short fic prompt: flinthamilton – “There’s blood on my/your hands.” could be pre-BS when james beat up the officers in the bar or sth post-S4 (bonus points if the blood is on thomas’ hands).. or w/e u want im down with anything just give me angst :))

ellrond:

It was the butler that entered the parlour and passed through the small throng of people gathered there, invisible in his movements. He troubled no one, was noticed by no one, and whispered the quiet message in his lord’s ear with no disturbance at all. Thomas had always admired the butler for his discretion. He felt Miranda’s eyes on him as he listened to what he was being told, and his jaw clenched. She was by his side in a heartbeat. 

“What is it?” she murmured, glancing around the room with an easy expression that did not correlate with the concern in her voice. 

“The lieutenant is here,” came the quiet reply. Thomas was less skilled at hiding his discomfort than his lady wife. 

She glanced up at him and took a sip of her drink. “Go to him. Everything is fine here. We can do without you for a little while.”

Thomas looked down at her and gave her a strained smile before kissing her cheek softly, and she squeezed his hand. He would be lost without her.

No one seemed to notice him leaving the parlour, or at least, no one paid him any mind, and he strode briskly through the house to the library, the room closest to the front door. Inside, one of the footmen was waiting with James and Thomas sent him away with a nod of his head and small word of thanks. James did not look at him. His coat was wet and still about his shoulders, his hat dripping. 

“It’s raining, I see,” Thomas commented, his voice far calmer than his nerves. James was not the sort of man to appear anywhere unannounced, let alone anywhere after midnight. Something must be extraordinarily afoot for such a visit. 

James made no answer but turned to face him. There was a small droplet of blood seeping down from one of his nostrils and shadows under his eyes suggested the first sign of bruising. Thomas’ jaw clenched. It appeared not as if James had been assaulted on the street, given the complete and tidy nature of his coat and gloves. A bar fight, perhaps. 

“May I ask what happened, or would you prefer some small talk first?” Thomas asked lightly, walking over to him having hardly missed a beat. He stepped behind him to slip his coat from his back and slung it over the back of a chair before taking his gloves and hat and placing them atop it. James was too shaken to let the absurdity of it surprise him and instead he let it happen. His hair had come free from its tie. Some strands stuck to his damp face. 

“Forgive me,” he began, voice unsteady and hands restless. “I shouldn’t have-”

Thomas held up his hand. “It’s quite alright. We had not retired for the night yet.”

The movement of McGraw’s hands drew Thomas’ eyes to them and his lips parted. 

“There’s blood on your hands.”

Without thinking, he took them into his own and brought them up to the light to examine them, turning them this way and then that, looking for signs of breaks or bruises. Three of his knuckles were split and there was swelling in both his hands and Thomas gently touched his fingers to feel for any fractures. “What happened?”

“I… it was in… I was…” 

It was difficult to even know where to begin. How was James supposed to explain to Thomas what had happened? It seemed so foolish now to think about, how he had so easily played into the hands of those men who wished to paint him as some sort of uncivilised heathen, some underclass wretch in fine clothes. A monster in disguise. He tried to steady his breathing. Was it hitched from anger or distress? He couldn’t really tell, but it was only Thomas here. He was safe to feel however he felt with Thomas. 

“There were men baiting me at an inn. Other officers. They said… they spoke insults.”

“About you?” Thomas queried. 

“About you. And Lady Hamilton.” 

James pulled his hands out of Thomas’, unable to look at him. It was too shameful what had happened, what he had done, what that man had said. Too shameful. 

“What did they say?”

“I would rather not repeat it, my lord.”

“Thomas. Please, I might better understand if I could know what they had said.” 

“Thomas,” James echoed. He took a deep breath, reminding himself who he was with. This was Thomas. Just Thomas. He could speak anything and know he was safe with Thomas. “He said that working with you would bring advantages a man of my station could only dream of otherwise. That you could secure connections and future employment for me.”

“A patronising thing to say to an officer,” Thomas remarked almost lightly, “but hardly reason to bloody your knuckles against them. What else did they say?”

“I… I would rather not repeat it.”

“James.”

The lieutenant sighed uncomfortably and avoided Hamilton’s gaze. “He said that if you liked me well enough, you would let me…”

“I would let you what?”

James grimaced. “Bed your wife.”

Thomas let out a short and quiet laugh. “Is that so?”

“Forgive me, my lord-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, James. I thought we were well past formalities. Come, sit down.”

Leading him to the window seat, Thomas looked out of the window onto the rainy street outside. James paused, looking down at him, and the other man met his gaze. “Come on, it’s not a trick.”

Still a little unsteady on his feet, McGraw sat beside him. In the soft light of the library, long shadows were cast across Thomas’ face, making his features sharper, more defined. In this light, James noticed, he was quite beautiful. 

“I wish you had not assaulted someone over a comment such as that. It would not please Miranda, and it does not please me. We do not care for the rumours that are whispered around London about her, or about me for that matter, and our closest friends do not either. As our friend, I ask that you do not concern yourself with them again.”

James looked at him, his lips parted in shock and eyes searching. “You think me your friend?”

A small smile appeared on Thomas’ face and he reached out to take James’ hand and squeezed it gently. It must be sore. “Of course. And we protect our friends. Make your apologies to Admiral Hennessey and I shall see to it that your station and appointments are not impacted by this… lapse in judgement. All I ask is one thing in return.”

“Anything.” James’ voice was quiet now, his eyes heavy with weariness  and fixed upon Thomas’ mouth, watching how his lips formed over every soft word. 

“Do not allow anger to get the better of you again.”

James drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth before answering. “Of course.”

Smiling softly again, Thomas carefully squeezed his hand and stood up. “Come along. Let’s get you cleaned up before anyone sees. We don’t want anyone thinking you’ve been involved in a brawl.”

It might have been a trick of the light, but James could have sworn that at that moment, Thomas winked at him.