Here in My Heart [jeffmads] || DISCONTINUED

Distant

For the following week at work, the distance between James Madison and Thomas Jefferson was obvious even to the dullest of congressmen. When one entered the room, the other left, leaving Hamilton, Washington, and several other people who worked closely with the pair confused at the sudden behavior change. They had been together for as much time as possible since Thomas got back, so why were they suddenly avoiding each other?

    For six days, Hamilton was already stressing about the national bank and the potential to lose his job, and the tense atmosphere was definitely not helping his mood. Finally, on the seventh day, he snapped, grabbing Thomas by the forearm and yanking him aside.

    "Jefferson, I don't know what happened between you and Madison", Hamilton said snappishly, "but I need to talk to you both without one of you immediately leaving. For the love of god, figure your shit out."

He blew a strand of hair from his face and stormed away, leaving a dumbstruck Thomas rooted to the spot.

Throughout the rest of the day, Thomas attempted to fill out various forms and write dreary letters discussing confidential, governmental matters, but to no avail. The opportunity of the new nation simply didn't seem as beautiful and as endearing as it had seemed before.

He observed his mess of an office, papers were strewn about his desk and the floor, and a puddle of ink where he had accidentally struck a pot of ink, causing it to topple over. There was only one thing, or person, that he could think about. The cause of all of his distractions: James Madison.

Thomas didn't know what he had done to invoke James's ire. Actually, that was not true, he had a pretty good idea as to why James was avoiding him. He only wished he could turn back the hands of his clock for every minute that passed without James Madison. If only he had had the sense to keep it together, to remember his place.

His eyes drooped as if large weights were attached to his eyelids, and he felt the slow suffocation of misery following the loss of his closest partner. There wasn't even anyone to talk to.

Who would understand him? Hamilton?

For the first time in days, a half-grin split over his face at the ridiculous thought of Hamilton and himself, sitting in a cafe, talking about their relationship problems and sipping tea from dainty porcelain cups between arguments and agreements.

Suddenly, he sat up a bit straighter. There was someone else, someone who maybe couldn't relate to his predicament, but could be of assistance.

Thomas slid his work out of the center of his desk, a string of books and parchments falling to the floor. He fished out a new parchment from a drawer. As to not knock over another bottle of ink, Thomas carefully dipped the quill into the dark liquid and let the tip of the pen glide across the paper to form a familiar name: Marquis de Lafayette. If there was anybody who could help him, it was the very person who helped Thomas discover his true feelings.

Not so far away from the Federal Hall, James Madison paced back and forth in his residence. Without his work, he didn't know how to spend his hours. Naturally, as he had for the last week, he decided to overthink the night when Thomas kissed him.

Well, it wasn't exactly a kiss.

Madison felt his face bloom red at the very thought of his dearest colleague and friend. Quickly, he tried to dismiss his thoughts, as if Thomas' shining face hadn't been front and center in his mind since that night.

Was he wrong for drawing back from Thomas?

Did Thomas think that he hated him, now?

Did Thomas regret doing what he did, now, seeing James' reaction?