"And if you just come through here, we can get you all settled."

George listened from one room over. He knew his wife had just brought a child - their first foster child - home. In all honesty, the boy was hardly a "child" at fourteen. From what the social workers had told them, he had been through a lot, especially in the past few years.

He honestly didn't know why he had agreed to this. He and Martha had always agreed on not having kids. Then suddenly she insists on them becoming foster parents? Not only that, but she picks one of the most "problematic" kids they can find.

As soon as he could hear his wife's footsteps exiting the newly furnished bedroom, he stood from his recliner. Might as well get this out of the way, he thought, making his way up the stairs. They had recommended an upstairs bedroom for the boy; he was prone to all sorts of mischief when unsupervised.

When he made his way to the doorway, however, he didn't expect what he saw. He leaned against the mahogany trim, taking in the sight of the kid: a thin, stooped boy with a head of unkempt black hair pulled out of his face, a rubber band holding the tangled locks in place. His face had almost a spotted effect; George couldn't tell if they were freckles, dirt, acne, or some combination of the three. His shoulders were slumped, and he appeared bored - or just extremely awkward.

George couldn't help but notice there was nothing in the room except the boy and what Martha and he had put in there to prepare for his arrival. No suitcase sat at the boy's feet; no backpack was slung over his shoulder. He lost track of how long he had been looking inside the room when the kid's dark eyes finally rose to meet his gaze.

The older man tried to stop staring, hoping to at least start off this relationship with a good first impression. "You must be Alexander. I'm George, your foster father. You already met my wife."

Alexander only nodded. Alexander Hamilton seems like such a big name for a tiny guy.

Another minute of awkward silence passed between the two.

"How about you hop in the shower before we eat dinner? I'm sure I can find you something to change into, at least for tonight. I'm sure Martha will want to take you shopping tomorrow."

Again, the boy said nothing, only following his foster father's gesture into the bathroom across the hall.

George sighed, making his way to his bedroom. Hopefully this phase won't last.

He settled on one of his old t-shirts that his occasionally stole to use as pajamas, as well as a pair of her flannel pajama pants. They were gender neutral enough, he figured, and it's only one night. They would probably fit him better than anything George owned, anyway. He hesitated as to whether or not to bother with getting him underwear for the night; that would be a run to store, as he definitely wasn't fond of the idea of sharing his underwear with the kid. Of course, Alexander likely wouldn't love that idea either.

He found an unopened pack of boxers in the very back of his drawer. They had been bought mistakingly several months ago, and were certainly a size or two too small for George to comfortably wear. He threw one of those pairs on top of the t-shirt and pajama pants and made his way to the bathroom, relieved to at least hear the shower running. He set the clothes on the floor just outside the door, knocking once and calling out, "Some clothes are out here for you."

He heard no response, but chose to just hope Alexander had heard him.

George returned downstairs and found his wife just starting dinner.

She looked up at him with a soft smile. "He seems like a sweet boy, doesn't he?"

He could only give a curt nod. She sighed.

"I know we weren't planning on having kids, but... I mean, this isn't like actually having one, right? He's already fourteen. No diapers or anything. And the poor boy has been through so much... Just try to bond with him?"

He leaned in to gently kiss her forehead. "I'm not upset that he's here, Martha. I'm just concerned about him causing trouble. You heard what those social workers told us."

"I know, but... Maybe he just needs some time here. Some stability in his life, for once."

"And a haircut."

She chuckled, looking up at her husband before her eyes returned to the stove, where she was browning some hamburger. "Yeah. That too."

George couldn't help but wonder... But he greatly hesitated before asking her, "Are you sure you're not just trying to replace-?"

"No." She cut him off harshly, her glare suddenly turning cold. "Don't even say that."

Thankfully, he didn't have time to further mess that up before Alexander came into the kitchen. He was wearing the clothes George had left, and they hung off his frame as if the boy were a coat hanger.

"Alex, honey." The warmth had returned to Martha's voice. "Dinner is almost ready, why don't you have a seat by window?"

Alexander did as she asked, taking a moment to gaze outside the window and watch a couple hummingbirds chase each other around the feeder.

Dinner was eaten in a prison of awkward silence, with Martha trying to make the occasional bit of small talk with one of the other two at the table. Unable to take it, George dismissed himself to his office with some lame excuse about having some emails to write to colleagues. They were made up, of course, and Martha probably knew it. He had no plans to come out until the kid had gone to bed.

A/N: Hey, guys. This is a little rougher around the edges than I normally like to make Washington, but variety is the spice of life, I guess. Thanks for reading.