Falling Through Time: Basking in Candlelight

3

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Warnings: None

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Hamilton heard the door to Jefferson's room shut. He sat there for a moment in shock, blinking at the candles, smoke still curling up from the wicks, there were still a couple burning. Candlelight, it was so beautiful, soft and warm. Hamilton stood, chugged down his tea, blew out the remaining candles so they wouldn't burn the house down and followed Jefferson upstairs. He opened the door quietly, slipping in and changing into his pajamas before turning to the bed.

For once, Jefferson claimed the bed instead of the couch. Well, it was Jefferson's bed after all, he was entitled to it. Hamilton settled on the couch, it smelled just like Jefferson which was only natural since he'd been sleeping on it for so long. Hamilton inhaled deeply, coconuts and the night winter air.

Fuck this.

Hamilton got off the couch and stood over Jefferson, examining his every feature as he slept. How relaxed his face looked, not a worry in the world, the long, dark, thick lashes, the carefully trimmed beard, and the hair, ooh the hair. Hamilton knew how it felt, soft and fluffy. It was the best thing in the world.

Hamilton suddenly wondered if Jefferson was really asleep. What if he wasn't? And Hamilton was just standing there looking at him. Fuck. He couldn't do it. Nope nope nope. Hamilton turned on his heel and went back to the couch but was stopped. A familiar strong grip on his wrist held him back. He looked back at Jefferson who looked up at him with dark eyes. The hand pulled Hamilton back. "Stay with me tonight, Alexander," Jefferson said heavily.

"Thomas..."

Jefferson tugged on Hamilton's arm gently, urging him, but not forcing him. Hamilton let Jefferson pull him down onto the bed and curled up. He felt Jefferson's warm embrace wrap around him, pulling him close. Hamilton melted into the warmth, something he hadn't felt since Jefferson had hugged him that time.

"Bonne nuit, ma chérie(Good night, my darling)," Jefferson whispered.

"Dormez bien, Thomas(Sleep well, Thomas)."

Neither of them had nightmares that night.

***

"Adams' is pissed," Jefferson stated, folding up a letter. 

"Good," Hamilton replied simply.

"You really went all out, didn't you?"

"I used almost every disgusting word in my vocabulary."

"When you say you're going to have fun writing something, you mean it, don't you?"

"Every time."

"You think he'll challenge you to a duel?"

"Adams? No way. He's too much of a coward, the most he'd do is yell and bitch."

"That leaves a problem," Jefferson said.

"Which is?"

"The next president."

"Ah. You aren't planning on running again, are you? Because you know there's no way I'll ever support you."

"I think you'd rather kiss Burr than support me."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I have no intention of running on my own, but if my party decides to stick me on the ballet again, I will."

"People seem to do that to you a lot. So what are you going to do in your meantime?"

"Follow up on my offer," Jefferson stated plainly.

"What offer?"

"Alexander, would you like to see Monticello?"

Hamilton smiled, "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," Jefferson smirked. "You're freeloading as it is, so when I leave, you'll have to find another place to stay."

"Shit. I need to get a new place."

"What was your first clue?"

"My wife burning down my house."

"Yeah, that's a pretty obvious one. Speaking of which, I hate to say it, but have you looked over the divorce papers she sent you?"

Hamilton sighed and set down his coffee. "No, the first time I picked them up, I couldn't take it, so I haven't touched them since."

"You're going to have to take care of them eventually. Whether it's signing them or stalking up to her door and refusing."

"What do you think on the matter?" Hamilton asked, curious.

"It's not my place to say," Jefferson replied, taking a sip of coffee and reading the paper.

"Well, I'm asking you anyway."

"Shit Alexander," Jefferson swore, turning a page, "Your slanderings of me are getting outrageous. I do not swear every other sentence." Hamilton rose his eyebrows. "Okay, but zealous atheist? Really? That's just mean. You know I'm not an atheist. Besides, there's nothing wrong with it either. Religious freedom, remember?"

"You say that like you don't slander me back."

"I don't. At least, not publically. Mostly to Madison. And maybe Burr sometimes."

"Burr? Really? Him of all people."

"Hey," Jefferson raised his hands, "He usually starts it."

Hamilton grumbled but went back to his coffee. Jefferson folded up the paper and looked at Hamilton, a smile stealing over his lips.

"What're you smirking at?"

"Oh, just how we didn't go to war and you're still pissed."

"Fuck off."

"Would you rather go to Paris than Monticello?" 

"And get my head chopped off? No thank you."

Jefferson laughed, "You're no fun. What's life without a little adventure?"

"What's life without a head?"

"Mainly body."

That's the moment Hamilton decided his coffee cup looked better on Jefferson's face because he threw it right at him. It smashed on the wall behind Jefferson who had managed to dodge it, accustomed to Hamilton's tendency to throw things. "Now get me a new cup of coffee," Hamilton commanded.

Jefferson pushed over his own and went upstairs to get dressed. Hamilton took a sip and spit it out, "You call this coffee?!" he yelled, "This is practically pure cream and sugar! What's wrong with you?" He could hear Jefferson cackling upstairs.

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