FICTION – 3TC #MM86

Chapter 4:

Enter Hamilton

The man striding toward them didn’t walk—he debuted like a soloist taking the stage, like the main character who knew it. He moved fast and spoke faster, eyes lit with mission and caffeine that hadn’t been invented yet.

Fiona registered the ink-stained fingers first. Then the fine wool coat, the boots too clean for real travel, and the eyes—sharp, amused, and locked on her like she was both anomaly and opportunity.

“You there,” he said, pointing directly at her, “you look like someone who reads.”

Fiona blinked. “I—thank you?”

“I’m in the midst of a public correction,” he said briskly, voice brisk as kindling catching fire. “Some dim-witted provocateur inside the tavern insulted my prose. Claimed I misuse commas. Commas! Can you imagine?”

Fiona opened her mouth to answer but didn’t know how.

“I have half a mind to fight him, but I hate to waste perfectly good rhetoric on someone who can’t even parse clauses,” he continued. “Still, if he raises a fist, I shan’t shy from the occasion.”

The sounds of arguing filtered from inside—boots scraping, someone shouting “ILLITERATE SCOUNDREL!”, a chair toppling.

“Who is this guy?” Elliot muttered beside her.

“Hamilton,” the man said, offering a practiced bow—and his hand. Not to Elliot. To her.

“Alexander Hamilton. Essayist. Orator. Occasional swordsman. And you, I suspect, are not from around here.”

Fiona took his hand cautiously. His grip was warm, firm, and far too comfortable for a stranger’s. “I’m from… a remote colony.”

“Which one?”

She hesitated. “A… small one. Hard to pronounce.”

“Fascinating.” His smile widened. “Do all women from your colony dismantle weak arguments with eyebrow raises and aristocratic silence? Or is that your personal style?”

Elliot stepped forward, just slightly. “Cool. Hi. We were actually just leaving.”

Hamilton turned his head slowly, like he’d only now noticed a houseplant had spoken. “And you are…?”

“Elliot,” he said, forcing a smile. “Fiona’s… associate.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes. Associate?

“Apprentice,” Elliot added, with a shrug that was trying too hard.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “Ah. A learner of letters. Worry not. The mind, like the muscle, must withstand repeated strain to grow strong.”

Elliot’s expression stayed mild. But Fiona saw the flicker—the way his jaw clenched, how his hand balled into a fist so tight his knuckles went white.

Hamilton turned back to her, the verbal spotlight shifting again. “If you ever feel like co-authoring a pamphlet, I’d be honored. We could fry Loyalist propaganda together until it weeps ink.”

“Fry,” Fiona echoed. “Like… cook?”

“Exactly. Sear. Roast. Verbally crisp.”

Fiona didn’t know whether to laugh or leave. Hamilton was insufferable. But also… quick. Charismatic. He looked at her like she was interesting in three dimensions—and she hadn’t had that in years.

She was about to deflect when the tavern door slammed open. A man in a wig staggered out, red in the face and holding a quill like a weapon.

Hamilton glanced back, eyes gleaming. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe someone just attempted satire without a license.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the argument like a shark sensing blood in a seminar room.

The door swung once, then settled.

Silence returned.

Elliot exhaled. “Cool. Great. So we’ve met America’s most confident drama major.”

Fiona sat down, hands trembling slightly in her lap. The bench was rough wood, worn smooth in places by time and elbows. She could feel the shape of every knot in the grain beneath her fingertips.

“Do you think that was real?” she asked softly.

“Real in the sense that he’s probably in every textbook we’ve ever owned? Yeah,” Elliot said.

“I meant… the flirtation.”

He paused. Looked at her sideways.

“Do you want it to be?”

Fiona didn’t answer.
She wasn’t sure.
She only knew that 1776 was louder, hotter, and more complicated than she’d planned—and somehow the date she was on had managed to involve time travel, colonial undergarments, and a potential future Founding Father who wanted to co-author fire.

And they hadn’t even found a place to sleep yet.