Chapter 9

A/N:

OK, so this chapter gives some insights into both Alexander and Thomas's feelings. Not a lot of action but a huge discovery at the end!

Let me know if you were expecting it or not, and if you like it!

***

Weeks passed by in a blur, Alexander spent the rest of the summer meeting with different committees in order to define every single detail of his financial plan – and then spent the rest of the year stressing. On December 15th, he finally submitted his request and waited. It was only after another infinite two months of agony that Washington finally received the all clear from the Congress, and signed the bill into law. Alexander felt as if he had never really breathed before – he had secured his legacy at last; now, he just had to protect it.

It was not as if he hadn't had work to do in the meantime – he'd had to think about all the practical issues that would have emerged after adopting a mercantile economy policy; he'd had to find the easiest and most affordable way to support manufacturing in order not to depend on Britain anymore; and many other problems. Moreover, he'd finally found himself at loggerheads with Burr: his former friend had sharply criticized his latter decisions, and now he was a senator candidate, running against Hamilton's father-in-law, supported by – wait for it – the Democratic-Republican party.

Alexander couldn't believe the news when he'd heard it, he would have gone to Jefferson to blame him for Burr's actions, but, first of all, he knew it was all Burr's fault – he'd always been cunning and sneaky when he had to gain benefits for himself; and then, Thomas Jefferson hadn't talked to him since that dinner. They had met, of course, but they hadn't found themselves face to face anymore, nor had they had the opportunity to meet again outside work. Once, Alex had tried to go and invade his house again, but this time the maid had been prepared: she'd just leaned out of the window, telling him that Jefferson wasn't home, without even opening the door. Another time, no one had answered at all. At first, he'd really believed that Jefferson had been busy, but the more Thomas seemed to avoid him, the more Alex grew certain that his previous behaviour had been only a trick to soften him before the dinner.

He'd got mad, then upset, then angry again – he actually didn't know what to think, too many thing were happening at the same time. Eliza had returned, happy and relaxed, and even more loving and caring than before, making him feel horrible for what he'd done. He'd tried to end his affair a couple of times, but every single time he'd failed, finding himself heading toward the Reynolds after a tough week at work, the guilt pressing on his heart, heavier and heavier. One of those evenings, he was going there after work – he'd told Eliza he had a late meeting – but decided to take another route so that he would pass by Jefferson's house. He hadn't seen Thomas in a week and was starting to feel restless; after all those months he had grown used to ignore him and be ignored... but that didn't mean that his feelings were gone. He was still attracted by his eyes – every time Jefferson wasn't looking right at him, he would peek at his face, remembering the night when Thomas had briefly conquered his eyes and heart like if it had been the day before.

Alexander was walking quickly, he'd just turned into the main street and could already see Jefferson's house from a distance. He stayed on the opposite side on the street, scanning the house and its surrounding, focusing on each window – hoping to see a glimpse of Thomas's hair, but he couldn't see anything. However, while stepping right in front of the house he heard a sound coming from inside – was it music? He slowed down his pace and concentrated on the notes, letting the extremely sad melody warming his heart. Alexander almost stopped there. He knew that it was Jefferson playing his violin, and it seemed like the calling of a mermaid for him. He just wanted to burst into the house and go to him. Instead, he forced himself to walk faster, going away from where he wanted to be, and heading towards the place he despised the most. The music suddenly stopped, helping him to carry on without turning back till the Reynolds's house. He changed his route several times – he was growing paranoid and every time was more and more afraid to be discovered. This time he actually felt that weird feeling on the back of his neck, as if someone was observing him, but no one was in sight. He approached the door, still casting glances all around, and finally knocked.

***

Thomas was behaving irrationally, he was well aware of that. The first time Alexander had come to his house after the night of the meeting, he'd told his maid to send him away. The second time he'd just ignored the knocking at the door, peeping through the second floor's window to look at Hamilton's fidgety figure getting further from him. In the last few days he'd stayed at home because of a bad cold, and so he hadn't had any chance to see Alexander – that's why that evening he couldn't help but go after him. He was feeling particularly gloomy, he'd just finished writing a letter to his daughter and was missing Monticello more than ever, and so he started wandering restlessly around the house. He entered in one of the guest rooms on the second floor, and spotted his violin abandoned in one corner – the last two weeks he'd been too busy to play. He picked the beautiful instrument and moved closer to the window, opening it – let's give people a bit of himself for a few minutes – and started to glide the bow, skillfully moving his fingers on the strings. He played Bach's Partita in D minor, which he knew by heart, pouring all his feelings into his music, as he always did – music was the favourite passion of his soul. He had just finished the third movement and was about to start the fourth one, when he saw Hamilton on the street, right in front of him, walking extremely slowly with a very concentrated expression on his face. Thomas continued playing, putting even more passion into the notes, hoping that Alexander would listen to his desperate call and look at him. He needed to lose himself in Alexander's eyes once more. But, suddenly, Hamilton started to stride away from his house, from his music, from him. Thomas stopped playing at once and rushed downstairs, without really thinking about what he was doing, and followed Alexander on the street.

Hamilton seemed to sense his presence somehow, he was continuously looking around and changed his direction several times – as a matter of fact, his behaviour only made Thomas more and more suspicious – why being so jumpy and worried if innocent?

"Alexander, what did you do?" he muttered to himself, partially knowing the answer – the night of the dinner, when he'd escorted Hamilton to the door, he'd suspected something. They'd been drinking too much, he knew it, and he'd felt the strange impulse of closing the distance between Alexander and himself, in that very room where Hamilton had been admiring his portrait. He knew that Alexander wanted him – he'd seen it all in his eyes that night in that alley... He'd seen the jealousy and the passion that were usually well hidden behind those perfect sapphire eyes, except for the fact that for five eternal seconds, his feelings had been completely stripped by any defence, in plain sight for Thomas to see them. However, in that very moment, he also knew that Hamilton would have never confessed those same feelings to him. He had to be very careful.

And then, while he was helping Alexander put his coat on, he'd experienced a déjà-vu.

He and James were walking homeward, when suddenly a man appeared out of nowhere right before them; he was walking very fast as if he was running away from something, casting worried looks behind his shoulders... he looked at the man who was already some metres away, still anxiously glancing at them. He had long ruffled brown hair, which had probably got messy because of all that running, bright green eyes, and a crooked – yet pretty – nose. A thin, pinkish scar decorated his face, cutting all the length of his right cheek. He was wearing dark washed out farmer clothes that strongly smelled of tobacco.

Thomas's sense of smell had always been as good as a truffle dog's. In that moment with Hamilton, he'd smelled the same acrid tobacco that he'd breathed in that day with Madison. Of course, he couldn't be certain, it was only a gut feeling, but something had told him that Hamilton and that man were associated with something bad – something he didn't want to know about. And yet, there he was, following Hamilton around the suburbs of the city, until they reached a very small and half-wrecked house.

Alexander knocked and the door opened. When Thomas saw the same exact man of his memory welcoming Hamilton inside the house with a mean smile, he wasn't really surprised. He then managed to catch some glimpses through the windows: the man went upstairs, while Hamilton and a woman – probably the tobacco-man's wife – were talking in a very unfriendly fashion; Hamilton gave something to her, Thomas couldn't see what it was. But then, he watched as the woman exited the house with a wide grin on her face and a bunch of dollars in her hands. She cast a last glance to the house and went away, leaving the two men alone.

Well – Thomas thought – that was a shock.

***

Notes:

Here's the link to the song Thomas was playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpe7thXd69E (the fourth movement is really sad and SO beautiful)

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