
"No" he says, and he‘s really not. He goes back to kissing her, working away at the buttons on her shirt, but she pulls back again when there‘s another round of knocks.
"Lee, I swear to god!"
"Maybe you should get that." She‘s slightly annoyed now, and Aaron doesn‘t want to disappoint her. He begrudgingly lets her get off him, heading for the door. When he opens it, Rush is staring at him in the face.
Oh come on .
"Where‘s Lee?" Rush looks as aggravated as Aaron feels.
"He‘s out."
"Do you know when he‘ll be back?"
"Why would I care?"
"Aren’t you two together?"
"No, for fucks sake!" He’s so tired of being cockblocked.
"Well considering Conway and Gates are being investigated by the school, I figured I’d check his dorm for him anyway!"
Aaron pauses. He glances back at Theo. She’s already up and dressed. Her perfect hair is back in place, and she walks towards him.
"Seems like you have some things to attend to." She kisses his cheek, and he’s filled with intense appreciation. He’s only known her for a week or so, but she’s quickly becoming a staple in his life. It worries him how easily people are slipping into his life these days, but Theo is the farthest thing from Charles, so he lets it go.
"Thanks, I’ll make it up to you?"
"I look forward to it."
And she’s off down the hall. The stairwell shuts quietly behind her. Rush has already shoved his way past him, and Patrick Henry, who Aaron has only just noticed, isn’t far behind.
"So the video is making its way through Admin apparently, we expect the school to make a statement soon, considering how much of a hot topic this has been-"
"Slow down, what video?"
"You haven‘t heard? Some punk found a video of Conway talking shit about Washington to Gates, and it got out. Conway just texted. He's needed at the school next week." Rush says.
Gates , he recognizes the name. Another law professor, revered almost as much as Washington. Aaron would have never guessed he had it out for his colleague.
"Do we know who took the video?" Aaron asks, looking for something. Henry shakes his head solemnly. Weird, Aaron is usually the one doing that.
"Well, Conway says he had James Wilkinson- you met him, bar, bad breath, remember?" He does remember, however vaguely. "-record their conversation, but Conway swears he wouldn’t have released it without our permission. Not like that matters, we’re trending locally, by the way." Rush huffs.
The world freezes for a split second. For the first time, Aaron truly considers the possibility of being discovered. He has to know what's on that video.
"Where-" Henry throws a phone at him, without a word, open to Twitter.
#ConwayCabal
4,342 Tweets
Aaron Burr is going to kill Thomas Conway.
***
" Why would you have someone record it?"
Aaron had followed Rush and Henry to Conway’s dorm. Other’s are here too. Charles is not. Which Aaron does not notice at all .
Conway’s side is painted a dark blue, cleanly divided down the middle. It seems Conway knows dorm rules, but simply doesn’t care. It has the standard Ikea furniture and posters decorate the room. A shared desk looks like it’s struggling with the weight of about 20 medical textbooks on it. He’s not sure who Conway’s roommate is, but he’s glad it’s not him.
"I don’t know! Hop off my dick, Jesus." Conway is sitting on his bed, head in hands, as if trying to ward off a headache.
"I will hop like a goddamn bunny rabbit on your dick!" Rush practically yells.
Everyone boggles at him. He turns beet red.
"You realize you’ve jeopardized any last bit of secrecy we still had after Charles and Laurens’ fight?" He says, a little more restrained. "What are we supposed to do now?"
"I don’t know ." His voice is weak, and Aaron realizes how much Conway has at stake.
"Have you talked to Wilkinson yet?" He says, uncomfortable with the current situation.
"He hasn’t responded to any of my texts." Conway sniffles.
"Dude, are you crying right now?" Another Thomas- Muffin, Aaron thinks- prods.
"Fuck you!"
"Okay, Okay!" Rush says. "Some of us will go over to his place tomorrow, alright? Conway, just, god, take a rest." Mumbles of agreement, and then everyone is filing out the door. Aaron lingers behind.
He doesn’t know why he feels a need to implicate himself more, but he sits down on the bed next to him. They sit in silence for a while, Conway’s quiet sobs filling the room.
"I think they’re gonna take away my scholarship." He says suddenly.
"Oh?" Aaron says, carefully neutral.
"I almost didn’t get in the first place. Washington, he actually opposed me being the one to get it." Conway wipes his nose." He said there were other ‘superior’ candidates. ‘Course all of ‘em ended up being American.
"That’s why I care so much, ya know? I’m sick of him choosin’ favorites." His accent gets a little thick here.
"Yeah." He really doesn’t know. He stands up. "I should be going".
Conway looks up, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, uh, see ya."
Aaron practically runs out, tail between his legs.
***
It’s odd, to not understand. Usually, Aaron makes it his job to be in the know. He realizes he can only control himself, and he acts accordingly. All his thoughts are arranged into boxes and file cabinets, and each compartment is labeled with a Why . He has reasons and backup reasons for each action. He could give a 5 hour seminar on why he uses a particular coffee brand. (It’s mostly about pricing.) Aaron does not act without thinking;There is deliberation and cause behind his every movement.
Which is why it’s all the more concerning when he walks into the stairwell and thinks,
I should go with them tomorrow.
Because, fact of the matter is, he really shouldn’t. Even coming to Conway’s dorm was a mistake. He needs to fall back, regroup. The joint investigations are a wake-up call. He can not continue on like this. Yet, for some reason, he wants to.
He’s desperately clawing through his file cabinets, looking for a loose manilla folder, a Why . Every person has their own reason in this game. Conway wants some kind of change. Rush likes the power trip. Hamilton wants the world to be silent, excluding every voice but his own. And Laurens goes for anything Hamilton suggests. Charles wants a stamp of approval, for his actions to all be validated. Aaron? He has no clue what his end goal is. He likes to think he truly just wants to bring a bad professor to justice, but he knows, deep down, that's not what this is about. If he actually cared, maybe he wouldn’t be hiding behind people like Conway, people who actually give a shit.
He walks down the stairs.
It’s not as though he wouldn’t be happy if Washington was let go. After hearing Conway’s side of things, and with the meeting hanging over his head, he’s even more hopeful for his eventual departure. But he can’t keep doing this, whatever this is. He’s risking the reputation he has been so careful to maintain.
He’s decided, then, it’s over.
***
But, of course, he finds Alexander standing outside his building. He’s leaning against the wall, next to the door, trying and failing to look unbothered.
Aaron simply sighs. He tries to just walk past him.
"Oh hell no." Hamilton blocks the entrance. He doesn’t have the longest arm span, so his fingertips just barely touch the door frame. His face is bright red.
"Is there a gas leak I haven’t heard about, or are you instilling some sort of toll?"
"Do you think you’re funny?"
"Ah, a riddle. So the toll, then."
Hamilton rolls his eyes, as if Aaron’s the one being insufferable. He lowers his arms, crossing them instead.
"What’s your aim here?" He questions.
"Excuse me?" Aaron just wants to get in bed. The street lights turned on hours ago.
" How’s Lee feeling? Still a little sore?" He’s part mocking, part interested. He wants to know the effect of the video, most likely.
"You’d have to ask him." Aaron goes for the door again, but he’s stopped with a firm hand on his arm.
"I bet he’d love to know who snitched. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?" Questions and more questions. Does he really think Aaron leaked the video?
"Perhaps, why would I tell you?" He doesn’t confirm, doesn’t deny.
"Well, a little bird told me a fellow named William Alexander was the one who went to the school with it. Wouldn’t say where he got it, though." He is so dramatic. But it might not be entirely displaced, because now Aaron knows a devastating piece of information. Just when he wants to back out, he gets sucked right back in.
There’s a lull. Aaron can hear dogs barking, although he’s sure they aren’t allowed anywhere near school property. Hamilton watches him carefully.
"What are you doing, Burr?" He says quietly, looking disappointed, and slightly sympathetic. It’s that last part that makes Aaron know not to trust him.
"I’m not doing anything."
"Bullshit."
Aaron shrugs.
"Well why aren’t you doing anything? For either side?"
"Side? I wasn’t aware we were in a full-scale war."
"We might as well be! Washington’s entire career is on the line here. He was being considered for the next dean up until now, but clearly that’s down the drain."
"And what does this have to do with me?"
"You’re the person closest to Lee, and I’d wager he’s going to be pretty damn important soon. Besides, I hear Washington wants to talk to you."
A second meeting. A meeting, orchestrated by the opposite party.(Close the door on your way out). Fat chance. He shoves past Hamilton, into the building.
***
Charles is up there. He’s sitting on his bed, fiddling with his phone. Aaron throws his coat on the back of their desk chair and falls face first into bed. Then, he decides he wants to try a little harder.
"Hey." It’s muffled by the pillow. He’s glad he can’t see Charles’ face, he doesn’t want to see his eyebrows raise slightly, his confusion evident. The silence is deafening. They haven’t talked to each other in days. It’s a long time for two people who talked near non-stop for two years.
"..Hey."
Aaron thinks that's enough for tonight. He doesn’t say anything about William Alexander, or Washington and his upcoming rendezvous.
***
The email comes the next morning, and Aaron spends two quarters of an hour looking up what qualifies as harassment. It’s extreme, but he really doesn’t want to go, so a crappy excuse is as good as any. It’s a google search in vain, because he still gets dressed anyway.
Charles wakes up while he’s in the bathroom. He’s standing at the mirror debating whether to shave his head, or let the little bit that’s grown over the past month or so remain. He let’s it be, for now.
"Good morning."
"Morning." He tries very hard to be nonchalant. He thinks it’s working. Aaron waits for him to talk about Conway, but he doesn’t. He does, however, say:
"Is there any bread left?"
"I think there’s some in the microwave."
Silence again. Charles eats a piece of bread with peanut butter on it. They don’t have a toaster.
Aaron ties his sneakers, pulls on his coat.
"Where you headed?" It’s a polite inquiry, and he’s suddenly confused.
"Just out." He says, noncommittally.
"Cool." And Aaron walks out.
***
Washington’s classroom is the largest in the Poli-Sci building. It’s the length of two moderately sized houses, with shiny wooden seats forming an arch around a blackboard. A few ceiling high windows litter the room, but it’s primarily illuminated by yellowed lights embedded in the roof. He took a class here freshman year. Aaron remembers him being a strict teacher, who may have assigned a bit too much homework, but still a good one overall. Not like that matters now.
It’s weird, seeing the guy he’s been so against in person. He’s at least 6’2, and even Hercules Mulligan would have a difficult time fighting him. He’s large, to put it simply. Right now, he’s busy organizing papers on the desk at the front of the room. It’s odd, partly because Aaron knows he must have an office more suited to paper-sorting than an echoey lecture hall. Maybe he’s waiting for him. He walks down the steps, and when he’s 3 away from the bottom, Washington spins on his heels.
There’s a split second of confusion in his eyes. Aaron doesn’t know whether to be insulted, or grateful that the coming conversation isn’t that important. Recognition flashes in his eyes.
"Mr. Burr!" He flashes a tight smile. Aaron returns it.
"Hello."
"We have much to discuss, why don’t we move into my office? As lovely as the acoustics in here are, I’m sure you’d much prefer to sit down."
He’s jittery and upbeat and so overly polite. It’s deeply disconcerting. He’s led into an office off to the side. Pictures and diplomas and a Purple Heart decorate the walls. It’s cramped, but boisterous in personality. It feels very Washington.
"Sit, please." He does so, in a chair with it’s stuffing half out. Washington sits behind his desk, looking entirely too big for it. He focuses in on a computer that looks about 30 years old.
"How are your studies going?"
Aaron answers, and pointedly leaves out how weird of a conversation this is, considering how he’s taken exactly one class with this man, and has had zero conversations with him, excluding one where he practically kicked Aaron to the curb. He’s respectively distant, in spite of this fact, and he sees Washington get a little closer to his breaking point with every insubstantial response he gives.
"Of course you’re doing well, I wouldn't expect anything less." His veneer is getting thinner, and looks like it physically pains him to talk to Aaron.
"To get to the point," He coughs, and Aaron suspects it’s for dramatic suspense. "I’ve been in the center of a media frenzy surrounding my controversial statements during a certain acquisition I hosted. These individuals are clearly attempting to uproot me from my position here. I've caught wind of the idea that my old TA, Charles Lee, might've had something to with it," Motherfucking Hamilton . This can only end badly for Aaron.
"I know you and Mr. Lee are… close ..." What the hell does that mean? "But I trust you don’t affiliate yourself with that group. Or, as they have been recently dubbed "The Conway Cabal". Someone like you wouldn't do something that stupid." There he is, blunt Washington at his finest.
"With all due respect, Sir, what do you mean by ‘someone like me’?" Aaron hopes it doesn’t sound like he’s fishing for compliments.
"Someone with a background like yours, a family legacy like yours, wouldn’t want to disparage the everything he’s worked for, correct?" Washington raises an eyebrow, challenging him.
Aaron does what he does best. He lies his ass off.
"No, sir. Don’t worry, Lee is just a friend."
An odd pause.
"As opposed to, like, an associate or fellow renegade or-" Washington raises a hand to stop him. It’s probably for the best. His lying skills clearly haven’t been exercised enough lately.
"Lovely. So I trust I won’t have any problems from you concerning this?"
What does he mean by problems ?
"Of course not."
"Wonderful."
Aaron knows a clear sign to leave when he sees one. He gets to the door before Washington says something again.
"What was it like, working under Professor Montgomery?"
Aaron turns around.
"Insightful."
Washington watches him for a moment. He wishes people would stop doing that. He finally stands up, and moves to get the door for him.
"Well I’m glad we could have this chat. Don’t be a stranger." The fake smile is back, but this time Aaron just walks away. He feels Washington’s eyes on his back as he walks up the steps to the door.
He barely gets outside the classroom before he lets out a huge sigh of relief. His heart is in his throat.
He checks the time. ( 12:51 ) and learns he has 18 notifications.
To: Aaron Burr
From: John Laurens
Yo burr come get drunk with us
To: Aaron Burr
From: Hercules Mulligan
Drinks with me and the gang. What do you say?
To: Aaron Burr
From: Marquis de Lafayette
Mon ami! Join us for de l'alcool sometime!
To: Aaron Burr
From: Alexander Hamilton
Aaron Burr, it’s imperative that you come to (1/15 Notifications from this user.)
"Fucking hell." Is all Aaron can muster.