Chapter 13

That summer began as one of the best Alexander had ever had. He stayed a couple of weeks upstate with Eliza, making her immensely happy after a very difficult year. His late dedication to her never completely wiped away his guilt for his infidelity, but it was good to see her smile again. He went around with his father-in-law and his son, riding and fishing, teaching Philip how to shoot; he took long strolls with Eliza, finding a new path to walk every day and bringing the children along for a picnic a couple of times; he read them some poems by Pope, who was one of his favourites, after dinner, when the children usually invaded the living room, crowding the spot right before the fireplace, and Eliza sat at the piano, playing softly, or at the writing table to draft one of her long letters to Angelica. When everyone finally went to bed, Alexander usually put the poems aside and worked on the manufacturing plans, writing letters to his subordinates and directing his work from a distance. The days when he had a lot of correspondence to deal with – so that no one would notice every single address – he would slip a letter for Thomas among the others, addressing it to Monticello, since Thomas was spending some time there with his two daughters. He missed him immensely, but he never dared writing anything compromising within his letters – they couldn't risk being discovered and it was already odd enough for the two of them to exchange letters, even without professing their illegal feelings for each other. Alexander had grown up in the Caribbean, where sodomites were being transferred to be imprisoned or hanged, and knew the punishments they were risking – flogging, castration, or death. They couldn't take such a chance.

After two weeks, he returned to New York, leaving his family enjoying the tranquility of the countryside, and worked non-stop in order to have some advantages on those idiotic Democratic-Republicans – he needed everything to be flawless, for Burr had been nominated senator that March and was causing him quite a number of problems. He and Thomas had discussed several times about the latter's relationship with Burr, but after some bad arguments they had formally agreed on never talking about work when they were alone. However, Thomas frequently met with Burr and Madison, and Alexander wasn't happy at all; that stupid traitor was threatening him both in his role as Jefferson's enemy – they were plotting something against the Federalists, he could sense it – and as Jefferson's lover – Alexander hadn't forgotten about Burr and Thomas's misadventure with the thief, and felt jealous every time he saw them together. But, fortunately, he didn't have to worry about that now, since Thomas would stay at Monticello for at least another week, and so Alexander worked, and worked, and worked...

"I don't know, I found him like this on the floor of his study." Washington's voice seemed to come from miles and miles away, it was dim as if Alexander was listening to it from under water.

"He may have been like this for days, no one has seen him or heard from him for a while." Mulligan's voice was also twisted, as if in a confused dream – it was so strange to hear him anxious.

"I've written to his wife, but she won't receive the note until tomorrow," another voice added. "I have to tell you, gentlemen, his conditions are very bad. I've given him some medicine and I'll proceed to the phlebotomy right away." Oh, so that was the doctor.

He lost consciousness again. His dreams were so much better than reality at first – Thomas was there with him, holding his hand and kissing him gently – but then Alex was shivering with fever again and Thomas's voice came to him weaker and weaker. Don't you dare do this to me Alexander, you hear me, right? Don't you dare give up, I couldn't stand it again, please –

He opened his eyes to a candle-lit room and blinked several times to adapt his sight to the light that, despite being feeble, hurt his deep blue eyes. The first thing he acknowledged was that his body was sore – every single inch of it hurt – and that he had a lot of dry blood on his arms and legs. Then, he turned his head slightly and noticed his wife who was asleep in an armchair on the side of his bed, her beautiful face tired and very pale. He tried to touch her, but failed after a weak try, dropping is hand back on the bed.

"Hey," Eliza's eyes were half-closed, but she was awake, "how're you feeling honey?"

"As shit," he croaked and coughed, while his wife hastily grabbed a glass of water and helped him drink it little by little.

"What happened?" he managed to say after a minute.

"You weren't handing in your work, so Washington came here to check on you and found you lying on the floor, shivering with fever," she smiled weakly. "We should have known it, you fall ill almost every year."

"Was it malaria again? How long have I slept?"

"Yes, it was," she hesitated. "Well, you've been sleeping for almost five days, but the doctor said you'd been unconscious for a while before Washington found you."

Alexander groaned in annoyance – he didn't have time to be sick, for fuck's sake – and tried to get up, but Eliza blocked his way, her eyes flashing threateningly.

"You have to rest."

"I have to work!"

"Alexander," a dangerous note of warning echoed in her voice.

"Yeah, whatever," he retorted bitterly.

He knew she was right, but he'd suddenly felt like if he was in a hurry of doing something – Thomas! He needed to see him! He had to get up, write to him, let him know he was all right... but he was so tired he couldn't even keep his eyes open...

After a couple of minutes, Eliza got up and stretched; then, she turned to the door from where little Philip's face was peeping curiously.

"Is pa awake?" he whispered.

"He's sleeping again." She followed him out of the room and quietly closed the door. "But it seems the worst is over."

"Those two gentlemen stopped by again, half an hour ago."

"I wonder why do they bother – I thought they hated you father." She collected some clean sheets and wipes, kissed Philip on the forehead and headed back to her husband.

***

Another week passed before Alexander was strong enough to sit straight and hold his quill. The first thing he did was to write long letters to Washington – he had some important questions about work – Mulligan, Lafayette and all the other people who could have been worried for his health. Among the heavy envelopes, he hid a short note addressed: Jefferson, 57 Maiden Lane, NYC. He'd quickly scribbled a couple of lines, hoping his wife's sharp eyes wouldn't notice it, since in those days she was almost always by his side, constantly observing him with an anxious look.

"Eliza, dear," he called her, knowing she wouldn't deny anything to him in that moment, "I really need some other paper, and we've finished the sealing wax – I need it since I'll work from home for a while."

"That's ok, I'll go fetch them tomorrow morning."

"I need them today hon." He puppy-eyed her. "Please?"

"Oh, all right – is it ok for you to stay alone for a couple of hours?"

"Don't worry for me, I'll rest a bit."

"I'll be home soon," she kissed him quickly and left.

After a bit more than twenty minutes, someone knocked at the main door. Alexander gathered the little strength he'd left to get up from his bed and walk to the entrance, supporting himself on anything that would help him not to fall. He opened the door and almost collapsed on the spot out of exhaustion. Two strong arms promptly caught him and, a moment later, he found himself curled up against Thomas's chest, while the man carried him back to his bed without effort.

"I knew you were yearning to throw yourself in my arms again, but isn't it a little too much?"

"You know me, I'm a drama queen," Alex smiled his first true smile after weeks – god, he'd really missed Jefferson: his black curly hair, that framed his strong jawline and his proud dark eyes, were long enough to caress his broad shoulders; his perfectly shaped lips could make his face so imposing, almost fierce, when serious, and yet sweeten his countenance when they smiled. Damn, he was so beautiful.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered, feeling suddenly emotional.

"I know it, love." Thomas winked at him. "But it's nice that you've finally admitted it."

"Oh god – I'd almost forgotten what a jerk you are!"

"You look terrible anyway." Thomas sat on the bed next to him.

"I've been unconscious for a while and then too weak to write to you," Alexander started apologizing, "and Eliza hasn't left me alone for a whole minute, anyway. She would have never left my bed if she wasn't completely sure I wasn't going to die."

Thomas stiffened a little, seeming uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I saw you just before she got here."

"What? Why were you here?"

"Washington told James you were sick, and he wrote me the same day," he explained, "I rode here right away so that I could see you before your wife arrived – I know it was reckless, but I was scared that was my last chance to see you."

"I heard you, I think," Alexander suddenly remembered. "I heard your voice in a dream."

Thomas's reaction to his words was hard to read. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again and became very serious.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Do you have to ask?"

A shadow of a smile flashed on his face, but a moment later he was intensely looking at him again, his deep eyes already tasting Alexander's lips even before touching them. Then, he delicately took Alexander's face in his warm hands and closed the distance between them. In less than a second, all the time they'd spent apart disappeared; the doubts, the worry, the absence they'd felt during the last weeks faded away. Thomas's fingers draw the shape of Alexander's face, chest, arms, as if to be sure he was not an illusion – he was real, they were still real – and he gently grabbed Alex's hair to deepen their kiss. They both knew their time was running out, Thomas had to leave before Eliza returned, but they bodies, as well as their souls, refused to part – eventually, Thomas painfully pulled away from Alex's arms and stood up.

"I've rarely been so scared in my life as these last weeks –" Thomas's eyes also seemed reluctant to leave Alexander's – "but now that I know you're getting better, I'll be able to wait a little more before coming here and kidnapping you."

"Well, that's comforting."

"Let me know when I can come again."

"Of course – next time bring some waffles."

"You're incredible!" Thomas gave Alexander one of his stunning smiles, sending him a kiss from the door before going away.

Alexander's heart was racing – when did he start being so affected by Thomas's presence? Yes, he'd always been terribly beautiful, but Alexander had almost always controlled himself around him. Well, he'd probably only missed Jefferson's stupid face. However, feeling all those emotions in such a short time had left him dead tired – Eliza found him asleep, a sweet smile lingering on his lips.