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One drink was all they agreed to.
One drink soon turned to two. Two to three. Three to four.
It was only 11pm, and Meade had already challenged Hamilton to outdrink him. Naturally, Hamilton accepted, as he found it impossible to shy away from a challenge. Tilghman drank steadily from the sidelines, but even 3 drinks put him past his lightweight limit. Laurens, despite being one of the youngest, chaperoned the trio like they were his children.
All evening the door to the tavern had been swinging open to allow visitors to come and go, the winter’s chill sweeping it’s way through the room. The chill was back, as three ladies entered the tavern.
Unaccompanied.
Hamilton, seated next to Laurens, slammed down his mug on the table, the liquid inside spilling over the edge and trickling down. He pointed- although it was more shoved- his finger in Meade’s direction, hovering it just centimetres from his nose.
“I dare YOU, Kid-Kid-Kidder, to woo one of those ladies.” Hamilton’s speech was slurred, almost impossible to understand, yet Meade smirked at Hamilton’s request. Finishing his beer in one sitting, Meade stood and sauntered his way over to the gaggle standing by the bar.
Tilghman rested his chin on his mug, while Hamilton and Laurens turned- the former in excitement, the latter in apprehension- to watch the scene unfold, their eyes trained on their fellow aide-de-camp.
One woman wore a deep green dress and her dark hair was tied back in ringlets, while another wore yellow, fashioning her hair in a similar way to the first lady.
Meade leaned on the bar with his arm, crossing his right ankle over his left, directing his attention and conversation to the third lady, who had straight brown hair hanging neatly around her head and wore a simple purple dress.
The ladies stood with their backs to the aides, while Meade faced forwards. He smiled at the third lady, and she supposedly returned the gesture. The two struck up a conversation, much to Hamilton’s dismay as he never believed Meade to be a man with the talent to talk to a woman.
The conversation lasted a few minutes, and the three men watched Meade say something and start laughing to himself, but the gesture was not returned this time. Instead, Meade was met with a harsh slap across his left cheek.
Tilghman snorted into his mug, while Hamilton burst into a fit of laughter. Laurens watched, eyebrows raised slightly, as Meade nodded once to the women and walked away, his cheeks burning a deeper shade of red with every step he took.
Laurens heard a thud behind him, and turned to see Hamilton had disappeared. But a sharp tug on his ankle soon told him where Hamilton had gone.
Meade pulled out his chair and sat down.
“Ah Meade, did she get the better of you and your wits?”
Meade scoffed, half in jest, and replied “Who, me? Never.”
Laurens pulled Hamilton up off the floor and into his seat in one swift movement. The door swung open again.
Three gentlemen walked in and crossed straight to the three women, who welcomed them with open arms.
“Those men are stood far too close for propriety.”
Laurens saw the glances between the woman in purple and one of the men, who indeed stood extremely close to the woman. Glances he and Hamilton have frequently shared. Their hands interlock, and he smiles down at the smaller woman.
They are married.
“Christ, Meade, you had to pick that one didn’t you?”
Meade made a ‘hmm’ noise in question to what Laurens’ was so distressed about.
“Lads grab your coats, we’re leaving.”
Meade and Tilghman stood, Tilghman grabbing Meade’s shoulder to steady him in his drunken state.
“Hamilton, up.”
Hamilton pouted at Laurens like a child, crossing his arms over his chest in protest.
“Alexander I will throw you over my fucking shoulder if you don’t move. Get up.”
Hamilton stood, though clearly reluctantly, and Laurens put his arm around the smaller man to help him walk in a straight line. Laurens led the pack, towing Hamilton along beside him, and left through the door.
Tilghman practically dragged Meade, who was stumbling behind, towards the door. One of the men stepped in their path, Tench nearly walking straight into his chest.
“Evening, Gentlemen.”
“Evening, Sir.” Tilghman replied in a calm fashion, though he had to look up at the man who stood at least a head taller.
Laurens sat Hamilton on a nearby stool and made a move to intervene in the conversation, which he felt was soon to turn sour.
“Which of you bastards attempted to solicit my wife?”
There was a brief moment of silence before Meade piped up from behind Tilghman “My apologies, Sir, I had no such intention.”
“Then what were your intentions?” The man shoved Tilghman aside with one hand to his chest- although, this didn’t require a lot of strength- and squared up to Meade, who was fortunately a similar height.
“Harry-” The man’s wife attempts to plead with her husband to stand down.
“Elizabeth, you are my wife. I need to demonstrate that to any unlocked cub who thinks otherwise.”
Meade’s eyebrows shot up at this insult, his fists curled slightly at his sides. He looked the man up and down once, retorting “Coming from a shag-bag such as yourself?”
“Meade!” Tilghman hissed in shock at his friend’s manners. Or rather, his lack of.
The man- Harry- roared low in his throat at this, grabbing Meade’s jacket to restrain him.
“You insolent little-”
He was cut off by Meade spitting in his face, which is what some would call a mistake. Harry practically screamed with rage, throwing Meade across the tavern and into a table, which Meade tumbled over backwards.
He attempted to chase after Meade to inflict more damage, but was stopped by his wife grabbing his wrist and shaking her head, her eyes wide with terror. Tilghman, who stood nearby, was frozen in shock while Laurens was more focused on Hamilton, who was clueless to the whole situation.
Harry softened a bit at the touch of his wife, and instead began to walk towards her. Unfortunately for him, his plans were ruined by a flurry of blue barreling towards him and tackling him to the ground.
The women in the tavern shrieked at the scene, while Tilghman gasped and gaped at the scene of an animalistic Meade punching the living daylights out of this man.
Laurens roared over the top of the commotion “MEADE, STOP IT NOW!” Meade paid no heed to Laurens’ words, and continued ruining the man's face with his fists. Laurens strides over to the scene, passing Tilghman to say “Take Hamilton outside with you now please.” Tilghman nods, making his way to help Hamilton down off the stool.
Laurens stands over the scene, wrapping his arms tightly around Meade’s waist like a belt and forcing him against the man. Laurens glanced down at the man, whose face was smothered in his own blood, but was otherwise unharmed, and struggled his way out of the tavern with a writhing Meade held fast against his chest, kicking and screaming like a spoiled child.
Laurens stepped into the cool night, hauling Meade- whose temper had not ceased- over to where Tilghman and Hamilton sat by a nearby fountain. Laurens looked at Tilghman and said through gritted teeth “Move Tench.” Meade landed a sharp kick to Laurens’ gut, causing him to keel over slightly in pain, but he kept his grip on the man nonetheless.
Once Tilghman had moved himself clear of Laurens’ path, Laurens dunked Meade straight into the freezing fountain water, who screeched at the sudden shock.
Meade’s hair hung, dripping in his eyes, and he sat panting in the water. His hands dropped into the water with a hefty splash. Meade mumbled something of an apology, and he dragged himself out of the fountain to head back to headquarters. Laurens carried Hamilton the entire way back, while Tench wandered along at his own pace.
***
The following morning, dawn broke through the windows of the bedroom at Valley Forge, and Laurens grunted, slowly opening his eyes. His eyes met with Tilghman’s, who smiled at Laurens with a small wave.
“Might I add that he,” Tilghman whispers across the room, shoving his thumb over his shoulder at a sleeping Meade, “tosses and turns in his sleep more than anyone I know. Even more so when he is drunk.”
Laurens props himself up on his elbow, craning his neck, noticing Meade’s odd pretzel-like position he had taken up in his sleep. The movement must have been too weighty on the bed, as Hamilton made sounds of awakening next to Laurens.
A sharp knock on the door came, revealing Harrison behind it with a stack of papers. He swept into the room as Tilghman said sarcastically “Oh do come in Harrison.”
Harrison scoffed, his voice booming “Up, all of you!”
Tilghman rolled out of the bed, Laurens shook Hamilton awake, and the pair clambered out shortly after. Meade still lay asleep, but took the liberty to subconsciously roll over in his sleep, now occupying the recently freed space in the bed. He must’ve rolled into a position that was difficult for his airways to cope with, as he started to snore comically-loudly, much to Tilghman’s apparent amusement.
Harrison gasped quietly in his throat, and Laurens cast a look over his shoulder to investigate the cause of such shock.
Laurens froze in shock, eyes wide as he saw Meade had developed a black eye, accompanied by a small cut on his lower lip, which had now swollen and turned a bright red.
Harrison strode forwards, lifting the papers in his hand and slapping them harshly over Meade’s head. Meade jolted awake, sitting up and looking around, as if unaware of his surroundings. He blinked several times, then hissed, rubbing his temples with his fingers.
“Must the sun insist on being so bright this early in the day?”
“Meade, what in God’s name happened to your face?” Harrison spoke in a curt manner, straight to the point.
Meade faltered, “What on earth do you mean?”
Harrison grabbed up a hand-held mirror that had been left in the room and held it up in front of Meade’s face. Meade gawked in surprise at his face, raising his right hand to touch the area, wincing when he realised how sensitive the mark was.
A shout came from downstairs, followed by the General’s voice travelling throughout the house, spreading like wildfire.
“MEADE! TILGHMAN! HAMILTON! LAURENS!”
The four aide’s looked at each other.
“Shit.”
***
“You mean to tell me that four of my most trusted men cannot control themselves in public? Need I remind you that you represent me, this army and yourselves, not just in this office, but out of it too. And last night, your behaviour let yourselves down. You’ve let me down.”
“Your Excellency, if I may-”
“No, Hamilton, you certainly may not.” The General paces the floor in front of the quartet, who have all stood at attention these past 10 minutes while they have been reprimanded for the night before. General Washington held in his hand a letter of complaint that had apparently been sent by a certain Henry Brown that morning.
“Sir, if we are to receive punishment, I must stress that it is only fitting for myself to accept the punishment alone.”
“How noble of you Meade, but it states here that four men were involved in last night’s incident.”
“Yes, two of whom were bystanders, one a mediator and, though regrettably, myself as the instigator.”
The General stopped pacing, and turned to face Meade, his eyes cold and ruthless.
“You three, out. Now. You are excused.” Tilghman squeezed Meade’s arm as they left, though he kept his gaze firmly ahead.
Tilghman shut the door behind him, but the trio hovered outside the closed door with the hopes of hearing even a snippet of the conversation.
The General’s voice- both somehow muffled and clear as day- asked Meade to describe the events of the night, which he complied with. He went through from Hamilton’s dare right through to being thrown over a table.
“So, from what I can gather, you did not start this conflict?”
“No, Sir, but…”
“But what, Sir?”
“He may have… um..” Meade laughed nervously, Laurens imagined him rubbing his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze to anywhere but the General’s direction.
“He may have returned to his wife and I may have forcefully tackled him to the floor to get my own back.”
Silence.
It was soon broken by a thud and the sound of glass shattering against the wall. Hamilton flinched, as he too had been a victim of one of the General’s overly-violent outbursts.
Meade finished quickly, “Laurens then escorted me from the premises and allowed me the opportunity to cool off.”
Laurens imagined the scene within the office: Meade, stood still, similar to a deer being hunted having just spied it’s hunter, surrounded by shards of glass, while the General was red in the face, smoke practically erupting from his ears.
The General sighed in anger, grumbling bitterly “Take this as a warning, Meade. Should this behaviour persist, I shall have to take serious action against you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The three in the hallway moved away from the door to stand in casual positions in an attempt to disguise their eavesdropping.
Meade steps out into the hall, looking cheerful yet dishevelled all at once. “I’m not up for the firing squad yet.”
Tilghman smiles at Meade, before towing him into the office.
Laurens smiles down at Hamilton, who returns the motion, as Meade murmurs to Tilghman “His Excellency threw a glass at me.”
Hamilton giggled quietly, following Meade and Tilghman into the office, where Harrison was hard at work.
“You’ll get used to it, Kidder.”