Oh my god, babe, I’m so flattered, I’m so glad you’re liking it. And here! I’ve basically used this as an excuse to bring in my Historical Fave, America’s favorite fighting Frenchman—LAFAYETTE.
As far as Alex is concerned, highlights of Columbia include: orientation week, which lets him get a handle on the new arrangement of the campus, John Laurens, the several gorgeous libraries, the rediscovery of the Schuyler sisters (the blue-green bruise rising from Peggy’s fist notwithstanding), John Laurens, the potential to find more of his old dear friends, the fact that the dorms have both air conditioning and heating, and John Laurens.
Downsides include: his ongoing struggle with Academic Affairs. Honestly, this is his second time through their system and one would think that over two and a half centuries they would have sorted themselves out. But no. He’s not even trying to arrange a two-year program this time, all he wants is permission to take more than the maximum number of credits, he’s not asking for the moon here.
Or at least that’s what he tells John, who laughs at him and lets Alex drag him off to the Academic Affairs office. He’s already complained to Angelica over text and Eliza over coffee and to Peggy twice, and all three of them looked utterly unsurprised. Alex is pretty sure they suspect him of trying to work himself to death (Eliza said as much outright, and added again with a fond smile, and he’s never in his life actually tried to work himself to death, not much at least, so they can kindly fuck off). But John goes with him to get it figured out, because John was always good about letting Alex drag him into trouble as long as Alex did the same.
Having John with him again is…good beyond words, a sentence Alex never really expected to say, but then again he never really expects a lot of what happens to him, so. John has a single room in the dorm because money, and Alex has a single because he’s (kind of) a legacy (in a way), and every night since they walked into each other outside Hamilton Hall, John has stayed over at Alex’s. Sharing a room again is strange—not a tent, not a tiny terrible cabin at Valley Forge, just a room—but nice, with John on hand to be looked at and checked over when Alex wakes from a nightmare about Monmouth or the hurricane or the other hurricane or letters from Henry Laurens.
Alex doesn’t bring it up much, but he missed John. Not like a limb, like a heartbeat. They haven’t talked about their…arrangement during the war, and if it never comes up, if they never fall together like that again, Alex doesn’t give a single fuck. He has John at his elbow again, tall and wry and hot-tempered, and he couldn’t give a damn about anything else.
The point is, though, that he and John are crashing into Academic Affairs on Sunday, the day before classes really start, and they almost fetch up against the back of a tall boy arguing with the registrar. He doesn’t even turn to look at them.
“Monsieur, I am in this class! I have been signed up for three weeks!” the boy insists, jabbing at a sheet of paper with a long-fingered hand. His voice carries a heavy accent, Parisian, and he’s even taller than John, all smooth middling-dark skin with wild black curls pulled back in a ponytail. He’s well-dressed, in clothes that speak to family money—Alex still has a knack for spotting old money at a glance—but careless about it.
“Look, Mister du Motier, you’re not signed up for a social studies class, so you’re not filling the requirements for an exchange student,” the registrar says, in the weary tone of someone reciting by rote.
“First of all,” the boy says, so exasperated he’s almost trembling with it. “I am signed up for a social studies class, I am signed up for History of the American Revolution, and I have been for three weeks, and second of all, I have legally changed my last name and your papers are outdated. As I have said.”
“And what have you changed it to,” the registrar says, bored.
“Je m’appelle–”
“Lafayette, I’m hoping,” Alex says on impulse, and the tall boy whirls around, startled.
“Oui,” he says once, bemused, then repeats, “Oui, mon ami. And you are…”
“Offended, Marquis,” Alex says with a grin. He offers a proper high society bow and says, “Alexander Hamilton.”
Lafayette almost shrieks with glee and falls on Alex in a hug, kissing both his cheeks. Being crushed in a hug by Lafayette is comfortingly familiar, and Alex manages to free an arm enough to pat him on the back, laughing. “Mon petit leon, you are here! Of course you are here, I should have expected nothing less.” He releases Alex and turns to John. “And you are John Laurens, of course.”
“Oui,” John says with a smile, and Lafayette swoops down on him next, just as delighted. Lafayette and Alex were always on a level, energy-wise, but Alex can admit that he’s high energy like a kilowatt battery and Lafayette is high energy like a golden retriever. He’s pretty sure he made sure someone wrote down an account of that time Lafayette picked the General up and spun him around—he makes a mental note to google it later.
“I missed you both desperately,” Lafayette says once he’s released John. “Hercules will be delighted to see you.”
“You found Hercules?” Alex asks, grinning. He did a cursory search for Mulligan when he came to New York, when his living situation was still uncertain, but it was unproductive.
“Yes, he tends a bar in the city,” Lafayette says, studying both of them closely. His excited smile fades into a frown, dark eyes wide, looking genuinely upset. “What were either of you thinking?”
“I was trying to–”
“He challenged me–”
Lafayette’s hand whips out to cuff Alex up the back of the head, then catches John with the same motion. “Je ne me soucie pas! You both died!”
“You’ll have to tell me about how that happened at some point,” John tells Alex, rubbing at the spot Lafayette struck.
“We’re sorry,” Alex says, offering Lafayette a small smile, and Lafayette’s frown deepens. “Really, Gilbert.”
Lafayette makes a small flicking motion—he never cared to be addressed by his given name—but doesn’t look convinced. The registrar, forgotten behind him, coughs.
“Did you three, uh, need help? Or are we done here?”
All three twist to look back at the desk, talking over one another.
“I am signed up for a history class–”
“I’m just here for company–”
“The eighteen credit limit is stupid–”
The registrar puts his head down and groans, and Lafayette, Alex, and John all turn to look at each other.
“Well,” John says, amused, and he gives Alex a wry smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “I guess some things don’t change.”