Falling Through Time: Basking in Candlelight

Huit

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AN

This is a heavy chapter. And by that I mean dark. I wish you luck.

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Warnings: Cussing. And umm, well, hard to explain, umm not quite suicidal thoughts, but close, like someone asking why you're still alive and stuff, saying you're not necessary. Mental abuse. Nightmares, flashback kinda. Bit of death.

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Hamilton could hardly remember anything from the night before except that they had come to an agreement and at one point, something about banks and capitals and they found Burr hiding under the table. Beyond that, Hamilton was clueless. He'd have to ask Jefferson about it later.

Grudgingly, he got up and readied himself for work. Drinking about a gallon of coffee before heading out the door and taking another three gallons with him. What could he say? The stuff was his blood. He stumbled up the steps to the building only to run headlong into Jefferson, spilling his coffee everywhere.

"God dammit, Jefferson!" Hamilton shrieked, "Why are you always in my way?"

Jefferson was looking sadly at his magenta coat, which now had a nice sized brown stain. He shrugged it off and draped it over his arm. Hamilton felt his heart rate pick up. Jefferson had such a lovely build, they way his muscles-

"What are you doing here Hamilton?" Jefferson asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"What do you mean? I work here."

Jefferson laughed, "It's Sunday, Hamilton! You really are out of it! Go home. Go back to bed."

"Sunday?" Oh right, yesterday was Saturday. No work Sundays. He had totally forgotten. "Then what are you doing here, Jefferson.

He smiled, "I was dropping off a copy of our arrangments on my desk, it was on my way, so I decided to stop by and get that done. Now I'm heading back home to sleep for another twenty hours. Gotta have my beauty sleep you know."

"You're insufferable."

"Glad I make your day better, Hamilton."

"As if. The only thing you make better are those clothes." Hamilton clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks going bright red.

Jefferson rose an eyebrow, "You mean before a blubbering mess spilled coffee all over them? Yes, I make everything look good. Gotta dash Mr. Secretary. Looking forward to the vote on Monday!" He trotted off. Does that man ever take a carriage?

Hamilton smacked himself, how could he say things like that? Jefferson was going to have plenty ammunition for the next cabinet meeting. Imagine all the ways he could taunt him now. Was Hamilton really that stupid? Yes. Evidently, he was.

***

Holy shit, Jefferson's heart was pounding. He had stopped just around the corner and stopped, leaning his back against the wall, hands on his thighs as he leaned forward, trying to get his heart to stop fluttering around his chest. Alexander Hamilton just actually said that. Shit. What the fuck does that even mean?

Nothing. It means nothing. Hamilton didn't like Jefferson, would never like Jefferson. If anything, Hamilton loathes Jefferson. Their political opinions were too radically opposite. Jefferson shook his head and took a deep breath. His heartbeat settled and he continued his walk back home where he collapsed onto his soft bed and didn't move until sleep claimed him.

Everything was bright and beautiful, sunlight was shining down through the windows of Monticello. Six children ran around him, playing on the floor. Three of them were giggling as they raced, one coaxed a beautiful melody out of her father's violin, resonating in harmony with the melody flew from another child's fingertips as they danced across the ivory keys of the piano. And the last child sat reading in the corners, randomly quoting a part she enjoyed. Jefferson felt his wife's hand, Martha's hand, slide onto his shoulder. He looked up at her, love and happiness spreading through his chest. This was all he ever wanted. A family life. Nothing else.

A cannon blast rocked the house. The children played on, Jefferson stood suddenly. No. Not this. Anything but this. He looked at the ceiling as cracks began to spider web out and then back to his children.

"NO!" Jefferson screamed, but no sound came out. One had collapsed. He cradled her body. She could never play tag again. His son collapsed, Jefferson cried out, reaching for him. The melodies of the others went one, still happy, one was still reading. But the one who was playing tag no longer had anyone to play with. She turned to him.

"Daddy, don't go off to war. Please don't leave," she begged, tears filling her eyes.

"I won't darling, I promise I won't leave."

Monticello disappeared and suddenly Jefferson was in Congress. "No! I have to be with my family. Everyone in Congress turned and looked at him.

"Jefferson," they whispered. "Jefferson. Jefferson. Jefferson." He tried to push my way through them, he had to get home to his children, to his wife. Their hands clung to him, pulling him in further.

"I don't want to be here!" Jefferson screamed, "I have to be with my family."

A face looked at him. It was blank. "We need you here Mr. Jefferson," it said.

"No!"

Then they were gone and Jefferson was standing in Monticello again. His wife cupped his cheek gently and tears of relief sprung from his eyes. "Thomas," she whispered, "I love you, darling."

"I love you too-" she turned to dust. "Martha? Martha!" All my children lie dead around him. All but one. My little Martha, named for her mother. She was still playing, but the tune turned sad and lonely.

"Daddy," she whispered, turning to Jefferson, dropping the violin, letting the thud ring loudly through the house, the too quiet house, but the music played on, hauntingly, echoing around Jefferson like some cursed melody. "Daddy, you said you wouldn't leave. You promised you wouldn't go."

"I didn't want to!" he cried, collapsing to his knees. "I didn't have a choice!"

"Daddy," she said hauntingly. When Jefferson looked up, she was nowhere to be found. He was in a forest. Books and top secret correspondence clutched to his chest. Behind him, flames grew and crackled.

"Cornwallis," Jefferson breathed. He turned away from the burning flames and looked down at the papers, if these had been found, the war would be lost. If he had gotten captured, the revolution would collapse. That couldn't happen. It was too important. When he rose his eyes, his daughter stood in front of him again.

"What if you never came back, daddy? What if you never came back from the war?"

"I'll always come back for you," He tried to hug her but couldn't move.

"You're lying. Daddy, lying is sinful, you're going to hell. You let your family die. Everyone died. Why are you still alive daddy? Everyone else is dead, why aren't you?"

"I still have you, I can't leave you on your own, I couldn't do that to you."

"I'm all grown up, daddy, I don't need you anymore." The child was gone and in her place stood a beautiful woman. "I have a husband, I don't need you. Why are you here? "

"I have so much to do," Jefferson whispered.

"Why are you lying to yourself, daddy? You never wanted to be a politician. The war is over now, they don't need you anymore. Why are you here, daddy? Why are you alive?"

Jefferson shot out of bed, covered in a cold sweat and hugged his knees to his chest. Her words still echoed and the haunting melody swept over him, chilling his bones to the core.

Just a little longer. Hold on for a little longer and he could disappear. Just a little bit more time.

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