After a while, Hamilton had actually stumbled upon Jefferson's room. He stiffened. After everything they've said to each other, after everything they've ever done to one another, after making it very clear they do not stand each other, he couldn't help but.... But worry. Would Thomas ever be the same? Would he still be the vain, prideful, and cocky jerk that he was? Only one way to find out.... He rapped on the door, a weak, "Yes?" coming from the other side. Alexander bit the inside of his cheek. Should he....? ".... I-It's Alexander. May I come in, Mister Jefferson?"
".... Do you have macaroni?"
Alexander felt conflicted at the question. Should he laugh at such a childish question, or should he be irritated knowing he's thinking about food in a time like this? Then again, they hadn't been eating much on their trip here. Aside from stale bread and cold beans. He could understand where he was coming from. He sighed, twisted the knob, and entered. "Thomas, now really isn't the time to be thinking about that."
"Why not? We're all starving. Hey, tell you what; I'll make us all a macaroni special once we're out of here! It's going to be delicious, since it was made by me."
"No, I mean - Just stop talking about macaroni for a second and be serious."
"But we were serious the entire trip heeeeere!"
"I understand, but just.... I want to know how you're holding up, okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine. Just a little scratched up, but I'm fine."
".... /Scratched up/?" repeated Hamilton, in clear disbelief and shock. "You call losing an eye and an arm as /scratched up/? Thomas, even if we /did/ get back to New York, there's no possible way you could make food for us! You don't have both arms!"
"It wasn't my macaroni making arm that got torn off."
Hamilton scoffed, soon groaning afterwards. He didn't get it.... They had just lost everything so quickly.... Yet they're all.... Happy? Positive? They want to fight a war they could not win, why? To prove they're idiots who'll die for nothing? ".... Please be serious.... That's all I really ask for right now...."
Thomas sighed, sat up, and brushed his wild hair over his missing eye. "What is it, Alex?"
".... Thomas, you.... We.... Well, you're about the closest thing we could have for a vice president, right?"
"Aside from John Adams, sure."
"Well.... If we were to.... You know, ever return to New York and Adams can't run.... Would it be possible for you to run? Even without the White House or Washington resigning and giving you that honour?"
".... Alex, lemme tell you something Jem has always told me."
Jem. One of the many nicknames Thomas had chosen for James. He took a step closer, Thomas taking his time to speak.
"There is a saying, "Opportunity knocks but once," but I feel that opportunities are like waves of the sea hitting the shore. The longer you wait on the shore, the more waves you will see. The longer you stay involved with life and people with an open attitude, the more opportunities come your way. Every day, every relationship, and every problem is an opportunity to grow and move forward in your life. If you believe, "Opportunity knocks but once," you will miss the /new/ opportunities. You will be like a person who went to the beach, saw one wave, closed his eyes and refused to look at the next wave. Those who react to lost opportunities with guilt, remorse, and anger miss the waves of opportunities that come ashore. Do you understand why I'm saying this?"
Alexander was mute. He never thought he'd live to see the day where Thomas Jefferson actually makes sense and talks in an inspiring way. And now that he has, he's definitely grabbed his attention. ".... Why?"
"Because you can't look at the White House and Washington as a lost opportunity. You've got to open your eyes and look over at the sea of opportunities. You still got John. You still got Lafayette. You still got Mulligan, and you still got Burr. And if we can work together, as a team, then I'm sure our rebound will only be smooth sailings."
Alexander felt his teeth sink into his tongue. He couldn't believe he doubted /this/ guy. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about - And that didn't sound like Jefferson at all. He sighed and leaned against a wall. "Thomas, how can you.... I don't know, stay in such a buoyant mood? I would've figured that a brash, conceited, confident hotshot such as yourself surely would've been in a terrible state of loss and depression about all of this."
"And where exactly could that get me? All I'd be doing is throwing myself a little pity party about a few things and miss out a tsunami of what I can do - What I /will/ do - To fix it. Which is why, Hamilton, I plan on being the leader of this group. I will lead us back home. I will lead us to victory. I will lead us into legends. And either you join me or you stay here in Virginia, the one man who could've earned his recognition as a hero but decided to leave himself standing in the dust because he thought he couldn't. Think about it."
Hamilton felt his feet be latched onto the floor. Jefferson has said some pretty cold and rather degrading things about him, but that was by far the most disrespectful yet somehow civil thing he has ever said to him. He said nothing before running his fingers through his tangled hair. ".... I definitely will.... I'll - Tell you what; I'll sleep on it. How does that sound?"
"Sounds good. At least you're thinking for once."
Alexander snorted and rolled his eyes. Just as he was about to leave, Jefferson said, "Oh, and one more thing. Me? A brash, conceited, confident hotshot? Says /you/."
The immigrant actually cracked a smile and waved his words away, now finally leaving and in a slightly better mood. He ought to apologise to Aaron and John for blowing up at them like that.... He was just frustrated and upset. He's never lost a war, and if he has it sure as hell wasn't /this/ bad. He started to think about what Jefferson had said. Quite thoroughly, I might add.
".... A sea full of opportunities, huh? Talk about a lesson learned..."
