Learning the Mermaid (Jefferson x Angelica)
"Learning the Mermaid"
Series: Hamilton: An American Musical
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: T for language
Summary: Jefferson and Madison come across a mermaid, but Jefferson is an ass, as usual. Slight Shuylerson-ish…sort of?
First Published: 4/23/2017 at 4:06 PM on Tumblr
Written by: Rkareena/Foxiesango
A/N: The original intent was for this to be much more fluffy between Angelica/Thomas, but the longer it got the more I realized that it would take time for them to build the foundation of a healthy romantic ship. So not a lot of fluff here, but a bit at the end.
As a side note, I don't condone abusive relationships. If someone has been mean to you physically and/or emotionally, you should cut them loose and not have anything more to do with them.
That said, I see potential as a follow up to this based on where I leave their relationship at the end, it'd just depend on if I ever get around to writing it. I tried to make this more emotional though.
Enjoy!
"T-Thomas…"
"Yeaaah James…?" his voice was low, distant, distracted. His friend took a deep breath and clenched his fists at his sides, steeling his resolve to push past his meekness.
"Thomas…you're…you….you're a well…"
"Spit it out Madison."
"Y-you're a jerk!" a pause. Jefferson turned around and propped his arm over the back of his chair, raising an eyebrow at this colleague. He chuckled,
"A jerk? What are you, five? If you wanna call me a dick or an asshole just say it. It's nothing I haven't heard before."
"Y-you're torturing her!" at that, Thomas' expression shifted from mildly amused to deadpan annoyance. He clicked his teeth, turning back around to his work.
"I think…that's a bit of a stretch, James."
"Have you seen her?!"
"Yes. She's a scientific commodity and we'll make a killing off of her!"
"Unless you kill her first!" At this, Thomas rolled his eyes and fully turned in his swivel-chair (one of his favorite inventions) to face his lifelong friend.
"James, what the hell are you talking about? You're not making any sense!"
"Thomas, you kidnapped her from her home and you've had her trapped in the basement like some caged…animal…for weeks!"
"In case you missed the memo, James, she's NOT human. That's the whole point of our expedition—travelling the seas for new discoveries, and she is the biggest one yet!"
"But at what cost?!" James cried. Thomas growled; he couldn't believe his friend was bailing after everything they'd been through!
"This could be our big break, and you want to just throw that out the window?! Are you fucking insane?!"
"Have you tried communicating with her? You don't even know what she's going through!" Madison was surprised at the steadiness in his speech.
"She doesn't speak English, James."
"Talking is not the only way to communicate with someone." James said, his voice tight with exhaustion. It was like trying to break through a cement block. Thomas rolled his eyes again, swiveling his chair back around to pour over the papers on his desk.
"I don't have time for this. I've got work to do," he bit back. James sighed, trying to ignore the feeling of his nails cutting into his palms as he turned to the doorway. A pause.
"She's dying, Thomas," he said lowly before exiting the room. He didn't see the inventor still, straightening his back and lifting his head.
—
The ebb and flow of the waves lapping against the base of the ship might have been a lulling sensation for a newborn. For the adults on board, it only served as a reminder for how far away from home they were—it made them stir crazy and over the past few months, the lot of them had begun to fall victim to the nauseous push and pull on their guts.
Jefferson was not so prone such sickness; he'd built a sort of immunity over time from decades of travelling the globe. His friend Madison, who'd only just started joining him on his trips no more than four years ago, could still expectedly find himself puking overboard now and then. But it was the cargo they'd picked up about 5 weeks ago that was now worse for wear compared to the rest of the crew.
It was dusk, the sun was just starting to kiss the tops of the waves on the horizon. Jefferson hadn't been in one of the cabins below the main deck since earlier in the afternoon, which wasn't typical of what had become his everyday routine. He blamed Madison for throwing him off his rhythm. Even now, as he reached for the handle of the door, he hesitated, fingers slightly curling…unsure of if he wanted to expose himself to James' truth.
No…he was an explorer, adventurer, collector, a scientist.
He had nothing to worry about.
The splinters of the handle were rough against the calluses at the base of his fingers and on his palm as he tightened his grip and pulled. The room was dark, and Jefferson raised the lantern in his left hand to illuminate the cramped space. In the center of the room was a makeshift tub, less than half-way filled with water, and the form of the creature inside limply hung over the lip of the basin. Her dark, curly hair was a tangled mess at her shoulders and her caramel skin, he realized, was considerably lighter than when they'd first captured her. There were bags under her eyes and her lips were chapped.
He hadn't noticed before.
His breath caught in his throat, and his chest began to feel tight. He swallowed and bit his lip as he approached the tub, placing the lantern on the nearby table and taking what had become his standard seat next to her.
And he stared.
She had been stunningly beautiful when he first saw her, almost like a goddess or an angel. Now, she appeared a weakened animal.
She heard him before she saw him. When he opened the door, her eyelids cracked open and she took in the fuzzy appearance of his form through her haze. Her head felt muddled, and she was having more trouble breathing than usual, managing small wheezing breaths.
She had grown to hate this man. This, monster who didn't release her after she'd found herself tangled in one of his crew's fishing nets, but instead brought her aboard and began to violate her being—making a mockery of her species.
Day one, she had originally been fascinated by the bounciness of his locks, the firm broadness of his stature and the authoritative air with which he carried himself. She was curious, but also terrified as she had struggled to free herself from the knotted mess ensnaring her arms, hair, and tail. His men had handled her roughly as they threw the net onto the deck, but he'd told them to stand down and proceeded to cut her free, making her think that he'd release her back to her home.
He didn't.
He'd instead carried her down to one of the cabins below deck, dumped her in one of the basins, and proceeded to drag her through hell. The small, metal tools that he used were cold as he poked, prodded, and pinched her, scrapping samples of the scales off her tail fin and gills, clipping her fingernails, purposefully pressing small cuts into her skin to see how fast she would heal.
And every day he'd ask her, "Can you understand me?"
And she did; but would never dignify him with an answer. He didn't deserve it. He was a beast. If he attempted to look in her mouth, she would bite at him or spit in his face. She would hiss and proceed to screech or wail in a language that was foreign to Thomas. He would then try to emulate it, which tightened her heart at the insult to her people.
And every day it would continue, her only solace being her friend James, who would come visit when Thomas was occupied and bring her food, sit with her, read to her, talk a while. And for a time, she never said a word to James, but would give him a strained smile and reach out to lace her fingers with his during every visit.
But lately, she'd been growing tired…too tired to put up a fight. And today was the first time she'd graced Madison's ears with words…though they were hoarse and her vocal chords felt singed when she spoke.
"…H-home?"
It had been a simple request, yet one he couldn't fulfill for her. And he gazed at her with sadness, reaching down to lace her fingers with his and giving her hand a small squeeze.
—
So to see her captor now, staring at her with something akin to the same sympathy she'd grown accustomed to in Jame's eyes, made her sick. With what little energy she had, she spat at him, but he wasn't deterred. Instead, he brought his fingers up toward her face, and the flinched back, jerking her head away from him and growling. She attempted to hiss, but it came out a squeak and she was ashamed of herself. He furrowed his eyebrows,
"My god, what have I done?" she barely heard him.
His eyes swept over her form, taking in the cuts and bruises that were still healing. Some wounds had dried blood caking her soft skin, and her scales were brittle.
She really was dying.
He reached toward her again, and she had too little energy to move, but she glared daggers into his soul. He hesitated before deciding that reaching to press his fingers to her forehead probably wasn't the best move. Instead, his eyes zeroed in on the hand dangling over the edge of the tub. He reached down and gently lifted her hand, holding it in his palm. He instantly felt her tense all over and he regretted her reaction. Silently, he turned her hand over so that it rested in his right hand, palm up. The fingertips of his left hand came forward and gently slid across her palm. He felt her shiver and he glanced up. She was still fixing him with a seething glare. Sighing, he brought her hand up and gently brushed his lips against her palm.
She gasped.
His lips lingered. Soft and warm.
What was?
Her heart began to beat rapidly in anxiety, pounding against her rib cage. This…this wasn't normal. She didn't know what this meant. What was he up to? What game was he playing? She was starting to panic.
His eyebrows furrowed as he proceeded to kiss each of her fingers, turning her hand over and pressing his lips to her knuckles as well. When he looked at her, her eyes were wide with fear.
True fear.
"I-I'm sorry," he said. She frowned and he continued. "I don't know….if you can understand me but…my god, I never thought…" he shrugged. "I didn't think." The man ran a hand through his hair. "You…you were so gorgeous and…I was fascinated. I wanted to learn everything I could about you but…I treated you like an object instead of a living creature. I didn't see that I was killing you. I never wanted that." He was looking down, staring at her hand, still in his own, though hers was clenched into a tight fist.
"I won't ask your forgiveness, that would be too much to expect but—" his words fell dead from his tongue. What was he doing? Why was he even talking to her? What did he want or expect from her? Why…? He shouldn't even be here and…and…why was his hand moving? His eyes grew wide as he followed the trail from the slender fingers gripping his wrist, up to the young face that was bringing his hand forward, to her own lips. He gasped.
Did she?
….she didn't quite forgive him, but she wanted him to know that she'd heard him. And this seemed to be a mutual action that she could reciprocate to show it. Her species was not necessarily vengeful, but they were understanding. She heard him sigh and she released his hand, bringing her arms back into the tub and sliding down, drawing herself away from him warily. The corner of his lip quirked as he reached up and gently caressed one lone curl of her hair. Then he retracted his touch.
He knew he had to do whatever he could to get her strength up before returning her to the ocean. It'd be pointless to send her back if she was vulnerable enough to be prey for larger fish like sharks in her weakened state. He sighed.
"I just wish I'd known your name," he said lowly. He'd taken to calling her MX-313—part of a naming system he'd developed for any new discoveries he'd made on his excursions.
She stared at him tiredly before taking a breath.
"Angelica." He jolted at this.
"W-what?"
"I am…called…Angelica," she said, and his heart clenched. She…she could speak….then that meant, she was a sentient being. She could understand…she could feel…she could think…she could…fuck, damn-it that made him feel worse. He collapsed to his knees at her side, knocking over his chair.
"Y-you…you can speak…you can…why did you never…" he was breathless. She felt her eyes grow heavy as she slowly filled her lungs to answer,
"You ask….if I could understand. Never…if I could speak," and she said no more as she slipped down into unconsciousness.
Tears stung at Jefferson's eyes and he couldn't stop them from trickling hotly down his cheeks.
Gods what had he done? He had shredded this beautiful creature down to nothing. All for the sake of science?
He was a true fuck-up.
—
The next several weeks were spent with gentler visits, though the atmosphere was still awkward…tense …cautious, for both parties. A crew member would routinely fill her tube with water gathered from the ocean—this was something they'd always done, but the tub would now be filled to the brim instead of half-way. Thomas would come in and proceed with applying ointment to Angelica's injuries, gently massaging her fingers, her arms, her sides and her scales. If she were honest with herself, she wondered if his fingers had an element of magic. She always felt relaxed when he worked her muscles. He also fed her more frequently and though they didn't talk much, there was conversation.
It helped.
He learned more about Angelica in the weeks spent healing her than he had in the weeks spent breaking her. For instance, he learned that she actually could speak multiple languages, including French. It then became common for them to slip into that language around James, which would irritate him since he didn't know what they hell they were saying. She also had a fascination for science and exploration, and Jefferson found himself sharing journals of his previous travels with her. The bad blood between them slowly, but surely dissipated. Still, it wasn't long before she was well enough to be returned to the ocean.
—
Only Jefferson and James took to this task, as they commandeered one of the smaller lifeboats and lowered themselves into the sea late one evening before rowing out a ways to what they thought was a safe location for Angelica.
"Alright Ange…I think this is your stop," Jefferson said, lowering the oars and massaging a shoulder as he rotated his arms. James smiled at the mermaid, now looking just as lively, if not moreso, as she did when she first fell into their net. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers.
"We'll miss you," he said softly. She smiled, gently giving him an eskimo kiss of appreciation. He'd always been kind to her. With that, Jefferson and Madison both rolled up their sleeves and dunked their arms into the tub, lifting Angelica up before tossing her into the ocean. They saw her figure swimming freely beneath the ocean's surface for a while before she popped back up and made her way to the lifeboat. Both men had their hands gripping the edge. She interlaced her fingers with James' and leaned forward to kiss Thomas's. They both smiled and Thomas reached down to gently caress her face with his palm. She smiled, turning her head to press her lips to the inside of his hand…and she let them linger. Thomas felt his heart pound in his chest and he sighed.
"Farewell, mon Ange,"
"Nous nous reverrons, Thomas," she said, bringing her hand up to keep his own to her cheek for a moment longer. He swallowed the lump in his throat at this before she kissed the tips of his fingers again, gave his hand a squeeze, and sunk back down into the ocean.
James and Thomas stared after her, and it wasn't long before James cut his eyes around to his friend.
"I think she likes you," he said teasingly. Jefferson flushed.
"Wh-what?!"
"Ahhh, you're blushing, Thomas!"
"Sh-shaddup!"
"Why are you embarrassed? What are you five?" James laughed. Thomas felt flustered and frustratingly pushed his friend into the ocean. James popped back up, splashing his arms around haphazardly.
"GAH! D-damn-it! Thomas, pull me up! I-I'm not a good swimmer, you know that! THOMAS!"
Reviews are welcome!
