Chapter 7

'Dear' Mr Secretary, I have the pleasure to announce that Mr Madison's health is getting better, and therefore that our meeting can be arranged for next week. I will be expecting your presence at six o' clock in order to dine and discuss about our agreement-to-be. T. Jefferson.

Did he really wrote "dear" by using the inverted commas? Hamilton hissed at the letter, crumpled it and threw it in the corner of his study. He was alone at home, since Eliza had gone upstate with her family – Angelica had been so disappointed about him not going, but he simply couldn't go and enjoy himself while his job was at stake. Even when he'd known about Madison's malaria fever, he'd been unable to bring himself to take a break and go upstate for a week or so. He had been alone. Mostly.

"Oh God," he whined piteously to himself, looking at the other letters on his desk. Among the scribbled papers, the red sealing wax of an open letter continuously reminded him of his weakness, of his infidelity – Alexander couldn't believe what he had done, and yet the letter R, initial for Reynolds, was there, marked on the wax as well as on his body. Now, he was trapped: in their last letter, they had threatened him, extorting him money in exchange for their silence – an illusory quiet that would cost him many dollars. Alexander knew he didn't have a choice, he had to pay in order not to lose his political influence – he was well aware that his enemies wouldn't wait a second before demanding his resignation if they ever discovered his affair. And he simply couldn't allow it. That stupid Democratic-Republicans were unable to understand it, but the nation needed him, his financial system was their only way to succeed in building a strong, lasting government. He sighed and started to collect all the letters from the Reynolds, hiding them, never to be seen again.

Several hours later, Alexander was heading to the public house to meet Mulligan, one of the first friends he'd made in NYC, many years before. The air was still, it seemed like if the whole world was waiting for something to happen, and the quiet on the streets was almost surreal for its rareness. For a moment, all Alex could hear was his own steps on the dusty road and the calming notes of a song coming from a distance – the sweet humming voice of a woman, probably lulling her baby to sleep a couple of houses away. As he'd already done a hundred times before, he started rehearsing his speech for the following week in his head. He listed all the arguments he needed to remember, considering all the possible counter-arguments Jefferson and Madison would use against him and already preparing his defence. It was usual for him to walk around the city, mumbling or even openly speaking to himself – some people thought he was inspiring, others said he was completely nuts.

Two familiar voices interrupted his flow of thoughts and he instinctively jumped away from the main street, hiding in a narrow alley on his left. What were Jefferson and Burr doing together, in the middle of the night? Alexander tried to eavesdrop their conversation but they were too far from his dark refuge – were they...laughing? He dared to cast a quick glance toward them, slightly peeking from behind the corner of the alley. Jefferson was patting Burr on the back in a friendly way and they were both laughing uproariously at something Alexander was completely unaware of. Hamilton's eyes stuck to Jefferson's hand, which was still placed on Burr's back, and he suddenly felt a pang of jealousy. Well, that was normal – he really hated to be left out, and it was actually quite unusual for him to spy on other people's private moments. But it wasn't the only reason. Alexander stuck his head out again, anxious to see what the two of them were doing, and felt the need to go there and shove his fist into Burr's face, punching him hard enough to crack his nose or something like that. Was it because he was betraying him by being so friendly with the Federalists' number-one enemy? Or was it because Thomas's hand on Burr's shoulder was making Alex's guts burn with possessiveness? Just a few days before, he'd helped a sleepy Jefferson walk down the same street, his warm body pressed on him, and his curly hair lightly bouncing over his head...

And then it happened. Jefferson looked away from Burr for just a second and fixed his eyes on Alexander's. Alex's heart stopped and he felt his blood running cold into his veins – what should he do? Should he nonchalantly walk out of that damned alley, or run away, or what? He was trying to think fast, but in the end he just stayed there, frozen on his spot by Jefferson's smug stare. For what it seemed to be a lifetime, Thomas's brown eyes held his gaze, tying Alexander's blue, wide eyes to his, reading his very soul like an open book. Then, he winked and turned to Burr again, acting as if nothing had happened. Alex abruptly retreated into the deep shadows of the alley, breathing hard and sweating as if he'd just had an epiphany. Five seconds. Just five insignificant seconds and his world had been turned upside down.

He ran until he reached the pub where Mulligan was already waiting for him (he was late cause he had taken the longest way around to avoid meeting Jefferson again) and heavily dropped himself on a seat next to his old friend.

"My goodness, Ham, you look like shit!" Hercules greeted him, happily waving a pint of beer and spraying half of it on his unlucky neighbours.

Alex immediately cheered up, Mulligan's company had always been helpful for his mood – the man was so carefree and genuine it was odd to think that he'd worked as a spy for so many years.

"Hey Herc, what's up?" He smiled to his friend. "I'll have one of this, thank you very much," he ordered then to the innkeeper, pointing at Mulligan's glass.

"Well, business's going all right," Mulligan smirked, "and the kids are growing tall and strong. John and William are already helping me at the shop." He beamed while talking of his children. "Little Hercules is a troublemaker... Sometimes I wonder if someone's personality is also given along with the name! Ha ha! He's got the same fire I had at his young age," he paused, taking a big slurp of his beer. "Oh yes, Elizabeth asked me to say hello to Eliza and the kids, are they still upstate?"

"Yes, they're staying at her father's," Alex answered, and started telling him about the last letter Eliza had sent him, describing the wonderful colours of springtime in the countryside.

After less than a couple of hours, they were laughing merrily, telling each other old stories – like that time when Lafayette had hidden John's boots right before an important military meeting, and John had had to use Mulligan's, which were at least one inch longer than his. ("Oh my god, he looked like a child dressed with his parent's clothes!"); or that other time when Alexander had 'borrowed' Washington's wig and was performing an – unexpectedly good – imitation of the General, when Washington himself entered the room. ("Jeez, he didn't like it at all, I was appointed to toilets cleaning for a month!")

Alexander was really grateful to Hercules for distracting him from all his current troubles, enjoying together a pint of beer – well, several pints of beer – even if only for one night.

"So," he finally asked, straightening up and looking at Alex with a serious look, "how's the financial plan going?"

"It seems we're going to reach an agreement, but everything will be decided next week, at Jefferson's," Alexander answered, and then immediately gulped some sips of his beer to hide his anxiety – he had just realized that Jefferson could use the account of their last meeting to sow the seed of doubt in Madison's mind. In fact, from Jefferson's point of view it must have looked as if Hamilton was stalking him, spying on him! And it wasn't a complete lie either, he had actually been trying to eavesdrop their conversation, even if it had been unintentional. Shit.

In that exact moment, Alex felt a hand tapping on his shoulder and saw Mulligan's eyes darken with disfavour. Hamilton turned to find himself face to face with Aaron Burr, who had just gotten into the room. He faked a smile, hoping that Jefferson hadn't told him anything.

"Alexander, it's nice to see you outside your office for once," he joked happily – apparently he was in a good mood and unaware of Alex's illicit actions.

"Mr Burr, Sir!" He forced himself to equal Burr's enthusiasm in seeing him, while Hercules grinned threateningly to the newcomer.

"Spit a verse, Burr!" He mocked, raising his fifth glass of the night.

They were both starting to feel a bit tipsy, and Alex chuckled at the memories of his old friends' bitter encounters with Burr. Lafayette really hated the man, Alex thought with a pang of melancholy - God he missed him and John so much.

"Isn't a bit late to show up at the pub?" He inquired clumsily, hoping to know what Burr and Jefferson had been doing.

"I know, but I needed a drink after what happened tonight," Burr said in a mysterious tone, not adding anything more to his story, waiting for them to take the bait.

Alexander almost snorted – god, what wouldn't Burr do to receive some attention – and eventually asked. "Why? What happened?"

Mulligan's face was priceless: he looked at Alexander with disbelieving eyes – 'how could you fall for something so obvious,' he seemed to shout out – while Burr comfortably sat at their table and started to recount.

"I was heading home from work, I had been to John Marshall to discuss those details you'd asked me about," he reported to Alex, who nodded in acknowledgement. "So, I was on the street and suddenly a man stood in my way and ordered me to give him all my money or else he would kill me! He threatened me with a knife!"

Alex and Hercules exchanged a surprised look, they hadn't imagined the story to take such a dangerous turn.

"There was nobody on the street, so I couldn't ask for help," Burr went on telling the story, "and I had just decided to give him my wallet, when I heard – guess who? Never mind, you could never guess it – Thomas Jefferson's voice asking me if the man was bothering me. The guy turned at once, but Jefferson punched him in the gut and tried to block his hands. And then," Burr paused, shivering at the memory, "that scumbag stabbed Thomas in the leg with his knife and tried to fight back, so I hit him on the head with my suitcase, using all my strength, and he sort of collapsed there."

Alexander was looking at Burr with his mouth open in horror. Thomas had got stabbed? That must had happened right before he'd seen him and Burr laughing, probably relieved after having faced such a danger.

"What happened then? Was he hurt?" Alexander sputtered, too high to care about hiding his interest.

"No, the injury was minor. I helped him back home and called a doctor for him." Burr looked shocked at Alexander's furious face. "That was the least I could do, he saved my life!" He justified his actions, assuming that Hamilton had got angry because of Burr's consideration towards their common enemy. Little he knew that Alexander was replaying the whole scene in his head: flashes of Burr and Thomas laughing together, Thomas's hand resting on Burr's shoulder; and then the two of them going home – Burr helping Thomas to walk. That should have been him, not Burr.

Alexander shook his head to clear his murderous thoughts and smiled an awkward smile to his company. He had to go home now, or he would punch Burr for real this time – the need he'd felt some hours before was even stronger – so he bade goodnight to his friends, casting an apologetic look to Mulligan for leaving him alone with Burr, and went out. The fresh air of the night immediately sobered him up a little, and he started thinking about everything that had happened in the last three hours and a half. He considered going to Jefferson and see if he was alright – but fortunately he remembered that it was too late for that sort of visits. So he forced himself to go home, worried sick about Thomas's health – what if the wound got infected? – and about his own reputation – was that asshole going to tell everybody about Alex spying on him? What had he seen in his eyes to make him so confident at once? How much did he know about the feelings that Alex had just started to discover?

And while he was surprising himself by perfectly remembering every detail of Thomas's dark eyes, Alex fell asleep on the couch, still completely dressed.

***

A/N:

Wooo! And so, Alex feels something for his worst enemy, but will he tell it to Jefferson? And, most importantly, will Thomas reciprocate his feeling?

If you like the story leave a comment! Stay tuned :D