Hamilton Oneshots

Martha x George Washington: Maybe

A/N: based off history but probably not historically accurate. This was requested by MimiMangle ten million years ago. This sounds like a novel written by a divorced 40-year-old and I don't know why... -Angie

Martha sat by the hearth, knitting away as her mind whirled. The only sounds of the room being the gentle click of her knitting needles and the occasional crackle from the fire. She pondered, thoughts and plans forming as she stared out into the deep night. Muscle memory took over as her attention waned from her knitting to her thoughts.

Her husband's death had left her ownership of three hundred slaves and seventeen thousand five hundred acres of land at only the age of twenty-six. The marriage had been happy. It had given her two wonderful children and strong social standing. But it certainly wasn't love. Sure, she cared for him and always wished the best for him. Yet t heir marriage wasn't anything like the novels she had read. Then again, was that sort of love simply invented by the authors mind? Simply fictional? Or did it exist?

Did love exist?

She snapped back to reality, realizing she had been holding her breath and had stopped knitting. With a sigh, she placed her project down beside her chair and brushed off her dress. There was too much to consider and distracting herself with knitting was not working in the slightest. She wasn't sure if she missed her husband or if she simply missed having somebody. She had her dear children, yes, but she wanted more, especially after the passing of two of them. This property was also a little much to manage all on her own...

With those thoughts, it was decided. She would give love another try. Then, as if the universe had read her mind, there was a knock at the door. A glance at the clock made her question why someone would be at her door this late but nevertheless, she answered it. Answering it just made her question more though. George Washington, someone who she's only heard of and seen around, rarely spoken to, was at her doorstep at a rather indecent hour.

"Oh. A pleasure to see you, Mr. Washington. May I ask why you're here though?" Martha greeted him politely.

"Could I, uh, come in?" He appeared nervous, a strange appearance for a soldier. The sight of it almost made Martha giggle but she remained composed.

"Of course. I apologize for my appearance- I was getting ready for bed." She brushed at her lacy nightgown.

"Not your fault but my own. I apologize for coming here so late in the night but I promise it'll be worth your while."

"Really?" A smile slipped onto her face. "I'll grab some tea."

She returned from the kitchen with a steaming kettle and a few porcelain teacups. She considered him as she poured the tea. He was not of the greatest social standing and definitely not the richest. Though Martha didn't mind those things. Sure, they were perks but if she wanted love those sort of things didn't matter especially when she had both of those herself.

He maintained a strange composure, unlike the other soldiers who were hungry for blood and women and made it clear that was their only intention. No, he seemed to want to fix things. Maybe he craved blood but only blood for a purpose, blood to improve the world. His looks... well he was dashing, to say the least, and added to the rumor that he was an extravagant dancer made him... actually what did being good at dancing have to do with anything?

Martha shook herself out of her thoughts, realizing she had been staring as George cleared his throat. A blush grew on her face. "So, why did you come here exactly?"

He took a sip of tea and placed it on the table. Martha resisted the urge to put it under a coaster. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the loss of your husband. I'm sure it must be hard living without him."

Martha smiled. "You came here at this hour to say that?"

George appeared flustered, he hadn't expected that answer. "I mean, well, yes."

"That means a lot. Thank you," Martha said, letting her true feelings show. "It has been hard." Unable to resist the urge any longer, Martha picked his teacup up and placed it under a coaster.

"Maybe attending a dance would help?" He stared intently at his shoes.

"Maybe," Martha replied and she felt that spark, the spark they talked about in novels. Maybe this was the start of love, just maybe.