Chapter 21

Note:

Before reading:

- Remember that in the last chapter Thomas and Alex were celebrating the beginning of 1792;

- The newspaper's article is the original one, I took it from here: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83025881/1797-02-08/ed-1/seq-3/ [it was so cool to read it on the scan of an original newspaper aaaaaaaaaa]

***

Thomas woke up at dawn, as usual, but kept his eyes shut for a couple of minutes, trying to relax and maybe sleep a little more – perhaps it'd all been a dream and he would awake at Monticello, living his good old life, even though his aching back was a concrete proof of the endless journey of the previous day. He groaned and opened his eyes to find himself in the hotel room he'd booked in Philadelphia, on 4th street; it was a simple place but very neat and comfortable, it'd do for a while. He sighed and got up, dressing quickly without really looking at the clothes – he'd always look perfect anyway – and combing his messy hair into a ponytail. Then he moved to the kitchen, were the fire was lit but no one was in sight, and so he decided to kill the time by cooking breakfast himself. He was about to fry some eggs when someone softly knocked at the door. There was only one person who could come so early, knowing that he was already up.

"Thomas, are you awake?" Madison's voice came from outside.

"A minute," he yelled and took the pan off the stove before going to open the door.

He stood aside and James entered the room with a very solemn air, waving a fresh newspaper in his hand.

"How are you feeling?" He asked Thomas before announcing the reason of his visit. "You don't look very well, did you sleep at all?"

"Barely." Thomas rubbed his eyes and turned back to his breakfast, sharing the food with James, who accepted it with a silent smile. "I don't know how to feel, I suppose I should be happy but I'm freaking out."

"Well, it's too late to have second thoughts now." Madison opened the newspaper and laid it out on the table, pointing to the short article at the beginning of the third page. "It's public."

Philadelphia, February 8, 1797.

This day agreeable to the Constitution, both Houses of Congress met in Convention in the Representatives Chamber, for the purpose of counting the votes of the Electors for the several States for President of the United States, when it appeared that there were for JOHN ADAMS, Vice President of the United States, and President of the Senate, seventy one votes, and for THOMAS JEFFERSON, sixty-eight votes. Whereupon the Vice President, pursuant to joint vote of both Houses, passed the present session, declared, JOHN ADAMS, President of the United States; and THOMAS JEFFERSON, Vice President – for four years commencing the fourth of March next.

"Congratulations, Mr Vice President." James shook his hand with a grin. "We'll make Adams regret his presidency for the rest of his life."

"He won't last more than one term," he agreed, "and by then we will have those damned federalists out of the Government."

Thomas sat and started to eat, already thinking about his plan of action, while James continued reading the newspaper distractedly. They stood in silence for a while and then, slowly putting away the papers, Madison eventually asked the dreaded question.

"Did Adam change any of the people in the Cabinet?"

"No, he didn't – Pickering is at State, Wolcott at Treasury and McHenry at War."

"Three federalists, and so the Cabinet is once more controlled by –

Madison hesitated, casting a quick glance at Thomas, who didn't even blink – he'd had years to lock his emotions under control again – and ended the sentence for him.

"By  fuckin' Hamilton."

***

"Alexander!" A sweet voice was calling him. "Alexander wake up, honey!"

He was on the doorstep of Monticello, waiting for someone to open the door. A black woman was passing in front of the house with a basket of clean laundry and noticed him.

"The master isn't home," she informed. "He went riding a couple of hours ago."

"Thank you." He smiled at her and sat on the porch step. "I'll wait here if it's all right for you."

She looked at him with an unimpressed face and went on with her chores. It was a beautiful summer day and the lawns around the mansion were covered with flowers, bees and cicadas – it was such a peaceful moment that he'd probably dazed off, because, after some moments, the voice he was longing to hear woke him up. However, the tone was very different from what he'd hoped.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

He started and got up at once, leaning on a column not to fall. Thomas was standing on the cobblestone path, several feet away from him, with a furious expression on his face and his arms crossed on his chest – Alexander knew that Thomas used to cross his arms when he was very upset, he'd once told him that it helped him not to fall into pieces. But nevertheless, his face and words were very clear.

"Go," he breathed heavily, "away."

"Thomas, please –

"I thought I've been very clear, Mr Hamilton," he cut him off. "When I said I didn't want to see you anymore, I actually meant it."

Alexander's face was already covered in tears, but Thomas didn't come closer; he simply held his arms tighter to his chest, breathing even harder.

"Can I stay just for one night?" Alexander sobbed. "I will be going tomorrow morning – please, it's been years since last time I saw you."

Jefferson's composure faltered for a moment and Alexander caught a glimpse of his long-gone Thomas, the one who always looked at him with a soft smile and loving eyes. But after less than a second, he was gone. Thomas walked right past him and opened the door, without even casting a glance to the other man.

"I want you out of here tomorrow at dawn," he hissed and entered, leaving the door open for him.

"Alexander, sweetheart," Eliza's tone grew a bit worried while she tried to calm her husband. "You're just having a bad dream. It's all right honey, I'm here, it was only one of your nightmares."

"I'm okay." He took a couple of deep breaths, holding Eliza's hand. "Thank you for waking me though."

"I would have called you in half an hour anyway, I'm almost ready to go."

"Don't you want to stay another week?"

"Honey, you know I love to stay with you, but you're always working and I don't know anyone here in Philadelphia. Moreover, Angelica will arrive in a couple of weeks and I want to be in Albany in time to welcome her home."

"You're right, she'd be too disappointed if she didn't find you there," Alexander agreed with a smile, thinking of Angelica's well-known exaggerated reactions. "I hope I'll be able to come and visit you as soon as possible."

He helped his wife carry her luggage to the carriage and kissed her goodbye, recommending her to send his love to the children and Angelica. He then stood there, watching the carriage becoming smaller and smaller, until it turned into another street and disappeared. He suddenly felt completely lonely; it was a feeling he'd grown used to by now, but still made him uncomfortable – even more by the fact that the cause of all his problems and sufferings was there in town once more.

"Fucking Vice President," he muttered before turning his back to the street and getting back home, carefully closing the door to stop the cold February air from following him.

He dressed quickly, carefully choosing his clothes – he wore the grey waistcoat and breeches that Thomas once liked so much, together with a brand new dark blue coat, and headed to the Presidential house.

"Hamilton." A familiar, yet unwelcome voice called him.

"Oh fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Burr! Haven't they kicked you out yet?"

"You're sweet as usual, Alexander." He smiled his fake smile and narrowed his eyes. "I thought Adams said he didn't want you here."

"I don't fucking care what that fat motherfucker says," Alexander retorted bitterly. "He's always in Quincy anyway, so how would he know?"

"I would be careful if I were you, Alexander," Burr said in a low voice, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "I've heard some interesting rumors lately, about a certain Mrs Reynold."

"Are you threatening me?" Alexander was shocked – when had Burr become so bold?

"I'm just saying that this kind of gossip spreads very quickly – I can't imagine what it would do to a former politician's public image." He grinned viciously. "So maybe you should be more careful not to piss people off. Have a good day, Mr Hamilton."

Burr left him standing outside the entrance, slamming the door behind him to underline the fact that Hamilton was not welcomed there. Alexander was astounded – he'd been just threatened by a person he'd once considered a friend; he knew Burr was morally bankrupt, but he would have never expected him to act in such a pathetic way in order to gain what he wanted.

He stood there for a couple of minutes, trying to cool down. However, when the time to get in came, he hesitated, his hand on the doorknob – was it better to go home and surrender to Burr's threats, or to keep ignoring people's continuous criticism, as he'd done for his whole life?

"Can I help you?"

"You can go fuck yourself –" Alexander answered immediately, recognising Jefferson's voice. No matter that other two years had passed from that damned night he'd spent in Monticello, he could never forget his voice. "– Mr Vice President," he added in a mocking tone, facing him with his usual daring stare.

"Old habits never change," Thomas commented sarcastically, looking at him up and down with a snobbish stare.

"You can shove your sarcasm up your ass," he growled – shit, this shouldn't have happened like that, Alex thought, why did he always insult people, especially the ones whom he resolved not to?

He abruptly turned away from Jefferson and entered the house, slamming the door on Thomas's face. A few steps away from them, Madison had witnessed the whole scene with a concerned look.

"Thomas –

"I'm okay," he said quickly. "You don't have to worry for me, James."

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know."

When he was asleep, Alexander was gorgeous. Thomas had always preferred him awake, because that way he could see his eyes, but this time it was easier to look at him while he was unconscious and relaxed, as if all their problems had never existed; as if those last two years apart had disappeared. When Thomas had seen him on his doorstep that afternoon, he'd felt his heart explode; it was totally unexpected and terribly beautiful to have him there. All the memories of their last time at Monticello had hit him at once, making it hard to breathe – fortunately, Alexander had been taking a nap on the doorstep and Thomas had had the time to recover a bit. Thomas still remembered the promises they'd made to each other, the certainty that their love would have overcome everything else; and yet, here they were. All their promises had been broken, as well as their hearts.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Go away." It was too dangerous to have him there, he couldn't risk to give in to temptation and ruin all the work he'd done in the last two years.

"Thomas, please –

"I thought I'd been very clear, Mr Hamilton. When I said that I didn't want to see you anymore, I actually meant it." It was a lie, of course, but Hamilton had been so devastated by their breakup, he knew his words would strike a nerve.

Alexander had cried and Thomas had almost gone mad. Every single cell in his body had been screaming at him to go and hug him, tell him that everything was going to be all right and that he could stay forever. He'd felt his own nails digging into his flesh and had focused on the external pain, ignoring the inner one.

"Can I stay just for one night? I will be going tomorrow morning – please, it's been years since last time I saw you."

Thomas had felt his willpower falter and he'd finally given in. He couldn't leave him outside the whole night anyway.

"I want you out of here tomorrow at dawn," he'd heard himself saying.

They hadn't even dined – it was too dangerous to talk, they could've ruined those precious hours together – and so they'd spent the rest of the evening and night in Thomas's bed, expressing their love without needing any words.

But was it love? Thomas wondered while filling his memories of Alexander sleeping. No, it was only a shared need to feel the shadow of what they once were. Before he changed his mind, Thomas quietly got up and scribbled a stone-cold note to Alexander, softly kissing the paper before throwing it on the bed and stepping away, a single tear escaping his dark eyes.

As soon as he was alone, Thomas curled on the floor of his study, fastening his arms around his legs and thinking of something pleasant to avoid the umpteenth panic attack. The problem was that the only thing that had always helped him to go through those moments was the memory of Alexander taking care of him; but this time he knew that Hamilton was barely a couple of walls away from him, and that he didn't care about him. Thomas hadn't seen Alexander from that night in Monticello – a night that had been so perfect that Thomas started to doubt it'd really happened; and now that he finally talked to him, the self-control he'd spent years to build back almost cracked on the spot. Alexander, however, was perfect as usual, beautiful and passionate, ready to swear and fight everyone and everything – the man Thomas had always loved.

Thomas cried while trying to breathe, his control slipping away from him. He'd really thought that he was ready to come back, but he wasn't.