Falling Through Time: Basking in Firelight: Book 2

The Story of Jefferson and Hamilton

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Warnings: None

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When the doctor did a final check up the next morning, he told Jefferson that his memories would either come back on their own or not come back it all. He may have said that in a kinder way but Jefferson took it as is. There was a possibility that he would never remember important aspects of his life.

Luckily, he did remember where his house was.

And apparently, so did that Hamilton guy, because when Jefferson got out of the cab, Hamilton was leaning against his front door looking at the cloud that floated overhead in the New York sky. As soon as Hamilton realized Jefferson was there, his gaze instantly fixed on him. It was kinda of uncomfortable.

Just deal with him like you would any other stranger leaning on your door.

Jefferson walked up and stopped in front of the small man. Jesus, this guy was short. He had to be seven inches shorter than Jefferson. He looked sad despite his defiant stance and bearing. "Hello, darlin," Jefferson greeted, his southern accent suddenly seemed way more pronounced to him than usual, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Hamilton pushed himself off the door, "Just came to return some of your things," he replied, nodding a coat and cane that lay off to the side.

"Those are mine," Jefferson realized upon seeing them.

"That would be why I'm giving them back," Hamilton said, rolling his eyes.

Jefferson scooped them up, the coat was a lot heavier than he thought it would be. He unwrapped it to find two shining, silver guns, freshly cleaned and oiled. "I got these for my daughter when she joined the war," Jefferson said to himself. Was he going to be spouting out random memories every time he saw something that reminded him of it?

Hamilton's gaze rose to Jefferson's. He hadn't known that. Jefferson's daughter Martha had died during the first rebellion as soon as she was old enough to join. Jefferson had given her these and when she died, it was what they sent back. Jefferson ran his fingers over the metal. "Thank you for bringing them back to me," he said, still looking at the pistols.

Hamilton shrugged, "Sure."

He stepped out of the door and was about to leave when Jefferson turned around and said, "Would you like to come inside?" Hamilton stopped. Did he want to? Of course. Could his heart handle it? Probably not. "I mean, you don't have to, but I could put on some tea and you could tell me who you are."

Hamilton's already shattered heart broke even more. But Jefferson deserved to know. Hamilton couldn't just keep all that information, so many years of his life from him. Plus, Hamilton really wanted to sit and have some tea with him like the good old days. "Sure," he said. Hamilton steeled himself before he went inside, both against the conversation he was about to have and the memory of being shot and kidnapped from this house.

Jefferson didn't remember that happening, so he unlocked the door and swung it open like it was the safest place in the world and gestured Hamilton inside. He walked in and was greeted by the familiar open floor plan. He could see the kitchen and the living room, so he went to the kitchen, knowing that's where Jefferson would go to make tea. When Jefferson didn't immediately follow, he turned around to see where he went.

Jefferson was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, fist clenched tightly around his cane to where his knuckles turned white. Fuck. Hamilton knew that look. He ran over and stood in front of the tall man, "Jefferson," he said urgently, waving his hand in front of his face. Jefferson snapped out of it and looked down at Hamilton, his grip on his cane relaxing.