The New Year had come and gone. On top of that, Hamilton had another reason for contentment. He was finally going on regular missions again. Sure, they were all with his partner, Jefferson, but that part wasn't as terrible as it had seemed before.
"Hamilton. Happy birthday."
There was also that. "Thank you, sir!" Hamilton said, raising a hand to acknowledge Washington as he passed them.
Behind him, Hamilton heard the rolling of chair wheels. He looked to his other side and met eyes with an amused Jefferson, who had rolled his chair back against his desk. "Let me guess. You're turning five years old today," he said.
"Six times that, actually," Hamilton told him, turning back to his computer.
This seemed to amuse Jefferson more. "Only 30? Ah, to be young again."
"Sure, as if you're so much older."
"Older than you."
Hamilton rested his elbow on his desk and looked at Jefferson as he planted his chin in his hand. "Oh, is that so? Do tell, old man."
Raising an eyebrow, Jefferson said, "I'm turning 36 this year."
"Well. You don't look a day over 35," Hamilton said sarcastically.
Jefferson shook his head and glanced at his desk. "Well, it seems like all your special birthday wishes came true this year. Instead of at the bar with friends, you get to spend it with me on a mission."
"I wouldn't have it any other way. You know how I just love your company."
Jefferson chuckled a little. "Your sass has reached new heights, I can't tell if that was supposed to be genuine or not." Hamilton reached over and pushed Jefferson's chair towards his desk, but Jefferson had braced his feet against his desk, and so didn't move. He gave Hamilton a smug look.
"Don't think I'm out of ways to get your stupid face out of my area," Hamilton warned. "I haven't even begun to exhaust my vast resources."
Laughing, Jefferson looked away. "You're still mad about the air horn?"
"You declared war, and I will not rest until I have destroyed you and all you hold dear."
"What are you going to do, put my stuff in Jell-O?" When Hamilton gave him a priceless squint of confusion, Jefferson explained, "Like from that show, The Office. Oh my God, you've never seen it?" Jefferson reached his arm across Hamilton's desk and opened a new tab in his browser. Hamilton sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching the struggle of one handedly opening the right YouTube video. As they watched one of the most famous cold opens in pop culture, Hamilton glanced at his partner out of the corner of his eyes. He had such a lively glint in his near-black eyes that it was hard to believe he was in his mid-thirties. Near-black eyes? Not entirely black, but only near black? A deep brown color, like a dark mahogany wood. Hamilton could feel in his hand the itching to write about it. The video clip's climax drew Hamilton's attention again, just in time to see a stapler encased completely in yellow Jell-O.
As she briefed them on the last of the mission's details, Eliza handed them fake ID cards. A week ago, the wealthy owner of a beachside hotel in North Carolina noticed something odd going on with his neighbors, a local bar. They had received a very suspicious shipment at 3 in the morning. A late night employee had taken a picture of it, and that picture had made its way up to the owner. Concerned with his property value and the reputation of his fancy hotel, he had come to them. He had reserved a room for them which overlooked the bar, and had told his staff to steer clear of that room for a week. Jefferson and Hamilton would go under the guise of two friends on a vacation whenever they needed to be in public. This also meant that they would be road tripping to and from the hotel.
Because the drive would be overnight, Hamilton and Jefferson agreed to split it. As Jefferson reached for the driver's door handle of their silver car, Hamilton made a last dash and snatched it. Jefferson sighed and walked around to the other side as Hamilton taunted, "Driver picks the music." Hamilton was already waiting in his seat when Jefferson got in. Not only that, he was waiting for Jefferson to look at him, with a mischievous grin. When Jefferson did look at him, he nodded towards the glove box. "Open it."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Complying, Jefferson opened the glove box. On top of the obligatory paper napkins sat a CD case. It was clearly what Hamilton had wanted him to find. Jefferson picked it up and read the front. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, giving Hamilton a judgmental side eye.
Hamilton's grin widened. "Welcome to the longest 8 hours of your life."
"I am not listening to this on repeat, who even put this here?" Jefferson protested, lifting up the napkins to see the rest of the glove box contents.
"Eliza did. She puts it in every one of my mission vehicles. By my request, of course." Hamilton watched Jefferson put the napkins back as he started the engine. "Go on," he prompted. "Put it in."
Left with no other options, Jefferson opened the CD case and loaded the Mission: Impossible soundtrack into the car's CD player. The familiar trill played, and Hamilton turned up the volume so it filled the car, and then pulled onto the street to get their mission underway. Eight long hours later, they were in North Carolina, pulling their suitcases into their hotel room.
Much to their relief, the mission itself wasn't too terrible. They watched the bar, and on the third night, Hamilton went in with an earpiece to get a closer look and ask a few questions. A few times, Jefferson had to tell Hamilton to stop flirting and focus on what he was supposed to be doing. From the inside, Hamilton was able to confirm that there was some space in the back of the building that wasn't being used by the bar itself, though the staff seemed clueless about it. Jefferson pointed out when someone they kept seeing walked in, and Hamilton watched for some clue as to what was going on, though nothing happened. When the bar kicked everyone out, Hamilton lingered outside down the street until Jefferson confirmed that the last staff member had left. As with previous nights, the building was completely inactive. Hamilton walked around as much of the building as he could.
The next night, a lead. A local told Hamilton a legend about how the back room of the bar was haunted, and it had been completely sealed off. The bartender, a robust woman, confirmed this legend, and even let Hamilton approach the door and try its handle. From their hotel room, Jefferson did some quick internet searches, finding the legend in more detail, but not much else. Through his headset, he told Hamilton to ask if he could take a picture of the door. A minute later, Hamilton send him the picture of a door at the end of a short hallway, painted all black to blend in with the walls around it. On the door, at chest height, there was a small etching. Jefferson zoomed in on the picture. It looked like a small crown. When asked to, Hamilton asked about it. The bartender said it was just graffiti. Jefferson wasn't so sure, so Hamilton took a closer picture of it. When the sun came up, Hamilton returned, and the two discussed their new information.
A legend always comes from an incident, though from everything they could find, there was no account of an incident. From what it seemed, someone had started telling the story. The ghost, it seemed, had suddenly appeared, aggravated by the sounds of banging on wood. There was no record of the ghost having ever done something. Yet the legend existed. Highly suspicious.
"There has to be something behind that door. Even if it's just storage," Jefferson said, gripping his left knee as he stared at the legend on his phone screen.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Hamilton asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The chances of us thinking the same thing are next to nothing," Jefferson said as he glanced up at him.
Ignoring that comment, Hamilton said, "We need to bother that ghost."
"I suppose there isn't any other way to proceed. Let's bother that ghost."
Hamilton and Jefferson went to the bar together. Hamilton told the bartender that Jefferson was curious about the legend, and asked if they could see the door. As with the night before, they were allowed to look. Hamilton and Jefferson exchanged a small nod, and Hamilton gave the door a knock. A few seconds and nothing happened. He knocked a little harder. Still nothing. Jefferson looked behind them. No one was watching them, but that might change very quickly if there really was criminal activity going on.
"Knock like you mean it," Jefferson muttered. Obliging, Hamilton hammered his fist on the door once, rattling it in its frame. Something behind the door clattered on the floor. They certainly had the bar's attention now. Hamilton tried the door's handle. Miraculously, the door opened. Hamilton slipped inside and closed the door again as the bartender rounded the corner to look into the short hallway, where Jefferson now stood, alone.
"Hey, what are you doing? Didn't your friend tell you that we don't touch that door?"
"Sorry," Jefferson said quickly. "I wanted to see if something would happen."
The bartender gave him a suspicious look. "Where is your friend anyway?"
"He went to the bathroom," Jefferson lied. Thankfully, the bartender seemed to buy it. All the same, she shooed Jefferson out of the hallway. With nothing else to do, Jefferson got a drink and waited for some word from Hamilton.
On the other side of the mysterious door, Hamilton pulled out his phone and turned on its flashlight, to pierce the darkness. He took a step into the room, and felt his foot knock something wooden. Hamilton pointed his light at it, and crouched down to see what it was. It was a plank of wood, with three small magnets set into the wood. This was the source of the noise when he had banged the door. Hamilton looked behind him and saw three more magnets across the door. He smiled a little and stood up, finding that when the board was replaced across the door, it extended past the door frame, and the ends fit under a set of horizontal bracers. The magnets held the board across the door when he let it go. So much for a sealed back room.
The room was, as he had expected, currently empty. There were a few shelves around the outside, and a table and chairs in the middle of the room. Hanging from the ceiling above the table was an old chandelier, with candles in it. There were no spider webs or dusty surfaces anywhere. Hamilton started by examining the shelves. There were unmarked cardboard boxes on each one. None were open. Hamilton took a panoramic picture of the room. For gloating material, he also took a picture of the trick door. He had showed that door who was boss.
Hamilton set his phone light on the table and carefully removed a box from the shelf. It didn't seem to weigh a lot. He set it on the table and worked his short fingernails under the packing tape that sealed the box. Within seconds, the box was open, and Hamilton was staring at what was inside. Staring back at him were the beady eyes of a dozen stuffed lions. He peered around them to make sure they were the only things in the box, and then lifted one up. He tossed it back and forth between his hands, trying to judge its internal contents. He was no expert, but it seemed pretty standard, though an unusual thing to be hiding. He stuffed the little lion in his pocket as far as it would go, so its head was sticking out. Circling the table, Hamilton looked for anything else noteworthy. The only other thing was a trapdoor in the floor, on the opposite side of the table from the door. Someone entering the door wouldn't be able to see someone disappearing through it.
For a moment, Hamilton considered going back to Jefferson. The lion was already most likely all they needed to know, and there was a good chance that the trapdoor would only lead him down a rabbit hole. He likely wouldn't get another chance to investigate. And so, without another thought, Hamilton opened the trap door and shined his light down into its depths. There was a ladder in the shaft, and there was a floor in sight below. Hamilton stuck his phone in his mouth and lowered himself into the hole, closing the trapdoor after himself. At the bottom was a narrow passageway. Hamilton followed it to another shaft and ladder, which he climbed. Opening the trap door at the top, Hamilton felt a rush of cold night air. The sky shone above him, giving him more than enough light to climb onto the grass around the hole. The passage had led him to behind the bar. For good measure, Hamilton took a picture of where this secret was, and closed the trapdoor. It was almost indistinguishable from the grass around it. Only on close inspection could he see the tiny hole that served as the aboveground handle. Satisfied with his work, Hamilton tried stuffing the lion further into his pocket, and texted Jefferson to meet back in their hotel room.
Once both were there, Hamilton showed Jefferson the pictures of the room and the lion, standing proudly next to Jefferson's chair as Jefferson listened to the results of his investigation.
When his story was done, Jefferson examined the little lion more closely. "Stuffed animals are a classic smuggling trick, so well-known it's almost too good to be true. Are you sure that's what's going on?"
"We'll need hard proof. If we can get this to Laurens, I'm sure he'll be able to tell us if there's something inside it, and what it is."
"Is there time to mail it? We only have two nights left. It might be easier to go back early and deliver it ourselves."
Hamilton straightened up. "No, we can't go back yet. We'll be back there eventually."
"Well, then in the meantime, what are we supposed to do? This is what we came for."
"There's always more to do," Hamilton said with a little bit of a glare. "We can stay here for the next few days and start figuring out who is involved. Anyone who seems to know that someone got into that room and took something must be involved somehow. We can investigate those people, and come back with more than enough information, to help along any possible future jobs relating to this"
Jefferson frowned, and a hand unconsciously drifted to grip his left knee. "You know, most people would use the chance to take a break."
"I am not most people," Hamilton reminded him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Does this really surprise you?"
"No, I must say, it does not," Jefferson sighed, his exasperation making his subtle accent a little more pronounced.
Raising an eyebrow, Hamilton flexed his right hand to suppress the rising urge to write. "There's a reason Washington trusts me to do my job well, you know. If you were as dedicated as I am, he might actually listen to you."
Jefferson ignored his remark, and the two resumed their nighttime spying, starting with following the bartender home when they saw her leave the bar. Hamilton stayed to keep an eye on the bar, while Jefferson took their car after the bartender, though he did try to argue to stay. Hamilton shortly told him that he was the one who knew the most about the bar, which shut Jefferson up. When the bartender pulled into a driveway, Jefferson took note of the address, and watched her from across the street and down the street a few houses, until the last of her house's lights were out. Then, he returned.
Because they had neither the reason nor the equipment, they didn't bug anyone's houses, though Hamilton did go once more to the bar. The bartender seemed suspicious of him, so Hamilton acted natural so he could stay and watch for anyone she may converse with in a low voice. Before long, however, acting natural became flirting with a lady at the bar. Jefferson had a front row seat through the earpiece, and tried to focus more on the outside of the bar than the words being exchanged, though there was hardly anything worth watching. Hamilton made some rather unruly promises to whomever he was flirting with, and soon had invited her back to their hotel room.
Annoyed to no end, Jefferson stood up and muttered to himself a little as he went about the room, putting all of their work related artifacts out of sight in their suitcases, listening to the conversation in his ear to gauge how much time he had. He took his coat and left the room, trying not to limp. When the elevator stopped on their floor. Hamilton stepped out with an attractive ginger. The two men exchanged only the briefest of glances as Hamilton passed him. As he stepped into the cool night, Jefferson listened to Hamilton lock the hotel door and whisper sweet nothings to his giggling lover. It was clear by the time Jefferson was in their car that Hamilton would not be removing his earpiece. At first, Jefferson was tempted to do something to mess with them. The throbbing pain in his left leg convinced him against it. He lamented his partner for a few more minutes. The moaning started, and he quickly took out his earpiece to sit in silence.
The next morning, he waited until he saw the girl leave, before returning. Hamilton was miraculously asleep. Jefferson stopped himself from doing anything too quickly. At least it was the day they would be leaving. He did his best to ignore his pain as he went about the room, packing up their things. He had to stop every few minutes to lean against the wall or the table, before continuing. When everything was packed, he threw one of the suitcases onto the sleeping Hamilton. Naturally, Hamilton woke with a start.
"You owe me a big one," Jefferson told him coldly.
"What?" Hamilton asked sleepily. "Where is…?"
"She left." Hamilton pushed the suitcase off of himself and sat up, seeing Jefferson sitting on the bed, more annoyed that he had ever seen him before. "Get up and get dressed. If you so much as breathe in my direction, I will tell Washington that your death was an accident. Fair warning, it won't be."
As he got up, Hamilton realized that Jefferson's accent was coming through again, and he kept a little distance, wondering why. Jefferson said nothing as they loaded their car and hit the road. Somehow, the trip back managed to be longer than the trip there, due to the tense silence. Burr's favorite words, "Talk less, smile more" went through Hamilton's head as he drove. After several hours, he asked, "Are you going to say why your panties are in a knot?"
"No." Jefferson said shortly.
Hamilton glanced at him. "You really shut up? Is it that serious?"
"Even if it was, I wouldn't tell you. Shut up and drive. The sooner we're home, the better."
The garage of their agency couldn't have been a more welcome sight. Jefferson was quick to open his door and get out, though as soon as he put weight on his feet, he cursed and fell back onto the seat. Hamilton kept an eye on the hand on the top of the passenger door as he came around the car to stand in front of Jefferson, crossing his arms, getting concerned. "You've been off all day. Is something up?" Jefferson was staring determinedly at the cement below their feet, not answering him. "If this is about last night-"
"Alex. It's not that," Jefferson cut in. He sighed. "Help me up."
With Jefferson's arm draped over his shoulder, Hamilton watched his partner's attempt at walking. It was as if the difference his cane made was exaggerated. Jefferson was trying to keep his weight off of his left leg. As he brought Jefferson to Laurens, Hamilton ranted, "I knew something was wrong, you've been acting strangely all day. Are you sick or something? Why didn't you tell me something was wrong, you could have gotten- You could have ruined our operation and I don't even know why you're suddenly collapsing on me!"
When they had found him in the lab space, Laurens looked at them for a confused moment, and his eyes found the leg in question. He seemed to understand what was going on, and helped Hamilton sit Jefferson down, saying, "It needs to come off."
Jefferson tried to protest. "Laurens-"
"No, right now. You know you can't wear it this long," Laurens insisted.
Jefferson glanced up and met eyes with his confused partner. He turned away and mentally braced himself. "Fine."
As Hamilton watched, Laurens rolled up Jefferson's pants leg to reveal the last thing he could expect. Where his shin was supposed to be, there was instead a prosthetic leg, starting just below his knee. As Laurens took it off, Hamilton stuttered, "I-I didn't know…"
"That was kind of the point," Jefferson said, not looking at either of them.
"I-"
"Don't say another word."
Laurens stood up, and looked between them. "I'll be right back. Alex, make sure he doesn't get up."
Jefferson quickly insisted, "Wait, you don't have to get James, I'm-" The slam of a door cut him off. With Laurens gone, Jefferson turned on Hamilton, trying to seem threatening despite his vulnerable position. "I'm not about to tell your ass anything, so don't bother asking." He pointed a finger at him accusingly. "Honestly, if you could stay quiet for once in your life, that would be amazing. The last thing I need is a damn headache on top of all this."
When Hamilton opened his mouth, it was not the insult or derogatory remark that Jefferson expected. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, but are you doing ok? You've been hiding pain for the last few days, right? I don't know anything about this, but can I help, in any way?"
For a few seconds, Jefferson didn't know what to say. He stared at Hamilton, before his eyes were drawn back to the floor. "I'm, going to be fine." Before he could realize, he was telling him a little more. "It's mostly phantom limb pain, it'll go away after a while."
Hamilton stayed there with him for a minute more, as Laurens returned with Maddison. The partners weren't sure what to say. Maddison brought Jefferson's cane with him, and shooed Hamilton away with it. Laurens went with Hamilton to report to Washington, and to unload the car and bring their technology back to Eliza to be checked in. Hamilton told Laurens about what they had learned, and entrusted the stuffed lion to him. As it was already late in the day, Hamilton didn't get a chance to see Jefferson again before he was told that Jefferson and Maddison had left.
Late that night, as he was writing about that week, Hamilton's phone vibrated. He ignored it, but it vibrated again. He paused in his writing and looked at it on his desk, screen down. It vibrated again. Hamilton set down his pen and picked up his phone. He was getting a call, from Jefferson. He hesitated, and hesitated some more. Deciding that Jefferson would leave a message if it was really important, Hamilton set his phone down and continued to write. A few minutes later, the phone vibrated once more, to tell Hamilton that he had a voicemail to listen to. Curious, Hamilton played it.
"Hey, it's me," he heard Jefferson say. "Well, you probably know that." There was a pause and a sigh. "Look, about today. I shouldn't have been so short with you this morning. Honestly, it's not my business if you're bringing girls to bed. Really, this pain has been building up all week, and I took it out on you even though it isn't your problem." Jefferson paused. "Again, I'd really appreciate if this didn't get out." Another pause. "I'm doing fine, by the way. Uh, I don't know, I thought you'd like to know, considering how concerned you looked…" The corner of Hamilton's mouth turned up a small smile. "James gave me quite the lecture about taking care of myself. I don't think he'd let me come in tomorrow unless I slept it all off, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" Hamilton looked down at his hands. "Well, that's all I suppose. Try to get some sleep, alright?" The voicemail ended. Hamilton looked at his phone for a few moments, and set it down, going back to writing.
When they saw each other again, Jefferson once again had his cane in hand, and did seem to be quite a bit better. At first, they didn't speak to each other. When Laurens came by to tell them what he found in the lion, it was as if nothing had happened between them.
As Laurens told them, the lion did seem to be a smuggling tool. Inside, nestled in its stuffing, was several small baggies of tea leaves. As strange as it was, that was not all. The tea leaves were laced with ricin, a poison deadly at small doses.
This report and its accompanying set of photo evidence went through Washington to their client, who naturally called the authorities. The bar was investigated, and the secret room was found, but it had already been emptied of its boxes. The bartender was questioned, but claimed innocence. With no leads, the investigation couldn't be continued.
Months passed. While they went on a few more missions, the sudden reveal of Jefferson's leg became old news. It was almost never relevant, so Hamilton often forgot. Jefferson seemed to be quite happy to not have it mentioned. It wasn't long before things were back to the way they were before. When April came, Maddison planned to go to dinner with Jefferson for his birthday, as was customary for them. Unbeknownst to Jefferson, Maddison had invited Laurens, Lafayette and Hamilton to join them. Mulligan was away on a job with Angelica and Burr. Jefferson accepted the new additions to his yearly tradition. Since it had been a while since they had been together, they took the time to catch up.
Maddison told them that he was still seeing the girl Jefferson had set him up with. Lafayette pressed for details, but Hamilton turned it around and made him spill details of his own. He seemed to blush a little as he admitted that he had been flirting with Peggy for a while. "I asked if it hurt when she fell from heaven. She said 'yes, but it felt great when I fell for you'," he said, smiling as he stared into his glass of water.
"That's basically an invitation to ask her to dinner," Laurens said, leaning back in his chair.
"More importantly," Hamilton cut in, "When can we expect the wedding?"
Lafayette grinned more and waved his hand dismissively. "One thing at a time, Alex. Besides," he said, changing the subject, "What about you, are you still avoiding an actual relationship?" Laurens snickered, and tried to hide it.
"You laugh, but unlike you, John Laurens, I can get in a relationship as easily as I can pick up women. I just choose not to," Hamilton told him.
Maddison smiled and eyed Jefferson from across the table. "That sounds like someone else I know."
Jefferson sighed as Hamilton turned on him. "Didn't you say you're 36 now? What are you waiting for, you're almost out of time!"
"I don't see you doing anything to avoid my situation," Jefferson said, not looking at him.
Laurens leaned forward to grin at Lafayette. "Why don't we help?" He looked between Hamilton and Jefferson. "I'm sure we could find both of you someone by the end of the year."
Hamilton and Jefferson both protested, but Lafayette cut them off. "I think it's a great idea, I think I already have someone in mind," he said with a sly wink to Laurens. The two looked to Maddison, who seemed unsure, but agreed to lend his input.
As soon as they had all parted ways and Jefferson had a moment to speak freely with his good friend, he reminded Maddison that he was in no way helpless. Maddison patiently said it could be worth a shot to play along.
Thankfully, it seemed that whatever plan Laurens and Lafayette had in mind, they were not in a hurry to put it into action. When Mulligan returned, he agreed to help with whatever it was, though the three didn't even tell Maddison what the plan was. When they had the chance, they would visit Hamilton and Jefferson.
On one such occasion, Lafayette asked why they still called each other by their last names, since they had at least earned the right to be called friends. Jefferson and Hamilton shared a look, and Jefferson reasoned, "There's no way he remembers my first name anyway, he hasn't exactly needed to know-"
"It's Thomas," Hamilton said, not breaking eye contact. Since Jefferson was surprised to silence, Hamilton went on, "Honestly, what kind of person doesn't know their rival's full name? On top of that, I know that you don't have a middle name. I wish you did, so it could be something embarrassing like 'Claire' or 'Margaret'. And don't pretend you don't know my name, you've heard it several times, and used it exactly once."
Jefferson glanced at Lafayette, who watched them, and then back to Hamilton. "How do you know the exact number of times I've used your first name? I don't remember that."
"It was when we got back from the North Carolina mission," Hamilton said easily. "You seemed to be pretty distracted at the time. I don't blame you for not remembering."
Lafayette grinned at them. "You know, they say that a person's impulsive decisions like that are the best way to tell what's going on in their head." Jefferson cut that conversation short, and returned to work, though frequently distracted by memories he was keen to forget about.
A month after the promise to find the partners relationships, there had been no attempts. The influx of work had slowed again, and when they had nothing better to do, Hamilton suggested to Jefferson that they find something productive to do with their time. He naturally already had something in mind. That's how he and Jefferson ended up with two of the few swords that the agency had, and Eliza supervised them as they sparred. It was clear from the start that there would be no rules besides 'no injuries', as Hamilton didn't hesitate to throw in a few punches. It made their 'no injuries' rule a lot harder to follow, but it certainly kept things interesting. As the two dueled, Eliza called Laurens to be on hand in case something went unexpectedly. He seemed pretty delighted to watch with her, shooing the sparring pair away whenever they got too close.
At one point, Jefferson managed to disarm Hamilton. As his sword skittered across the floor, Hamilton shook out his arms and raised his fists. "Don't think I'm done yet."
"Stubborn as ever, I see." Jefferson readied his sword. "Your funeral, pretty boy."
As Jefferson watched, Hamilton's dark eyes narrowed. "What did you call me?"
"You heard me," Jefferson said with a smirk.
Hamilton clenched his right fist harder and rushed his opponent. Not expecting that, Jefferson raised his sword to defend, but it didn't stop Hamilton from tackling him to the ground, making him let go of the sword as he hit the ground. The clang of the metal on the cement floor went unheard as Hamilton engaged Jefferson in a wrestling match. Laurens took a few steps closer to keep an eye on them. On the ground, it was pretty clear that Hamilton had an advantage. Jefferson gave him a fight, but it wasn't long before Hamilton had pinned him, and Jefferson had to tap out. Hamilton let him go and sat up, while Jefferson lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling as they caught their breath.
"You good?" Hamilton asked.
Jefferson laughed a little and shook his head. "Where the hell did you learn to wrestle?"
With a short laugh of his own, Hamilton looked over to the shelves across the room. "The life of an outspoken teenaged orphan isn't exactly a walk in the park."
Laurens took the chance to confiscate the swords that lay discarded on the floor.
Jefferson looked up at his partner, and held out a hand. "Truce?"
Taking the hand in his, Hamilton responded, "Only for now."
With one of his charming smiled, Jefferson said, "I can live with that."
Hamilton held his eyes for a moment longer and then let go of Jefferson, standing up. "Well, since that's settled, I'll see if Washington has anything for us to do." Not waiting for anyone, he left. Jefferson waited a few seconds, before heaving himself up and collecting his cane from Eliza. Laurens insisted on giving him a brief examination to make sure he really wasn't injured, and asked Jefferson to send Hamilton back for the same.
Upstairs, Washington told Jefferson that he hadn't seen Hamilton. When he found him, he was on his way to his desk, with a stack of papers in his hand. He wouldn't explain what it was, but put them in his bottom desk drawer, the only drawer that locked.
Personally, Laurens was excited about his plan. The best part about it was that it wouldn't take much, and the two wouldn't realize the plan was in action. When Jefferson was having lunch in the break room, at his usual time (Maddison telling him when that is), Laurens brought Hamilton through it on a walk, to get him more coffee.
As he hoped, Jefferson was there, skimming the newspaper, across the table from Burr. As Laurens and Hamilton passed him, Laurens pretended to trip, and grabbed Hamilton to not fall. This made Hamilton accidentally spill hot coffee on Jefferson's shoulder. Jefferson jumped up and started waving air at his shoulder to cool it off.
"What the- Hamilton, watch what you're doing!" Jefferson said, sending him a glare.
Hamilton was quick to set the rest of his coffee on the table and go to get paper towels, saying as he did, "Sorry, hold on!" He came back and helped Jefferson try to wipe some of the coffee off of his shirt. Laurens did his best to hide his grin as they went together to find something else Jefferson could wear, leaving Laurens and Burr alone. Laurens was just about to leave when Burr spoke up.
"Laurens, don't think I didn't see that you caused that." Laurens ignored him, so he said, "Washington won't look kindly on someone trying to break apart his handpicked team."
Shaking his head, Laurens turned to him. "That's not it at all. A few of us are trying to get them together. You wouldn't understand."
Burr raised his eyebrows. "That's a terrible idea for many reasons. The first of which being that you shouldn't meddle in someone's love life like that." Laurens rolled his eyes. "The second being that you know personally how Hamilton gets. I've read their files more than anyone else here. If there is one thing that is clear, it's that Jefferson is a very loyal person. You've probably seen the meaning behind the sentence that reads, 'Extremely protective of the few friends he has.' Add in the fact that he's in his mid-thirties, and you get someone who won't settle for something as casual as Hamilton is with his one night stands." Laurens looked towards where Hamilton and Jefferson had left. "Do you even know if they're open to a relationship with another man?"
"No," Laurens said slowly. "I mean, I know Hamilton. But Jefferson won't tell anyone."
Burr nodded. "Just another reason why what you're doing is a horrible idea. Even if they do get together, do I need to remind you what happened with Hamilton's last office romance? Since Hamilton and Jefferson go on their missions together, Jefferson will only get a front row seat to his crushing betrayal. Then what? They won't be able to work together. Stop interfering while you still can, you don't want to be the cause of that mess."
Laurens looked at Burr soberly. Burr didn't always talk a lot. He was opposed to sharing his opinions. But this time, he seemed to have a point. Laurens remembered how even he, an outsider, could feel the hurt of Hamilton's disloyalty. It had been the very reason why he hadn't pursued a relationship with him. If he could stop someone else from being hurt by Hamilton, shouldn't he warn them? The only reason there wasn't lasting damage is because Eliza forgave and moved on. Someone who wouldn't hesitate to stand up to Hamilton wouldn't be as graceful.
Laurens looked at the coffee Hamilton had left behind. "Oh god, I've made a terrible mistake…"
