Corset in Congress (A Hamilton Genderbend)

Chapter Twenty-Four: What'd I Miss?

1789.

Burr's POV

How does the bastard, orphan, immigrant, decorated war vet unite the colonies through more debt?  I ask the Alexandra in my head, and she makes a face. Fight the other Founding Fathers till she has to forfeit? Have it all, lose it all, you ready for more yet?

She's the Treasury Secretary. Washington's the President. Every American experiment sets the precedent. Not so fast!  I say, when she starts to celebrate. Looking back at me confused, she goes to question me, but I give her the answer first. Someone came along to resist her. Pissed her off until we had a two-party system.

You haven't met him yet, you haven't had the chance, because he's been kicking ass as the ambassador to France. Bur someone's got to keep the American promise! You simply must meet Thomas. 

"Thomas!" I shout to the man disembarking from the ship. He turns, scanning the crowd, and I wave up at him. Around me I hear whispers, people asking, "Thomas Jefferson? He's coming home?"

"Thomas Jefferson's coming home! Lord, he's been off in Paris for so long!"

Jefferson's POV

Standing on the bow of a ship, waiting to disembark, I hear someone shout my name. The lone voice is soon echoed, and I hear a crowd form, all discussing me. It warms my heart. Deciding that the people have waited long enough to hear me, I start to sing.

"France is following us to Revolution, there is no more status quo," I start, and the entire company drops out, reveling in the glory that is Thomas Jefferson's voice. "But the sun comes up and the world still spins.

"I helped Lafayette draft a declaration, then I said, 'I gotta go. I gotta be in Monticello.' Now the work at home begins." This next part is sung as I carefully descend down the gangway into the crowded streets.

Emerging into the masses, I smile my brightest before asking, "So what'd I miss? What'd I miss? Virginia, my home sweet home, I wanna give you a kiss!" I sing, dancing around energetically, earning giggles and laughs from sweet-looking young women. I have to let them down gently. I can't have them thinking the wrong thoughts, though I can't blame them. I'd want a piece of me, too. 

"I've been in Paris meeting lots of different ladies..." aaaand they're gone. "I guess I basically missed the late eighties! I traveled the wide, wide world and came back to this..."

Don't get me wrong when I say that. I love my country, and I'm so happy to be home.

Time skip

When I get to my house, there's a letter on my desk from the President. Haven't even put my bag down yet. I get the nervous butterflies feeling in my stomach, but I quickly brush it away, and address one of my slaves. My very beautiful slave.

"Sally, be a lamb, darling, won't you open it?" I ask sweetly, still too anxious to do it myself, what with the tremor in my hands.

As she reads it out to me, I hear the President's assembling a cabinet, and I am to be the Secretary of State! Great! And I'm already Senate approved! I give her a quick peck on the cheek and rush out, yelling instructions to my other slaves, ignoring the flush that's creeping up her cheeks. The men need to get my bags loaded! I just got home and now I'm heading to New York!

Heading to New York

During the whole carriage ride there, I'm giddy with excitement. I look at the rolling fields, and I can't believe that we are free! This empowering feeling saturates my entire being, and I'm ready to face whatever's awaiting me in NYC!

But who's waiting for me when I step in the place? My friend James Madison, red in the face. He's coughing and sniffling, but as he gets closer, I see that the colour isn't a symptom of his mysterious ailment. He grabs my arm so tightly that tears come to my eyes, and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. I respond, "What's going on?" in my best manly-man voice, hiding the pain he's inflicting on me.

Practically throwing me out of the earshot of others, he says quietly, "Thomas, we are engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul. Can you get us out of the mess we're in?"

I rub the arm he's finally released and nod, since there's no time to answer, because he's continuing, getting more and more worked up with each sentence. "Hamilton's new financial plan is nothing more than government control!" Who's Hamilton? "I've been fighting for the South alone. Where have you been?" James accuses, and I smile awkwardly.

"Uh... France?"

Then this short-ass man shoots out a hand and yanks down on my neck. I'm so close to him that I can feel his hot breath coming uneven. While I hang there like a limp rag doll he continues, turning a blind eye to the fact that he's squeezing the life out of me.

"We have to win," he says, almost calmly, but I know James well enough to know that he's using his Listen up, you little magenta punk tone. I incline my head the tiniest bit to show my understanding, though it pains me beyond belief. Finally he releases his grip, and I can breath again. Massaging my neck, I make a note to wear scarves and collars for the rest of the week.

What'd I miss? I repeat sourly to myself again. What'd I miss? Headfirst into a political abyss! I've got my first cabinet meeting today, and I've gotta think of something to say! I'm already on my way! Let's get to the bottom of this!

James escorts me down the hall to where the meetings are taking place, and the silence is nearly unbearable. There's none of his usual witty commentary, and I'm surprised to find that I miss it.

When the President greets me, I'm grateful for the break from my thoughts. This meeting's my first, and it's good to make a positive impression. "Mr. Jefferson, welcome home!"

He goes to shake my hand, but a green blur intercepts his outstretched hand. "Mr. Jefferson?" asks a curious voice coming from the blur. It comes in focus in time for me to see -- wait, what? "Alexandra Hamilton," she finishes, shaking my hand enthusiastically, her perfect ponytail bringing out everything right about her face -- her eyes, her delicate features. And in that moment, I realize...

I hate her.

Pushing her gently out of the way, President Washington says again, "Mr. Jefferson, welcome home," and shakes my hand. I start to wonder if the tired aura he has about him is caused partly by her antics.

Many others come up to congratulate me, shake hands, and each of them says mostly the same thing. "Mr. Jefferson, welcome home!" or, "You've been off in Paris for so long!" It's a tad tiresome, but then again, it's not unpleasant. It's nice to know I'm still someone important. When the crowd of well-wishers finally disperses and we take our seats, one thought runs through my head again.

What'd I miss?

I'm never missing anything again.