Mr Jefferson is Coming Home (Jamilton)

Chapter 5

A few mornings later, Alexander was woken up by his wife's high-pitched voice, which happily announced him that Angelica had accepted their invitation and had sent a note to inform them that she was on her way and would arrive for the summer. Eliza was so excited she almost started to jump on their bed. Alexander laughed heartily at the sight, even if he would have loved to sleep a bit longer – he was having trouble sleeping since the last Cabinet meeting, and he blamed the Democratic-Republicans for it. If it wasn't for their stubbornness not to accept his financial proposal, he wouldn't be risking his job for it! Even if... he tried to remember his last dream: two dark eyes that looked sadly at him from a distance suddenly appeared in his memories, and he blushed. No, it was impossible. He couldn't be dreaming of that moron, right? He shook his head to send all those stupid thoughts away – that wasn't possible, he couldn't possibly feel guilty, he hated the guy. As far as he was concerned, the more Jefferson was unhappy, the better; that would mean less trouble at work for Hamilton.

He got up unwillingly and got dressed, wearing one of his favourite waistcoats, the bright green one. He looked at the mirror and smiled to his reflection, trying to gather the courage to do that day's task: convince Jefferson and Madison to meet in order to talk them through his financial plan. He still didn't have a clue on how to compromise with them but he had to. He had given a lot of thoughts to his course of action and had decided to go to Jefferson first – Madison wouldn't talk to him anyway – and let him organize something in order to meet the horrible duo together. Jefferson's dark eyes haunted his thoughts once more, and he questioned himself if that was the best idea. But he had no choices. He had to try with every cells of his body and be nice – maybe just slightly polite would work too – with Thomas fucking Jefferson.

***

Thomas was in his library, writing a long letter to Lafayette, when the maid announced the visit of the Secretary of Treasury. He almost chocked and was still trying to recompose himself when Alexander Hamilton burst into the room with the I-don't-want-to-be-here kind of look on his face and an uncomfortable smile.

"Mr. Jefferson," he said awkwardly, scanning the room with wide eyes.

"Mr. Secretary," Thomas icy-cold voice welcomed him, "what can I do for you?"

He knew he was being rude not inviting him to sit and making him stand uneasily in the middle of the room – but he couldn't help it. The day when he'd seen Hamilton crying... something had shifted in his chest, he couldn't explain the emotion but he had felt a long-forgotten warmth inside – that, of course, before being treated like shit by the man. He shouldn't have never offered his help to an ungrateful little bastard, he had bitterly concluded the same night, while still thinking about Hamilton's stinging words. He shouldn't have let Hamilton hurt him, he had been naive. When you expose yourself too much, people hurt you.

He cleaned his desk from all the papers while waiting for Hamilton's answer, but for the first time in his life he noticed that the immigrant was silent. Thomas quickly turned to Hamilton, almost worried – was he having a stroke or something? But then he saw that Alexander was still staring at the piles and piles of books scattered around the room with an excited face. When he finally focused on his host again, his eyes were sparkling like the ones of a child on Christmas Eve; he almost forgot the reason why he'd come there.

"How can you have so many books?" he inquired accusingly.

"I collected them during my travels," Thomas replied with a satisfied smirk, he loved to brag about his collection. "Most of them are from France and Italy, but I've also inherited a couple of books from Monticello and – hey, put that down!"