Falling Through Time: Basking in Firelight: Book 2

Strangers

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Warnings: Drinking, Anger issues

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Jefferson sat comfortably on his couch, legs tucked up under him, a warm blanket, tea in his hand, and a book on his lap. It couldn't get much better than that. The convention had stressed him out completely. The roundabout arguments with Hamilton that were just non-stop. On and on and on and on. Hamilton just jabbered away. How did he talk so much? Like seriously? Jefferson could shoot down every single point in Hamilton's six-hour speech in two minutes and still have everyone just as captivated. He didn't understand why Hamilton couldn't just say what he wanted to say without all the unnecessary drama.

Every time Jefferson so much looked at the guy, his blood boiled.

He didn't understand, from what Jefferson could remember, he and Hamilton loathed each other. How does that just suddenly change? Hamilton said that it all started when Eliza burnt down his house, but Jefferson felt that wasn't true. If Jefferson had really hated him then, he wouldn't have let Hamilton stay at his house.

Not that Jefferson could remember how it all happened.

At this point, all he knew was that Hamilton was insufferable but he was going to have to deal with him in order to build a stable nation. That's what mattered more than anything, the nation and the people living there.

He stared at his book and realized he just read two chapters without absorbing anything it said. He sighed, great, now Hamilton was making it impossible to read too. Jefferson shut the book, got up and began to pace the kitchen. Restless. That's what he was. Why was he so restless? He just got back from literally forming a new constitution, the basis of the new nation.

Frustrated, he did what he always did when he got restless, stalked into his bedroom and grabbed his violin. The wooden instrument had always been a way he dealt with things he couldn't make sense of. He plucked the strings with his long fingers. G, D, A, E. Each note hummed as he plucked the open strings. The vibrations danced through the wood and up his arm, through his chest. Beautiful. He set the violin aside, grabbed his bow and rosined it up, sliding the amber looking tree sap along the horse hairs. He tucked the violin under his chin and slid the bow across the strings, closing his eyes and soaking up the vibrations that hummed through the air. He didn't even think about what he was playing, he just played.

For some reason beyond his understanding, the song made him sad, like it was missing a half of itself. His thoughts went suddenly to Hamilton again. The way his eyes had sparked when he argued heatedly with Jefferson over the governmental structure they were putting in place. Jefferson played faster. God damn it. Why did he have to think about that bastard? Why couldn't his mind just shut up?

He did the only thing he could think of. He played the same song again. Over and over until someone knocked on his door.

Placing the violin carefully in its case, he grabbed one of his silver pistols and answered the door. "Madison? What're you doing here?" Jefferson asked, dropping the gun he had hidden behind the door to his side and stepped aside to let Madison in. 

Madison eyed the gun as he stepped through, "I wanted to talk to you. About our past lives. It's still a little muddled for me."

"Of course," Jefferson said, closing the door and heading the kitchen. "Where do you want to start?" He asked, throwing his gun carelessly on the counter and opening the fridge.

Madison sat on a bar stool and happily received the glass of lemonade that Jefferson poured him. "Let's start from the beginning," he said, "when we met."

***

Hamilton was at the bar. Like he usually was these days. Drowning out his problems only to have to deal with them in the morning when he woke up alone.