A/N: So, here's my next one, for Hamilton again. But this time, I made it Jefferson-centric, based off something I read about his history.

As I'm sure the fandom knows, Jefferson's wife died about a year after the end of the Revolutionary war. But, not everyone may know how Jefferson reacted to Martha's death.

Apparently (according to some documents kept by one of his daughters), Jefferson was in the room where it happened, so to speak. That is to say, he never left her side while she was ill, and thus was right beside her when she passed. He, like any other person, went into shock, so unaware of his surroundings that his sister had to lead him by the hand to the library. Leading him away was an effort to calm him down, I think, but it didn't work, because he passed out when they arrived. His daughter reported that he was unconscious for such a long time, they almost feared he wouldn't wake. When at last he did, he went straight to his room, where he locked himself for about three weeks. After which time, he would go horseback riding for hours (this went on for a few months), before going to be an ambassador to France. (All this from the Jefferson's Monticello website.)

So, using all that, I wanted to make a story based on the fact that, I think James Madison would have come, if he could have (I think he was in New York or something at the time), to help one of his closest friends deal with his grief, and finding Jefferson in his room. Not all of this will be fact, but if you guys want to know which parts are, just leave a review and I'll confirm on the next-next author's note. That goes for all of the chapters.

So, thanks for reading that whole mess. And because this author's note is so long, I'm just going to put the Fact of the Day at the bottom.

Please review, and I hope you enjoy!

"Jefferson?" James Madison knock uncertainly on the looming door. No answer. He knocked again, sharply, and called out once more. When still he received not so much as a clue to any movement from the small room, he stepped back, simultaneously anxious and determined.

Then, with a clear, authoritative voice, he proclaimed, "Jefferson, I shall enter whether or not you deign to grace me with your consent."

True to his word, he strode forward cautiously. Pushing the door open with some effort, he was met with a dark, dust-filtered room. It was nearly bare, save for a bed, a bookshelf, a chair, and-

His eyes snapped back to the chair, and he gasped. There Thomas was seated- well, seated proved to be a loose term; perhaps propped served better- haphazardly against its cushions, legs spread awkwardly before him and arms laid slack on the carpet. His head was leant back against the seat, dark circles carved beneath his closed eyes. His skin, or what could be seen of it, glistened with sweat; his breathing was laboured and wheezing.

James hastened to his side, taking a limp wrist and finding a quick, thready pulse below his fingertips. He smacked Thomas' cheeks lightly, trying to rouse him. When all he received was a pained groan and a few weak coughs, he called out for help.

A servant rushed in mere moments later, his eyes wide and alarmed upon the sight of his master. Madison's voice was calmly urgent, "What happened, boy?'

"I don't know, sir," the servant replied, unable to tear his eyes from Jefferson. "You have my word, weak as it seem."

"How long has he been in here?" Madison demanded impatiently.

"About-" the young boy paused, calculating, "yes, nearly two weeks, sir."

"Then why am I the first to discover him in such a state?" Madison stood to face the servant, anger and anxiety etched deep into his expression.

"W-we were ordered to stay out, sir."

"And why is that?"

"Well, as you know, sir, Mrs. Jefferson passed only recently, and when she died, the master was right beside her. His sister had to take him by the hand into the library; he was in a strange daze or shock, like he didn't understand what had happened. He fell to unconsciousness in the library, and, about half an hour later, he woke. We were all relieved- that is, until he stumbled to his room, said very softly to stay out, and spread the word, or he'd have a severe punishment for the entire household."

Madison nodded, then gestured to the boy, "Well, come now, inside and assist me."

The servant hesitated, shaking his head vigorously, "I can't, sir, he'll-"

"What is your name?"

". . . Oscar, sir."

"The fault will fall on me, Oscar; I shall make certain so." Madison's tone became deadly calm, "Now help me, or you shall receive a worse punishment, I assure you."

At that, Oscar scurried inside, carefully grasping under Thomas' arm, and pulling it across his shoulders. Madison followed suit with Thomas' other arm, and together they lifted him.

Once Thomas was safely atop the covers, James sent the servant for a couple dozen hand-towels. He was back within moments, carefully setting the materials on the end table beside James, who was lifting Jefferson's shirt to more properly see his rib-cage. His fingers ran along the skin stretching precariously over his rib cage, searching for the telltale signs of malnutrition. James could easily trace Thomas' ribs, a fact which proved to be very disconcerting.

"Has he eaten lately, that you know of?" He queried, smoothing Jefferson's red hair back from his heated brow and listening worriedly to the man's wheezing breaths.

"His daughter made him eat, sir, before she left about five days ago," Oscar replied. "She's visiting her mother's family."

"I see," James replied, contemplating. "Get some rest; the night is old. Should I need you, I shall wake you. Close the door on your way out, if you please."

"Sir?" the boy said meekly, looking fearful and a little nervous.

James smiled softly, "I will inform Jefferson of the help you so graciously offered, in concern for your master."

Oscar smiled back gratefully, then retreated to his quarters. Madison returned his attentions to Thomas, who was groaning softly in pain. James sighed sadly, soaking a hand-towel and placing it across Thomas' head. Thomas let out another groan, eyes screwing shut and dry coughs escaping his lips. Then his eyes fluttered open suddenly, and James rushed to cup his friend's face. "Thomas? It is James, can you hear me?"

Thomas' body convulsed with a shiver and another cough, glazed eyes meeting his with some effort. His brow furrowed in confusion, "Who-?" A long silence, in which James had to tap Thomas's cheek to keep him awake, then, "James? What- Why do I ache, pray tell? I feel as if a carriage has run me over." His voice barely rose above a breath, so very weak, and it James' heart to see one of his closest friends this way. Thomas had always been so magnificent, eccentric, excited, marvelous.

And now he hardly strain to speak.

"Ah, Thomas," Madison said sadly, gently wiping a stray tear from Thomas' eye with the pad of his thumb. "You have pushed yourself too far for health's liking, my friend."

Thomas whimpered miserably, "It hurts, James. It hurts, and it is so very cold."

Madison loosed the pale face, sitting back a little. "Can you sit?"

Thomas seemed to try, but his face instantly paled, breaths quickening far too easily. Then, impossibly, more colour drained from his face, eyes widening, "James- James, where is Martha?"

James hesitated, swallowing around the lump in his throat, "She is presently in the library; she wishes you to rest."

Thomas gazed at him a moment, then let out a wheezing sigh, seeming to accept James' explanation, "Very well. 'Tis insurmountably cold, is it not?"

"'Tis only the fever, my friend," he sat Thomas up, supporting him against the headboard, beginning to undo the buttons and laces of Jefferson's formal clothes. Once he had stripped him down to his undershirt, James pulled the covers over him, switching out the warm towel for a fresh one. Thomas was shaking vigorously now, "James- cold- it- don't-"

"Shh, all is well," Madison assured him softly. "Rest now."

Many minutes had dragged on before Thomas managed to drift off, his breaths steadier than before.

Madison sighed, scanning the prone form of his ailing friend; it would be a long week.

Thomas awoke to a parched throat and a pounding head. He suppressed a pained groan at the discovery of various pains: everything smarted, as if he had been beaten several times over with a large mallet. He was drowning in sweat, yet he shook furiously. Why was it so cold?

He frowned; how had he even gotten in bed? He knew it was his, because the last memory he could recollect was being alone in his room for some time, and before that-

His eyes stung as tears began gathering on the edges of them, and, despite his best efforts, he could not hinder the overflow. It fell down his flushed cheeks in hot streaks, trailing down his temples and over his ears, until it met the sheets. He didn't bother smothering his sob, tightening his fists and clenching his jaw until it ached.

It was a merely a cruel game, wasn't it? His life, and all it had had the audacity to snatch from him.

Something stirred next to him, presently. With great effort, Thomas turned to face it, breath catching in his throat. His close friend, James Madison, was seated closely beside him, head resting near Thomas' elbow and arms bent in such a way that his face was covered. With his breaths deep and steady, Thomas assumed the man was asleep.

But what was he doing here? Surely James had not carried him to bed? That man most certainly possessed a formidable mind, but that was where his strength ceased; James himself would admit so.

Yet, he looked disheveled, as if he hadn't moved for a relatively long time. From the looks of him, he hadn't left the room itself. But for what reason?

Perhaps Thomas had fallen ill?

He weakly pressed two fingers to the pulse point on his wrist, where he found a quick, thready rhythm. Biting his cheek, he lifted a hand to his forehead, pressing his palm against it. There was suddenly a cooling balm there, clearing his head a little. Nevertheless, he pulled it away in irritation; he most definitely had a fever. Wondrous.

Then a tickle made itself known in the base of his throat, and before he could shove it down, a coughing fit had seized him. He pitched upwards with each convulsion, waking James abruptly, who quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes. He sat Thomas up to help him breathe easier, rubbing his back soothingly.

"Steady breaths, my friend," he muttered quietly, until eventually the fit ceased. He made Thomas drink some water, despite his friend's protests that his stomach churned.

His throat still hurt, but not nearly as much as before, so he tried for a question, gripping his still-throbbing chest, "How-" His voice failed him, however, and it wasn't until he'd swallowed at least a dozen times before he felt he could try again. "How long have you been here?" His tone was incredulous, almost comical, and James would have laughed, given any other circumstance.

"Not nearly as long as you have, I'm certain," James replied tersely. Thomas blinked at James in confusion. But he had been in his room mere days. . . hadn't he?

"How long have I been ill?" Thomas inquired slowly, bracing himself for a ridiculous number.

"I am not certain myself," James said, looking hard and scolding at him. "I was told, however, that you have isolated yourself in here for around a week. Care to explain?"

Thomas blanched, "I had not realized- a week? Surely not so long? Are you certain it is a week since I have entered my quarters?"

"Reasonably so. You do not recall your time spent here prior to losing consciousness?"

Thomas shook his head. "I do not recall losing consciousness," he admitted. He looked down confusedly, "What happened to my clothes?"

Madison chuckled softly, eyes wrinkling a little at the corners, "You became too warm for health, my friend."

"Ah."

James studied him a moment, smile fading, "Have you been crying, my dear Thomas?" He wasn't incredulous, nor scoffing; concern and something like expectation of an answer- yes- flooded his tone and his face.

Thomas bit his cheek hard.

"No," he replied quietly, averting his eyes in embarrassment.

But James smiled kindly, "'Tis nothing to be ashamed of. I know why you grieve; I was informed of Martha's passing." His face fell in sympathy.

Thomas' gaze met James, his heart aching horribly, "That is why have-?"

James nodded, taking Thomas' hand in a mute show of comfort.

Silence settled.

"Open," James demanded abruptly.

Thomas blinked, blurting lamely: "What?"

"Open," Madison repeated patiently. "I must check your temperature again?"

Thomas obeyed, reluctantly letting the thermometer slip under his tongue. "How-?" he tried, slightly muffled, but James hushed him, watching the mercury closely.

"102.3," he announced, tucking the device back into his shirt pocket neatly.

"How many times have you done that?" Thomas tried again.

Madison only smirked, humming a song Thomas hadn't the energy to recognize. He simply rolled his eyes halfheartedly and shut his eyes.

"You realize," Madison began, amused, "I am more commonly the one to fall ill, and you are the one wrestling with me to allow you, along with an all-too-amused Dolley, to care for me?"

Thomas chuckled softly, cracking an eye open, "Yes: the roles have inverted rather swiftly, have they not?"

James returned the chuckle, "Indeed they have."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that mess. I think it might have been a little bit rushed, but otherwise pretty decent. So it would be wonderful if I could get some beautiful R&R from my amazing readers.

I forgot to do the disclaimer, so

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hamilton musical or the dimension which controls time (history, I mean. Haha)

Now, on to one of my favourite things of this thing. . . wow, that didn't make much sense did it? Whoops.

Fact of the Day(#8): The democratic party's symbol of a donkey stemmed from when someone (probably from the republican party) called Andrew Jackson (who was, obviously, part of the democratic party) a "jacka**" (sorry, I don't like to curse, maybe I should have mentioned that before, whoops, haha). Jackson adopted the name's animal into the symbol of the democratic party, so as to get back at that person.

Thanks again for reading, and I hope to get the next chapter up soon, but one can always hope.

Goodbye and Farewell for now,

JamesHowlette1943