#not normally a jamilton fan but it was definitely. yeah.

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

do you guys think hamilton and jefferson explored each other’s bodies

#watched a clip of hbo john adams in apush today and like. why did they look like they were about to make out. #historical yaoi #not normally a jamilton fan but it was definitely. yeah. #like. come on. they looked two seconds from homosexual relations. #jamilton #john adams hbo

[my-dear-hammy]

Not Fast Enough

Masterpost

More Jamilton

Requested Tags: @propheticnugs @fan-dumb-trash  

Part Twenty-Nine

Thin Lines

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Warnings: Jefferson is grieving. Weight loss, depression, the works.

Oh, and don't forget he has a loving wife

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Everything inside Hamilton just shatters apart. He doesn't even know fully why. All he can do in that moment is stare at her. At Martha. He had assumed she was dead and that Jefferson wears his ring out of a sense of sentimentality. But no.

Jefferson's married.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Hamilton?” she asks.

Snapping out of whatever holds him, “Oh, um, yeah. Is, er, Jefferson home?”

“Yes. He's in our room. Is it important? I'd like to return to him. If your matter could wait…” It's obvious she's trying to get Hamilton to leave. She wants to care for her grieving husband who is in no condition for anything work related. Or stress related. Or anything basically Hamilton related.

Hamilton is standing on a precipice and he doesn't even know it. Don't walk off.

“Mrs. Jefferson, Thomas has been absent from work for three weeks. He holds a very high position and we very much need him.”

“He's grieving with his family,” she says softly. “Let him have the time he needs.”

What's left of his family.

“Martha, dear, who's at the door?” says a voice Hamilton can never forget. That soft, southern drawl. He must've come downstairs after Martha's prolonged absence. Martha looks over her shoulder and opens the door a bit wider for Jefferson to join her, wrapping an arm about her waist. “Hamilton? What are you doing here?”

Hamilton is taken aback. Jefferson stands before him after being the main part of his life for a couple months and then disappearing for nearly a whole month.

He looks terrible.

He is dressed in a thin robe and some pajama bottoms. Which isn't so terrible if Hamilton didn't notice how loosely they hang from his normally filled out frame. He skin doesn't glow with its normal youth and vigor and enthusiasm for the world. The bags under his eyes are practically purple from lack of sleep and his facial hair has gone from neat and well kempt to scraggly. Jefferson's normal perky and bouncy hair seems almost… deflated.

Everything here is so wrong.

“I wanted to offer my condolences,” he finds himself saying. Jefferson just watches him with tired eyes in disbelief. Seconds of silence seem like an eternity. “...and apologize for running out as I did,” Hamilton says, pressure from the prolonged silence prompting him.

“No, you did the right thing,” Thomas says. “Thank you, for sending James.”

“Right,” Hamilton says awkwardly. “So…”

“You've driven a long way,” Thomas says with a lifeless smile. “Come in, have dinner, stay the night.”

“Are you sure, darling?” Martha asks. “The house is a mess. I haven't cleaned-”

Thomas smiles at his wife, tucking a bit of lose hair behind her ear. “Have you even listened to a single thing I've told you about Hamilton? The house will look sparkling clean in his eyes, don't you worry.”

Hamilton feels like he's intruding. “No, that's okay. I'd rather not. I have shit to do and-”

“I insist,” Thomas says, opening the door wider for Hamilton to enter as he steps back out of the way with Martha, walking into the house and fully expecting Hamilton to follow. After a moment of internal debate, Hamilton does, closing the door behind him.

Thomas is right. Not only is the house huge, it's well kempt and clean. Martha is insane if she thinks this is considered a mess. Thomas guides them all to a sitting room, where Martha immediately bustles to fold a rumpled blanket that was on on couch, as if the smallest wrinkle might insult a guest. Hamilton comes close to pointing at a polished surface and saying, you missed a spot, just to see what would happen. Didn't dare to. Not right now.

Martha really fixed that blanket just for Hamilton to sit down and ruin it again? He couldn't fathom. For now, standing seems like the best option since neither Mrs. nor Mr. Jefferson have taken a seat either. Martha looks up at her husband and smiles at her guest. “I'll go prepare some dinner.”

Thomas’ arm tightens around her waist, keeping her in place. “Nonsense. I'll make dinner.”

She looks up at him in surprise. “You will?”

Thomas laughs softly. It was slightly strained, but at least it wasn't forced. “Yes, love. I haven't forgotten how.” He dips down and kisses her softly before sweeping off and into the kitchen. Martha watches after him for a moment, as if some miracle just performed. Despite what is obviously an improvement, Hamilton can't help but latch onto how his chest twisted painfully when their lips met.

Martha turns to him again, smiling softly. There's no denying she's a beautiful woman. The type you'd expect to see on the arm of someone like Thomas. Though part of Hamilton suspects that Thomas is really the one on her arm. Long, soft brunette hair tumbles down her shoulders, slightly curly but verging more on wavy. Clear, brown eyes and a tall, slender frame that fits against Thomas perfectly. No, that detail does not escape Hamilton's notice. Call it a hunch, but Hamilton knows from the pictures on Thomas’ phone that Martha usually curls her hair, but lately, with certain events, it has been too much to bother with.

“Please, make yourself at home,” she says, gesturing to the couch. Hamilton doesn't even have to touch it to know it's expensive. Probably imported from somewhere. Has to admits it's comfortable though.

“I apologize for my intrusion,” Hamilton says. “I know it has to have been hard for the two of you lately.”

She nods solemnly. “Thomas only recently started venturing out of the bedroom a few days ago. Hasn't even looked at or expressed interest in cooking since he came home.”

“But Thomas loves cooking,” Hamilton says in disbelief.

“Yes, he adores it. It breaks my heart to see him this way,” she says. “In a way, your arrival is a gift. Makes the house seem less empty.”

“Doesn't James visit?”

“Oh, sure. When he has time. He's been busy at work, trying to get Thomas’ work straightened out and completed for him. He is a good man. We owe him a great deal.”

Ah. That explains James’ shortness with Hamilton earlier.

Ha. Shortness.

“I truly am sorry for your loss,” Hamilton murmurs. “Would you mind if I joined your husband in the kitchen? I need to talk to him.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, standing and smoothing her skirts. It really isn't hard for Hamilton to picture her in eighteenth century attire. “Just, no bickering. He's had a hard enough time as it is. I don't need the two of you turning the kitchen into a warzone.”

Hamilton chuckled quietly. “You have my word.” Maybe that's what Thomas needs. Someone to banter with as a distraction from the constant sadness that surrounds him in this house. Who could possibly stand a house this big with only memories of lost loved ones to fill it?

Hamilton.

Hamilton would love it.

Never would admit it, but he would, nonetheless. It's his type of thing. Definitely needed redecoration though. Not to insult Martha or anything, but it wasn't exactly his style. But, it is Thomas’, so of course Hamilton has to insult it.

His footsteps echo throughout the empty halls. Thankfully, one foot no longer makes a heavy this everytime the brace made contact with the floor. His brace came off a few days ago, and with it, Hamilton felt a profound sense of freedom. There's no describing how happy he was that day.

With a soft knock, Hamilton ventures into the spacious kitchen where he finds Thomas none other than mincing. A happy memory now tinged with sadness.

A jibe is already on the tip of his tongue, but Martha's words force Hamilton to swallow it back down.

So, like a smooth fuck, Hamilton says, “Hey.”

Thomas looks over his shoulder to see Hamilton. “Oh, hey. I didn't realize you'd join me back here.”

“If I'm being honest, I started to doubt if I would. I got lost twice. Your office is hideous.”

Thomas snorts, scraping what he has minced so far into a pan. “Only you would come all the way to Virginia to insult my office. In my house. While I make you dinner.”

“Aren't I the best?” Hamilton grins.

The lack of a response does not help at all. In fact, an awkward silence descends on the room.

“I'll glad to see your leg healed well,” Thomas finally says, setting a lid on a pan and reducing the heat to a light simmer.

“Oh! Yeah, it's been a relief to be able to walk unhindered. I can't thank you enough for all the help you gave me,” Hamilton says, stepping up to Thomas’ side. “I kinda wish you'd been there to see the brace come off and everything.”

“Sorry, I missed it.” The lack of emotion in Thomas’ voice very plainly shows that he just doesn't care at that precise moment.

Hamilton sighs softly. “Look, Thomas, I'm so sorry that you're going through this right now. And, I, well, I want to help. Like you helped me.”

“You can't.”

“You could let me try.”

“Bones heal, Hamilton,” Thomas states. “Things like this don't.”

Hamilton wedges himself between Thomas and the counter so he can look him in the eyes. “Let me try.”

“What're you going to do?” Thomas asks, narrowing those beautiful eyes, even as his lips speak with bitterness. “What could you do that Martha and I haven't already tried?”

“First of all,” Hamilton says, taking a risky move, considering they're current stance, and setting his hands on Thomas’ waist, if only to accentuate the profound loss of weight. “I won't let you sit around and waste away. Come back to work with me.”

The consideration that can be seen in Thomas’ eyes flood his chest with hope.

“I can't abandon Martha. Not now.”

And that hope is crushed.

“She'll be fine,” Hamilton insists. “She's a strong woman. Beautiful. I'm sure she has friend she could visit. But the best thing for you is to come with me, and go back to work.”

“I think your reasoning is a bit off, numbskull.”

“My reasoning is spot on,” Hamilton replies. “Which do you think is healthier, going back to work? To use as a distraction to get your life back on track? Or sit at home, waste away, only thinking of your dead kid?”

The anger the flashes briefly through Thomas’ eyes makes Hamilton flinch back. It had been pure rage at Hamilton's last statement. But Thomas seems to be in no condition to hold onto it and it dies quickly.

Luckily for Hamilton.

Thomas moves away from Hamilton and retrieves some wine. “I'll think about it.”

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#jamilton #not fast enough