Um so you guys wanted a sequel here it is. Just more fights between Jefferson and Hamilton. I'm sorry this is so late, but I hope you enjoy it! So here's the follow-up. Jefferson and Madison pull a prank that does not go as expected.
"Hey, Hamilton. What are you doing here so late? Where's your father?" Thomas Jefferson was staying late at the office, and he had an urge to annoy Hamilton. It happened. The feisty immigrant was so easy to anger. It was good sport. At his words, Hamilton stiffened. "What is the meaning of this? I don't have time for this, Jefferson!" He resumed his scribbling.
"You know what I mean. Where's Daddy, didn't he tell you to go to bed by now?" Ah. There it was. A subtle tic in Hamilton's cheek. "Jefferson go away. I don't know nor care what you're talking about." That's a good one, Thomas thought. You do know and it's driving you crazy.
"Hamilton, where's Washington? Where's your father, hmm? You know, I'll wager that Daddy's going to be upset with you for not following orders." Aaaaand there it is. Hamilton slams his hand on the desk, rising to his feet. "President Washington is not my father! And he didn't order me to leave, he recommended that I leave. For my health." He falters as he realizes he's only proving Thomas's point.
At that moment, the door opens. And who should it be but the very man they were just discussing. Washington enters, heading right for Hamilton. Lays a fond hand on his shoulder. Ruffles Hamilton's hair. "Son, shouldn't you be home? I thought I told you to get some rest." The President finally notices Thomas. "Ah, Mr. Jefferson. What are you doing here? Is something the matter?" There's an underlying tone of what are you doing in my boy's office, are you fighting, is he hurt, what's going on?"
Hamilton is flushed a deep red. Embarrassed. As if people were blind, and didn't see the affection Washington showed towards Hamilton.
A smile, or a pat on the back, a ruffle of his hair, a dozen more little everyday actions that convey the President's affections towards his treasury secretary. The man's evident desire to fill the role of Hamilton's father. And Thomas loves teasing Hamilton about it.
"Nothing at all, sir. Just speaking with a colleague." Washington nods. "Of course. Hamilton, come with me. You need some sleep, son."
Thomas smirks as Hamilton gathers his things silently. He watches, amused as Washington places a hand on the base of Hamilton's neck. Awww sweet. Little Hamilton's finally got a father.
"Jemmy, it's hilarious! His face, oh my god, whenever Washington so much as smiles at him. It's like he can't figure out what to do." Thomas sips his wine, lounging in an armchair. James sits across from him, clutching a handkerchief along with his glass. He coughs, but manages to swallow a few mouthfuls anyway.
He doesn't miss the opportunity to continue teasing Hamilton the next day. "What'd Daddy say to you? Was he upset?"
"Why do you care, Jefferson?" Hamilton snapped as he walked down the hall, his arms full of paper. "Now, let's be civil. I was merely inquiring after a colleague. No need to be so prickly, Hamilton." Thomas chides. They're now making their way to the cabinet room for a meeting.
They took their seats among the bustle of the room, and the meeting is called to order.
France. They need to decide if they are going to help France. Thomas is all for it, and he thought Hamilton would be too. But never count on Hamilton's predictability. The Caribbean man disagrees strongly with Thomas, and the debate dissolves into shouting, like always.
"ENOUGH! Enough, Hamilton is right." Washington shouts. "Mr. President…." Thomas groans. Washington ignores him and continues. "We're too fragile to start another fight."
"But sir, do we not fight for freedom?"
"Sure, when the French figure out who's going to lead them." Washington counters.
"The people are leading!" Well they aren't doing a good job of it, but it's something.
"The people are rioting, there's a difference. And frankly, it's a little disquieting. You would let your ideals blind you to reality?" Washington is ruthless. "Hamilton!"
"Sir?"
"Draft a statement of neutrality, would you?" As Hamilton goes to leave, Thomas pursues him, grabbing him by the arm. He's angry. On this matter, at the very least, he expected Hamilton's support. If not for him, then for Lafayette. But no. Hamilton was unpredictable as a storm, no way of telling if it would blow over or rain its full fury down upon you.
And so they argue. Like they always do. Thomas is feeling rather bitter. How is it that this bastard immigrant can have the support of most of the cabinet, much of New York, and the approval of the President?
The argument is brought to an end by Washington. "Hamilton!" He calls. Thomas glares at Alexander. "Daddy's calling." he remarks snidely. Hamilton looks torn between staying to strangle Thomas or rushing off to obey the orders of his commander. In the end, his military side wins and Hamilton is gone, assuming a respectful stance beside the President. Washington greets the boy with soft words of encouragement or congratulations or something else entirely.
Thomas scowls after them, left standing in the foyer like some errant traveler. Stalking away towards his own office, lost in thought, muttering angrily to himself under his breath, he doesn't see or hear James in front of him, though the smaller man is trying his best to get his attention.
"Thomas."
"Thomas!"
"THOMAS!"
Jefferson blinks. "What? Oh, sorry Jemmy. Didn't hear you. What was it, again?" His friend huffs. "I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes." Thomas winces slightly. "Anyway, I saw you looking fit to kill after the cabinet meeting, and I thought I'd talk to you."
Thomas has never been more grateful to his friend.
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"...and I just don't understand, why won't he support France? He's friends with Lafayette too, I know that for certain, but he still won't budge! I mean, they're supposed to be our allies! An alliance means that you help someone when they need assistance! Does he not know what that means, maybe I ought to tell him…." Thomas ranted as he paced a furious circle around James's desk.
James is leaning back in his chair, observing the antics of his friend with a mild look on his face. "If he didn't have Washington's patronage, this whole affair would have gone a lot smoother, and much more in our favor."
At the man's words, Thomas stopped pacing entirely. Glancing up at his friend, he scoffed. "Yeah, as if that's ever going to happen. The President looks upon Hamilton as if he were his own son. It's good material for taunting Hamilton but not for much else."
A devious look that Thomas had rarely seen cross James's face lit up his features. "Well then, how about we have a little fun?"
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It proves easier than expected to get what James wants. Which is Hamilton by himself, after the entire building has left, for home and their beds.
So Thomas saunters up to the man sometime after midnight, when he's left his office to fetch another candle and some more paper and ink. "Why, hello there Hamilton. What has you staying at work at such an hour?" Hamilton barely spares him a glance. "The same reason you're still here, I presume."
Ha. Right. Absolutely. Thomas follows a few steps behind Hamilton, watching as the man rubs at his eyes and yawns. Underneath, his eyes are mottled with purple. A brief flash of worry goes through his mind- it was awfully late, and Hamilton had pulled the same hours the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that -but he tosses that aside. Ahead of him, Alexander re-enters his office. Outside, the rattle of carriage wheels on stone signal that James had done his part in this little drama. And- yes, there it was. The sound of a door opening and someone hurrying up the steps. Thomas slid into the shadows right as the figure reached the top stair, and stepped into a thin beam of moonlight coming in the window. President Washington, a worried expression on his face. He enters Hamilton's office without so much as a knock, disappearing from Thomas's view. He can still hear what's going on, though. A few moments later, he's joined in his hiding spot by James, who mutters, "Move over." as he pushes inside.
"...did you know I was still here?" It's unmistakably Hamilton's voice, sounding sullen. "I received word from someone who was concerned for you. And no, it wasn't your wife." Washington sounds tired. "You're ill."
Hamilton's voice vehemently denies it. "Sir, I'm fine. I am in perfect health."
"No, son, you're not." The President's voice is gentle, painfully so. "You're going to come home, and you're going to get some sleep and take care of yourself for the next two days." No protests, only a sigh, are uttered by Hamilton. A moment later, the two emerge from the room, Washington with a protective arm wrapped around the shoulders of a sleepy-looking, and admittedly ill-seeming Hamilton, who is trying his hardest not to fall asleep right there in the President's arms. Washington shoots a glance into the shadows where Thomas and James stand watching, making eye contact with Thomas and giving him a gratified look. Then, they're gone.
Hamilton's not at work the next day, and Washington doesn't speak of what happened the night prior. Just a small smile on his face in response to Thomas's completely innocent inquiry.
Again, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it regardless, and please review! ~RedCoatsRedder
