Chapter Text
As like many things, it was Henry A. Wise's fault.
And also like many things, it was a fault he'd never own up to, but French digressed.
Anyways, it began like this.
The start of January in Washington City was marked by what one would expect. Endless clouds of dust at every corner, the unrestrainable odors of pets and livestock, and a Congress tuning into session for the first day and time of the year.
In the Capitol building, it took a moment before Benjamin Brown French could manage to squeeze himself inside, so crowded as it was with eager gallery attendees and congressmen, clerks and janitors alike. French was a stout man, just three days shy of his second week in the capitol, and a lowly House clerk at that. He was of tall height, typical of an alpha, with a sociable personality that did him wonders where looks could not.
Coming into Congress after a recess had made the building swell for French – and for any other man, the novelty of returning to work might have dulled as he turned to find the House floor just as crowded and noisy, hot and stuffy as he’d left it, and the floors just as tobacco-carpeted with unruly magenta. But this was French, a known optimist and so, the round rotunda, the grand and colossal architecture and enormous structures, stuffed with statues, more than made up for its failings.
Besides, Congress had gone off for the holidays, so this was technically still French's first week at work. Finding himself at the end of the House, French gave the men closest to his seat a jovial wave.
"Good day, good day, how was your off session...the name's Benjamin French... New year, Mr. Wise?" he asked happily.
Henry Wise, the Virginian Democrat, was an alpha ( as one could expect; Virginia had far more alphas than was natural, French reckoned ) and looked up at him with a surprised but very amiable grin. He looked just as French remembered him, which, granted, was only a week ago. Wise was energetic and dark-of-eye, brown hair brushed back. He smelled of frankincense, dye, and tobacco, which blended in nicely with the House. It also, French personally thought, was a more manly scent than his own, which he knew to smell of honeycomb, soft rabbit down, and mud. Still an alpha-y scent, no doubt, but odd nonetheless.
Wise exclaimed jovially as he beckoned French into a long conversation. Still working at the House, obviously, did you get the time to explore, well of course, you, Wise?... ah that seems very interesting, are you sure you can get that bill passed by next Friday?... French nodded along as he settled into the long talk.
"Fascinating...rather new to me.." French mused. "I've been doing my best to learn all the ins and outs though everything north of the Rotunda is basically a mystery to me-"
Wise cut him off midway.
"Good God, are you saying you haven't seen hind nor foot of the Senate chamber, French?"
He sounded alarmed.
French frowned at Wise's stance. "Well, no," he said. "I was hoping to master the southern wing first before trying my hand at figuring out the going-ons of the Upper House. Its not as though I work there after all."
"Are you telling me you had no guide to show you on your first day?"
"I was told we were understaffed." And really, French thought he could learn very well himself, so he didn't understand Wise's shock. Mr, Franklin had been more than nice enough already. But Wise’s dramatic gasp…
"You deserve a better position than to be a mere clerk, truly." Wise mourned. He shook his head, newly animated. "But we'll see about that. Well, French, I think it's hardly reasonable for Mr. Franklin to be depriving you of a chance to see what the capitol actually looks like! Good God, confining you here to this lion's den when you could be glimpsing Babylon itself..."
"It really is no matter," French said, trying to reassure. Wise didn't hear a word of it, his hand patting strongly against his fellow alpha's back.
"None-sense. You're going to see that Senate floor today, Benjamin, which you will be glad to know, is thankfully in session in sync with our own!"
"That's rare."
"Indeed, indeed, and you know that means Providence has a favor." The smaller man's smile stretched wide towards him. "So say, French-you do have a list of Senators you'd like to meet right? I could also get you some autographs whilst we're there..."
French's eyes widened when he entered the Upper House's floor.
There were no grand speeches at the moment, but animated discussion seemed to be occurring as figures meandered through the floor and gallery.
"Oh, it's large!" he said in amazement. His eyes gazed fervently over the scenery, the lively statesmen that he'd previously only seen in cartoons and newspapers.
"Of course it looks larger, it's an eighth of the population," Wise dismissed easily. "Exclusive club for egotistical show-offs."
Never mind that Wise himself was an egotistical show-off who aimed to be elected to the Senate. "I'm sorry to say that your man isn't here, French, Mr. Webster, nor Mr. Clay..."
In his heart, French felt a bit disappointed that he couldn't see either of the two celebrities, but he brushed it off quickly. "No matter!" he said. "It's fine, I'd love to see some of your friends instead."
French felt plenty giddy as he looked around the vast room. The amphitheater-like ceiling, a dome, added such a great flavor to the room even if it did screw up acoustics.
Oh, there was Mr. Clayton! French felt himself squeal internally. And oh, God, Senator Thomas Hart Benton!
French could feel himself becoming delirious from being within twenty-feet proximity of such great men. He was about to turn to Wise to ask if it would be rude for them to go ask the Vice President for an autograph when Wise suddenly yanked him along.
"Preston!" Wise yelled. French found himself unceremoniously thrown to meet a young man looking shocked at him. "Preston! Oh, my good deluded friend, you didn't tell me you were actually going to be here on the first day!"
"And you didn't tell me you've gotten elected here since I last saw you." Preston — William Preston? Yes, William Preston, South Carolina, nullifier — responded. "My God, Wise! It is nice to see you here, but shouldn't you have more to do?"
"Merely showing our good friend around." Wise responded. It was then that French suddenly found himself in the middle of a group of very interested folks tuning into the conversation. Wise's outburst had attracted a few gallery-watchers to come by and listen to Wise show French around to the Senate group.
"This here's Mr. French," Wise was saying. "Why, Mr. Harlem, you've met him before just last week, remember? Yes, of course, you all will love him. French here's a Jacksonian — no Preston, Jenkins, he won't bite — he's a — French, why don't you introduce yourself?"
"The name's Benjamin Brown French," French introduced himself hurriedly. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the looks suddenly on him. "You all call me Ben. I'm more than glad to be here, I've done my best to keep myself up-to-date on Congressional going-ons since my days in the Granite State, and I've always been interested in being able to even just talk to such outstanding statesmen as the rest of you! I — ah, blush to even say it. It really is such an honor to be here, even working as a mere clerk for the Union. An honor I can't forget."
Despite his concerns, it seems the men listening to his introduction didn't mind him in the slightest, nodding along pleasantly.
“You applaud us overly sir, 'tis no more of an honor for us to meet you as well!"
One of the brown eyed men around him applauded. "He speaks humbly of himself. You all should have met him last week at my house.. a jovial man, I cannot urge you all enough to invite him to your dinners in the future."
"Why French, from the Granite State — you mean New Hampshire, right?"
"Indeed, sir." French responded quick. "From the Granite State, bred and born, true and proud."
"And yet now you are in Washington-how is the difference?"
French felt himself relax quickly as he answered and asked a plethora of questions, feeling himself loosen into routine amongst the attentive Senators and fellow countrymen around him. "I've arrived here recently, so I can't say," he began, "...but..."
As he spoke, French was vaguely aware of Wise carrying on a conversation with Preston, the South Carolinian Senator.
( Emphasis on vaguely. )
"I really did think you were going to be absent for the week," Wise said lowly-he gave Preston a confused look. "Isn't Senator Calhoun supposed to cover for South Carolina until you finish with your family business? I thought...?"
Preston murmured back in response, responding to Wise's concern apologetically.
"I was," he said. He glanced worriedly — but most of the men were busy welcoming French into the conversation. "Originally, I planned on leaving just yesterday but I ended up turning back, stayed here. Mrs. Preston will be fine however, and I did get Martin to ride to get her and deliver my wishes."
"That's better than just leaving her behind, I suppose. What caused you to stay? God, did Senator Calhoun need to go back downstate to do something?"
"Well…" Preston gave his ear a sudden, wavering, scratch, before he shrugged, returning to Wise. "No, he's staying here too. It does got to do with Senator Calhoun, though, it's not his fault. You know. It is that time of year again for him, with the heat."
A nervous look.
"Oh!....And he's not using suppressants, isn't he."
"Nope." Preston said. "Just as adamant against using them as he always is. In his defense, he didn't want me to stay behind for him, I chose it myself, since I was concerned on how well he could handle himself while in the throes. Not that I doubt the Senator's ability to protect himself, and besides, I'm certainly no Hayne so I probably couldn't help him much, but I figured it'd be best for me to be alongside him in the case."
Wise shuddered.
"Well, dear God," he said. "That's certainly something. That poor man. How does he end up getting into these throes at the most inopportune times is my question."
"It's a bit worse than that, Wise. It… the throes started yesterday."
"Yesterday? It started yesterday? On the very last day of recess, sweet Providence. And he’s still coming to attend this session…are you sure he should be coming to the Senate today, if that's the case?"
"Well, I'm not one to stop a man on a mission to his state, Henry." Preston said, again apologetic. Wise gave another huff. "And he seems to be handling it well enough."
"It really isn't any good, Preston.” Wise shook his head. "I mean, come on, and here I was depending on you to get that letter down to Leah whilst you there, and here you are-"
"Oh, I sent your letter down with Martin-"
"Martin!?"
"He'll be fine. Wise don't worry, if it worries you so much, I have a copy of the letter. I'll send it again down to her by myself as soon as I can."
“You best do that. But Senator Calhoun is really going to come into the chamber like...well if worked through the Fort Hill Address that state, he can handle engaging in debate in that state, suppose.”
“‘Tis not that disruptive.”
”Isn’t it?”
”Well, not in his mind.”
”Pretty much everyone in this room’s going to be having the most egregiously uncomfortable erection, Preston, I can’t see-“
Wise looked a little red before he continued.
”…a situation where a second-day in-heat omega in a room full of alphas and betas won’t cause a disruption. But if this is his strategy to disarm his opponents I suppose I can’t complain.”
“I-“ Preston’s eyes suddenly flickered to behind Wise in alarm.
“Senator Calhoun!”
Oh, crap.
Wise whipped around on instinct. The grey-haired man smiled at Wise — taut, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Wise, which unfortunately was not the first thing Wise noticed.
”Senator Calhoun,” Wise said also, attempting to bring as much cheer as he could, through a sudden wave of hormones that forced his nostrils to flare. “You seem late to session today. Good day, good sir?"
”More than fine.” Calhoun responded courteously — he looked remarkably composed for someone who was currently a walking talking hormone release engine. If composure meant appearing haggard and sallow rather than wild-eyed, boneless, and collapsed-into-a-feather-pillow like he should've been. Especially considering the potency of what Wise was smelling. “I don’t remember when you changed Houses, Mr. Wise.”
”Indeed! I am merely preparing for my inevitable ascension to these hallowed halls to come about!” Wise smiled. He restricted the urge to breathe in too deeply and forced himself to loosen. “But until then, I belong in the lower wing and there alone.”
Where he was at least safe from embarrassing arousal induced hard-ons caused by someone.
“May you join us soon,” Calhoun agreed, and even his voice sounded more arousing like this. He didn’t shake Wise’s hand, which was great because the pheromone scent had gotten him hard, and he really didn’t want to have any embarrassing…accidents on the Senate floor because of the Union’s worst treasonous fanatic. It truly was with great misfortune that Henry Wise admitted he was kind of attracted.
He gave a gruff mumble of something or other until Calhoun’s steely gaze moved on.
Calhoun’s eyes lightened when he looked over Wise’s shoulder to the small ring of men conversing around French. A number of them had already turned in alarm, slightly conflicted looks on their faces as they realized the situation.
”Sir —“ Mr. Dawson welcomed, abrupt, as a chorus of acknowledgement went about. Calhoun smiled.
“Gentlemen. It’s one thing to be talking of a man behind his back, another to crowd around his desk while doing so.”
Preston blushed. Wise hmph-ed. Calhoun's voice was noticeably hoarse when he spoke, a bit quiet, but the small crowd dutifully stepped aside anyways, letting him sit.
”Ah, our apologies sir! We weren’t aware you were here…just discussing with Mr. French here, he’s a newcomer to our halls.” A hand pushed French forward.
”Sir!” French stuttered. “Benjamin Brown French, at your service.“
”He says you can call him Benny,“ Jenkins said.
” — uh, but not if the Senator — er…”
”Mr. French,” Calhoun said calmly, ignoring French's protests. “Well, I’m pleased to see that a new face is getting well acquainted in here.”
”Mm, he’ll be in the House, more often than not.” This was Preston piping up again, as Calhoun lowered himself into his now-clear seat. "Franklin's newest hired clerk."
Calhoun hummed.
”Is that so? Well, I pray you do well there French.”
French smiled jitterily. “Thank you, sir. It’s truly an honor to meet a statesman as yourself.”
”Mr. Preston, the morning session notes?"
”Sure. I hadn’t the time to copy down everything — “
” — though sir, you do seem somewhat haggard as of now. Is it because of a rut?"
A halt of motion.
French stopped, worried, as Preston stumbled handing over note-sheets, causing a few pages to fall clumsily to the floor, wide-eyed astonishment turning to look at him, but Calhoun’s flash of confusion and anger went unnoticed.
"…Not, not to do discredit to your scent or whatnot, but it really is heavy. Intense. A matter of concern, ah...”
”Would you care to repeat that sir?” Calhoun’s voice broke through the trembling quiet, slowly settling his papers on his desk.
For a blissful moment, Benjamin Brown French found himself oblivious to the way that the eyes of the group of southerners around Calhoun were staring at him. One of them slowly lifted their cane.
French blinked, not noticing the strangled quality to Calhoun's voice.
"Oh, is it because of a rut, sir," he said, repeating himself. "That you seem to be a bit undone?"
A sound like someone was choking on water.
Calhoun meanwhile, seemed to be struggling to maintain composure, simultaneously neutral, irritated, and offended all the same.
"Excuse me?" A man who was not Calhoun said. The man himself was currently staring at French sharp-eyedly, boring into French's skull. French was smiling as he spoke, but it wavered a bit as he sensed the hostility.
”I would love to know what gave the impression of that.” Calhoun said.
French gulped.
"Not that I mean anything. I didn't mean to intrude." French defended. "It's just, in this state, Mr. Calhoun, it's a bit clear that a rut having an effect on you, and while it is admirable that you've decided to continue attending session in this state, it may be best for you to retire from the Senate at the moment. Though if the Senator's duty to his state is as strong as it is, I …could offer some advice and help as to how to wean off the worst of the...if you desire."
He trailed off as the awkwardness lingered.
"Or not." he decided as he saw Preston carefully get up from his own seat. "My sorries, sir."
French knew he'd done something wrong before the first insult came flying at him.
"You brazen black-!"
"Wise, get this man under control!”
"Alright, I think we're done here!" Wise shouted, pulling French away again just as a roar went out. "Gentlemen, thank you, we’re done, leaving the Senate now-"
"Run back, you scoundrel! How dare you, stepping a foot into these floors just to —"
Oh, Christ! French thought in wonder.
"What did I do?" He squeaked, trying to keep up to Wise's footsteps.
"Nothing, nothing!" Wise snapped back as they raced back through the rotunda. He pushed and tugged French along. "Just keep moving, it'll be fine!"
"Are you sure-"
"Yes!" Wise said. And then he skidded to a stop, forcing French's legs to grind to a halt in tune with a lurching of his lungs. "Oh, my God, French," the southerner bemoaned. "Of all things, why would you say that?"
Despite Wise's sorrowful look towards him, French didn't know what he meant.
( In French’s defense, you have to remember that there were only three ways to tell caste. Scentage, appearance, and actual genitalia.
French, obviously, did not know what Senator Calhoun’s genitals looked like. Moving on.
Scentage was always individualistic, although relatives had similar scents ( Randolphs overwhelmingly smell of dogwood and indigo, Schuylers of cold rain and burning coal ) and when flared in the throes of heat, the smells of an omega would take up an arousing, milky, sedative, quality — a contrast to the heavier, rejuvenating, musky-meaty-mushroom scent of a rut.
As a beta, Andrew Jackson smelled of burnt hickory, gunpowder, bitter wormwood, and ripe apples.
As an alpha, Henry Clay smelled like mammal furs, washed leather, spider-dust, fermented fruit, and manure (according to the Jacksonians).
And usually, John Calhoun smelled of summer cotton, polished metal, a bit sour, slightly marinated. When French took a whiff, he took in a smell of additional floweriness alongside it… as well as the overwhelming stench of sweat, dirt, alcohol, and stickiness that to the untrained nose so often obscured even the strongest ruts in the chamber, making it so that French, as a man unacquainted with the Senate, really couldn’t smell the actual scent more so than its mere intensity.
And the scent was intense, like a rut if French had to guess — and so he guessed exactly that.
And finally, appearances. French wasn’t expecting the Senator to be an omega, and so he wasn’t looking for it. He’d also always imagined omegas to be smaller in stature, beardless, marked and mated, shy and demure ( look, he’d never met one before ) — and so, nothing like Calhoun. The Senator, who, among other things, was taller than most alphas, with a respectably broad shoulder width, a confident demeanor, a fiery face with burning eyes, and whose name already carried with it the fear and apprehension of a man already known for high political office and influence, attempted treason, rebellion, and even insanity.
All in all- very alpha traits. )
( So forgive French, for being mistaken.)
The rest of the day passed calmly.
French found himself busy with organizing papers, copying down notes and recording speeches and checking and filing reports and documents — a workload intense enough so that by the time his shift was over, the man had entirely forgotten the events of the morning.
Unfortunately someone else hadn't forgotten.
French was skipping down the path home, humming a tune under his breath, thinking of his supper, when he felt that something was very wrong behind him. A dangerous aura causing the hair on the back of his neck to stick up.
Oh, shit.
His legs barely found the strength to run a few steps before the cold voice behind him forced him to stop.
"Benjamin Brown French?"
Lowly growling, growling lowly. French squeaked, already ready to protest or give up or apologize. His heart almost shot out of his chest when he recognized the face.
"Mr. Dawson!" French scrambled, his eyes widening into a panic as he noticed the cane being brandished at him. "Uh, please —“
"You have some nerve, sir." Dawson interrupted, the kindness in his eyes from earlier long gone. "To dare to say such insults against Senator Calhoun so casually."
Dawson's lip curled. "And for a man like you, honor should be expected, and yet. Such slanderous behavior shan't to go unpunished."
French's eyes widened, very well aware of the lack of weaponry on him at the moment.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." French stuttered. "Please sir. I uh, apologize. If this is about Mr. Calhoun, I swear, I didn't mean to mean anything, I just thought to show my concern —"
"You dare think yourself worthy of his name?" Dawson demanded. He practically roared his following insult. "You sick scoundrel! Damnation would be a gift to men like you. But should you go to heaven, I shall send you there with my blade myself!"
Dawson lunged at French, a painful blow ( a kick ) suddenly sending French to the ground.
"Aah!!" French screamed, off balance, colliding in agony as series of blows against his ribcage ( and his head crashing against the pavement ) sent shots of black stars dancing in dizzying symphony in his vision. "Please!" the man begged, terrified- his eyes squeezed shut.
A foot sent a shot of pain crashing into French's face —
A brown staff crashing down onto French's head.
French screamed.
"Please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh, God oh — !"
And then no blow came.
French's eyes pried open by themselves, quivering as they did so.
"Please don't bully my constituents, Dawson," a new voice said.
French blinked further, his eyes widening. A heavy stepped figure protected him. Lying on the ground, French could only make out brown trousers, legs positioned between French's about-to-be-beaten form and Dawson's cane. A blue coat and a head and jawline.
But French recognized the voice.
And the cranium outline, but mainly the voice.
"Senator Webster." Dawson spat, confirming to French's confusion, headache, and yet now, awe. The raven-haired man glared at Dawson evenly. "You know what that bastard said to Senator Calhoun in the room, sir. Such actions cannot be excused."
"I heard." Webster said calmly. "'Twas a most offensive statement. And yet you will excuse them, at least for now."
"That's not enough, Webster, and you know it. Step the hell aside and let me at him!"
Before French could register it himself, he realized he had changed his position from on the cobble path, to hugging onto Daniel Webster's leg — like a child — trembling. Webster continued to speak.
French noticed that Godlike Daniel's beta-scent was flaring ( flaring! on purpose! the fanboy part of French's brain noted. Ah, of course Daniel Webster would know how to purposefully alter the intensity of his scent, something notoriously difficult to do), permeating the air with the all-encompassing odor of saltwater and books.
French would have coughed if he wasn't too busy clinging to Webster's leg. He hoped he wasn't crying as he shoved his nose into the pant fabric.
"Will I?" Dawson was saying. "You are a damned man yourself, Senator. Don't expect to protect that worthless pile of trash for long."
"So I am…you have better things to do too than to be hunting down a poor man like this, like he is a beast. Plenty other men for you to chase, no?"
"Oh, but you better watch yourself, mister! I swear to God."
"Enough of this, Dawson..."
French's brain whirred painfully as he tried to keep himself fixed into the angry debate fueling the air above him.
Dawson and Webster continued having a tense conversation for the next few minutes before the former decided to give up, stalking off with a shout against them.
"Thank you, sir." French croaked once Dawson was gone from sight. He felt confused, delirious. He accepted Webster's hand helping himself up before babbling apologetically. "I really didn't know — I don't know what that was." he pleaded. "I don't, but thank you so much."
"Enough, boy." French found his breath hitch as he stared into Webster's famous face ( his eyebrows! and eyes! wow! it was almost enough to make French stop weeping ). "Benjamin Brown French, is it? You're safe for now, though you have managed to upset a few of the folks here…outraged on Mr. Calhoun's defense. Not including me, though now that you have gotten your nosebleed onto my pants...."
"How'd…why'd you come here?" French sniffed. "You were so fast…you must've known he was going to try and attack me."
"I heard from your friend, Mr. Henry Wise." Webster answered strongly. "He practically crashed into me, rambling about how you'd left immediately after your House shift was over. He was planning on picking you up fast to escort you home himself considering the drama you caused today —"
Drama? French echoed.
"— but you left too soon. Left the poor man scrambling to me instead. Telling me that if I didn't find you fast enough, you'd be, and I quote — 'be found dismembered in the streets with the knot cut off'." Webster gave him a serious look. "I do think he was exaggerating of course. For all his bravado, the worst Dawson would have done to you would be a slight caning. Yet I'm glad I found you anyways before anything too bad did happen."
"Thank you so much." French said honestly. "I honestly don't know what I did."
"That's what I'm not sure about either." Webster answered. "I heard about the little trifle you had with Mr. Calhoun—"
"We had no trifle! I talked with him for barely a hundred words, less than a minute."
Webster seemed to ignore him.
"—and I daresay that source made you sound like an incredibly perverted man. I am sure you are not. So why don't I hear your side of what happened in the Senate today?"
French stumbled as Webster gave him his shoulder to lean on, blushing as he did so.
"Go on, tell me." Webster urged.
"I…where are we going?" French asked before he explained. "My flat —"
"A friend." Webster responded. A soft expression came over his face. "Acquaintance, colleague of mine… another Senator, he'll be able to help you even more than me. No doubt Dawson and others are going to come back to try and pick a fight with you, so we're going to need a good power player and compromiser to deal with them and explain the situation for you."
"A compromiser?" French wondered. "Like… Mr. Clay?"
"No." Webster said, and then —
"Well, yes. But first, no. We are going to Mr. Clayton first in order to patch you up, and then we'll give a call to the Great Compromiser himself if he's available. But in the meantime, getting your perspective on the story is more important."
French gulped. "I really didn't want my first meeting with you or Mr. Clay or Mr. Calhoun to be like this." he muttered sheepishly. "...I'm a big fan."
Webster's eyes might've rolled as he responded, gently pulling French's dazed, dusty, bloodied body along as they walked. "You can get an autograph," Webster said, "After."
He tilted his head to gesture at French vaguely. French understood, wincing in acknowledgment.
"It began.."
( It would be mean and unfair if one didn't consider Dawson's perspective of the fiasco, so let's backtrack.
From the perspective of Dawson and the Calhounites, well, they didn't have insight into the workings of Benjamin Brown French's mind. They were not aware that French was operating on the assumption that the infamous Cast-Iron statesman was an alpha ( to French, the idea of an omega statesman was a contradiction in and of itself ) and thus assumed that when French asked 'is it because of a rut?" he operated with full knowledge of Calhoun's omega-hood ( for lack of a better term ). Thus, assuming, that French operated with full knowledge that Calhoun was experiencing a heat.
And so, because of this, instead of asking Calhoun if he was sick because of a very annoying annual biological mating episode ( which French could relate to, being an alpha himself ) as he intended, French had, in the eyes of everyone watching, had done the equivalent of asking if Calhoun was sick because he was being fucked silly by an Alpha secret lover.
In the middle of the Senate chamber.
In full view of the gallery.
And, if it wasn't already clear, French was also very clearly a Northern Democrat.
An alpha northern Democrat.
An alpha northern Democrat, who, as a result of only moving into Washington less than two weeks ago, had basically provided Dawson and company with no context to what his intentions would reasonably be in this scenerio, leading them to assume, reasonably, that French was either taunting the omega statesman, or hitting on him considering how he followed up on his statement by implying that he could be Calhoun’s Alpha paramour ( which he proposed in public. )
If it was a taunt, well, it was a disgustingly brazen and unprovoked low blow by a Northern stranger of a rival political party.
If he was attempting to hit it, well, Calhoun was married for one, and considering caste, French would have implied Calhoun to be in the position of a wife.
In either case, it would be worthy of a duel.
( And not to mention, of course, the Nullification Crisis had just ended— a crisis which was marked, as many nullificationists could easily remember, by a plethora of attacks being waged against Calhoun by a Democrat press that at some point transcended politics and entered into the realm of...disturbing commentary on omega-caste to say the least. )
(This insult was absolutely on a number of the congressmen's minds as they heard French speak. )
The point was, French would've been dueled with...had he been another statesman. He wasn't, he was a lowly clerk, below Dawson's social status, even. A duel would have been too nice for a man like him.
He wasn't and so, instead of a duel, the only other option was getting beaten up outside.
French wasn't getting out this with his limbs intact. )
Webster and Clayton both said nothing when French finished telling them what had happened, though judging by the look they shared...French knew he was going to be have to be concerned.
Despite his concern, and his worry about meeting the famous statesman, French couldn't help but find himself comforted when Clay easily let them inside, the door blowing wide to show a modest rented room.
"Sit down, sit down," Clay urged them as he ushered them onto the sofas ( a nice dark green color ). His eyes sparkled immensely when he looked at them, wide face recognizable to French as the sky itself. His mouth really was large.
French felt like a schoolchild about to be scolded by a schoolmaster.
”It’s a mighty odd time to make a call, Mr. Webster, Clayton — might I ask which honorable guest is this?”
”Benjamin Brown French, sir, new House clerk.” French swallowed.
His eyes widened as Clay shook his hand. ”Pleased to meet you, Mr. French,” the blue eyed man said.
“New here…ah, yes, just shy of your two week initiation, aren’t you?” he asked. “Wish you the best of luck, the House is an honorable institution. So what are you here for?”
Clay looked up at the last sentence to look expectantly at Clayton and Webster, whose faces were sour and painstakingly neutral respectively.
”He’s here to ask you to solve a bit of a minor scandal…misunderstanding, really.” Clayton explained.
“Oh?”
”He spoke out of turn in the Senate. Representative Henry Wise of Virginia was showing him around the floor, and during that time French made a comment to Mr. Calhoun that was misinterpreted, and ah, to say the least, a number of the Calhounites are out for his blood.”
When Clay looked back, it was obvious that he was just now registering French's slightly bloated face, where the scraping of granite and roughed him up a bit, though the kicks he'd received from Dawson had mainly bloomed in his gut instead.
”Is that so?” Clay looked back at French. The statesman held out a bowl of fruit to him, chewing some himself. “Well that’s a tad concerning, what’d you say, boy?”
French felt himself grow sheepish.
He mumbled. "I asked Mr. Calhoun if he was sure his rut was finished."
Although Henry Clay's smile didn't falter, his eyes went as wide as saucers. French didn't know what he felt about that, the idea that the Great Compromiser himself was looking at him like he had two heads. It gave him an urge to cringe into the floor.
"You did what?" The usually dignified statesman shrieked. He set the bowl down carefully onto the table.
"He asked if Mr. Calhoun was sure he wished to stay in Congress before his 'rut' was over." Clayton remarked.
Clay's eyes widened even further, flabbergasted.
"He did what?"
At this point, with the sudden change in Clay's demeanor, French was starting to feel a bit insulted on his own behalf.
"What?" he demanded, feeling his temper blow a bit from the confusion and sense of incoming embarrassment he felt he was soon going to suffer through. "It wasn't a bad question to ask in my defense — a bit out of place for me sure, a bit improper, but it came out of reasonable concern! He was clearly looking sick of it — I was merely concerned for his health and I don't understand the blow up! What'd I do wrong? God — did I break some social code or what with the Calhounites, sirs?!
Clay opened his mouth wordlessly, giving Webster a disbelieving, flabbergasted gaze.
"Mr. Calhoun — his — was it —“
"It was his second day."
"Sweet Providence."
Henry Clay threw back his head in a way that made French frown in discomfort. "Oh my Lord, he doesn't know." The Great Compromiser whispered. He struggled to hide his amusement. "He thinks…he's an alpha. Webster, oh my God, my God, Webster, I can't."
Webster answered French when he turned around.
"Senator Calhoun's an omega." Webster explained.
His words caused a jolt within French.
"You accused him of having an extramarital affair with an alpha. While also making it sound like you were flirting with him yourself."
"I…what?" French shrieked, flabbergasted.
“This has to be a record." the Compromiser said in dumbfounded awe. He looked at French with a pitying look.
French shook his head.
"That can't be true!" French said in alarm. "Mr. Calhoun is an omega? How'd he even get elected then?"
He felt a blush creep over his face. Senator Webster seemed to be dismissing French's words breezily.
"Same way most do —" he said. "Supporting an unethical and unwinnable war against the superpower of the day, and then proceeding to enter the Executive branch, riding on the coattails of Presidential candidates… you know his electoral history, don't you?"
"Yes, but not…how didn't I know his caste?" French squaked. "That feels…if it's common knowledge… I should've known that-"
"Precisely why northern infrastructural projects are necessary for our nation's survival." Clay smiled. "Washington City knows because the news travels easily here…at some point it's easy to forget that there are parts of this nation who don't know, no? Webster, jot this down, we should add this to the list of reasons why railroads and a widespread news network is essential for this Union."
"One man's mistake does not good political fodder make, Clay." Webster responded shortly. He sighed, looking back at French, and then back at Clay.
"But more importantly…the issue we came here for. More than just being scent-blind, Mr. French is at great risk of getting sliced lip to ear, if he doesn't find some way to appease Dawson and the nullifiers at this instant. And though I'd hate to barge into business that isn't mine… it's also in my interest to not have one of my constituents killed, and in yours too, Clay, to not have a riot on the streets because of one man's blood being splattered over cobble roads."
"That does seem to be serious." Clay agreed.
"I could be ripped to shreds for this." French bemoaned.
Clay looked over his head to Clayton, who's sour expression hadn't changed.
"But say… Clayton, these men here, they came to you first. You couldn't help this poor man with his crisis?"
"I don't really have the leverage to get Mr. Calhoun to get his acolytes to end their rampages, Clay." Clayton remarked. He smiled. "That's something only you can do."
Clay snorted, his white-blond hair falling into his eyes as he changed his position on the couch.
"Right, right." the man muttered. "I suppose I'm just the poor alpha to be thrown to the feet of the rabid wolves at every turn, aren't I?" he sighed.
Was poor alpha an oxymoron? French gulped. "Either ways," Clayton said. "Washington City's been incredibly peaceful these past few months for a reason. No party wants to pick a fight at a risk of blowing a fuse that'll ignite the whole Congress. It'd be in everyone's best interest that that ignition doesn't come from French here's blood being spilled on the streets."
"Might cause a riot between the Houses," Clay mused, "Might blow a fuse between the Calhounites and Jacksonians again, north and south…and we all know where the last one leads...well, great going, French, you ought be plenty proud of yourself, setting off such an alarm!"
"I'm sorry for causing this, sir, I didn't mean…" Pain hitched French's voice. "I just didn't know…"
"He's catastrophizing." Clayton reassured, pressing down on French's shoulder soothingly. "It's fine, Mr. French."
"But that's not the point!" French almost wailed. "How didn't I know?! He literally smelled like he was in a rut."
Almost immediately, the three other men in the room flinched.
"I don't understand!"
"…Webster, Clay, stop chuckling!" Clayton bit out.
"No, it's much more in tune for someone to slice his knot off instead."
Look, in all honesty, Clay didn’t mean to laugh that much. Despite caste being open knowledge in Washington, it wasn’t something that was overly broadcasted elsewhere in the nation, and it was easy to misidentify even the most obviously scented individuals. Considering the fact that omegas were so rare, it wasn’t a fault that French, like many, could immediately assume that any statesman had to be either an alpha or beta.
So of course, French made a mistake. Anyone would. Who would imagine an omega in public office — and much less the infamous John Calhoun?
In fact, to put it into context, for the majority of the late 1600s and early 1700s, male omegas was literally an oxymoron. They didn’t exist. Thanks to the Womb Superseding Law, all omegas by default of having a womb, had to be women, and the separate sphere of influence, power, responsibilities, expectations, or lack of, that came with.
It took until 1731 for Womb Superseding to be completely repealed throughout the British Empire, replaced with the First Emergence Clause. That had caused such an uproar that when 1789 came around, one of the first things that the Framers had to do was single out the issue in the Constitution, saying “Yes-we-now-cement-the-rights-of-male-omegas-as-men-determined-by-first-emergence-genital-mutilation-bad-the-law-of-Womb-Superseding-is-null-and-void-(good-god-seriously).”
And even then, the issue has been shaky. Certain states would have been more than happy to kick that law off to the curb, if it wasn’t for a combination of luck, skilled politicking, and the more important issue of the 3/5ths Compromise taking precedence.
After all, think about it. The issue on omega men put the entirety of manhood in jeopardy. While the Womb Superseding law was in place, alpha-omega relations were normal, considered the same as marriage between male and female, sanctified by God, capable of producing offspring, et cetera. With the declaration of omega males, then technically....?
There was a legal gray area there, and Henry Clay had spent a not-insignificant portion of his legal career getting hired for those cases.
…So really it was kind of a wonder that Calhoun of all people would want to argue that the Constitution acted as a compact that could be nullified, considering that if it did get dissolved, it’d be him who’d no longer be able to step a foot into New Jersey while still maintaining a shred of dignity.
But hey, Clay digressed. He didn’t doubt that Calhoun could find a way justify his choices. he’d probably say something about how the rights of his constituents and state took precedence over self-preservation, and besides, the prejudice of the north was just another clear sign of the oppression that the South was suffering under.
"It's okay, Mr. French..."
"I'm…oh, God, I insulted him…I implied…I demeaned…is apologizing even enough?!" French practically wailed. Clayton was busy trying to soothe him as Clay and Webster awaited a response to their letter to the Calhounite mess asking for a meeting regarding the situation.
"It's more than alright." Clay said, promisingly, his gentleness a far cry from his earlier laughing fit. "Look, Mr. French, Benjamin, we're going to be resolving this easily. Just a talk, and the whole thing will be cleared up, good as new."
French tried to believe that. A part of him worried that he wouldn't be forgiven for his...his insinuations. He'd have to leave Washington as a consequence of that surely…he couldn't stay here if his reputation would just always be known as —-
He felt an urge to sneeze and weep. He barely managed to babble out a thank you as Senator Webster provided him a handkerchief to do exactly that.
"But until then —"
"We're going to have to keep you inside for a bit." Webster said. "A mere precaution…don't want any trouble just in case tempers remain high regarding Mr. Calhoun's honor."
"Christ, Webster, you make it sound like he has to undergo lockdown from assassins out to kill him."
"I just really don't understand…" French clutched the handkerchief tight in his hands. "I really didn't know…I thought President Ada- Quincy, was the only…"
He blew his nose. Webster pounded on his back affectionately, which was something that would have sent French into the stratosphere out of fanboyish awe if it weren't for his trembling at the thought of his life being ruined at the moment.
"It's fine, more than understandable." Clayton reassured him again. "We've resolved worse troubles than this, don't you fret, French..."
"Thank you." French sniffed. "But just...oh, dear. Could I ask you something, Mr. Clayton, Mr. Webster? Mr. Clay? It's a bit —"
"Just ask, French. It's alright."
"Does the Senator ever...do anything about his...heats? Or does he just go through them and the rest of the chamber is supposed to ignore it?"
Webster spoke first after a pause. "He doesn't really…well, up until '32, Senator Hayne was helping to manage them for the rest of us, though recently it's been a matter of just ignoring it. Certainly, Senator Calhoun's trying his best to pretend they don't exist himself."
Senator Hayne...as in the alpha from the Webster-Hayne debates?
"O-oh." French blurted out before he thought. "Oh."
Clayton corrected in a rush before French could turn even more red. "Not like that. Definitely not like that."
"Well, maybe —“ Webster mused.
"Definitely. Not. Like. That."
Webster raised his arms up defensively.
"You're right, you're right. Though by God, really, while Hayne was here, it was much easier to tolerate his heats when they happened…we really should drag him back here, Clayton, get Calhoun to keep him as his pheromone stabilization pet somehow..."
By now, French could feel himself calming down.
See, the thing about being an omega was that it really depended. You were male until you weren’t and by that, it really meant until it was more convenient otherwise. And marriage — and childbirth — was a constant hassle.
Look, there was a reason why John and Floride Calhoun ( a very fine Southern beta woman by the way ) were never in the same place when their ten children were getting birthed, and that reason was to make it very clear just who wasn't birthing out these babies.
There was also a reason why they could get married and that was because, to be very crude, despite both of them technically having uteruses, only John had a dick to do the impregnating, which proved his manliness. This was great.
In an alpha-omega relationship on the other hand, the presence of two dicks meant that the omega ( with the dubious privilege of having a uterus ) was now e-masculated and no longer really had that privilege of being a man now that the veneer of normalcy was more or less shattered. This was not great.
Not that it was that big of a deal of course -for Calhoun, his reputation as an honorable statesman and leader of a bloc of very distempered nullifiers was enough to stop the worst of the attacks and commentary from getting published, and there were more important things to drag about him than being an omega anyways.
John Quincy Adams wasn’t as lucky.
If Quincy never had to see another Corrupt Bargain cartoon featuring a very feminized version of himself providing ( a very exaggeratedly) alpha Henry Clay a cabinet position in exchange for being pregnant with his American System offspring, well. It wouldn't be too soon.
They ended up resolving the conflict by late evening.
"Well that was close." Clay said after a long sigh. He gave Webster a vaguely disapproving look. "You have to keep your constituents in check, next time, Webster. French, that poor lad! At best he almost made a mockery of himself in front of all the country, and at worse…I shudder to think of the scandal that might have broken out."
In Clay's hands, he held a bowl of assorted cran-, black-, rasp-, and dewberries, gently shoving them towards the direction of Webster. Webster gave a low snort, plucking a black fruit from the bowl, wincing as he bit into it to reveal an overly sour inside.
"These are out of season." he grumbled, as Clay continued speaking.
”But you are in luck, Webster. I managed to talk it through with Dawson and the rest of the Calhounites. We cleared it up, Mr. French won’t have to worry about being murdered on the streets anymore, but I would advise him to stay away from the Senate for the time being- they’re still a bit riled up in there. And of course, avoid Mr. Calhoun.”
Webster tossed some of the nuts beside the berries into his mouth, chewing before he spoke.
”French already wrote an apology to Mr. Calhoun about it. He’s been forgiven if what news I’ve gotten is true.”
”Good for him.” Clay said. “Really, my point is, French isn’t going to get any bodily harm done to him, but you should still tell him there’s a good change his reputation’s going to be damaged somewhat.”
”Is that so.”
”Mm-hm.” Clay chewed on a handful of berries. “He wan’t being careful and the wildfire of gossip spreads harshly. It won’t be so bad to ruin him, but you should remind him to brace himself. My advice to him is to either lay low and pray it passes, contact some of the Jacksonian press machine to defend himself, or at least try to stake a protective measure for himself with his friends or in the papers as a safety net when the insults start flying. Get a quick name for himself so he isn’t known as that-poor-bastard-who-tried-to-propose-to-Senator-Calhoun-on-the-Senate-floor for the rest of his career.”
“French would be better suited for the final option.” Webster said, speaking past Clay’s surprised ‘really?’
“The protective measure idea you mentioned. I looked into his diary whilst he was here…you advise him to make a quick name, I assure you he’d probably be able to do that just by religiously documenting the daily temperatures in the morning paper. Greeley’s in need of a new poetry section anyways, which he could do well in. He’s fairly clumsy, bad for lying low, and his Jacksonian links aren’t strong enough to contact Kendall at this point.”
”Webster, you read his diary?” Clay sounded affronted — fakely.
“There were good parts in there.” Webster said casually. “He’s funny on paper, less weepy than in person.”
”Hrm.” Clay mused. "Sounds interesting… though I'm not sure how much I want to ask you to divulge..."
Clay shrugged. “Well you best go and contact French about his new newspaper section. He is your constituent after all.”
”Would you mind calling in your favor with Greeley, first?”
”Why not…there’s not much better use of favors than to save the reputations of my fellow citizens, no?”
Webster shoved another handful of sweet-sour berries into his mouth, muttering. “Hopefully this’ll be the last stir French makes.”
Clay pressed a particularly large blackberry to Webster's lips. Webster opened his mouth to swallow.
“Now…he’s not the one we have to be worried about making stirs, Webster, I don’t think.” Clay pointed out. “Who was it that you say brought him into the Senate in the first place so this fiasco could occur again?”
”Wise.” Webster swallowed, tongue flicking out to lick at Clay's fingertips momentarily. The juice numbed his tongue. “What’ll you do about that?”