Chapter 10

Knock, knock, knock.

"Alexander," his wife called him from downstairs, "there's a messenger here for you." After a few seconds, her round face peeked from the door of his study. "He says he's got important documents that have to be handed directly to you," she added, lowering the volume, and went in her room.

Alexander whiffled lightly, he didn't like to be interrupted while working, and stood up to go and fetch those damned documents. Right before the entrance, a young boy was holding a small package and a note in his hands, waiting for him to personally take them. Hamilton looked suspiciously at the box – wasn't it too little for documents? – and took the note from the boy's hands. He recognised the calligraphy at once and quickly grabbed the package, thanked the messenger and went upstairs, climbing two stairs at a time.

I hope this will receive more appreciation than my last culinary masterpiece.

Alexander read the note twice – it couldn't be Jefferson, right? He hadn't spoken to him in ages. They were almost as strangers as they had been before their first meeting. That couldn't be right... could it?

He slowly opened the package, gently removing the twine and uncovering the content: it was – what was it? Three fluffy squared things had been piled in what Hamilton then discovered to be a very expensive fabric, with Jefferson's initials elegantly embroidered in a corner. He tasted a very small bite from one of those things – it was sweet...ish – oh god, it was delicious! Alexander ate the three strange cakes in a blink and then looked at the cloth again, while licking his fingers – should he return it to Jefferson? He didn't want to, but if that would mean seeing Thomas again, then there were no other choices. He quickly grabbed his coat and rushed to the door.

"Alexander, where are you going? Supper's almost ready," Eliza tried to call after him.

"M'not hungry!" he yelled back, striding out of the house.

"Well, at least take an umbrella with you, it's raining outside –"

But her voice echoed in the empty hall. She looked sadly at him through the window pane before closing the curtains with an angry move – her Alexander was more and more distant and she didn't know what to do.

***

In less than fifteen minutes, regardless being completely wet, Alexander knocked at Jefferson's door, wondering if he'd waken up so happy that morning, or if his mood had changed in the last half an hour. The maid peeped from the window before opening the door – gosh, it seemed he'd really scared her last time – and didn't try to block him when he entered the room uninvited. She looked concerned at the small puddle that was spreading at his feet and the water dripping from his clothes, but, in the end, she just pointed quietly at one door on the other end of the house and went to search something to mop the floor. Alexander softly walked in, trying not to disturb the perfect stillness of the room. At first he saw no one, but then he noticed that there was another door slightly open, from where the noise of the pouring rain entered the room. Alex opened the door to found himself on a wide porch, surrounded by a huge and luxuriant garden, in the back side of the house. Jefferson was sitting in a armchair whose seat back was so high it looked like a throne, except for the colour – it was covered in dark green fabric, decorated with golden doodles. He was reading a thick book, his concentrated face partially covered by his curly hair, while a pair of silver reading glasses made his countenance very serious – and definitely cute.

"Ahem," Hamilton cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Alexander," Jefferson looked up from his book and smiled genuinely, "that's new – not hearing you when you're less than a mile close," he joked.

"Ha-ha," Hamilton mocked him, "that's so funny, but I'm too sick to be noisy today." He faked a stomach ache, grinning to the taller man, who hid his laughter with a cough.

"You can't be serious! No one – ever – complained about my waffles!"

"Oh, so that's their name. I was going to call them puffy griddlecakes, but that's better"

"So, you liked them or not?" – was Jefferson really concerned about him liking his food?

"Yeah, of course I liked them," Alexander confessed, rolling his eyes at Thomas's evident pleasure. "Anyway, I don't understand why'd you do that. I thought we were busy hating each other again."

"Oh my – again? Why are you assuming that it'd stopped at a certain point?" Thomas raised his eyebrow, but it was crystal clear he was enjoying himself.

"Answer the question, Jefferson," Alexander suddenly felt the desperate need to know the reason why Thomas was talking to him again, "...please?"

Jefferson was very surprised by the grave tone of Alex's voice and stood quiet for a minute. He wasn't expecting Hamilton to forgive him so early – damn it, he wasn't expecting to be forgiven at all. After all, why should Alexander care about him? They'd been enemies for more than a year – they'd only talked like decent people a couple of times – why should Alexander want him back? And yet, Hamilton was there, soaked to the bone, waiting for an answer after he'd received a couple of waffles and a note without a signature. What did it mean? What did Alexander want from him?

"I – I missed you," he finally said, never breaking eye contact with Alexander's sincere eyes.

Time stopped. Now it was Thomas's turn to wait for an answer. He knew he'd said the wrong thing from the exact moment he'd finished uttering those words – but now it was too late, and Alexander was staring back at him with a terrified look.

"What do you mean?" he asked coolly, without looking away. His eyes betrayed him and Thomas saw a glimpse of hope beyond the harsh surface. "You don't even know me"

"I know you enough to say that I'm happier when you're around," Thomas pushed on, "and it seems to me that you're merrier too. Look," he urged Alexander not to go away, since the latter had tried to turn his back to him, "I know you're scared. But I'm pretty sure you're not afraid of me or my words." He gently put his hand on Alex's shoulder, "I think you're scared by your own feelings; but, Alexander, I can assure you that –

Alexander violently shook Thomas's hand off his body and began to walk away through the muddy garden, his boots sinking deep into the ground and his already-wet clothes starting to drip again.

He wouldn't stay any longer: that was pure torture. Was Thomas Jefferson actually confessing his feelings for him – a married man, who also happened to be his political nemesis? It was surely a trap, and he wouldn't fuckin' fall for it.

"Alexander!" a strong grip caught his arm, making him turn only to find Thomas's soaked figure standing in front of him. The rain was so heavy he almost couldn't see the porch anymore, and it was only a few feet away.

"Why?" Alexander almost sobbed while shouting at Thomas's perfect face. "Why are you doing this to me? Do you really hate me so much you want me hanged for sodomy? I'm a married man, for God's sake, how did you even conceived such a cruel trick?" He blinked away an angry tear, which quickly joined the stream of rain pouring on his face, and then simply stood there, clenching his fists in frustration.

Thomas's heart nearly broke – Alexander's eyes were looking at him with an imploring and hurt stare, silently begging him not to mess with his feelings.

"Alexander," he whispered softly, taking a hesitant step forward, as if not to scare a wild animal, "I'm not joking," and leaned his hands delicately on Alexander's shoulders once more. "Please, believe me, every single word I said is true – I'm happier when you're around, and I can't stand the times when you're not. Since you came into my life I-I don't feel so empty anymore."

Alexander's sky-blue eyes widened in surprise. He remembered clearly all the things Thomas had said when he'd talked about the people he'd lost – especially about the emptiness that remains after – was he telling the truth then? He stood wordlessly in front of Jefferson, the rain mercilessly soaking both of them to the bone and hiding them to the world. It seemed like a surreal moment, as if the time had stopped only for them. He looked at Thomas without trying to draw away from him, completely helpless.

Thomas moved another shy step forward – their faces were just inches apart now – and slowly surrounded Alexander's quivering figure with his arms, holding him tight for a minute. He felt that Alexander's breath was deepening and his heart was beating so fast he feared he would explode – was it Alexander's or his own heartbeat? Finally, he drew back just a little to lose himself again into his favourite eyes, and slowly – so that Alexander had the time to push him away if he wished to – leaned his face towards the shorter man's, pressing his lips on Alexander's. For a moment, Thomas felt complete again – Alex's tense body instantly relaxed and he eagerly kissed Thomas back, fastening his hands on his neck and pulling him closer. The rain was still pattering on their heads – Thomas's hair was a complete mess – and dripping from every inch of their bodies, but they couldn't care less. For a moment, everything was perfect and their wet kiss was the best they'd ever had. And then, the moment ended and Alexander separated from Thomas, pulling away gently but steadily.

"I have to go," he said in a grave voice. "I have so much on my mind right now and I need some time to think," he added quickly for the sake of Thomas, who was already staring at him with a regretful face.

"Please," Thomas held Alex's hand as if he feared to see him vanish into water drops, "come to me once you'll make up your mind. Even if you decide that you don't want to see me anymore, I would understand and respect it, but please – please come and tell me yourself." He seemed desperate.

"I promise," Alexander brought Thomas's hand to his face for a second, and then he was gone.

Thomas stood perfectly still under the rain for some minutes more, unable to accept that such a perfect moment was already over. Eventually, he slowly turned and dragged himself inside his huge and empty house.