The next morning brought a weird sort of unsettled relief.
It felt like coming out of a bad hangover.
Thomas didn't mind hangovers, usually. The pain and nausea sucked, sure, but it also served as a reminder that he should stop drinking as much as he did… eventually.
But this… This was suffering for no reason. This was suffering for doing nothing. At least with a real hangover, he could point a finger back to the source, back to his own actions that had put him in such a position.
In the wake of a migraine, he couldn't point any fingers or name any names. All he could do was accept the haze and wade through it the best he could.
James was helpful, more helpful than Thomas felt he deserved. His friend had brought him water, pills, and fought to keep the room dark enough for Thomas to rest.
Now, in the stillness of the aftermath, Thomas could feel a different kind of storm brewing in the quieter man. All he could do was wait it out.
"...Why didn't you tell me?"
And there it is…
Thomas rolled on his side so he could face James, ignoring the way the stiff pillow made his ear ache. He hadn't planned on spending so much time in the hotel bed that weekend.
"Do you want the long answer," Thomas asked, knowing the conversation was inevitable either way, "or the short one?"
James leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together. "I want the real one. The one that includes why everyone seemed to know about this but me."
"To be fair, Hamilton doesn't count—"
"I talked with Angelica while you were sleeping off the last of it," James cut in, his tone short and clipped. "Thomas, I'm your best friend. I could've helped you. I would've dropped everything if I'd known."
"That's it, though, isn't it?"
"What?"
"That's why I didn't tell you," Thomas whispered. "Did Angelica tell you that, too?"
"No."
Thomas heaved a sigh. "If I told you, we both know you would've abandoned the conference for me. I didn't want to do that to you because of some annoying little headache."
"That didn't look like a little headache. I should've known something was off when you could drive…" James washed a hand over his face. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. What's done is done."
"…Sorry."
"Just… Tell me next time, all right? I'd rather ditch a conference with the President of the United States than sit idly while you're suffering."
Thomas opened his mouth, but words wouldn't come, so he settled for a tired smile.
"Do you know what caused it?" James asked a few moments later.
A shrug was the best answer Thomas could give.
"Stress, maybe?"
"I don't want to try to figure it out, honestly. Like you said, it's done now. Besides…" he added, a very belated afterthought, "what would I have to be stressed about?" James raised a brow. "Fine, other than the usual."
Work, settling his family's affairs, life in general, random anxiety, etc…
"Maybe you're stressed about the conference?"
"Why?" Thomas massaged the leftover aches out of his temple. "That doesn't make any sense. I wanted to come here. I might as well have planned the whole damn thing! No, it must be the weather change or something…" He tried to ignore his friend's subtle glance out the window. The blue skies seemed to glare down at them both. "Or maybe I've been drinking too much caffeine—or alcohol. I don't know and I don't care. Knowing what triggered it won't help. It happened, it's done."
"Well, what triggered it the first time?"
"What?"
James shrugged. "You mentioned something about this happening once before. Back in the car, I think."
Everything in Thomas stilled at that. Even his heart went so far as to stop beating for a second. "That's…" He shook his head. "Rehashing that won't help. The migraines aren't related at all."
"Why not?" Thomas pursed his lips, so James pressed on. "Come on, what happened?"
"James, it's not related."
It couldn't be. That would be ridiculous because a thing like that should only affect him once… right?
"Thomas."
Fine.
"The last time something like this happened—and the first time, I guess—was when…" Just say it. Rip it off like a Band-Aid. "When… When my mom died."
James blinked, realization dawning in his dark gaze. "Oh, geez…"
"That's what it was then," Thomas said, a vain effort to brush the memories away, "so why is it happening now?"
"Thomas…" There was something off in James' tone, but he couldn't decipher it; his head was still too foggy. "If I'm remembering correctly, that was one year ago this month…"
Damn.
With the conference planning, he hadn't… hadn't…
Hadn't noticed. Thomas swallowed. What kind of a son doesn't notice?
The worst kind, I think.
"Well…" Thomas heaved a sigh. "That… That explains it, I guess."
"Now, before you say it's in the past and shouldn't affect you, or some stupid crap like that," James began just as Thomas opened his mouth again, "it obviously does. Today proved that. So, next time—"
"I know, I know. Tell someone."
"No, tell me. I'm your best friend."
"I know. I will."
"Thank you." James hesitated a moment. "Do you… Do you want to talk about it?"
"About what?"
"…Your mom."
Oh.
Just as Thomas felt his head begin to shake—determined to stuff it all inside and keep it there—the words tumbled out of his rebel lips in a whisper.
"I miss her." James simply nodded, a silent prompting for Thomas to go on. "And… I should've been there. I couldn't make it back in time, before she…"
James nodded again. "I remember. That wasn't your fault."
"Yeah?" Thomas blew out a long sigh. "Sure feels like it, sometimes. The rest of my family made it there."
"You're out of state. You've got to give yourself that much, at least."
"So are most of my siblings. Jane made it there and she's all the way in damn Montana." On the bedside table, angry red numbers stared at Thomas, daring him to linger in bed for even a second longer. Move on, move on. "Hey, how much of the conference is left? Please don't tell me I slept through the whole thing…"
It was as good a subject change as any, and even though the dip in James' brows spoke of desire to continue the "therapeutic" conversation, or whatever he was calling it, Thomas felt immense relief when his friend pulled out the schedule.
The past was in the past. There was no reason to dredge up old memories.
That's the kind of thinking that probably got you into this mess…
Oh, shut up.
"Looks like there are a couple workshops left this morning, then one final lecture early this afternoon. The vendor hall closes at one o'clock, I think."
"All right." Summoning whatever reserves of energy he had left, Thomas pushed himself off the bed. "Let's get going, then."
The concern practically radiated off his friend and Thomas had to clamp down on the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he flashed what he hoped was a winning smile.
"James, I'm not going to break. It's fine."
Though clearly unconvinced, James nodded. "All right. If you're sure…"
"I've been in this room too long. Cabin fever and all that. If there's a chance we can still catch the tail end of this thing, then let's get going. I haven't even seen any of the vendor hall yet."
"There are some pretty good booths," James admitted, and Thomas could sense his reluctance beginning to fade.
"I know, Lafayette's been texting me almost non-stop." Thomas chuckled as he grabbed his jacket. "I think he's sent a picture of literally every booth… The rare few that feature unflattering shots of Hamilton are among my personal favorites."
But James wasn't laughing as they strolled down the hallway. If anything, his expression had twisted in confusion. "Yeah, that was odd…"
The elevators were taking their good old time in coming, so Thomas spared his friend a glance. "What?"
"Hamilton. Yesterday."
Thomas felt his face scrunch as he scoffed. "That wasn't weird. That was Hamilton. He's always weird."
"No, I mean… I don't know, he just seemed oddly concerned about you."
"He was not. It was circumstantial. Right place, right time, and all that jazz."
Before James could reply, the elevator doors slid open to reveal Lafayette. The man lit up like a thousand Christmas lights the moment he saw Thomas.
"Mon ami, you're better!"
The crushing embrace that Thomas soon found himself trapped in was as suffocating as it was welcome.
"Missed you, too," he managed to squeeze out, only catching his breath when Lafayette took a step back.
"I was just coming to see you! But now we can go down to the conference together! There is this amazing booth I must show you."
"Is it in one of the hundreds of pictures you sent me?" Thomas asked with a laugh.
Together, the three of them stepped into the elevator.
Thomas grinned. It felt good to be back.
Damn James and his stupid comments. His dumb speculations.
The encounter outside the harmony workshop wasn't weird, it was just Hamilton. And yet, the memory wouldn't stop bouncing around Thomas' mind.
A voice that sounded an awful lot like Angelica whispered that he should probably thank the man.
Yeah, right.
Thanking Hamilton felt akin to stabbing himself in the eye. Extremely painful and totally unnecessary.
And yet… as Thomas wandered around the vendor hall, he wondered what Hamilton was up to, how he was spending his last hour of the conference.
Probably not dwelling on yesterday like you are…
Damn James and his stupid speculations.
James and Lafayette had gone to get an early lunch, having seen just about all there was to see of the hall ten times over, but Thomas didn't mind. Perusing alone with a head that wasn't trying to kill him felt nice.
Now, if thoughts about thanking Hamilton would just leave him be, the afternoon would be perfect.
As he turned into the last row of booths, he could only think of one more vendor he had to see before the hall closed—the investing booth, which would hopefully make up for the breakout session he'd missed.
Seeing Hamilton at that very booth was enough to make Thomas want to turn on his heel and get out of there.
Why does he always have to ruin everything just by existing?
"I think you two need to give each other a chance."
He tried brushing Angelica's voice away. He really didn't need that right now. All he needed was a chance to look at that booth in peace.
A chance…
"We already did."
Thomas could feel Angelica's phantom stare on his back, even though she had already started her drive home after the final session. "Did you, though? Did you really?"
… No comment.
As his brain forced him to ask what was the worst that could happen, Thomas felt his feet begin to wander closer to the booth. At the very least, he could just take a quick look…
"I don't know, he just seemed oddly concerned about you."
Thomas hated that he saw a flash of that concern the moment he stepped up to the booth—the moment Hamilton noticed his presence.
"Jefferson," he acknowledged.
Thomas swallowed, turning his attention to the table. If he had been feeling even the slightest bit closer to his normal self, he would have just left. As it was, vestiges of the fog and fatigue still clung to his head, so he gave a tight nod. "Hamilton."
It shouldn't have felt weird. It shouldn't have felt different… Why does it feel so damn different?
Then, Hamilton cleared his throat. "Looks like you're feeling better."
"Yeah." Even as his brain screamed at him, Thomas managed to bite back that burning "Obviously." The least he could do was remain civil. If Hamilton could do it, he could, too.
Say something.
Why?
… Because.
Why?
Because he helped you.
"How…" Thomas cleared his own throat. "How was the rest of the conference yesterday?"
"Fine." Hamilton rolled his eyes, but Thomas detected a hint of excitement in his rival's gaze at the mention of it. Excitement that the man was trying to hide. "I mean, it's not like I even wanted to be here in the first place, but you work with what you've got."
"Right…. What about the session? The investing one. How was that?"
"It was so—" Hamilton seemed to catch himself, his eyes dulling as he remembered who he was talking to. "Fine. It was fine."
"Did you take notes?"
"Even if I did, why would I share them with you?"
"I didn't ask you to, I just asked if you did."
"Oh." Hamilton turned his attention back to the table. "Well, for your information, I did."
"Nice."
Hamilton narrowed his eyes at that, fixing his gaze in a way that made Thomas wonder why they were both still standing there, anyway.
When Hamilton didn't say anything, Thomas raised a brow. "What?"
"What are you even doing?"
What was he doing…? Damned if I know.
Angelica's voice rang clear and bright in his head. You know.
Thomas sucked in a breath. Now or never, I guess.
"I'm…" He shrugged. "…Giving you a chance."
Of course, Hamilton looked indignant. Thomas hadn't expected anything less. "You're giving me a chance?"
"Fine." Thomas rolled his eyes. "You give me a chance, then, if that's how you want it."
"A chance for what?"
"…A chance to show you that we're both just people." A sigh filtered through his lips at Hamilton's still irritated expression. "Neither of us is the villain in each other's story and, frankly, we need to stop acting like it."
Though Hamilton regarded him with more skepticism than Thomas could measure, the man seemed to be listening. Finally.
"Where's this coming from all of a sudden?" came the expected question.
"It's just something Angelica mentioned yesterday. And… Well, you helped me out of a tight spot. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is… thanks."
Something in Hamilton's eyes softened. The change was so minuscule, Thomas nearly missed it, but it was there all the same. "That was an extremely roundabout way to say it, but… But sure… whatever. You're welcome."
The silence that followed was a mix of uncomfortable relief that Thomas could even begin to figure out.
Maybe, he realized, he didn't have to. Maybe he could just let things be… Just let things play out as they would.
And maybe that was all right, for now.
They moved almost as one to the next booth. It was odd, but Thomas wasn't about to question it. He still wanted to finish out the aisle, and if that meant tailing Hamilton, then so be it.
"So," Hamilton asked after a few moments, "did Madison take notes for the first half of the lecture?"
"Some, I think," Thomas replied.
"Hmm."
"Maybe you two can work out some sort of trade. His notes for yours."
While it seemed logical to Thomas, Hamilton flashed a knowing smirk. "And let you have both sets of notes? I already gave you my painkillers, Jefferson. I'm not about to give you all my notes, too."
"Whatever." Thomas moved to the next booth… And Hamilton followed. Continuing the conversation just seemed… natural. It's better than the silence, okay?
Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better. "Why did you have so much acetaminophen on you, anyway?"
"My hand cramps up a lot," came the quick reply. "When I'm typing or writing… or just in general sometimes."
Thomas shot him a glance. "You know, ibuprofen would work a lot better for that. It helps with inflammation."
Hamilton shrugged. "Eliza took the bottle of ibuprofen on vacation to help with her headaches. What I gave you was all I had in the house on short notice."
"Seems like she would've left some for you if she knew your hand was hurting."
"It probably didn't cross her mind."
Uh huh… Sure.
Snippets of yesterday's conversation pricked his mind. Certain things Hamilton had said didn't add up, while others were painting an all too vivid picture.
And I should care… why? Thomas didn't know how to answer that question. Not yet. All he could do was obey the pull as it continued to drag him along.
"Why aren't you on vacation with your family, Alexander?"
Hamilton's brows shot up. "First name basis, now? Seriously?"
"You used mine yesterday." Thomas flashed a smile. "It's only fair that I return the gesture."
"Whatever. Like I said before, it's none of your business." Thomas hadn't even tensed his shoulders to properly begin a shrug when Hamilton opened his mouth again. Should've seen that one coming. "But, if by some weird twist of fate it was… Things between me and Eliza are… a little chilly right now. And I don't know how to…" Hamilton shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this…"
"You don't have to," Thomas began, his tone trying—and failing—to remain indifferent. "But I'm finishing out this aisle either way, and it looks like you are, too… So I'm here if, I don't know… if you need someone to listen or whatever."
Something odd sparked in Hamilton's eyes at that. Something Thomas couldn't put a word to for the life of him. "You'll just take her side… And I honestly wouldn't blame you."
Thomas shook his head, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm not here to take sides. I don't even want to get involved. All I said was that I'm here to listen."
"John and Angelica took her side," came the quiet reply.
"Hamilton, I'm not taking any damn side, all right? Look, you don't have to talk about it, but—"
Hamilton sucked in a breath. "… I work too much."
Oh…
"Yeah." Thomas gave a small nod, blowing out a sigh. "Yeah, that'll do it."
"See, I just don't think she understands why I'm working so much." As Hamilton revved up like a Mustang about to go from zero to sixty in 3.5, Thomas braced himself for the long haul. "I have to work to pay the bills, to give her money for that damn vacation, to pay for groceries and things for the new baby and any other crap Eliza wants to buy. I think if she just took a step back for even a second, she would realize I'm doing all this for her. Every extra hour I work and all those late nights are for her. Why can't she see that?"
He knew he was treading on thin ice, but Thomas couldn't care less. How many times had they both told each other exactly what they thought about something? Even if they knew the other would absolutely hate it…
Maybe that's why he's opening up. The thought was a new one, sure, but Thomas couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. Because he knows you won't hold back.
All right, then.
"Is it really for her?" Thomas asked. "Or is it for you?"
Hamilton scowled. "I thought you weren't taking sides."
"I'm not. I'm just asking questions."
An eye roll was all he got for his efforts. "Well, don't. Just… Just leave it. I'll figure it out."
"How long has this been going on?"
"I don't know." Hamilton shrugged, moving to the next booth. "I've sort of lost track of the days."
"Maybe that's part of the problem." As Hamilton flipped him off, Thomas couldn't find it in himself to be offended. Instead, he indulged in a smirk.
"What would you know about it? You're not even married."
"No, I guess I'm not." Thomas felt the phantom burn of a wedding band… heard the faded memory of church bells. "Not anymore."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Shaking away the darkness before it could take hold of him the way it used to, Thomas went for the most reassuring smile he could muster. "It means we need to finish out this aisle before the hall closes."
Hamilton checked his watch and bit out a curse. "What? We only have fifteen minutes left! I'm blaming you for holding us up. We still have, like, twenty booths to go!"
"Good, because I'm blaming you, too, so that works out. But hey, I'm sure I can dig up another one of these events and force everyone to come."
"I'm not going to another one of your dumb conferences, Jefferson." Despite his words, Hamilton picked up the pace, hurrying to the next booth in a frantic effort to complete the hall in time.
Even though he had no doubt been to each booth at least twice that weekend.
Thomas had to choke down a laugh—one Hamilton definitely wouldn't have appreciated—as he trailed behind.
He shook his head, a smile dancing across his features.
Who could've known it would end like this?
But Thomas wasn't complaining.
As Hamilton struck up a conversation about the next booth, Thomas couldn't find a single reason to complain.
Not a single one.
Well… he mused, his grin widening at some off the wall thing Hamilton said, I'll be damned.