Chapter 15

By the end of the summer, Thomas was the happiest man in New York. After his first visit, they had found many other occasions to meet and, as soon as Alexander had been strong enough to walk, he'd made up a couple of excuses – that he would go to Mulligan's or to his office – and he'd spent many perfect afternoons and evenings with Thomas, just the two of them at last. Since Alexander was still recovering, they'd spent a lot of time reading in Thomas's library, sitting in the garden, when the evening was warm enough, and playing some duets – Alexander played a bit of piano and Thomas was skilled enough with his violin to transcribe whichever song Alexander's wanted to play. They'd carefully avoided talking about anything that could make Alexander upset, since the doctor had strongly recommended him not to participate in political debates and not to stress in general. However, Alexander was still working on his plans, he sometimes sat at Thomas's desk and wrote pages and pages of essays about the future of manufacturing. Those times, Thomas would look at him snorting and telling him that it was unbelievable to think that he, Jefferson, was lending his desk to Alexander Hamilton to work for the project he despised the most.

"You won't despise it when our manufacturing power will be stronger than Britain's," Alexander would reply, "when we'll be free to have textile products without trading with them anymore."

"Why do you always seem to love Britain when you make your public speeches, and to hate it when we're alone?"

"Because you never really listen, honey."

In the end, Thomas would always drop their arguments – he didn't want to stress him out. He still hadn't told him about his change of feelings, even if they seemed to be plainly written in every look, every gesture and every word Thomas addressed him with – how could Alexander be so blind to his love?

One morning, he went to his study to write down some counter argument to Alexander's plan – he was slowly dropping behind and didn't want to stop fighting for what he believed it was the right thing to do, even if that would mean to oppose the man he loved. He suddenly noticed a book, lying on the floor next to a beautiful ceramic vase he'd bought in France; he picked it up and looked at the cover, remembering the day when he'd retrieved it – it was Machiavelli's Il Principe. He hadn't noticed it the day when he threw the book away in desperation, but there were letters stuffed among the pages. He let the papers fall on the desk and hesitantly started to read the first one. It was dated July 1782, it'd been written during the war, and was signed by Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens. The more Thomas read, the more confused he felt – it seemed as if he was peeping into someone's private love letters and, when he reached the end of the first letter, he couldn't believe what he was looking at.

Adieu, my dear friend; while circumstances place so great a distance between us, I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters. You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens

Thomas put away the letters signed by J. Laurens and looked at the ones that brought Alexander's handwriting – why would he keep his own letters, if they'd been already sent to someone else?

April 1779

Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that 'till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you.

September 1779

I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful —. But you have now disarmed my resentment and by a single mark of attention made up the quarrel.

September 1780

In spite of Schuylers black eyes, I have still a part for the public and another for you; so your impatience to have me married is misplaced; a strange cure by the way, as if after matrimony I was to be less devoted that I am now.

Thomas put the whole lot aside – what was the meaning of those letters? He'd heard Lieutenant John Laurens's name before, but he couldn't remember when. Why hadn't Alexander ever spoken about him? Was it because he and Laurens were still seeing each other? Why were their letters in his book? And when the hell had Alexander stolen it? Too many questions. Thomas tiredly dropped in his chair, rubbing his temples and looking at the letters with a jealous gaze. Eventually, he collected all of them and opened the book again to stuff them in – that's when he noticed Alexander's handwriting on the very pages of the book. Did that asshole stained his book with ink?!

Dear Sir, I've stolen your precious book in order to put its contents at good use: I'll underline and comment every reference that can be linked back to your political figure, and I have all the intentions to use them as insults to your integrity in each of our debates – it will be extremely amusing to use them against you and maybe, one day, return the book. Or maybe not. Publius.

Thomas groaned – that stupid bastard, how dared he doodle on one of his books? He quickly turned the pages, discovering that Hamilton had scribbled them with side notes and ingenious ways to insult him – wait, is that why he'd called him 'Caesar' that one time? – but all the comments abruptly stopped after about three fourths of the book. He flipped through the pages till the last one, where he found other lines, written in very small characters. He put his glasses on and squint his eyes to read.

June 19th, 1790

If I ever return this book to you: your macaroni and cheese sucks!

June, 20th

Dinner was nice, wine was better. Company was boring. You said something very interesting though, I wonder if it was the whiskey talking or if you really think I'm hot. Didn't understand your sudden change of manners towards me at the end of the night.

July 15th

You're behaving very differently from the past weeks. I came at your house today but the maid didn't let me in. Was it all a game? Were you pretending to be someone you're not, only to soften me up before the meeting?

July 31th

You're an asshole again. I came to your house and no one answered at the door, not even the maid. So, you've confirmed to be an egoistic and deceiving prick once more. The one good thing is that you're not talking to me, so I don't have to endure your presence anymore.

February 25th, 1791

Yeah, take that! Stupid Jefferson!

March 3rd

I have to say that I find myself in a very odd situation right now. Never in my life I would have imagined to be kissed by my worst enemy. You said you're happy when I'm around and that pleases me more than I thought, but I still can't understand why did you mistreat me in the last months. I confess, my heart has been troubled since the time I saw you with Burr – I tried and couldn't forget the feeling I had when I saw your eyes, really saw them, for the first time. I felt as if I'd been blind until then, and they have taken me captive from that moment on – I became a magnet, or a sunflower, and now I revolve around your figure when you're next to me. Yet, how can I trust you?

March 14th

I've done a lot of thinking, but I haven't decided yet – or, I'd better say, I haven't understood my own feelings yet. How could we ever make this work when our ideals are so different? Will you hate me when I'll speak against slavery, threatening your precious belongings? Will I still hate you – yes, I hate you even now – for exploiting human beings? I won't change my mind on this topic, ever. Perhaps, one day, I'll tell you about John, about how bravely he fought against slavery in South Carolina, while also fighting for the freedom of our country and our citizens – all of them, whites and blacks. You wrote the Declaration, but you seem not to believe in that same document, written and signed by your own quill only a few years ago. How can I betray John's memory and stay with you, maybe love you one day? I won't ever love anyone as I loved John – no, I can't do it. I'll tell you I cannot see you anymore.

March 20th

I still haven't brought myself to tell you that I don't want you. That's because it's simply not true, I like you too much to give you up, and yet I can't stay with you – how mean is this world to the good souls!

March 27th

Yesterday I saw you with Madison and Burr – you seemed distressed, something in the way you walked wasn't right, and your eyes seemed deeper than ever. You didn't see me, fortunately, since I still don't have an answer for you. I'd like to know what it is that upsets you, to comfort you... to kiss you again. What have you've done to me? I've been bewitched and there's no escape for me – I'm tremendously jealous of Burr, he can come and see you every time he wants and no one would suspect, even if he's such a chameleon. God, tell me how to say no to this.

The last entry, Thomas noticed, had been added by Alexander right before his illness – it was dated June 19th, 1791.

A year has passed since I first ate your macaroni and cheese – they're still a terrible memory anyway – but I can't really wrap my mind around all the changes that have happened in these last months. In my life I've learnt that there are different kinds of love; it's probably the same essence every time, but it takes different shapes. I've loved many people in these years, as friends, as family and as lovers. The affection I feel for my wife is true and deep, but I wouldn't have chosen to marry her if there had been any possibility to marry and spend the rest of my life with John – she's the best person I know and I want her to be happy, but my love for her is incomplete. And now, almost ten years after John's death, I'm feeling whole again. I have so much to learn about you, Thomas, but I'm willing to do so.

When he finally closed the book, Thomas's heart was hosting a mix-up of different emotions. And so, Alexander was experiencing the same turmoil of feelings, he was facing the same difficulties he had been forced to overcome some days ago – yeah, he'd had to face the possibility of a life without him to understand that he wouldn't accept any future scenario in which Alexander wasn't with him. What would it take for Alexander to win his fears and love him?

***

Alexander kissed Eliza goodbye and walked steadily to the door – he'd regain all his strength and was feeling particularly good these last days, no bone-ache or stiffness of any kind.

"I'm going to see Herc," he informed his wife, and headed out.

It was a beautiful late summer day, the weather was starting to change and a light breeze was coming from the west, shaking the green and yellow leaves and making them dance elegantly in the frisky air. Alexander walked till the street corner, where Thomas's carriage usually waited for him, and waved to the coachman before getting in. The coach stopped a couple of streets before Jefferson's house and Alexander walked the remaining meters trying to look innocent, as if he was just taking a stroll.

"I can't wait to see our strategy play out." A voice came from inside the house, but it wasn't Thomas's.

Alexander slowed his pace and didn't enter Thomas's walkway, carrying on the main road. Therefore, when the door swung open and Aaron Burr exited with a cocky smile on his face, he was already some feet away from them. Unfortunately, Burr saw him anyway.

"Alexander, what a nice surprise to see you here," he greeted him as if the house was his. Alexander felt his jaw stiffening and his fists clutching in response.

"Aaron Burr, Sir."

"Mr Secretary." Madison face appeared from the door as the man followed Burr outside.

"Mr Hamilton." Another very controlled voice greeted him from the doorstep – it was Jefferson's.

"Oh my god, were you trying to conjure a demon or something? The three of you, all staffed together in the same room – that would be enough to summon Satan himself" Alexander commented bitterly.

"And indeed, here you are!" Thomas muttered.

"Scared of our partnership, are you, Hamilton?" Burr challenged him.

"Ha! You wish," Alexander retorted. "The three of you couldn't gather two brain cells to rub together."

At these words, Burr visibly tensed; meanwhile, Madison quietly got on his carriage and left without a second glance. Thomas, however, didn't know whether to close the door and leave them alone or try and smooth the situation.

"Come on, Aaron, let him be." Thomas decided to divert Burr's attention and placed his hand on his shoulder to restrain him. "He insults people so frequently that no one cares about his insinuations anymore."

Jefferson then turned to Hamilton and froze – uh-oh, that hadn't been the wisest move. Alexander's stare was fixed on the hand he'd placed on Burr's shoulder, and his face clearly showed disgust at Thomas's betrayal. Thomas hoped Alexander wouldn't do something reckless, it wasn't the right moment to make a scene, they were on the main street and everyone was watching them, for god's sake!

"Is that so?" Alexander's fists were shaking with rage, but he stood there on the sidewalk, motionless. He feared that if he'd moved even the tiniest muscle, he wouldn't be able to refrain from jumping down at Burr's throat. Thomas's eyes flashed at him with a warning, before he turned to Burr again, a friendly smile on his face.

"You're right Thomas." It seemed as if Burr knew that their camaraderie would make Alexander mad – who did he think he was, calling Thomas by his first name? – and began to walk down the street. "Can't wait to eat your macaroni and cheese again anyway –

That was the moment when Alexander's fist collided with Burr's nose, breaking it – he felt the delicate bone cracking under his knuckles, followed by the man's moan. Despite being taken off-guard by the unexpected blow, Burr quickly reacted and punched Alexander in the stomach, making him fall on his knees; Alexander had to take a couple of seconds to catch his breath.

"What the fuck, Hamilton!" Burr spat. "Are you out of your mind?"

Alexander took advantage of his hesitation and got up, tackling him and making him fall on the ground. He raised his fist again to hit and –

"Enough, Alexander, now stop!" Jefferson's voice shouted from behind him. Thomas's hand blocked his arm, while trying to drag him away from Burr. "People are watching," he murmured in a harsh whisper.

Alexander got up in bewilderment, as if waken up from a trance, and looked around. Some people were standing on the other side of the street, whispering his name and trying to see who was the man on the ground. Thomas was towering above him with a threatening look, confronting him as if he too wanted to fight.

"Take the long route and come in from the backdoor in ten," he hissed lowly. Then, he abruptly turned his back to him and went to Burr, helping him to get up and giving him an handkerchief for the blood.

Alexander turned around and walked away without uttering another word. He strode until he reached Trinity Church and then stopped a minute to catch his breath – he hadn't had some action since his fever and was feeling quite exhausted. He retraced his steps to Jefferson's again, walking considerably slower, and cut through the garden to go and knock at the back door. But once in the garden, he spotted Thomas's livid figure sitting out on the porch, waiting for him; he suddenly got up and went in, leaving the door open for him to follow. Alexander sighed deeply and entered the house, heading for the library, where he knew Thomas was.

"Thomas," he murmured, closing the door behind him, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me out there –

"What the fuck were you thinking, Alexander?" Thomas roared – shit, he was really angry, he almost never swore. "You punched a senator, without an apparent reason, in front of a crowd! If I didn't talked Burr through after you left, I would expect him to challenge you for a duel first thing tomorrow."

"He doesn't have the guts to do it, believe me. In any case, that wouldn't have been a problem, I know how to defend my honour."

"Are you willing to die on such a stupid quarrel?" Thomas was out of himself. "I thought better of your intellect."

"And what do you know about defending your honour, Jefferson? You never needed to fight for anything."

"That's not true –

"For some of them out there I'm still the immigrant, the bastard son – come on, even you called me that once!"

"I'm sorry, ok? But now you are the fuckin' Treasury Secretary of the nation! Christ, Alexander, what were you thinking, fighting like a jealous lad?"

"Burr was asking for it."

"What if he was? It's Aaron Burr, bon dieu, the man is only waiting for a chance to sling mud at you, and you act so irresponsibly?" Thomas was still yelling, but his eyes also showed some concern. "What if he begins to have suspects about the two of us? Madison's already understood that something's going on. What if you fall ill again because you were supposed to rest, but you're fighting with people on the street instead? What if someone tells your wife you were punching Burr in front of my house today?"

"I know, dammit Thomas, stop!" Alexander shouted back, feeling terribly guilty. "It was stupid and reckless – shit, I wasn't myself, ok?"

"I could see that," Thomas murmured sarcastically.

"It'd never happened to me before, I know I'm very touchy, but I've never reacted so violently – press excluded." He cast an irritated look at Thomas's raised eyebrow and carried on. "It's just that, when I saw you and Burr acting so friendly, without having to hide your relationship to the world, I felt jealous and lonely. Think of it, I've been my own man for my whole life, I always stand alone for myself in every discussion; and now that I finally find someone, that someone has to be my worst enemy, the one person I cannot even pretend to be friend with. I have to sneak in and out of your house like a criminal, while Burr – he can come here and eat your stupid macaroni and cheese whenever he wants."

A short silence followed Alexander's confession – Thomas felt his heart melting, but he couldn't give in so easily, Alexander had to understand why he'd reacted like that.

"I know the situation is not easy love." Thomas maintained an unemotional tone, still looking coolly at Alexander when the latter glanced up at his face with apologetic eyes. "But we're in this together, and we agreed it would be better for everyone if we kept pretending to hate each other."

"I know –

"But I think that you acted like that today because you still haven't sort out your feelings, and maybe we need to talk." He handed Il Principe and all the letters to Alexander, looking at him with loving but resolute eyes. "What do you think?"

Alexander took the letters with trembling hands, the pain so vivid on his face when he saw Laurens's handwriting, and at the same time – Thomas noticed with a pang of jealousy – a softness in his blue eyes that he'd never seen before.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I need to tell you about John."

They talked for hours, finally opening up to each other. Alexander frankly told him about Laurens and the feelings they'd shared; then he went on, confessing him the whole story of the affair he'd had with James Reynolds, how he'd surrendered to his needs after so many years, and how they blackmailed him for months. Thomas told him about Martha – that was something he'd never done before with anyone – and showed him a miniature portrait he had of her; however, to Alexander's utter dismay, he didn't have any letter to show him, since he'd burned everything after her death. Alexander cried a lot, he wept for his lost love, finally letting him go, clinging to Thomas's chest not to fall into pieces. Thomas held him for hours, caressing his hair and lulling him slowly while Alex cried his heart out, kissing him softly when he looked up at him with his sad and lost eyes.

"You know, I told Martha that I can't live without love anymore," Thomas whispered when Alexander eventually went quiet. "And I'm ready to swear to John that I'll take care of you, if you'll let me."

"Oh, John would have hated you, he was so possessive of me." Alexander surprised himself giggling. "But right now, I think he would be happy to know that someone loves me as he did."

"How do you –

"Yeah, do you think I haven't noticed how you look at me, Mr Jefferson?" he teased.

Thomas smiled and kissed him gently – good god, Alexander never stopped astonishing him. He drew back a little and looked in his adoring eyes. They were sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace, Thomas's back leaning against the couch, and Alexander comfortably curled between his legs, his head resting on Thomas's chest, or sometimes looking up at his face, silently asking for a kiss. For a quick moment, Thomas saw themselves from the outside, snuggling and talking, and felt the perfection of that moment.

"I love you, Alexander."

"I know."

"You little –

"I love you," Alexander whispered back, his face hid in Thomas's chest, his muffled voice barely audible.

"Say it again."

"Are you deaf?"

"Please, mon petit coeur, just once."

Alexander raised his head, looking right into Thomas's eyes – ah, the endless prison of his heart – they were burning with so much love.

"I love you, Thomas."

***

"Eliza, honey, I'm home."

"Alexander," Eliza's voice came from the kitchen, "you're late for supper hon."

"I'm sorry, you know Herc." He approached his wife and kissed her on the cheek. "When he starts talking it's hard to make him stop," he apologised, sitting at the table.

Eliza looked at him sideways, put a plate in front of him and quickly turned away to clean her hands on the apron that was hanging from the wall.

"So, you've been at the Mulligans's the whole day?"

"Yes, I told you before leaving I believe."

Eliza stood still for a moment, then abruptly turned toward him, her black eyes very grave.

"If you've been with him the whole time," she asked slowly, "why did he came to visit you here today?"

Shit.

***

Notes:

As you probably already know, the letters between Hamilton and Laurens are real (I wish I could write like that!) these are the links to the original letters:

1 - https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-03-02-0045

2 - https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0100

3 - https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0446

4 - https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0860

"Publius" is the name Hamilton used sometimes to publish his articles in the newspaper (he also published "The Federalist Papers" under this pseudonym); other times he used "A.B." (initials for Aaron Burr), especially when he wrote stuff that might be risky for his reputation... he was a genius.