Thomas Jefferson strolled through the halls of the Presidential Residence. Though the Secretary of State had arrived right on time for work, as he passed Alexander Hamilton's office he saw the man himself through the half-open door. Hamilton was bent over his desk, hard at work already. Scowling, Jefferson continued on down the hall.
How does he always manage to get here before me? Jefferson shook his head. Every day! I have half a mind just to come in on Saturday in order to have the false pleasure of arriving first, though, he'd probably be there anyway. Trust Hamilton to come to work on the off days.
If Jefferson stopped to think about it, he would not be able to come up with a logical reason for wanting to be the first to arrive at work. He just wanted to beat Hamilton at whatever—and whenever—he could. The same was true of Alexander. Not once did they ever stop to think about their motives for their petty arguments and meaningless competitions. Sure, they formally disagreed during the cabinet meetings, but, in the words of their dear friend, Angelica Church: "There's no reason why you can't set aside your differences in order to at least attempt to be civil to one another outside the workplace."
On the way to his own office, which wasn't far from President Washington's or Hamilton's, Jefferson met up with James.
"Hello, Thomas," Madison greeted and Jefferson cordially returned the greeting.
"Are you prepared for your speech this afternoon?" Madison continued after they had exchanged pleasantries.
"My what?" Jefferson asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.
"Your speech concerning that new idea of putting a tax on whiskey," Madison reminded.
"That was supposed to be today?" Jefferson exclaimed. He head ached at the thought of public speaking and the world began to spin. "I thought Hamilton was making that speech."
"Hamilton is the one who proposed the idea in the first place."
"Oh, this is not good... this is not what I need today!"
"Are you telling me that you didn't prepare anything?"
"No!" Jefferson shouted and, realizing the volume of his sudden outburst, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "No! I forgot I was even supposed to make a speech at all! Can't Hamilton and I just go at it during a cabinet meeting or something?"
"I'm afraid this subject was not put up for debate. The president asked you if you would give your opinions on the matter via written speech."
"How can I give a written speech if I didn't even write anything?"
"Don't ask me."
"Okay, okay..." Jefferson closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "I can do this. It's no big deal, right?"
"It shouldn't be…"
"Now, when am I supposed to make said speech?"
"About an hour from now."
"An hour from now? How can I—never mind. Just tell me one more thing... am I for or against this issue?"
"Really, Thomas?"
"Just answer the question!"
"Last time we chatted about it, you said you were against it and, since Hamilton is for it, I think it's safe to say you're against it," Madison replied with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. While he felt bad for his friend, knowing how challenging public speaking was for him, he shouldn't have forgotten something that important.
"Thanks, you're a pal. Now, I gotta run, I only have an hour to come up with something worth listening to!" Jefferson called as he ran into his office.
Thomas sat down at his desk and stared at a blank piece of paper, hoping something brilliant would come to him, but nothing did... so now it was time to think. Fifteen minutes and six crumpled up pieces of paper later, he was trying not to despair.
Just write something! Anything! You have forty-five minutes, all the time in the world, so just calm down and think. He mentally scolded himself, I bet Hamilton would already have fifty pages written out by now. You are just as good as him; you can do better than him!
Another fifteen minutes passed and Jefferson was feeling a little more confident in his impromptu writing abilities. Fifteen minutes later found him on a roll, ideas flooding into his head faster than he could write them down. At five minutes to the hour, he had finally finished his speech, but he didn't dare read it as he had no time to bother with corrections.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Thomas reached into the lowest drawer in his desk and pulled out a flask of wine, a delicacy he'd brought back with him from France. This was, what he called, his "relief stash" of alcohol and it was only to be consumed before and after speeches (or anytime he had to speak in front of a large crowd or very important people) because the alcohol helped to calm his nerves.
However, the bottle felt surprisingly light in his hands and Thomas was horrified to find it empty.
"No, no, no, no, no! This can't be happening! I could've sworn it was full, last I checked," he cried. Rushing to his cabinet where he kept his back up bottle, he found it, too, was empty.
He tried not to panic, but his already frazzled nerves were becoming fried. Anxiety began to fill his chest, constricting his already erratic breathing as he thought about standing in front of all those people and speaking about... What was my speech about again? Whisky? What I wouldn't give for just a glass or two right now... Maybe James has some, he thought suddenly. Grabbing his speech, he checked the clock—four minutes til the top of the hour—and raced off to Madison's office.
"James! Quick, do you have any wine on hand? Or maybe even whisky?" Thomas asked breathlessly.
"What? Why—"
"Beer, sangaree, stonewall? Anything? Quick, James, I don't have time for questions!"
"I don't have any of that."
"Seriously? Well, thanks anyway," Thomas said before dashing off, leaving a baffled Madison behind.
Think, Thomas, think! Where can you go? What can you do? You have three minutes, so use that brilliant brain of yours and think! A sudden thought struck him as he ran through the halls. Hamilton. Maybe Hamilton has something...anything...he's got to have something to keep him going, right?
He turned so sharply in the hall that he almost lost his footing and fell, only later on did he realize he'd twisted his ankle. Running on pure adrenaline and panic, Thomas' only goal was to get to Alexander's office before time ran out.
Intense pain shot through Alexander Hamilton's hand and continued up through his arm. Gritting his teeth and suppressing a cry of pain, he pried the quill pen out of his right hand. He slowly tried to flex his fingers, but they would not budge; so, he manually flexed them using his other hand. Soon, he was able to flex his fingers on his own, however, the pain was still as hot as ever.
Washington had sent him home after work yesterday, but Alexander had snuck back into his office in order to finish some of his work. That happened around midnight and he'd been writing non-stop ever since. He could not remember the last time he had slept through the night; his mind was constantly going and he could not get it to stop, or even to slow down. It was not fair that Eliza should have to forgo a good night's sleep just because of Alexander's constant tossing and turning, so he decided not to sleep, and worked instead.
He pulled out the letter he had received from Angelica the other day and opened it. Her letters always provided a wonderful distraction from his work. Smiling, he began to read:
My dearest Alexander,
How have you been as of late? Has the weather in New York been favorable? How is my dear Eliza?
I am writing to you because of a matter that has weighed heavily on my mind for weeks, a matter which involves you and one of my other dearest friends: Thomas Jefferson.
Do you know how challenging it is when two of your closest friends are enemies? I would love to receive at least one letter from you, or from Thomas, that does not put down the other. Is there nothing you two can agree upon? Have you ever considered keeping your rivalry at the workplace without bringing it into your personal lives? You are both logical, grown men; you are both geniuses with strong personal opinions, but you also have wonderful souls. If you try looking at him as if he was a human being, and not just your enemy, you'll find that you both have much in common. So, I implore you: you must get through to Jefferson. Sit down with him and compromise; don't stop until you agree. Ask yourself: What is it like in his shoes?
Alexander sighed. He would read the rest of the letter later.
Compromise with Jefferson? Don't stop until we agree? Keep our rivalry in the workplace, and only the workplace? Alexander scoffed. Not possible. He's an arrogant, know-it-all machine without any feelings for anyone but himself.
He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was making his eyelid droop. Oh, how he longed for sleep... but the meeting began in three minutes and Jefferson was going to make a speech: a speech that opposed his brilliant idea. Doesn't he realize that I am trying to get rid of the nation's debt?
Sighing once more, he trudged wearily to the door. He opened it only to collide with a blur of magenta.
"Jefferson?" Alexander asked before Thomas had a chance to speak. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the meeting room preparing your speech?"
"Why is everyone so concerned about me making this blasted speech?" Thomas exclaimed. "Look, I don't have time to argue with you, or even to trade insults. I have only one question, and it may sound insane, but just answer it, okay?"
"Okay..." replied Alexander, too confused at his rival's panicked and disheveled appearance to say anything else.
"Do you have any alcoholic beverages? Any at all?"
Alex blinked. "No... why?"
"Are you sure? Because I won't tell anyone if you have a secret stash hidden somewhere," Jefferson promised and Alexander observed the desperation in his eyes.
"I don't have any, but I am kind of wishing I did have just a little right about now. Why are you asking me this? You're going to make us late."
"I need some, now just give it to me, please!"
"Whoa! Jefferson! Are you even listening to yourself? You sound like a maniac!" Alex said as he pushed Thomas out of his personal space. "Calm down! What has gotten into you?"
"This speech! I can't—you know, you wouldn't understand," Thomas sighed.
Alexander was surprised, to say the least, by this scene. Was the self-assured, obnoxious, know-it-all Secretary of Treasury afraid to make a simple speech? He surely did not have any problem arguing with Alexander during the cabinet meetings. Why should making a speech that opposed one of Alexander's ideas be any different.
"We have one minute to get to the meeting room," Alexander warned, but it didn't appear as if Jefferson cared anymore.
"I know, I know..." Thomas glanced down at the speech in his hand, a look of despair flashing across his face. He quickly replaced the expression with a mask of self-confidence and arrogance, hoping Hamilton hadn't noticed his moment of vulnerability.
Unfortunately, he was quick to catch it.
"Hey, um, I guess we had better get going," Alexander said, suddenly feeling very awkward.
"Of course," Thomas replied, hoping his voice did not sound as bad as he felt, and they walked together in silence for a few tense moments.
Thomas couldn't help but notice the exhaustion that played out over Alexander's face. He had large circles under his eyes and his left eyelid was drooping. Thomas found himself wondering, despite himself, how long Alexander had been like this. Is he not sleeping properly?
"So, how did you manage to get here so early this morning?" Thomas asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
"I just decided to come early, that's all. Why do you ask?" Alexander replied defensively.
"Hey, I was only trying to start a conversation, you don't need to get defensive!"
"If you didn't want me to get defensive, why did you pry?"
"Look, you don't have to tell me anything. In fact, I don't even care how you came to be here so early," Thomas said as he threw his hands up. "I don't care about you or your pathetic life, so there."
"Good, because I don't care about your pathetic life."
"Good."
"Good," Thomas said, ending their sorry attempt at an argument.
"Is that your speech?" Alexander inquired after a few minutes, not knowing what else to say, but feeling as though he should at least say something. The silence was nearly unbearable.
"Yes."
"That's good."
"Yep."
"How many pages?"
"I can't remember at the moment."
"All right." Alexander couldn't think of anything else after that. Usually, they would be arguing at this point, but for some reason, he didn't feel very much like arguing. He was worn out and his hand still hurt terribly.
Obviously, Thomas shrewdly picked up on this fact because he asked, "Is something wrong with you hand?"
"No, why do you ask," Alexander replied a little too quickly.
"Well, you are massaging it with your other hand."
"It's just... cold, okay? I'm warming it."
"Oh," Thomas said. He wasn't in the mood for an argument either; he was too busy stressing about his fear of public speaking.
The rest of the walk was spent in silence.
"Where have you two been?" George Washington questioned when his secretaries finally arrived in the meeting room.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but Alexander beat him to it. "We were detained, sir. I'm very sorry, it won't happen again."
"Never mind that, the people are waiting, Jefferson," the president said as he gestured towards the podium.
Alexander noticed how Thomas' breath hitched when he caught sight of the stand.
"Right," Thomas said and slowly—almost cautiously—made his way towards the podium as Alexander went to sit down with Washington.
Alexander didn't know why, but he was oddly worried about Jefferson. Maybe Angelica's words were finally getting to him, or maybe it was just the exhaustion affecting his brain.
Just before he stepped up to the podium, a look of pure fear crossed his face, which gave Alexander pause. However, the look vanished almost as soon as it appeared, though it remained burned in Alexander's mind forever.
A hush fell over the crowd as Thomas cleared his throat several times before shuffling through his papers, nearly dropping them out of his shaking hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Thomas began, voice cracking. "Well, just gentleman—I mean men—because there aren't any ladies present. So, gentlemen a-and... other gentlemen? Thank you for your time a-and your availability a-and your willingness to listen to me speak on this s-subject... The subject! Yes, the... uh... Whisky Tax... the tax on whisky... this-this-this... whisky... tax... the-the tax... on whisky..."
"What is he doing?" Washington whispered to Hamilton.
"I don't know, sir," Alexander replied. In truth, he knew exactly what was going on. He'd seen this happen to other men, including himself when he was younger: the shaky voice, the stuttering, the hesitancy, the lack of focus—it was all too clear to Alexander. Thomas was terrified of public speaking.
But what about all those cabinet meetings? I've seen him speak in public and address large crowds dozens of times... unless... Alexander thought back to the scene in his office.
"Do you have any alcoholic beverages? Any at all?"
"I don't have any, but I am kind of wishing I did have just a little right about now. Why are you asking me this? You're going to make us late."
"I need some, now just give it to me, please!"
"Calm down! What has gotten into you?"
"This speech! I can't—you know, you wouldn't understand..."
The alcohol! Alexander realized. It must do something for him to help him speak in public! Alexander turned his attention back to Thomas, who was still struggling greatly.
"If-if we tax whisky, or wine, or any-any alcoholic... d-dr-drink in general... we-we-we will not... it will not-not-not... we cannot... and what about the people? People... need it...?"
Alexander knew he needed to help Thomas, even though he would normally enjoy watching his rival make a complete fool out of himself. For a moment, he remembered Angelica's words and put himself inside Thomas' shoes, picturing himself in the same situation. If this was happening to him, he would give anything for help and a way out. Alexander felt he could not just sit there while his co-worker was struggling.
Thomas' knees felt weak and he prayed they wouldn't buckle as he searched frantically for a face to focus on. Instead, he was met with a dizzying blur of colors. One face... he just needed one familiar face on which to place his focus. Come on, Hamilton, where are you?
Thomas wished the floor would swallow him up; he wished that Hamilton was making this speech instead of him; he wished he could lock himself in his office and never come back out. But, above all, he wished he had more confidence and better public speaking skills... like Alexander Hamilton.
He had completely forgotten the contents of his speech and, when he glanced down at his paper, the words appeared to be scrambled and unintelligible. Despite this, he continued to speak, "And-and-and-a-and-and-and."
No! This cannot be happening! Stop this! Stop stuttering, you insecure fool!
Thomas took a deep breath in order to stop the stutter before continuing. "And... if we—"
"Mr. Jefferson!" Thomas heard a familiar voice call. He scanned the crowd, his eyes stopping on the man in the emerald green suit: Alexander Hamilton.
Alexander rose from his seat and repeated his address, "Mr. Jefferson!"
"Alexander, what are you doing?" Washington questioned, but Alexander ignored him. His sole focus was on Jefferson.
"Yes?" Thomas asked and fixed his eyes on Alexander.
"I have a series of questions for you regarding this issue that need to be addressed. Now, my attention span is very short, as you are well aware, so please keep you answers at a one to two word maximum," Alexander said and cleared his throat.
"My first question is this: are you for or against this issue, mainly, the tax on whisky?"
"A-Against." Thomas' vision was blurred and his head spun. Alexander watched Thomas sway as if he was about to fall over and quickly began speaking.
"Okay. Second question: Do you oppose this issue because it was my idea?"
"No."
"Good, I am glad you are not letting your personal life interfere with your ideology. Now, on to the third question..."
What is happening? Thomas wondered. Why is he doing this? By now, Thomas was oblivious to everything but the man standing in the crowd. His breathing had become easier and his anxiety was dying down. His hands had ceased their shaking and he had stopped stuttering. Why is he helping me?
"Yes," Thomas said in answer to Alexander's last question. It continued on in this manner for the rest of the hour, with Alexander asking questions that clearly displayed Thomas' opinions on the issue, and Thomas giving one or two worded answers.
When it was over, no one really knew what to make of it, but they went away with a full understanding of where Thomas Jefferson stood on the issue. To Thomas, the whole affair seemed surreal.
As he quit the meeting room, he met with Madison, who looked quite concerned.
"Thomas!" James exclaimed. "Are you all right? I was told that something was unusual happening in the meeting room. Someone said that the speaker was struggling. What happened? You look very pale."
"I'm fine, James... I'm fine," Thomas replied, waving a dismissive hand. "I just need to sit down."
"What happened?"
"I... I'll tell you later."
"If you wish... but are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine... I'm fine," Thomas replied. "Like I said, I just need to sit down for a moment. I'll talk to you later."
Thomas headed to his office and locked himself in. He felt relieved to be alone.
Why would he do that? He could have easily just sat there and let me make a fool of myself... so, why did he help me? This question nagged at the back of Thomas' mind for the better part of the morning, until he could stand it no longer and decided to pay Hamilton a visit.
This time, he knocked, first lightly, then more forcefully.
"Come in!" Alexander called. "Jefferson?"
"Hamilton."
"Did you need something?" Alexander inquired as Thomas shut the door behind him.
It's now or never. Just do what you came here to do already!
"Why…" he cleared his throat, "... why did you do that?"
"Do what?" Alexander asked innocently, knowing full well what Thomas was referring to.
"What you did during the meeting. Why did you help me like that?" The arrogant rival was gone and in his place stood a genuine, but flawed, human being with feelings and a soul—something Alexander had never thought of Thomas as. Jefferson had always been his rival, his enemy, not a man who loved and needed love as much as anyone else.
"Honestly, I put myself in your shoes," Alexander explained truthfully, without even a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I was in that position, which I have been before, I would want someone there to help me."
"Oh, well... I just came here to say... thank you, Hamilton," Thomas said humbly. "I really don't know what I would have done without you."
"You're welcome. Oh, and by the way," Alexander gingerly reached in one of his drawers and pulled out a bottle of fine wine. "I do have a small stash."
"You had some all this time?" Thomas asked, but there was no malice in his voice, only wonder.
"Yeah... Sorry that I didn't give it to you before, but I had no idea why you needed it. If I had known, I would have given you some."
"That's all right, it's all over anyway."
"Well, would you like a glass now?" Alexander asked.
"Sure," Thomas replied and took the seat offered to him.
As Alexander poured, he asked, "So, what does drinking wine do for you anyway?"
"It calms my nerves," Thomas replied as he took a sip of the refreshing beverage. "I drink a glass before and after speeches and addresses. If I don't, well... you saw what happens. It's different during the cabinet meetings. Even though other people are present, I just focus on you and your argument, and everything else just fades away."
"I figured it had to be something like that. Why do you think I did what I did? I knew that by focusing on me, it would help you to calm down and focus."
"I hate to admit it, but that was pretty ingenious of you. I really liked the part about your 'short attention span' and how you only like one worded answers," Thomas said with a smile.
"I figured that would help with the stuttering," Alexander replied as he found himself returning the smile. Was Angelica right? Was it possible that they could keep the rivalry in the cabinet meetings, and only the cabinet meetings?
"Now you know why I keep a secret stash, so why do you keep a secret stash?" Thomas asked as he took another sip.
"To calm my nerves," Alexander replied with a tired smile. "Sometimes... most of the time... I can't get my mind to stop going a mile a minute... this stuff helps."
"Is that why you have trouble sleeping?" Thomas asked. "Because of your quick thinking mind?"
"How did you—"
"Please, Hamilton, it's written all over your face. Clearly you haven't been sleeping well, if you even sleep at all."
There was a moment of silence before they both said, "Look, I—"
"Sorry, you go," Alexander said.
"No, be my guest."
"Thanks... Anyway, as I was going to say, have you ever considered keeping our rivalry in the workplace, without bringing it into our personal lives? We're are both logical, grown men; we're are both geniuses, and there's no reason why we can't—"
"Did Angelica write that?" Thomas asked abruptly.
"Well, she wrote something similar to it in a letter," Alexander admitted.
"Because, I was just about to say the exact same thing. I received a letter from her the other day, in which she told me to sit down with you and compromise without stopping until we agree."
"That's exactly what she said to me," Alexander said.
"I would hate to have to write her a disappointing letter back..." Thomas said.
"I would as well... so... what do you say to a compromise?"
"I have no objections," Thomas replied with a smile, which Alexander returned.
"As I was saying, there's no reason why we can't become something more than passing acquaintances," Alexander said.
"I couldn't agree more," Thomas responded as he clinked his glass with Alexander's in a toast: A toast to the start of their new friendship.
"Seriously, though," Thomas said. "You really need to get some sleep. We have a cabinet meeting tomorrow and it won't be as fun if your brilliant mind is not at it's best, Alexander."
"Oh, don't worry, Thomas," Alexander smiled, "it will be... it will be..."