In Sickness And In Health (Jeffmads): a Hamilton fanfiction

Chapter 18

Chaaaapter 18, my pretties! Hamilton has officially infiltrated every surface of my life: I got my brother into it and we just did an awesome rendition of Aaron Burr, Sir. Hell yes!

Enjoy this damn angsty chapter!

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2 weeks later- Jefferson's p.o.v

I should've known it was too good to last.

True, me and James love each other completely and would never willingly do anything to harm each other, be it mentally or physically, but we're only human, after all. We still fight.

Our first fight was not a pretty one. To be fair to us, we lasted a lot longer than other couples, about 3 or 4 months, but there came a point were it just all went wrong. Over something so stupid as well...

I'm just gonna admit it now, it was my fault. I'd been being a little lazy, falling back into old habits. Okay... it was over the clothes hamper. Stupid, eh? Well, I always just throw my clothes in the general direction of the basket, and if it goes in, win! If it doesn't? Meh, I'll get round to it. I'd been doing this for as long as I can remember, but Mads is so tidy and organised that I was trying to kick the habit. It wasn't working very well.

I was lying in bed when he came in. He'd had to work late to finish a report for Washington, so I'd kissed him on the cheek and headed home, utterly exhausted. I had flopped in my old bed, still fully-dressed, and fallen straight to sleep with half of my body hanging off onto the floor! I was pretty stiff when I woke up.

Talking of waking up, I woke up when the door slammed. I jumped up, yelling incoherently, falling back on the bed. Go useless leg! I saw James stalk in, muttering furiously to himself. I could tell he was pissed. He didn't even look at me, just went into the bedroom and slammed that door. I tensed as I remembered that I hadn't picked up the clothes. Oops.

"THOMAS FUCKING JEFFERSON!" he screamed, storming in. He was breathing heavily, and I cowered. "Why is there clothes on the floor?"

"Don't know," I mumbled, looking at the floor.

"Do you see that wicker box about 3 1/2-feet tall, right there next to the wall? It’s kind of tan, has a hinged lid… It looks a little bit like a receptacle of some kind." he said, his tone thunderous. I nodded meekly. "I know it may not have occurred to you to wonder what that contraption is or what it’s for, but we use that to collect the dirty clothes so that they aren’t strewn across the floor." I was beginning to get angry now, and stood up again, grasping the bedpost for support. "And yet the dirty socks and wet towels are magically still strewn about the floor, right next to the hamper!"

"It's just a couple of socks and a t-shirt!" I yelled back, finally exploding.

"And a damp towel, and a pair of jeans and about 10 million assorted fucking magenta objects!" he shot back.

"Keep your hair on!" I shouted. "I was gonna pick them up later, but if you didn't notice, when you came in having a bloody hissy fit, I was asleep! A-sleeeeeeep! Would you like me to spell it out for you? A-S-L--"

"Oh shut up!" he cut me off. "Don't make yourself the bigger person here! And whilst we're on the subject, don't put your disgusting mustard knife in the fucking mayo! It's not that hard!"

"Sorry that I wanted mustard and mayo in my sandwich and my leg hurt too fucking much to walk over to the sink!" I screamed.

"Oh, don't do that!" he scoffed. I glared at him.

"Do what?"

"Pull the disability card!" he yelled back. I was taken aback. "It's two steps, I'm sure you can manage that!"

"You try having this bloody thing!" I said, trying to sound threatening as I gestured to my leg. It didn't work, as my voice was trembling, thick with tears. "Oh, and whilst we're talking about it, turn down the damn thermostat. I don't want to sleep in a sauna, thank you!"

"It's 80F!" he shrieked. "It's not that hot!"

"It is for me!"

"Then turn it down yourself! Or is that too much as well?"

Unable to hold myself up any more, I dropped back into a sitting position, tears welling in my eyes. James laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head.

"I'm going," he muttered, turning on his heel and slamming the front door behind him.

I broke down in tears, curling up into a sad little sushi roll on the bed. Did he really think that little of me? Unsure of how to deal with it, I grabbed my phone and texted Laf.

TJeffs: Can u come over?

TheFrenchBaguette: Sure, why?

TJeffs: Me and James had a fight...

TheFrenchBaguette: I'll be right over. I'll bring ice cream and Disney movies.

I rubbed my eyes, managing to keep the tears under control. Pulling off my crumpled clothes, I slipped into a random onesie, not even being able to face the clothes basket. What a stupid thing to fight about! I lay in a star shape on my silk sheets for about 10 minutes before there was a knock at the door. Laf. Pulling myself up, I shuffled over to the door and opened it, which revealed Laf and Hercules standing there, brandishing Ben and Jerry's Phish Food (A/N: I will literally fight anyone on this, Phish Food is the best flavour and you all know it) and Moana on Blu-Ray. The sight of Hercules, basically a taller James, set me off crying again.

Laf swept me into a hug, mumbling French comfort in ear and leading me to the couch, forcing the tub into my hand and fetching me a spoon. I ate a spoonful, tasting the chocolatly goodness. Instantly, I felt a little better. Herc hung anxiously by the door.

"Laf, I'm gonna just head out for half an hour," he said, his voice just as deep and rich as James'. I focused on the ice cream, the taste, the smell, the silky texture.

"Okay, mon amour, [my love,]" Laf said, waving him off. The door closed, and I started blubbing like a baby again. "What is wrong, mon ami?" Laf asked, alarmed as he sat next to me.

"I-it's just, you a-an-and Herc seem t-to have such a-an awes-some rel-hic-ationship," I wailed. "W-why can't m-me and James h-have that?"

Laf chuckled, placing an arm round my shoulder.

"Me and 'Erc fight," he replied. "The first time we fought, it was about the washing up. We didn't speak for nearly a week."

My jaw dropped open in shock.

"I don't wanna go a week," I mumbled.

"You won't," Laf said. "What did you fight about anyway?"

I told him everything.

"It all seems a bit, 'ow you say, silly," he told me. "'E'll come to his senses. How about Moana, non?"

I sniffled and nodded, grabbing a blanket and the now partially melted ice cream.

I prayed to God it wouldn't be a week.

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Sorry for this. I'm so sorry. This hurt me to write. Hope you enjoyed, please R&R!