Chapter 14

A/N:

Hey guys! I really hope you'll like this chapter... it's a long one about Thomas, it mainly consists in Thomas's POV on the events described in the previous one, but it's very important for the character's development and to understand his feelings for Alexander. Enjoy!

[aaaaand if you like it, please consider leaving a vote!♡]

***

There was silence that morning on the luxuriant hill where Monticello had been built. It was not a complete quiet, but the twits of the birds and the distant voices of the people working in the plantations were so different from the loud noises of the city that Thomas almost didn't notice them. He'd waken up early and cooked breakfast for his daughters – double portion for Patsy, who was carrying her first child and her due date was really close – and then he'd gone for a walk but, in the end, he'd found himself standing in the family cemetery, again.

Martha Jefferson

Daughter of John Wayles and Martha Eppes

Born October 19th 1748. O.S.

Intermarried with Thomas Jefferson

January 1st 1772; torn from him by death

September 6th 1782: this monument of his love

is inscribed.

He'd asked to add that last sentences, he wanted everyone to know what a wonderful woman his wife was, especially for him.

"Hi, my love," he started, with a lump in his throat at the sight of her name on the marble stone. "I miss you so much – I swear I do. It doesn't matter what I do, how many friends I have or what distractions I find, every single day I wish you were still here with me."

He talked about everything he'd done in France – well, he omitted some little details – and about his days in NYC as Secretary of State; he told her about his plans with Madison and the important dinners and meeting he was having in order to set stronger basis to their newborn nation.

"You should see how much arguing I'm forced to do every day," he smiled for a second, "there's this Secretary of Treasury, Hamilton, who's the worst. He's always quibbling over something and he's too straightforward, even ill-mannered from time to time –

Thomas looked around to be sure no one was listening. His sad smile had grown into an adoring one, but he hadn't noticed yet.

"We used to be enemies and hate each other, but now it's not like that anymore. You know, I haven't really felt anything for a long time, Martha, because from the day you left me alone, I simply refused to go on without you. I still had the love of our wonderful daughters, and that was enough for me. I've met some other people in these past years, but what they offered to me was something I'd lost long before – I didn't have any love to give back and, even if I'd had it, I wouldn't have given it to anyone. But Alexander – that's Hamilton's first name – he didn't give me love; he gave me hate, and anger, and something to fight against. After many years, I felt heated by our arguments and had a reason – probably a bad one, but a real reason anyway – to get up and go to work every day."

Thomas knelt in front of the tombstone, his face growing livelier with every word he uttered. Then, he paused and looked solemnly at the marble headstone, his head dropping after some moments.

"Martha, you have to forgive me, but I can't keep my promise anymore. I won't ever marry, that's a certainty – not that our daughters would mind, they are grown-up now – but I can't live without love. If there was a way to hold you again in my arms, without taking away my own life – and believe me, love, I've considered it many times – I would do whatever it takes to have you back. But you're in a better place right now, and I have to go on somehow. I've never settled for the easiest path, and this time too it won't be easy, but I'm ready to love again and I wanted you to know it –

"I will never forget you, nor stop loving you," he sobbed quietly and got up from the ground.

Now that he'd finally said it out loud, he felt the urgent need to repeat his words to Alexander – he had to go back to New York as soon as possible. He stormed into the house and wrote two letters, one addressed to Madison and one to Hamilton, informing both that he was coming back earlier, and that he would take a couple of short stopovers on the Potomac first and then in Philadelphia – he was positive he would arrive in NYC within nine to ten days. Then, he went to say goodbye to Polly and Patsy, hoping to see them very soon, and left for New York. The journey was smooth and uneventful, he spent the time reading or looking at the beautiful natural landscapes of his beloved Virginia; however, he was grateful that his travels were about to end when he reached Philadelphia – just a couple of days and he would see Alexander, and be able to relax in his New York mansion again. Once he'd reached his accommodation for the night, Thomas was very surprised to find an urgent note from Madison, informing him that the President had been lamenting a lack of correspondence with the Treasury Secretary in the last couple of days and that Hamilton had been found unconscious and severely ill in his house that very day.

"Fetch me a horse!" Thomas ordered hastily at the boy who was unloading his baggage from the carriage. "I'll leave you the address, you can ship the luggage tomorrow, but I need a horse now!"

Despite being exhausted by the journey, less than twenty minutes later Thomas was already mounting on a strong brownish horse – one of the fastest, the hostel owner had assured him – having arranged the shipping of his baggage and the return of the horse for the following days. He rode as fast as he could, his thoughts focused on a simple request – for goddamn's sake, Alexander, don't die!

He rode the entire night and arrived in New York the following day, around midnight. He wanted to go see Alexander right away, but didn't know what excuse to use; what if his wife was already there? And so he decided to wait until the following morning, taking a bath and unsuccessfully trying to sleep. Finally, a little after dawn, he wrote a letter to Madison, asking if he wanted to join him in paying a visit to the Secretary, and hoping James wouldn't find his request too strange to comply it. Fortunately – and therefore alarmingly – Madison was so troubled by Hamilton's health that he accepted his invitation at once, and was weakly knocking at his door a couple of hours later. They chatted awkwardly about their holidays and James tactfully noticed Thomas's timely arrival, while shooting quick glances to the dark circles that framed his tired eyes. Dr Hosack met them in an irritated fashion – his patient's conditions were critical and he couldn't accept visitors, he said – and so Madison started asking him a ton of questions about Hamilton's health and, after knowing that it was malaria, he engaged the doctor in a further discussion about his own health problems. Once understood that Mrs. Hamilton hadn't returned yet, Thomas muttered something about a book he needed borrowing and slipped out of the confused doctor's sight; he headed towards Alexander's room and entered without knocking, losing no time in closing the door right after him.

The scene that disclosed in front of his eyes was dreadful: Alexander seemed to be unconscious, but his sleep was not a quiet one, since he was tossing and shivering, his face beaded with sweat. The whole situation seemed to mirror Thomas's worst nightmares. Trembling with fear, he slowly approached Alexander's bed and wiped away the sweat from his forehead, uncertainly taking him between his arms and whispering softly to his ear.

"Shh, Alexander, I'm here love – I'm here." Thomas's words seemed to calm Alex's feverish tremor for some minutes. "Je suis là, reviens moi, je t'en prie."

Suddenly, Alexander started shivering again, his lips trembling and muttering inarticulate sounds; he seemed in such pain that Thomas instantly lost his façade of bravery, the memory of Martha's death bed imprinted forever in his mind not to have a terrible déjà vu.

"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 –

Heavy steps echoed from outside the room, warning Thomas that someone was about to come in. He reluctantly released Alexander from his embrace and grabbed the first book he found at hand, heading for the door right when the doctor flung it open and looked at him with a disapproving glance.

"I've found the book," Thomas numbly justified his behaviour, unable to look the doctor in the eyes.

He shoot a last glance to Alexander – what if that was the last time he would ever see him? – and went back to James, who inquired about the book. Thomas raised the item to let Madison read the title on the cover, noticing for the first time that he was holding his own copy of Machiavelli's Il Principe.

"He stole it," Thomas explained – more to himself than to James – and slipped the book in the pocket of his coat, forgetting about it for the moment.

"What did the doctor say?"

"He hopes Mrs. Hamilton will come tomorrow, so that she might still be in time to see him alive." Madison looked gravely at him. "Did you see him?"

"Yes."

Madison didn't ask anything else. Maybe, having already seen Thomas's eyes the day when Martha had died, he recognised the same look on his face, guessing what kind of image Thomas must have witnessed just minutes earlier. They went home without uttering another word, quickly shaking their hands with affection before parting.

***

By the time Alexander's letter reached him, Thomas was having nightmares every night – it was always the same horrible dream, but sometimes Martha's agonizing face changed into Alexander's. The previous night he'd also dreamed about the day of Martha's funeral, when she'd been buried in the damp ground, and he'd been standing there for hours after the ceremony had ended, alone in front of her tombstone. Then, the scene had changed but, even if he was standing before her tomb once more, this time he was smiling – "I'm ready to love again." The words were still echoing in his dreams when he woke up in a start. As he'd done every single day since he'd returned from Monticello, he started his day trying to calm down and control his anxiety; he curled under the bed sheets and breathed deeply several times, trying to focus on his last dream.

"I'm ready to love again," he murmured, remembering.

After Martha's death, he'd been too scared to lose someone else and couldn't bring himself to love. And now that he finally felt ready, now that he was about to disclose his feelings to Alexander – now, Alex was ill and could die in any moment! What would he do if Alexander too was torn away from him? His breathing grew more and more laboured. He was panicking – warm tears came streaming out of his dark eyes; he let himself drown in despair for some minutes and then tried to get a grip on his fears. After a while, his breath was even again and he feebly got up, leaving his nightmares behind him, hidden in the heavy blankets of the bed.

Thomas resolved that he would try and visit Alexander again that day, he couldn't wait another minute; he got dressed and rushed down the stairs, grabbing his coat and walking stick, and storming out of the door so hurriedly that he almost step on the postman.

"Yes, thank you very much." He dismissed the man hastily, tearing off the letters from his hands without looking at them.

"Sir!" The postman called him, alarmed by his manners. "There's an urgent note for you, among the mail," he warned, and walked away stiffly, muttering something about 'the good old days when people treated postmen with respect'.

Thomas checked out the mail and almost dropped all the letters when he saw his address written by Alexander's handwriting. The note was very short: We've got till 12 am. Hurry.

Thomas threw himself in his carriage, yelling the address to the coachman, and found himself on Alexander's doorstep in little more than ten minutes. He knocked and waited, anxiously shifting his weight from a leg to another and ticking with his fingers on his walking stick.

The door opened and a white-pale Alexander threw himself into his arms. In a blink, Thomas felt his chest heating again after weeks of cold emptiness. He promptly picked Alexander up in his arms and kicked the door closed. He inhaled the smell of Alexander's skin, feeling at home, and hungrily scanned the man's full shape to be sure he was ok – he'd dreamt so much about him dying that he was almost surprised to see him alive and relatively healthy.

"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." Alexander gave him one of his genuine smiles, the ones Thomas loved so much, and then looked intensely at his face, apparently lost in his thoughts.

Thomas lulled him in his arms for a while, and then carefully lied him down on the bed, sitting next to him and waiting for him to voice his thoughts. Alexander's countenance was almost funny to see; he looked at Thomas as if he was having an epiphany in that very moment.

"You're breathtaking."

"I know it, love, but it's nice that you've finally admitted it."

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

"You look terrible anyway."

"I've been unconscious for a while and then too weak to write to you." Alexander was still looking at him with a strange gaze, but sighed at his remark. "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."

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

"I heard you, I think," Alexander said hesitantly. "I heard your voice in a dream."

As soon as he heard Alexander's words, Thomas's heart started to race, and several powerful feelings pervaded him at once. The first one was joy; it was an odd emotion to feel after all the sadness of the previous days, but now Thomas knew that his words had somehow reached Alexander when he was fighting against the fever, that he'd heard his voice. Then, he felt a strong possessiveness and a pang of pain at the same time; he wanted to take Alexander home with him, that was the right place for him to be, but he knew it was an impossible demand. Shyly, another feeling followed – he suddenly knew why he couldn't stand losing Alexander.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Do you have to ask?"

Thomas had longed for that kiss in a way he couldn't phrase, even if he really wanted Alexander to know. Last time he'd been in that room, he'd thought he wouldn't see him, hold him, nor kiss him anymore; after leaving, he'd had so many hours to contemplate the worst-case scenario that he'd already started mourning that perfect image that now was before his eyes once more. When his lips touched Alexander's, he realized that wasn't a dream – Alexander was alive and Thomas was really holding him, caressing him; he wished for that moment to last forever. But, too soon, he had to draw away from him, stamping a last quick kiss on his forehead.

"Let me know when I can come again," Thomas reminded him.

"Of course – next time bring some waffles."

"You're incredible!" He went away laughing, feeling happy and deeply in love for the first time after nine long years.

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Je suis là, reviens moi, je t'en prie = "I'm here, but now you come back to me, please"