Author's note: This is a one-shot based on Lin-Manuel Miranda's famous musical, "Alexander Hamilton", using characters that actually existed. There are references to song lyrics within the story; I do not own this lyrics, Lin-Manuel Miranda does.

This is not meant to be historically accurate, but I did add historical elements to it for the sake of the plot. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

He hadn't imagined that he would let his tears fall for the second time during his visit to America.

Not that he was ashamed, no. Tears for a friend were never in vain, nor did one have to hide them. For some reason, the tears bring back the memory of another reunion: one with a friend just as close as this one...

He felt his heart rate quicken as the carriage pulled up to the front lawn. His skin felt clammy, his palms sweaty. His feet tapped, restless, and his fingers fiddled with whatever they could get their hands on.

4th of November, 1824.

Lafayette was finally here, in Monticello, his mind racing with the thought of reuniting with his old friend after so many years of being apart.

How much had Jefferson changed? Was he as old and frail as Lafayette? Did he still insist on wearing that fancy wine red coat and brandishing his cane, strolling through the streets with an air of importance?

What if he decided he didn't want to be seen with Lafayette anymore, for some reason or the other?

'Don't be ridiculous,' He chided himself after a second's thought, 'Jefferson is not that kind of man.'

He heard someone sound a bugle; an announcement of his arrival. This was it. He would see Jefferson once more.

Slowly and gingerly, as if he didn't dare believe that this was happening, Lafayette stepped out of the carriage, barely giving the waving revolutionary banners a glance, nor the overwhelming number of people that had gathered for this event.

No, all he cared about at this moment was the man waiting on the front portico, now descending the steps just as slowly, as if he was feeling the immense weight of this situation as well.

Maybe he, too, had similar doubts.

However, as they made their way towards each other, the crowd holding its breath, they felt their pace quicken with impatience—why were they dawdling when they were so close? One of them could drop dead at that very instant for all they knew. In fact, they both knew a man who'd be yelling at them to get a move on already; everyone is running out of time, after all, and some have it more limited than others.

And, just like that, all uncertainty melted away; they tossed it behind them as their steps quickened, until they were nearly running, and neither of them could believe it when they finally fell into the other's embrace, kissing each other on the cheek as they promptly burst into tears, their minds hardly comprehending anything or anyone besides themselves.

They were past their prime, lacking the strength of the youth they'd once possessed, and in Jefferson's case, very ill.

Still, they cared not.

"Ah, Jefferson!"

"Ah, Lafayette!"

Over and over they exclaimed the other's name, as if saying it enough times could further confirm the fact that this was actually happening, and not some cruel dream that would vanish into nothingness upon their wakening.

All attendees seemed to be holding back their own sobs at the heart-touching scene; true friendship did last indeed.

They could have stood there all day simply holding each other and letting their emotions flow with their tears, but they once again recalled the man whom both had knew very well, and had to suppress a laugh.

Friend or enemy, he was quite hard to forget.

"Make haste!" He'd say, "What, will you spend the entire day crying? You have the whole place to explore, and a plethora of stories to share. Time is a wasting!"

And so they righted their posture, allowing a few moments to get a good look at the other.

They were certainly no longer fit to fight—neither physically, nor verbally, for that matter. They could only thank the Lord that they were still standing on their feet, with just enough strength to hold the other.

"Let us step inside," Jefferson finally said, a curious twinkle in his eyes, "There's a lot we need to catch up on, don't you think?"

"I couldn't agree more, mon ami," Lafayette smiled, "I only pray that I never wake up from this lovely dream."

"Dream?" Jefferson chuckled, "Open your eyes and come with me, Lafayette, because this is anything but. Though I must admit, the fact that you're here overwhelms me with emotion that I've kept at bay for too long. So, shall we go inside?"

"Whatever you wish, Jefferson."

It was an odd place to remember this, but the reunion held a special place in his heart, and the man in question was standing right behind him as well.

Carefully, the Frenchman set down the bouquet of white lilies that he'd brought with him, right next to the tomb, yet he couldn't miss the uncomfortable shift of his companion behind him.

Thomas Jefferson had never liked Alexander Hamilton; but no matter what people thought of the passionate man, there was one thing they all agreed on: he was never to be ignored.

Upon hearing about the death, Lafayette was adamant on paying his final respects to his vehement friend, but the falling of his tears was beyond his control. He briefly wondered, in a daze, whether the immigrant would rise from his grave to scold him about that—nothing seemed impossible when it came to him.

He tried to distract himself with the inscriptions.

TO THE MEMORY OF

ALEXANDER HAMILTON

The CORPORATION of TRINITY CHURCH Has erected this

MONUMENT

In Testimony of their Respect

FOR

The PATRIOT of incorruptible INTEGRITY.

The SOLDIER of approved VALOUR.

The STATESMAN of consummate WISDOM;

Whose TALENTS and VIRTUES will be admired

B Y

Grateful Prosperity

Long after this MARBLE shall have mouldered into

DUST.

He died July 12th 1804. Aged 47.

Patriot; soldier; statesman.

Integrity; valour; wisdom.

Lafayette thought it a pity that those words could never express just how much of these qualities his friend really possessed. Languages could be so cruel sometimes.

And so could nature, because here, in this peaceful setting, the ground held a tragedy that would never be forgotten.

He'd chosen to come here, insisted even, but now…now that he was seeing it right before his eyes, knowing that it was real and that he wasn't in some sort of sick parallel universe where a mere bullet had stolen the life of none other than man who promised to never throw away his shot…

'Oh, Dieu,' Lafayette swallowed as the grief climbed up his throat once more, begging to be more openly let out—beseeching to be heard…he had to say something…

He tensed when a hand made gentle contact with his shoulder; ah, that's right, Jefferson was also here.

"…He didn't seem like someone who could die." Lafayette finally muttered, as if his lips refused to admit it out loud. His brain screamed at him in protest: 'Tais-toi, idiote, qu'est-que tu dis?'

And yet, he went on, risking a glance at Jefferson's face, and then immediately wishing he hadn't. The man was clearly trying to control it, but there was no mistaking the distasteful curl of his lips; the scowl was becoming more prominent.

"You should have seen him when he first started out, Jefferson," Lafayette nevertheless continued, "He was like…like a fire that had been ignited, but his fuel was not firewood; it was the will to fight. His flames were the words that he so skillfully used, and they became brighter with every passing day. Jefferson, I don't understand. After all he went through—the planning, the writing, the stress, the battles—a bullet killed him?"

Thomas Jefferson was uncomfortable—that much was clear. His eyebrows were furrowed in that troubled look of his, and the Frenchman found himself focusing on the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

It was evident that both men were reaching the end of their days, and though their lives had extended to be much longer than Hamilton's, they both secretly felt that they hadn't accomplished as much as he had.

It infuriated Jefferson to no end; Lafayette, however, made it a thought of encouragement—to strive to do more, even at this point in his life.

"He was…something." The Virginian decided to say, running a hand through the silver streaks in his pale hair; alas, that fiery red had long since faded, and it had a vivid effect on his demeanor. No longer did Jefferson seem as intimidating.

"You should've seen him during the cabinet meetings. We could barely shut him up." He chuckled dryly, and then a dark cloud passed over his face, as if he were remembering something unpleasant.

"Do you know he convinced Washington not to aid France during the Revolution?"

Ah, so Jefferson was still bitter over the crisis of a country that was not his own. Lafayette had felt very touched when he heard about the man's efforts to gain them support; even if they had been in vain.

That, or he still really hated Hamilton.

"Yes," Lafayette nodded solemnly, a brief memory flashing before him: the time when he had been captured by the Austrians. He quickly shook it away. "I…I'll admit, I didn't take the news well, but who was I to judge? His country was not in the best shape."

"Neither was yours, but you still helped us when we required it."

At that point, the Frenchman raised a hand, disliking where this conversation was going. "Jefferson, please. I came here to see my friend, and I do not want to backbite about the dead. Especially not the honourable ones."

"…Apologies."

Afterwards, they let silence take over as their eyes wandered once more to the name carved in stone. Friend, enemy…those titles seemed futile after death. What was the point of weeping over memories, seething over grudges? It was over now. All that was left should mean nothing.

However, both men found it a difficult task to simply move on. Forgetting wasn't easy, after all; it never was.

In that unbroken moment, Lafayette would have given anything to have just a chance at saying goodbye. One word would have sufficed; or even just a smile. Anything that Alexander could take with him to the grave.

Jefferson, on the other hand, was having an inner conflict. His mind was at war with itself. He knew that it made him a horrible person, and his old friend seemed disgusted with him as it was, but he still couldn't shake off the loathing that would bubble to the surface whenever he thought of Hamilton.

Lafayette would probably think of him as a monster with a heart of stone, or maybe even no heart at all, but it wasn't like Jefferson could help it. Feelings were not up to humans to decide.

If they were, maybe he would not have fainted when the little remaining strength in his wife's fingers had slipped from his hand.

He immediately shook the excruciating memory from his mind, which was possibly the most difficult task he'd ever forced himself to do. No, no, no, he couldn't cry now—damn it all, why did every grave have to remind him of her—

A yell of frustration clawed its way out of his throat, threateningly close to escaping—and then Lafayette placed a feeble hand on his shoulder. Had he noticed his discomfort?

"Friend, let us go. Hamilton would not want me to display such emotion for him."

He could only manage a curt nod as relief washed over him; he hadn't let himself show weakness.

And so they went on their way, hoping to leave everything behind, hoping to move on. Both of them knew that death would claim them before they could set foot into another graveyard again—it just seemed to be the truth.

They wondered amongst themselves who would leave first; who would hover over whose grave; whose tears would spill for whom.

If they were even buried within reach, that was, and the thought of being unable to visit the tombstone of someone dear to them ached them so.

'Friend, when I go, don't cry for me,' they wanted to say. Doubt held them back; they did not want to further darken the mood.

Neither of them had dwelled much on the thought, however, because a distraction came to them in the form of a forlorn-looking James Madison, taking careful steps towards them. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the concern evident on his flushed face—goodness, was the man ever not ill? All Thomas wanted to do at that moment was shove him into bed and demand he take the rest of the day off.

"Gentlemen, I was concerned." He said timidly. Jefferson would have found his shyness comical had they been in any other situation.

"My friend," Lafayette smiled, clearly forcing it to stretch across his face. He still needed some peace for himself, Jefferson concluded. "Apologies for making you wait. Pardon my question, but are you alright? You seem unwell."

"He's always unwell," Jefferson scowled, taking a step closer to the man. "I told you not to exhaust yourself."

"If I listened to you every time I was sick, I would never get anything done, Jefferson." Madison said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not a child, you know. And you're not in your best condition, either."

"That is a result of my old age, Madison, which was bound to happen." The stubborn Virginian argued. "You, however, always seem to be in ill health. Now come on, we must get you home. I told you not to come all the way over here."

"Jefferson, for the love of God, I am not a child—"

The taller man waved off all of his friend's protests, guiding him away, Lafayette following closely behind. He couldn't help but smile.

'You have your flaws, Jefferson, but you are not heartless.'

The Frenchman dared to risk one last glance at the gravestone, and instead of letting grief take over, he smiled.

'Look at where we are, and look at where we started…the fact that we have done so much is a miracle, n'est-ce pas? We'll leave what we've built for the next generation to improve, and bit by bit, this country will become a safe, happy place where freedom reigns. I hope, I dream, I pray, that the marks we have left in this beloved land remain as a reassurance for all: that what we think we cannot do, we can. Thank you for teaching me that, Alex, and farewell.'

He knew that his friend would much prefer this over tears, even if it was all said in his mind. In fact, if he concentrated enough, Lafayette believed that he could hear the sound of Alexander's voice, loud and clear, promising him that all would be well.

I've been addicted to "Hamilton" for a while now, and I've always found Lafayette, Jefferson and Madison very interesting characters. Apologies if I got anything important wrong! I don't even know if Lafayette actually did visit Hamilton's grave (I searched it up and came out with nothing), but oh well.

If you take your time to read this, thank you! Reviews are appreciated.

~D.J.