The final part of "If I Could Be Enough, That Would Be Enough..."
"That note was a little on the flat side, and the note before it was too sharp," Peter commented as he sat in the parlor, listening to Thomas play the violin.
"I'm trying, father, I think the instrument is just a bit out of tune," Thomas responded gently and began tuning his violin.
"It would help if you actually looked at the sheet music."
"Sometimes, I like to improvise."
"It's a sin to alter the classics."
Thomas inhaled deeply and bit back a retort. Forcing a smile, he replaced the violin under his chin.
"Which song would you like to hear, father?" He asked.
"What?"
"Yes, I'll play anything you'd like, so what would you like to hear? Anything in particular? Take your time on deciding, we do have all day."
Peter stared at him curiously, wondering why his son was not arguing with him, as per usual. Thomas waited patiently as Peter took in the situation and the request.
Finally, after so many moments of silence, Peter said softly, "Play Greensleeves."
Thomas nodded and soon the room was filled with the old, beautiful melody. He made no mistakes—now that his violin was in tune—and Peter leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the song.
As he came to the last chorus, Thomas smoothly transitioned into another song to keep the melody going. His father looked so peaceful and relaxed that Thomas did not wish to disturb him. So, Thomas continued to play his never ending song for hours on end. When his legs grew tired, he sat down in a nearby chair without ceasing to play.
During one of his last melodies, Peter asked, "Which song is that? I don't think I ahem ever heard it before."
"I heard it being played in France," Thomas replied as his bow flew over the strings. "I liked it so much that I jotted down the notes as soon as I got my hands on some paper. However, I lost the paper and I had to leave before I was able to find it, so now I'm just playing from memory."
"From memory? You must have heard the song many times, then."
"Sadly, no. I only heard it once."
"How can you be sure you're playing the right notes?"
"I can never be absolutely sure, but I know that the melody is correct, for I could never forget the tune of this song," Thomas reflected and his song came to an end.
"Well, I do have to say," Peter began as he picked up a book from the nearby side table, "you did always have a good memory."
Did he just compliment me? Thomas wondered with a start. Maybe this whole unconditional love thing is going to work after all. The comment was so nonchalant, but Thomas would never forget it.
Throughout the course of the week, Thomas continued to show his father love, no matter how hard it was, and he did not allow himself to get pulled into any of his father's arguments. Just as Thomas was becoming convinced that his efforts were not going to waste, a heated argument ended everything.
It was Thomas' last day off or work and Peter was in a foul mood, which was contrary to Thomas' overly cheerful manner. He had secluded himself in the library and buried his head in a book. The raging storm outside did not do anything to raise his spirits.
"Father," Thomas greeted, entering the room with a tray in his hands, "I thought you might like some tea to drink." He set the tray down near his father and began pouring the hot liquid into expensive China cups. "I know you always like to drink tea when the weather is bad. The hot tea is so soothing when the weather outside is so dismal and cold."
"What is driving you?" Peter questioned sharply. "What is making you so cheerful on this horrid day?"
"Am I supposed to be angry?" Thomas inquired with a smile and began to sip his tea.
"No, but the last thing I need is a living sunshine walking around my house."
"You don't; this is my house," Thomas reminded. "And you're welcome to it for as long as you wish to stay."
"That's what I'm talking about. Why the sudden change?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. When I first arrived, you couldn't wait to get rid of me and you avoided me whenever you possibly could. Now, you won't leave me alone."
"I just want to spend time with you, that's all."
"Why?" Peter snapped, his temper rising. "Why now, but not then?"
"You could say," Thomas replied, "that I've had a change of heart, well not really a change of heart, but a change of mind and my heart followed, but I guess it didn't really follow because it has always been in the right place—"
"Thomas, your rambling."
"Sorry."
"You always ramble when you're nervous, so what's wrong?"
"I... I want to spend time with you because... because I love you and-and I want to show you that, no matter what you do, I will always love you," Thomas explained slowly.
"'No matter what I do?' What is that supposed to mean?"
"I—"
"Did you forget the reason I even came here in the first place?"
"No, but I—"
"I came here to make sure you work hard to achieve great things in life, not to be constantly bombarded by sunshine and smiles," Peter said.
"I had to take the week off or work, remember? What am I supposed to do?"
"There are other ways to achieve greatness outside of the workplace."
"I know, but I don't want to achieve greatness. I'm happy where I am in life. The only thing I wanted to achieve was earning your love, but now I realize that real love can't be earned," Thomas said.
"Love doesn't do anything for you," Peter exclaimed and, rising from his chair, he began to pace. "The only way to get people to respect and recognize you is to achieve great things. It has nothing to do with love."
"I'm sorry, but that's where you're wrong," Thomas responded and rose from his chair. "I'd rather be poor in wealth and rich with the love of my family and friends, than the greatest, wealthiest of men with no one to love or turn to in times of trouble."
"You fool! That type of mentality will land you in the gutter!"
"I am Secretary of State! I am far from landing in the gutter! What's more, I have friends who love me and who are always there for me. I wouldn't give them up for anything. The only thing I want in this life that I don't have is the love of my father. Why is it so hard for you to love?"
"How can I love you when you have never done anything worth loving?"
By now, Thomas was working hard to blink back his tears in order to keep them from falling.
"You say you love me, but you refuse to do what I ask of you," Peter said.
"You're asking too much," Thomas replied. "I'm not on this earth to please you and you alone. If the only way to get you to love me is by earning it, then I don't want it!"
"Then you'll never get it."
"You... you don't mean that. You're not serious."
"I do." Peter continued, "I have never been more serious in your life. If you refuse to do what I ask in order to earn my love, then you'll never receive it. You're setting yourself up for failure by staying content where you are in life, and I don't want a failure for a son."
"I can't believe I thought love could soften you," Thomas whispered. "Your heart is too hard. You can refuse to love your own son, that's fine, but don't expect any love in return. I have given up on you." With that, Thomas fled from the room.
Peter collapsed into his chair and buried his head in his hands.
Thomas grabbed his fuchsia coat and ran out into the raging storm. He didn't know where to go, he only knew he had to get away from there. The pouring rain made it impossible to see further than five feet ahead. He racked his brain for a place in which he could seek shelter and solace. The first place that came to his mind was the Presidential Residence. It was Friday... James would be there, and he needed the comfort of a friend. Alexander would still be home, but one friend was better than one.
When he reached the building, he found that the front doors were locked. Who locks doors in the middle of the day? He screamed internally and began banging on the door. By now, he was soaked to the skin and he was desperate to get out of the rain. However, no one answered the door; the storm was so loud that no one heard Thomas' banging.
In a flight of panic and desperation, Thomas ran around to the side of the residence and stopped at the foot of Hamilton's tree. He quickly began his ascent, only to come face to face with Alexander halfway up.
"Thomas?" Alexander shouted in order to be heard of the storm. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to get out of the rain! What are you doing here?"
"I'm going to work! I'm ending my week early!"
"You came all the way out here in this storm just to get a half days work in?" Thomas exclaimed.
"Yeah!" Alexander called. "What's wrong with that?"
"You... oh never mind! I'm done arguing for the day."
"What makes you say that?"
"Your philosophy about unconditional love doesn't work! I have tried it all week, only to get my heart broken at the end of it."
"Thomas, what happened?" Alexander questioned, genuinely concerned.
"Can we continue this conversation inside?" Thomas asked. "I'm freezing and this rain isn't doing anything for my hair."
"Of course," Alexander said and continued his climb.
They reached the window only to find that the branch they used to jump off of in order to get through the window had been chopped off.
"What's wrong, Alexander? Why'd you stop?" Thomas inquired impatiently.
"Washington must have cut the branch!" Alexander replied. "We're going to have to make a bigger jump just to get through the window."
"Anything! I'll do anything to get into a warm, dry building," Thomas said.
Alexander readied himself before making a huge leap off the tree and through the window. "All right, Thomas! Don't slip!"
Thomas nodded and prepared himself for the jump. Just as he was about to propel himself off the branch, the slick wood caused his foot to slide out from underneath him. Thomas lost all control after that moment and he tried to save himself, but his hands never reached the window. An ear piercing cry escaped his lungs as he plummeted towards the ground.
"Thomas!" Alexander screamed and vainly reached out to catch his friend, but he was too late.
Thomas landed on the ground with a thud and the world went black.
"Thomas!" Alexander called anxiously. "Thomas!"
No answer.
"Thomas Jefferson!" He could not see his friend because of the sheets of rain. Fearing the worst, Alexander rushed downstairs. His only goal was to get to the president's office.
In his frantic race, Alexander almost knocked James down in the hallway.
"Hamilton? What happened to you? Aren't you on break?" James asked.
"Madison!" Alexander exclaimed breathlessly and grabbed onto the other man's coat to keep from falling over.
"Whoa! Hamilton! What's wrong?"
"It's Thomas!" James paled at the mention of his friend.
"What about him?" James asked while Alexander tried to catch his breath.
"He-he fell."
"What?"
"From the tree. He fell from the tree!"
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know. I couldn't see him because of the rain. I have to tell the president! Send for a doctor, Madison! No one could walk away from a fall like that uninjured," Alexander commanded before continuing on his way.
James wasted no time in personally going to fetch a doctor.
Meanwhile, Alexander burst into George Washington's office and skidded to a halt in front of his desk.
"Alexander?" Washington said, surprised and worried at the state his secretary was in. "What happened to you?"
"Not me, Thomas. He fell from the tree and I don't know if he's all right! I sent Madison out for a doctor, but I need your help to get him inside, sir! Please, there's no time to waste!"
"I'm coming, lead the way," Washington said and followed Alexander out into the storm.
Alexander ran over to Thomas and knelt down beside the lifeless form. He frantically felt for a pulse, or any signs of life. For a moment, Alexander feared the worst, but immense relief flooded through him when he felt the weak, but steady pulse of his fallen friend.
"He's alive," Alexander told George, "but I don't know what kind of injuries he obtained."
"Let's get him inside," George said and Alexander helped Thomas into his strong arms. When they entered the building, Washington took Thomas into his private office and laid him on a couch in the lounging area of the room.
"Where's Madison with that doctor?" Alexander shouted impatiently.
"He will be here as soon as he can," Washington replied and began assessing Thomas' injuries. "How did this happen? I thought I told you not to climb that tree."
"With all due respect, sir, you never actually said 'do not climb the tree.' You just said you should chop it down."
"That is beside the point, Alexander. Now, how did this happen?"
"Well, I was climbing the tree because... well, never mind why. Anyway, Thomas met me halfway up the tree and we began talking. We decided to continue our conversation indoors, where it was dry, but when I reached the top window, I found that the branch had been cut."
"I think a cut branch should have been a warning sign, don't you think?" Washington remarked. Alexander remained silent. "Go on."
"Well, I told Thomas that the branch had been cut and we decided to chance the longer jump." Washington grimaced as Alexander continued. "I made it over okay, but Thomas slipped and fell. I tried to catch him, but I was too late. I heard a sickening thud when he landed, even through the noise from the storm. Then, I ran to you, sir. That's how it happened."
"Oh, Alexander," Washington sighed.
"Do you think he'll be all right?"
"I don't know," Washington replied truthfully. "I once knew a man who died because he fell out of a tree."
"Oh, please don't say such things, sir."
"But," Washington continued, "I have known many men who fell from trees and walked away with only a few injuries."
"You sure do know a lot of men who like to fall from trees, sir."
"No man likes falling from a tree, Alexander."
"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean it that way," Alexander said as he gazed at Thomas, who was still unconscious.
Just then, James returned with the doctor.
"Where is the patient?" The doctor inquired and everyone pointed to the couch. He rushed over to Thomas and immediately began examining him as he fired a volley of questions at everyone in the room.
"How did this happen?"
"He fell from a tree," Alexander replied.
"Other than bringing him inside, did you move him?"
"No," Washington said. "We brought him inside and immediately placed him on the couch."
"Hmm..." the doctor grunted as he examined his patient. "He has a few broken ribs and I would not be surprised if he awoke with a concussion, he hit his head pretty hard. You're lucky he didn't snap his neck." Alexander and James paled at the thought as they exchanged worried glances.
"Is there anything else wrong, doctor?" Washington inquired.
"His arm is broken. He must have landed on it wrong."
"Oh, yes, he must have," Alexander commented. "Because that is the only logical explanation!"
"Alexander!" Washington reprimanded.
"After I set his broken bones, I suggest," the doctor continued, ignoring Alexander, "that you get him home and out of these wet clothes before he catches a cold."
"Thank you, we will," Washington said as the doctor began to treat Thomas' wounds. Turning to Alexander, he said, "I suggest that you change out of your wet clothes as well, Alexander. I don't want you to catch your death of cold."
"I will, once he's finished with Thomas."
"No, Alexander, right now. Thomas will still be here when you return."
"Yes, sir," Alexander grumbled. He caught one last glimpse at his friend before heading to his office to get his briefcase. Knowing that the storm would leave him soaking wet, Alexander had packed an extra suit to change into.
The doctor finished his work as quickly as he could and took his leave.
"Shall I send for a cab, sir?" James asked when they were alone.
"Yes. We need to get him home."
"Hamilton and I can take him, sir, if you're busy," James suggested.
"No," Washington insisted. "I am never too busy to aid a member of my cabinet." James nodded, knowing all too well that when Washington said "cabinet" he really meant "family."
"Of course, sir," James said. "I'll go call a cab."
"I already took care of that," Alexander said as he rushed back into the room. "Let's go."
Peter Jefferson had not moved from his chair in the library since his son's departure. His son's words had stung, but he supposed his words had done worse damage to the younger Jefferson. For once in his life, he actually began to think hard about everything Thomas had said, and had been saying for many years.
"I don't want a failure for a son."
"I can't believe I thought love could soften you... Your heart is too hard. You can refuse to love your own son, that's fine, but don't expect any love in return. I have given up on you."
Those words echoed repeatedly through his mind and into his heart. Those words finalized their relationship... Thomas had given up on him. However, Peter suddenly found it hard to blame him. He realized how harsh, how pushy, and how demanding he had been to his son.
What have I done? He thought. What have I done?
He was vaguely aware of a sudden knocking on the front door. As he waited for one of the servants to get it, the knocking turned into unrelenting banging.
"Is someone going to answer the door?" He called out, but received no answer. Peter, then, reluctantly pulled himself out of his chair and slowly made his way to the door. He was not in the mood for visitors and the thought of letting in rain from the storm did not appeal to him in the slightest.
There are no words to describe his surprise when he opened the door to find the President of the United States holding his unconscious son.
Peter was speechless. "Your Excellency! What happened to my boy? Why are you carrying my son?"
Washington stepped inside and out of the rain without an invitation, followed by James and Alexander.
"Your son fell out of a tree," he explained in his no nonsense, presidential tone of voice. "He has a few broken ribs, a broken arm, and a possible concussion. Now, would you be so kind as to show us where his room is so that I might lay him down? We need to get him into some dry clothes."
"Yes! Of course," Peter said, still in shock. "Follow me... He fell from a tree? What was he doing in a tree?"
"That's not important right now," Alexander said.
"Also, I prefer the title of "Mr. President" as opposed to "Your Excellency." I hope you'll remember that in the future," Washington remarked as he carried Thomas up the stairs to the second floor. The trio followed Peter into Thomas' room and Washington lied the unconscious young man onto his bed.
"Have his wounds been treated?" Peter asked worryingly.
"All but the concussion," Washington replied.
"I just don't understand," Peter said as he took Thomas' hand in his own. "What on earth was he doing up in a tree out in this terrible storm?"
"Uh," Alexander rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment, "we were trying to get to work."
Peter just stared at him in confusion.
"You see, the doors were locked and I wanted to end my week off early, so I climbed a tree in order to get into the building."
"Please continue, Alexander," Washington said when Alexander did not go on.
"Well... the branch leading to the window had been cut. When Thomas tried to jump through the window, he slipped and fell. The rest is history," Alexander finished.
"I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Mr. Jefferson," Washington began after they had gotten Thomas into a dry suit of clothes and had bundled him up with blankets to keep out the chill. "You see, I am the one who cut down that tree branch in order to prevent Hamilton from climbing through the window. I am the reason your son is lying here unconscious."
Peter was stunned. The president was in his son's house, taking care of his son, and apologizing for the condition of his son.
The sudden realization that this was all his fault made Peter sick to his stomach. Thomas fell from that tree because he was trying to get away from me. He fell because of all the horrible things I said to him. He fell from that tree because he was trying to get to the people whom he knew would give him the love he deserves.
"No," Peter whispered. "This is all my fault. I am the only one to blame. I have been a horrible father... Thomas deserved so much more than what I gave him. He only climbed that tree because he was searching—yearning—for the love I never gave him." Peter was close to tears now and the others were not sure how to respond.
Just then, Alexander noticed Thomas' eyes flicker. "Look! I think he's coming to!"
"Alexander?" Thomas murmured, saying the name of the last person he remembered seeing.
"Yes? I'm here," Alexander replied. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts," Thomas said with a grimace.
"I would be surprised if it didn't," Washington remarked with a smile. "You hit your head pretty hard."
"Hit my head...?" Suddenly, the day's previous events came rushing back to Thomas: his fall from the tree, climbing in the wind and rain with Alexander, the fight with his father...
"Thomas," Peter whispered, his hand still gripping his son's.
"Father?"
"Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry... this is all my fault."
Thomas was so shocked at this sudden display of grief and humility that he did not know how to respond at first.
"It's not your fault," Thomas said when he found his voice. "I'm the one who was foolish enough to climb a tree during a storm."
"Yes, but I am the one who drove you there." Washington, Alexander, and James all glanced at each other before exiting the room, allowing Peter to have a moment alone with his son.
When they had left, Peter continued. "No one deserves to be treated the way I have treated you, Thomas."
"Father, I—"
"Please, don't speak. Allow me to say what I have to say." Thomas nodded and stayed silent. "My father always taught me that people judge you by what you accomplish. He told me that the only way to earn love was by doing great things... things people could be proud of. I vowed that, when I had children, I would not treat them the way my father had treated me. When your mother died, my vows slowly fell by the wayside. I hadn't realized how much I had begun to act like my father, something I promised never to do, until today. You showed me love even when you knew I would not show love to you in return. I would never expect you to forgive me... I don't know if I could never forgive myself... but all I have left to say is this: I am so sorry, Thomas. I'm sorry for years of unhappiness and I am sorry for never showing you the love you truly deserved."
"I forgive you, father," Thomas said softly.
"You... what?"
"Because I love you, I forgive you. After all, that is what love is all about, isn't it?"
Peter smiled joyously. "I would love to embrace you, but you have a broken arm and several broken ribs."
"I do?" Thomas asked, a pained expression playing out over his face. He took the time to examine himself and his injuries. He found that his arm had been wrapped and now rested in a sling. If his other hand was not tightly gripped within his father's, he would have felt the wrapping around his chest.
"Now, I have to ask," Peter began. "How did you develop such a strong relationship with President Washington that he would take time out of his very busy day to personally bring you home during a storm?"
"I'm a part of his cabinet," Thomas said simply.
"I know you are, but that doesn't mean—"
"That means," Thomas said with a smile, "that I am a part of his family."
"I don't understand."
"President Washington views the members of his cabinet as his family. To him, his cabinet isn't just his employees, he considers us all to be a part of his family," Thomas clarified. "Speaking of which, would you call them back in? I want to thank them for all they did for me."
"Of course," Peter smiled before making his way to the men waiting outside the door.
"How is he?" James asked when Peter opened the door.
"He wishes to see you all."
James and Alexander unceremoniously tried to push past one another, each trying to get to their friend first. They ended up entering the room at the same time, their pushing and shoving being all in vain. Washington grinned at the sight and followed the two into the room.
"Thomas," James and Alexander said in unison. "How are you feeling?"
Thomas laughed at their eager faces. "I'm alright, thanks to you guys."
"You have me quite a scare!" Alexander said as he thought back to the horrible moment.
"I don't think I've ever run faster in my life than when I ran to get the doctor," James said, coughing into his handkerchief.
"I hope you didn't hurt yourself," Thomas voiced his concern.
"If I did, it was worth it."
"I also want to thank you, Mr. President," Thomas said, turning his attention to Washington. "Thank you for taking care of me and bringing me home."
"Anytime, Thomas," Washington said with a warm smile. "Now, I don't want to see you at work until you are healed. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir. I hear you loud and clear."
After that, Peter and George began to talk as they slowly made their way to the lower level of the house.
"Thanks again, guys," Thomas said when he was alone with his friends. Alexander had sat down at the edge of the bed and James had made himself comfortable in a wooden chair near the head of the bed. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve great friends like you two."
"You ran out of wine," Alexander replied with chuckle, referencing the time he and Thomas first began to view each other as actual human beings and not heartless machines.
"Yeah," Thomas said, returning the laugh. "That was a dark day... but it was also one of the best days of my life."
"What about your father?" James asked in concern.
"What about him?" Thomas inquired.
"I mean, are you going to be okay?"
"I have a feeling that things are going to be a lot different from now on," Thomas replied with a gentle smile. "Things are going to change... and they're going to change for the better."
"Oh?"
"Yes... Thank you, Alexander, you were right. Love isn't just a word: love is an action. I'm glad my father sees that, now. Though, am I really going to have to stay away from work until I'm healed?"
"I doubt it," Alexander reassured. "You can come in whenever you want. I do."
"I know you do. However, in the future, Alexander, no more climbing trees in the rain."
"I'm not making any promises," Alexander replied with a smile, which Thomas returned. He sighed happily, resting with the wonderful knowledge that he had mended his relationship with his father.
I hope you all enjoyed this three part story I wrote when Hamilton first came out! Any prompts or suggestions for the next oneshot are definitely welcome and appreciated. :) I'd love to know what you thought of it. ;)