Fine Print

Fanfction for Hamilton the Musical! A musical about the first Treasury Secretary of the USA. (I'm not kidding)

Hamilton is 5 inches tall in this Tiny!Ham AU. 

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Laurens woke up the sound of rapid shuffling noises from the desk across from his cot. The source was a 5 inch tall man who was lost in a book, scooting along on his knees as fast as he could.

It pained him to watch Hamilton read. If he could, he had the book propped up for him, and he would stand to read the top of the page and sit down to read the bottom, then side step to read the next page. However if a friend wasn't around to do this, or he didn't feel like asking, he would deal with it lying flat. Wearing just socks on his feet and clean pants, he would sit on his knees and walk as he read, and he read fast. It was also harder for the small man to turn the pages this way.

Noticing Hamilton stand up and move to the right side of the book, Laurens got out of his cot, moving to his desk in two short strides. Hamilton didn't notice until the shadow of the much bigger man fell over him, startling him. He moved out of the way as Laurens reached to turn the page of the book.

"You did not have to get up just to assist me, I can do this on my own," said Hamilton a bit indignant in his face but his tone carried a hint of gratitude.

That made Laurens suspicious.

"Alex how long have you been up?"

Reddening cheeks told him more than any verbal description of time would have.

"I didn't wake up early or anything," said Hamilton as Laurens sat down in the wooden chair so he was more level with his friend. "I have only been up for an hour most I thought it best I let you sleep."

To check Hamilton's story, Laurens looked at his watch. If he wasn't awake before he was now.

"Alex it's nine! We were supposed to report to Washington in," he looked at his watch again and waited a few seconds, "a minute ago!"

It was unlike Hamilton to forget such things but realization dawned on his face. He had been reading for over 3 hours but he was not about to admit this to Laurens. His friend had enough things to worry about, he didn't want to add to it.

"You mean I'm supposed to," said Hamilton.

"You can't get there without me," said Laurens.

Hamilton's stomach tightened. he tried his best not to burden Laurens. He knew his size made people want to help him out of some idiotic pity that he didn't want. Did Laurens pity him? Even in his early 20s he felt cynical about this, his friend went out of his way to make him feel comfortable and accommodated but he always felt like he was being given special treatment due to his size. His size was not what he wanted people to think made him special.

Riding on people's shoulders was not something that bothered him. Even Hamilton's pride couldn't help but realize that if he walked on his own he would get squashed, let alone take an eternity to get anywhere.

And the shoulder of John Laurens was very comfortable, thought Hamilton as he situated himself in between neck and shirt collar. They had rushed to get out the door, and we're now heading to across the camp. It was also very warm, he could feel Laurens' steady and powerful purse, and hear him breathing hard.

Hamilton looked up. The handsome feature of John Laurens became his entire world. He could see the not so thin stubble that developed in the night and every freckle the right side of John's face proudly showed off. To numerous to count; Hamilton had tried.

He could look at Laurens the entire journey without his taking notice. The larger man couldn't exactly look down at him, though Laurens' eyes were something else entirely. Once Laurens had asked Hamilton if he would like a pocket sewed onto his coat, over his breast, to Hamilton ride in. It would certainly be more dignified then being half hidden and squished up against his friend. Hamilton had agreed but the pocket was only utilized half the time.

All too soon they arrived at the general's tent. Being aides-de-camp, Laurens and Hamilton shared what would be called a nice tent, the desk being the defining luxury, Washington's was much bigger, with many more furnishings for those who visited as it functioned as a makeshift office.

Laurens loosened his collar and Hamilton hopped into his hand so he could be set on the table Washington was sitting at.

"I don't want excuses for you being late," said the general, not looking at Hamilton as the small man walked to his arm to examine what the general was reading. "Laurens, I believe Lafayette was looking for you."

"Yes sir," said Laurens, leaving Hamilton alone with Washington. The general sounded more than a bit distressed. That meant Hamilton was in for a long day of writing. Hamilton would never admit it, but Laurens couldn't fail to notice how exhausting being His Excellency's secretary was for Hamilton, even if it made the man so happy to be in such an important position.

The young Frenchman greeted Laurens jovially, informing him that they were to make another attempt to purchase supplies in a nearby town. They were always short on well, everything. Not exactly something to be excited about but that gave Laurens an idea.

He tried to slip away at some point but Lafayette noticed, he wasn't exactly surprised. Of course he had to tell Lafayette his plan.

"That's a wonderful idea my friend, and I can't even imagine how happy this will make Hamilton. It might be difficult to acquire, and it will be expensive, but now that I plan to help you, we will find one, and in no time at all!"

Lafayette was right about one thing, they succeeded in finding what Laurens was after, but it took going into every store that looked the least bit promising. It also cost more than Laurens would ever admit to Hamilton, another thing Lafayette was right about, but it was more than worth it.

They returned to camp, nearly empty handed, around dinner time. Laurens checked his pocket for the fiftieth time since he made the purchase. He couldn't give it to Hamilton now, that would risk food getting on it, it wasn't exactly wrapped up.

Laurens found Hamilton, who had been waiting for Laurens and Lafayette to return to have dinner with them.

The trio sat with other soldiers, Hamilton on Laurens' knee most of time, unless he was addressing some specifically at which point he would be transferred to said person's care.

Because of his size, Hamilton had been told that he need not ration his portions of food like the others, but he insisted. If anyone deserved an extra serving, though Laurens, it was Hamilton. And they could spare it, since the man only ate what amounted to the mass of an acorn a day, if that.

Much of the discussion was on the inability to get supplies, providing more than a little embarrassment for Laurens and Lafayette.

Finally the meal ended and everyone retired to duty or to get ready for bed. Laurens carried Hamilton back to their tent. Not on his shoulder, in his hands.

"You seemed preoccupied at dinner," Hamilton said, and Laurens looked down, at him "you still do. Something on you mind? You should tell me, is it about your failed mission in town today? you cannot think for a moment that you have any fault in that. The people, they are scared of being punished, but they don't see that we can win this war, that helping us invites freedom, not destruction."

“Hamilton,” said Laurens.

“You know, maybe I should have joined you. I seem to garner a lot of attention. I can’t fight on the actual warfront, I know that, but maybe I could damage Britain’s face. Even if just through people listening because they think I’m… adorable,” he spat the last word, he was feeling sorry for himself, always wanted to do more. He was an aide-de-camp, the aide-de-camp, but not much of a soldier.

“Surely you don’t think,”

“I’ve heard people talking, saying things about me. They think someone like me, who can’t fight with them, shouldn’t be managing them. ‘How can he communicate our situation when he can’t even lift a bullet?’, and ‘the rat will bring disease upon us’”

“You aren’t a rat,” said Laurens.

“I’m the size of one. I’m sure a snake would not know the difference and eat me just the same.”

There wasn’t much Laurens could think to say. Words failed him; he wanted to punch the lights out of the people who had insulted Hamilton. Even if that might make things worse, getting him in trouble, and Hamilton complaining that he didn’t need people to fight his battles.

When they entered their tent Laurens set Hamilton on the desk, where he stood, arms crossed over his chest, looking at his shoes. Laurens sat down, resting an elbow on the desk, head in his hand, watching Hamilton.

“I got something in town today that might cheer you up,” Laurens announced.

“John, I don’t think what I need can be bought. Well, it can, from a bar. Did you purchase alcohol?”

The last thing Hamilton needed was a drink. They weren't supposed to have any, but that didn’t stop the flow of liquor. And somehow Hamilton always managed to get some when he wanted it. Laurens wasn’t above providing, but he suspected there were many who thought it was quick, cheap fun to get Hamilton drunk, since it only took a few drops of whisky, bought by soldiers who snuck off and bought it from farms when they could.

“Better,” said Laurens, though he instantly regretted it, what if he was overselling this?

He sat up and reached into his pocket, placing his palm open on the table for Hamilton to see.

Hamilton’s eyes grew wide and his hands fell to his sides. In Lauren’s hand, attractively bound in thin, fine leather, stamped with gold leafing in a intricate and flowery design, was a book, a copy of La Divina Commedia di Dante, that was 2 inches tall.

This was one of the rare times when Alexander was speechless. The little man was so stunned he walked nervously onto Laurens' hand, bent down and picked up the book with a caution that said he half expected it not to be real. It was and he stumbled, shaking and light headed, but Lauren’s caught him from falling over, sitting Hamilton down in his hand. Hamilton clutched the book to his chest like it was his child.

“Do you like it? I was worried you might have read it already. I got the name of the publisher, I can get you a different book. The seller said they print Shakespeare's plays and collections of french philosophy essays. We can order them directly.”

“John,” Hamilton choked but he didn’t say anything else.

"Are you crying, Alexander?" Laurens asked, joking but not to make fun of him, he had not expected this reaction.

"So what if I am? It’s not as if my tears will soak your hand,” but he set the book down and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Laurens lifted Hamilton off the desk, bringing him closer to his face, making sure Hamilton was all right.

Hamilton stood up, taking a step closer to Laurens’ face. The man’s large brown eyes looked down almost crossed now that Hamilton was at his nose. Hamilton leaned forward, pressing his lips to the tip of Lauren’s nose, his hands on either side.

Now it was Laurens’ turn to be stunned; Hamilton was kissing him. That was undeniably what was happening.

Could he kiss him back? Someone so small... He thought about how to go about reciprocating the affection, Hamilton's small lips still on his nose, tiny hands on the sides to replace what would be normally be the other persons' cheeks. He couldn’t exactly lock lips with him, that was out of the question.

Laurens cocked his head to the side slightly, breaking away from Hamilton’s hold. His nose no longer in the way, and sadly not in Ham's delicate fingers, he moved his hand, and Hamilton along with it, closing the distance between the man and his lips. It worked, his lips pressed lightly against Hamilton, mostly on small man's middle, and he was able to feel Hamilton's excited breathing.

Being kissed back was not what Hamilton had expected. People were usually overly cautious around him to make any action without informing him before hand. John Laurens has surprised him, and twice in just a few minutes. His excitement could have filled ten people of normal size, and he momentarily forgot about the book as he wished he could just melt into the large man's warm, soft lips, to feel the light warm breeze as Laurens inhaled and exhaled through his nose forever.

He didn't want to end the kiss, and when he drew his lips away Hamilton looked slightly disappointed as well. However it was getting late and Hamilton had yet to try out his new book. He tried to set Hamilton back on the desk but the man refused to leave his person, opting instead to sit on his shoulder, leaning against his neck so he could prop the book up in his lap.

“What? Did you expect me to enjoy this read while sitting on a cold hard desk?” said Hamilton, “When I be much more comfortable, and closer to you?”

That suited Laurens just fine.