Chapter 22

A/N:

Please don't hate me, I'm so sorry they broke up, the reason will eventually come clearer in this chapter and the next one ;-;

I too love them better when they cuddle, but right now they need to work their shit out and it'll get a bit sad, but good things come to those who wait!

Love you guys, thanks for your support <3

***

Alexander entered Jefferson's house from the back door with the keys Thomas had given him some months before and called him out loud to announce his presence. Jefferson hadn't been at work that day and even Madison hadn't heard from him; Alexander had decided to stop by before going home, just in case he needed anything.

"Jefferson," he called again, "I know you're scared of losing again against me, but you'll have to come back to work eventually."

No one answered, so he went to check in the library. Thomas had fallen asleep on the couch, he was dressed as if he'd been ready to go out but had suddenly changed his mind; a three-page-long letter was lying on the floor, right next to his relaxed hand that was swinging loosely from the side of the couch. Alexander smiled at the sight. He was silently tiptoing closer to wake him up, when he noticed the letter's signature: it was Adrienne de La Fayette's, the Marquis's wife. Perhaps it was his sixth sense that alerted him that something wasn't right, or maybe it was the shivering that went through his spine at the sight of the name, but he found himself reading the letter without even asking Thomas for permission to go through his private mail.

"Holy shit!" He read quickly, even though the handwriting was blurred, as if someone had poured water on it on it – or were they tears?

"Alexander?" Thomas's sleepy voice distracted him from the letter. "What are you doing?"

Thomas's eyes were red and puffed, his face was tired and afflicted. Alexander immediately moved closer to him and took his hand, scanning his face with a concerned look.

"I came here to check on you, since you weren't at work," he explained, "and then I found this."

Thomas looked at the letter with a dreaded stare, his mouth opened but he couldn't talk and his eyes filled with tears again. He lowered his head and started crying again, confirming Alexander's fears.

"Is he – dead?" Alex asked in a cracked voice, too afraid to find the answer into the letter to go on reading it.

"No," Thomas sobbed. "He tried to flee to come here, but he'd been captured. He's in prison in Westphalia, Prussia."

Alexander knew that could have happened; in his last letter he'd recommended Lafayette to be careful, listing several aspects that worried him about his friend's position as the Head of the Guard, leading the French revolution.

"We have to do something to help him." Thomas looked up at him. "His wife and children risk to meet the guillotine, we need to protect them."

"I'll do whatever is in my power to help you, Thomas," Alexander said, a worried note in his voice. "Lafayette is like a brother to me, we'll help him."

[Lafayette's imprisonment, August 1792]

***

"The issue on the table: France is on the verge of war with England. Do we provide aid and troops to our French allies or do we stay out of it?" George Washington introduced the problem to the Cabinet members before leaving the word to Thomas.

"Thank you, Mr President," Jefferson cast a glance to the other members and then focused on the President – this time it didn't matter what the Congress would say, he only had to convince Washington. "I want to remind every one of you here today of the situation of the United Colonies of America when we signed our Declaration of Independence; I've been told that the Congress wasn't able to provide enough guns, clothes and even food to the Continental Army, and that before French and Spanish aid arrived we'd been in danger of mutinies and general dissatisfaction. Our situation changed only – and I repeat it, only – thanks to our French allies, who provided us a naval force, and enough guns and cannons to fight for our freedom."

He stopped for a moment, taking his time to look everyone in the eyes before continuing.

"And now that our brothers and sisters are fighting for their own freedom, England is trying to oppress them as well – yes gentlemen, I'm talking about George III; he's the same tyrant who had once been forcing us to pay for his taxes, without giving us our rightful representation in parliament; he's the same man that sent thirty-two thousand troops in our harbour to crush our revolution." He stood up, talking with passion. "France has never asked for land after helping us. The only thing they want now is the possibility to be free. The treaty we signed –

"Was signed by a man whose head is now in a basket," Alexander interrupted him, standing up and addressing the President. "Sir, I think I'm talking for all of us when I say that the French revolution has become too bloody a thing for us to still believe in its original ideals – it's complete anarchy, and we can't risk our own freedom to help a nation that is Kingless."

Thomas looked at him with a shocked face, completely speechless. He was so sure that Alexander would've agreed with him, that his speech came completely unexpected. He turned to Madison, who was coughing out of surprise, and then back to Hamilton, who'd started talking again.

"We're too fragile to enter a war," he said directly to Washington. "We don't have enough money yet, nor a Government strong enough to resist a potential civil war – England would submit us back into a colony within a year."

Washington nodded and looked at Jefferson, who was still standing there, trembling with rage and disgust.

"Hamilton's right," the President announced. "We'll send a Statement of Neutrality as soon as possible, we cannot wait any longer to take a stand."

He dismissed the meeting, and everyone hurried to leave the room. Alexander followed Washington right after casting an apologetic glance to Thomas, who remained in the room with Madison – the former was still frozen in his position, while the second one was pacing back and forth and coughing violently.

[Statement of Neutrality, April 1793]

***

Thomas shook Madison's hand and set out in the cold streets of Philadelphia. His first month as Vice President had been very stressful: in the past four years he'd grown used to a quieter and simpler lifestyle, completely dedicated to gardening and to his many interests. He'd had the time to heal his wounded soul and pride, the time to put his hands into the soil and recover – however, all the time in the world couldn't heal his heart anymore. Not differently from when Martha had died, Thomas had spent a long period completely alone and had then locked all his emotions behind his snobbish and self-confident public mask. Nevertheless, unlike Martha's farewell – she didn't want to leave him, it wasn't their choice – his last break up had consumed him in a different way. The hope to get Alexander back had never really gone away. He'd found himself writing letters to Alexander at least a hundred times, asking him to meet or to forgive him; and, every single time, he'd burned the letters and had succumbed to desperation. After Hamilton's visit to Monticello, he'd had to crush his own hopes once more in order to go on.

The greatest happiness of the last four years had been his family: his daughters – Polly in particular, who was still unmarried and had often accompanied him in his archaeological expeditions; his first grandson, Thomas, and his two granddaughters, Anne and Ellen. Thanks to them, he'd found the strength to get up every day and, most importantly, he'd rediscovered his faith in humankind and the goodwill to fight for the inalienable rights he'd once listed in the Declaration, the ones he still believed in. After three years in almost utter isolation from the public world he'd finally felt strong enough to fight again for his ideals – screw Hamilton and all his Federalists! They'd both resigned from Cabinet at the end of 1793, but Alexander was still holding most of the power in the government; why should it be Thomas to give in and surrender to the Federalists? He wouldn't be stepping aside anymore. When Madison had asked him – again – to run for President, he'd said yes.

"Mr Vice President!" A carriage pulled over and Burr's face appeared from its window. "Can I give you a lift?"

"Mr Burr," Thomas waved at him, accepting his offer. "Thank you, it's freezing tonight."

Thomas smiled at him – he didn't really have reasons to hate him now, and even before he'd been avoiding him only because Hamilton was jealous. However, as Burr started to talk, he immediately regretted accepting the ride home.

"Actually, I'm very happy of this opportunity, I wanted to talk to you about something." Burr rubbed his hands together and went on. "I've been thinking about those check stubs we found some years ago – about Hamilton's relationship with Reynolds."

"What about them?" Thomas's smile disappeared at once.

"Well, Adams's attempts to keep Hamilton away from the Cabinet aren't working, and we know that he's controlling all the three departments of Treasury, State and War, right?"

"Right."

"So what about choosing this moment to end his political career?"

Thomas hesitated – of course, Burr knew nothing about Alexander's innocence on that matter. He didn't know that it was only a torrid affair with that horrible man.

"Burr, we don't have any proof that those money weren't his."

"Do we really need proofs?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well, if I happened to drop the documents to a newspaper – let's say the Aurora, whose editor is literally yearning for anything to drag Hamilton's name through the mud," he feigned an innocent smile, "the accusations would be public, and that alone would be enough to plant the seed of doubt in the mind of his followers. He would be ruined and, since Adams hates him so much, the Federalist party would broke into fragments... assuring our victory for the next elections."

Thomas stared back at Burr's satisfied face for what it seemed to be an eternity, without uttering a word. When the carriage arrived in front of Thomas's hotel and stopped, Burr was still waiting for an answer.

"Do it." Thomas got out of the carriage, without looking back.

***

Alexander sat in his study, looking at the fire with pensive eyes. He'd been working the whole night on an essay against Adam's last political decisions, until he'd opened one of his books – a collection of essays about diplomacy in wartime – and had found a single word scribbled in black ink on its first page. It was Jefferson's signature. The memory of the exact moment when Thomas had signed it came back to him at once: it was the summer of 1792 and they were spending some weeks alone in an almost abandoned New York. Eliza and the kids had gone to Albany to spend their summer upstate with the Schuylers, and the majority of the NYC's population had opted to move to the countryside. Alexander took the book in his hands, tracing the line of Thomas's name with his fingertip.

"Did you bring a book with you?" Thomas scoffed him, taking the book from him with an incredulous face.

"Hey, give it back!"

"First of all," Thomas listed, holding the book higher than Alexander's grasp, "I've got a library full of books and you don't have to bring yours in here."

Alex tried to punch him in the stomach, as he usually did when Thomas took advantage of his height, but this time Jefferson was ready and blocked his fist with his free hand, laughing.

"Secondly," he continued nonchalantly, "we only have four days left to stay together, you should dedicate your attentions to me. I'm confiscating the book."

"You what?!"

"You heard me," he laughed, escaping from the library with the book. "In fact, I think I'll keep it," he teased while heading to his bedroom. "You brought it to my house after all, it means it's mine now."

"Would you explain the logic behind this reasoning?" Alexander faked a frown while following him to the bedroom.

"You're mine too, you know," Thomas winked and, dipping a quill into some ink, he signed the book. "The autograph is free only for you, my love."

"How dare you!" He jumped on Thomas, rolling on the bed and laughing with him.

"Hey, you've scribbled a whole book of mine, aren't we even now?"

"Mhmh, I suppose."

Some hours later, they were laying on the bed – their clothes scattered all around the room. Thomas suddenly got up with a cunning smile on his face and Alexander doubtfully looked at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Stay still, love, please." He came back to bed and gave him one of his smart-ass smiles. "Do you trust me?"

"Not at all." Alexander wrestled to get out of the bed, but Thomas was quicker –

"Voilà!"

"What did you do?" Alex had felt something cold and sharp touching his skin for a second, just over his shoulder.

"I signed you too," he laughed. "Now you belong to me as well."

"YOU WHAT?"

Alexander was surprised to hear a laughter coming out of nowhere. He looked around for a minute before realizing he was the one who'd laughed; he looked down once more at Thomas's signature with a sad sigh, the ink spoiled by his tears.

The following morning – after three full hours of sleep – he stepped into the Presidential house with his usual irritating fashion, doing a lot of noise and yelling at the man who worked at the desk, whose only fault was trying to stop him from entering the meeting room. Thomas, who was holding the meeting in place of Adams, suddenly heard the noise outside and almost smiled when Hamilton's voice came through the closed doors.

"Do you know who I am? No? Well, I'm also a lawyer! If I were you I would be careful when touching me – that's harassment, put your filthy hands off me, you pervert!"

Thomas opened the door and witnessed to one of the most ridiculous images ever. Hamilton was wrestling to escape the man's strong grip, while the latter was trying to lift Alexander's whole weight by grabbing him from the collar of his jacket and the belt of his trousers, as if he wanted to throw him out like a rubbish bag.

"Mr Scott, you can let him in, he's the former Secretary of Treasury," Thomas explained, trying not to giggle.

"Thank you." Hamilton tried to recompose himself, looking up at Thomas with a bright red face. "Who was that giant?"

"He's a guard," Jefferson answered, looking annoyed. "Your fellow federalists have decided to hire guards now, congratulations."

"Hey, I don't like him either," Alexander started to say, but the vice president interrupted him.

"We were having a meeting, Mr Hamilton, is there any reason for this interruption?"

"Oh yeah, right." He opened his suitcase, waving some papers. "I've got some documents I'd like to discuss with McHenry."

"The Secretary of War – that McHenry?"

"Who else?"

"Look, Hamilton –" Thomas hesitated before going on.

"What?"

"You can't stay here. Adams doesn't want you to run his Cabinet, and I agree with him for once."

"Oh, I see." Alexander narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth at the taller man's words. "You can't stop me, Jefferson. I'll continue doing what's best for our nation and I won't let you Democratic-Republicans win so easily – just you wait."

Suddenly, Alex felt his back colliding against the wall behind him and saw Thomas's threatening face getting closer, until it was only a couple of inches from his. Alexander held his breath and his heart started to race – was he so desperate to let Thomas kiss him like that after almost four years? Yes, he definitely was.

"Listen, you jerk," Thomas hissed angrily. "I don't fucking care if Washington always did everything you told him to, including turning his back to France when our allies – when our friends – needed us the most. I won't let you rule this Cabinet while I'm vice president."

Okay, well, he probably didn't want to kiss him then. Alexander forced his brain to think rationally: Thomas had been very clear when he'd broken up with him – he didn't want him, he didn't love him, he despised him. Nevertheless, Alexander still loved him and was afraid that his eyes would have betrayed his feelings if he hadn't pushed Thomas away. And so he did. He violently shoved Jefferson away from him, entered the room, where five people were looking at them in suspense – they were probably hoping for a fight – and dropped the documents in front of McHenry.

When he turned back to Jefferson with his arrogant face, Alex saw something very different in Thomas's eyes – he was hurt. Something inside him desperately longed to hug him, but he forced himself not to and stood there for a moment, trying to read Thomas's expression in those precious and rare moments when he let his mask of perfection slide.

"How could you do this to Lafayette?" Thomas was shouting, completely out of himself. "How could you do this to me?"

"Thomas I'm sorry." Alexander was standing in the library, while his partner paced angrily around the room, yelling at him. "I know I deserve your anger, but I did what I think it's best for our Nation."

"To support those fucking British you love so much, rather than our friend?"

"It's not about friendship, goddamn it Thomas!" Alexander groaned. He didn't want to talk about politics at home, that was their number one rule, and now they were fighting almost every day. "You're being irrational, we can't –

"I'm not rational? Do you even listen to yourself?" Thomas burst out. "We're talking about ALLIES, for god's sake, we've signed a treaty with them! What if they did it to us while we were fighting for our freedom?"

"First of all, you weren't even fighting, so stop talking as if you know a thing about war," Hamilton heated up, "and I've already told you – they didn't do it in the spirit of friendship, but only to weaken England. Welcome to the real world, Thomas, that's politics!"

"Do you think Lafayette came here and risked his life for politics?!"

"It's not what I'm –

"He fought for his IDEALS, the same ones you're spitting on right now!"

"You know what," Alexander grabbed his coat and headed to the door. "I won't discuss this with you right now. You're obviously upset because your precious French revolution isn't going as you expected, and you're giving me the fault for every fucking thing – well, this scapegoat is out!"

The door slammed and Alexander heard something crashing on it as soon as it was closed – damn, the bottle of his favourite whiskey was gone.

"I can see through the cracks of your perfect façade, Mr Vice President," Hamilton hissed. "You'll do nothing to stop me, as you never did before."

"We'll see."