Becoming A Founding "Father"- Historical Hamilton

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Way You Are

The "Cold in My Professions" letter was written on April of 1779-

*-But we'll act like it's written on October because of plot convenience.

---

"Alexander is shit, Laurens is shit, Washington is shit, firecake is shit, life is shit."

"Hello Colonel," Peggy answers nonchalantly, continuing to set up her tent. "How was your day?"

I muffle a loud groan by covering my face with my hands. She is seemingly amused by my despair, and I flop onto  the floor in the tent. A moment of complete peace passes, then I say "Alexander confiscated my new rifle."

"Confiscated?" She laughs. "Is he not younger than you?"

I roll onto my side and curl into myself, frowning. "I know, he's just a petty little bitch, that's what."

Silence. Peggy puts down a surgical knife- I can hear the light clink, and I frown deeper.

"Are you on the rag?"

"Aye."

"Shall I get you some tea and rabbit fur?"

"Please." She chuckles, ruffles my hair and then walks out of the tent, leaving me in silence. I haven't moved when she came back- I decided that my position was decent, and moving would just cause me more agony.

"What have we done to deserve this torture?" I whine, getting up and gratefully taking the tea. She chuckles, shaking her head dismissively. Menstruation is the bane of my existence, I swear. "This is beyond unfair."

"Well, men have to the battles outside of the home, as women stay inside- in some degree, it is fair. I suppose God wanted an equal balance in suffering," she answers.

"That was so fucking sexist, Peggy."

"Sexist?" She asks, confused, and I readjust my position.

"Being prejudiced against someone because of their gender. You know- women stay inside as men fight. I'm doing just fine, thank you very much."

"Darling, you've come to me in the middle of the night asking for tea because you're bleeding out of your cunt," she replies swiftly, and I sip my tea again. 

"That may be true, but that doesn't affect how well I can count, comprehend orders or how well I can hold a musket." 

"You don't wield a musket, Solomon." She sits down next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Okay, fine, I don't- but that's because I don't want to be the reason that someone dies, not because of my 'femininity'," I say with much exaggeration. Compared to all of the ladies I've met, I'm anything but feminine. I lack both the elegance grace they hold themselves with and the beauty that was beaten out of me from freezing work conditions and tight cravats. 

I look at her again, my brows furrowed. "Yet do you believe that women are less capable of serving in the military?"

"I do- men and women are not comparable," she replies without hesitation. "Women are weaker than men. They would not be able to handle the strain of it- the army would descend into chaos."

"I'm the main mathematician in Washington's family," I deadpan. "I've been involved in Monmouth, Trenton and in many military operations in New York. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Women are not like you, Solomon!" She shouts, before calming her voice down. "Most women have not been taught how to read or write, women have no been told to pursue science, women are not the ones that bring honor to their family name, women aren't being taught how to shoot or how to fight!"