This next installment is sappier, but I still hope you all enjoy it. XD ;)

September 6, 1791

The morning dawned clear and bright, but to Thomas Jefferson, it felt like every other morning. He had a full workday ahead and found it hard to pull himself out of bed. He hated the thought of spending the day arguing with Hamilton as it was a very draining experience. It was then that he remembered he and Alexander had just recently begun to be on friendly terms. This thought gave him an extra push and he slid out from under the warm covers of his bed.

Just when he was beginning to feel good about the day ahead, he passed by his desk and caught sight of a miniature portrait resting on it's flat surface. His breath hitched and he stopped dead in his tracks as he remembered the date: September 6th. This was the nine year anniversary of the death of his very best friend, his soul mate, his kindred spirit, his beloved wife.

With shaking, trembling hands, Thomas gently picked the small frame and gazed down into the loving eyes of his partner. Had it really been nine years? Nine long years...

Don't get all worked up, Thomas, he scolded himself, you'll get through it this year the same way you have every year before.

He lightly caressed the frame before placing back on his desk. Each passing year only seems to get harder without you by my side, Martha.

Thomas reluctantly prepared himself for the day ahead with memories of Martha engrossing his mind. Then, he began to gather and pack his important papers into his briefcase. As he did this, he remembered a book of his that Alexander had asked to borrow. It had been years since he'd read this particular volume and when he took it off of the shelf, an envelope slipped out, fluttering to the ground.

Thomas picked up the envelope and nearly dropped it again when he read the inscription on the front: To my dearest, Thomas. From your best friend, Martha.

His hand began to tremble as he opened the envelope and removed the letter, which was dated September 6, 1777.

How is it that I have not ever found this? Thomas thought as he unfolded the delicate letter and began to read:

Dear Thomas,

I have been more happy these five years I have spent as your wife than I have ever been before. You are the light of my life, my best friend... a truly kindred spirit.

I will always remember the day you proposed, for it was the happiest day of my life. On that day, I knew you were mine and I was yours forever.

As I compose this letter, I think back to our honeymoon in your little cottage on this very hill, where our beautiful Monticello now sits. That night was the start of our life together, and every day spent with you after that became my favorite day of the year. And, to think, when you built that cottage you thought you would spend the rest of your days studying in it as a lonely hermit.

In closing, my love, I'll say "Happy 5th Anniversary," for I would rather spend only five years as your wife than seventy years without you in my life.

Farewell, my dearest, I will love you always, until death do us part.

Your beloved,

Martha

Tears were streaming down Thomas' face as he finished reading the letter.

"How have I not found this until now?" He cried aloud and sank to the floor, clutching the book and the letter in his hand.

"Who hid this letter from me? Who stuck it between these books?" He whispered, not even trying to stem his falling tears. "Martha..."

He didn't know how long he sat there weeping, helplessly overcome with a renewed sorrow.

After some time, Thomas' servant, Edward, knocked at the door. When Thomas did not respond, he knocked again and asked:

"Sir, are you alright?"

A few seconds passed before Thomas could reply, "Yes... yes, I'm fine. I'm just gathering a few things before I head out to work."

"Sir, it has been an hour and a half since you went into your study."

Thomas' heart skipped a beat at the man's words. An hour and a half? How? He quickly folded up the letter and thrust it into his coat pocket before fiercely swiping the tears from his eyes. Still clutching the book in his hand, he grabbed his briefcase and ran out the door, nearly colliding with Edward.

"Sir, are you alright?" Edward inquired when he caught sight of Thomas' puffy, red eyes and downcast face.

"I'm fine, I'm just really late for work. I've got to go! Washington's going to kill me," he muttered the last part under his breath as he headed for the front door, leaving his baffled servant behind.

When Thomas entered the Presidential Residence, he raced frantically through the halls, not even bothering to look into Alexander's office, as he always did. His only goal was to apologize to the president for being so terribly late.

"I was wondering when you were going to grace us with your presence," a slightly annoyed voice said behind him.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face President Washington. "Mr. President, I was just on my way to your office to apologize for being so incredibly late. I am sorry, sir, I have no excuse to offer for my actions."

When Washington finally took the time to survey Thomas' face, all his past annoyance faded away and he asked, "Thomas, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, sir," Thomas replied, hoping that his eyes didn't betray him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir, I'm perfectly fine."

"All right. Well, I can let your tardiness slide for today, but next time, try to get to work on time. If you must be late, let it be by fifteen to thirty minutes, not two whole hours, please."

"Understood, Mr. President," Thomas said with a nod and the two parted.

Thomas made his way back to his office and collapsed in his chair. He had not stopped thinking about Martha since he had read her letter to him.

Burying his head in his hands, Thomas tried to compose himself, but he felt as if he could cry at any moment. It took all he had in him not to shed any more tears while he was talking with Washington.

Why do I feel this way? It is almost as if she just passed away yesterday and my wounds are still fresh… The reality of it was, his wounds had been reopened by the contents of the letter and he didn't know how he would ever make it through the day. As long as I don't come I contact with anyone and just keep to myself, I'll be fine. I'll be fine... He rubbed at his eyes before thrusting himself into the workday ahead.

An hour or two had gone by and Thomas had lost himself in the world of work and memories of Martha. He did not notice his best friend entering his office until a hand shook him firmly by the shoulder.

"What?" Thomas exclaimed as he snapped his head towards James, startled out of his thoughts.

"Thomas, are you okay? I said your name four times, but you didn't answer," James said.

"I'm fine, I was just lost in thought, I guess. Did you need something?"

"I came see how you were doing today, of all days," James replied sympathetically.

Thomas felt his eyes grow warm and he tried his best to blink back the uncharacteristic tears. "Please don't ask me that right now, James. Please..." He buried his head in his hands, vainly trying to stop the tears.

"Whoa, Thomas, what's wrong? I know this day is hard for you, but you haven't reacted like this in years! What happened?"

Thomas did not respond, he only retrieved the letter from his pocket and handed it to James with shaking hands. As James read through the letter, his eyes grew wide and he gazed down at his broken friend.

Pulling a nearby chair up to Thomas' desk, James sat down and placed a comforting hand on Thomas' shoulder.

"Why are you carrying this letter around, Thomas? Knowing you, I thought you would have put it somewhere safe. You're only hurting yourself by doing this."

"I... found the letter this morning," Thomas said, his voice quivering as the tears flowed freely now. "When I removed this book from the shelf," Thomas gestured to the book on the desk, "the letter fell to the floor. I have never seen it before in my life. I don't know how it got there, or who put it there. Did Martha put it there? If so, why did she make it so hard for me to find it? I should have found it years ago, but I never did. Why couldn't I find it on another day? Why did Hamilton want to borrow this book of all books? Why..." His voice cracked, "why didn't I find this precious letter sooner?"

"Thomas," James took both Thomas' hands in his own, "slow down! You're going into hysterics, so just calm down. Breathe..."

"... I'm sorry, James... but this letter has reopened old wounds. I've found it hard to keep my emotions under control ever since I found this letter. I feel like I'll burst into tears whenever someone talks to me because it's not them I see, it's Martha; I see her every time. I... I just wish..."

"Don't, Thomas, don't. Don't do this to yourself," James urged as Thomas choked back a sob.

"I just... I just can't stand being in this state, James. You know I always try so hard to mask my emotions while I'm working. How... how am I ever going to make it through the day if she is constantly invading my thoughts and controlling my emotions?"

"Breathe, Thomas, you just need to take a breath and clear your mind—"

"I can't, James! Do you hear me? I can't! I just... can't..." Thomas wrenched one of his hands away from James, tilted his head away and rested it on his hand.

James' heart ached at the sight of his best friend in despair. The worst part was that he had no idea how to help him, except to be there for Thomas when he needed him.

"Thomas," James began softly and slowly, "is there anything I can do? How can I help?"

Thomas was silent for a moment before he whispered, "No, James. Just... thanks for being there for me."

"You're welcome, Thomas, and remember, my office door is always open. Come on in whenever you feel like it," James said as he took his leave.

"Here you go, sir," Thomas said, handing President George Washington a small stack of papers. "It's the document on foreign affairs you requested."

"Ah, yes," Washington said. "Thank you, Thomas."

"You're welcome, sir," Thomas replied. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," Washington responded with a smile. His smile faded, however, when he glanced up at Thomas and studied his face. "Thomas, are you all right?"

"Of course, Mr. President, why wouldn't I be?" Thomas replied, taken aback slightly by the sudden question.

"It might be my eyes failing me, but your eyes seem abnormally red. Is everything okay?"

"Thank you for your concern, sir. I am perfectly fine," Thomas said dismissively. "Now, if there is nothing else you need, I'll get back to work."

Thomas fled the president's office before Washington could question him any further.

He couldn't keep the tears from falling as he walked swiftly down the hall, however. Curse these emotions! You need to get yourself under control! You almost fell apart in front of the president! Lost in thought, Thomas did not see Alexander Hamilton walking towards him.

"Jefferson!" Alexander exclaimed joyfully at seeing his newfound friend for the first time that day. "How are you?"

Startled, Thomas glanced up and, upon seeing Alexander, made a vain attempt to dry his eyes before snapping: "Why does everyone keep asking me that question? I'm fine! Okay? Perfectly fine!"

"Whoa, Jefferson, I was just asking the clichéd question everyone asks when they see someone they know," Alexander replied. "There's no need to get on the defensive side of things."

"Sorry, Hamilton, I didn't mean to snap at you," Thomas apologized, still drying his eyes with his hands.

"Are you all right?" Alexander asked, suddenly concerned for his friend.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, I feel fine."

"Really? Because you don't look like you feel fine."

Thomas sighed, "It's just been one of those days."

"Which kind of day?"

"Why are you so nosey, Hamilton?"

"Why are you so reticent, Jefferson?" Alexander replied easily.

Thomas wanted to smile at Alexander's persistence, but he found that his eyes welled up instead. Not wanting Alexander to see him in his moment of uncontrollable weakness, Thomas pushed past the shorter man and sprinted towards his office. He heard Hamilton calling out to him as he ran and it only made him run faster.

Thomas reached his office, slammed the door behind him, and collapsed in his chair. He buried his face in his palms as a flood of tears poured down his cheeks.

Get yourself together, Jefferson! He screamed internally. What is wrong with you? However, this only made the tears fall faster.

Thomas was sobbing so hard that he didn't notice Alexander quietly enter the room and place his hand on Thomas' shoulder. Even at Alexander's touch, it took him a few minutes to realize someone else was in the room.

"Thomas," Alexander said gently, not realizing that he had called Thomas by his first name for the first time since they met. "Thomas."

Thomas glanced up at Alexander's worried face before saying, "I told you, Hamilton, I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Alexander pulled a chair resting near the wall up to Thomas' desk and sat down. "Now, you don't have to tell me what's wrong, but at least let me be here for you."

"Why?" Thomas asked as he vainly tried to stop his tears from falling.

"Because, that's what friends do."

Thomas gazed at Alexander gratefully and smiled. Alexander grasped Thomas' hand in his and returned the smile. It was the first time Thomas had seen Alexander sit still and silent and it amazed Thomas. He never thought Alexander could go for more than two minutes without talking.

Suddenly, against his better judgement, Thomas found himself pouring out his heavy heart to the man sitting in front of him. He told Alexander about everything: his wife's death; the fact that today was marked nine years since her departure; how he found her anniversary letter; ending by showing Alexander the letter and asking him why he found it so hard to control his emotions.

Alexander read through the letter with glassy eyes before handing it back to Thomas, who fingered it longingly.

"Thomas," Alexander began slowly, trying to control his own emotions, "I know what you are feeling right now. I had a friend I met during the revolution. He was the best and closest friend I had ever had. We were always together, and when we weren't, we wrote constant letters to each other. He fought off British troops in South Carolina while I fought the Battle of Yorktown. After we had won the war, my friend and I continued to write letters back and forth.

"One day, I received a letter from his father, which was not too unusual, but it made me uneasy nevertheless. The contents of that letter struck me to the core. My friend had been killed in a gunfight against the British.. The soldiers that attacked my friend's regiment had not yet received word that the war was over. I shut down a section of my heart that day and I vowed that I would never have another friend who was as close to me as John Laurens.

"I'm telling you this because John died on September 27, 1782, and last week marked the nine year anniversary of his death." When Alexander stopped, a single tear fell from his eye and slid down his cheek.

"So, Thomas," Alexander continued after a moment of silence, "never been afraid to show your emotions. I'm sure Martha would want you to remember her each year, but you shouldn't harbour grief in your heart for her. She wouldn't want that. Someone once told me that we should not look back unless it is to derive useful lessons from past errors."

"Who told you that?" Thomas asked as he dried his eyes. His tears had slowed during Alexander's speech and he felt as if he had cried all his tears.

"George Washington," Alexander replied with a smile.

Thomas smiled as well. "Thank you, Alexander, for everything."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Alexander said.

Thomas reveled in the wonderful fact that, after only a few short weeks, Alexander already considered them to be friends. Who would have thought that two dedicated enemies, would become the best of friends?

Thomas may have been a little OOC in this one, but hey, he was grieving. XD

If y'all have any prompt ideas, just let me know. ;)