Falling Through Time: Basking in Firelight: Book 2

Forgotten Dreams and Nightmares

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Warnings: Drinking, bit of self harm, anger issues, depression,

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Jefferson woke to an empty bed and the ghost feeling of warm arms wrapped around him. Then they were gone. He sat up and rubbed his face. This was going to be a long day. Every now and then he had strange dreams of him looking for something. Looking and looking but never finding. Sometimes Hamilton was there, reaching out to him, but then there'd be a door. Jefferson didn't know what to think. He was just tired. He had so many nightmares lately and none of them made any sense to him. They were warped and hazy and didn't feel quite right but then again, nightmares tended to be like that anyway.

Well, except the bloody ones that always seemed to be in the greatest of detail.

Breakfast consisted of coffee, which was out of character for him, he always had a full meal to start off the day. Today he just couldn't bring himself to cook so coffee it was. His violin still was where it remained on the couch. It wasn't the one from Monticello, no, this one was just one he'd gotten when he was young. His mother saw him staring at it in a store and bought it for him. The first time he touched it he sawed off the most beautiful melody. His mother was hysterical, calling him a prodigy. But now Jefferson knew that it wasn't because he was a prodigy but because he'd already learned to play in a past life.

He wanted to throw it in the fire.

He didn't have a fire at the moment so he just ignored it, for now, he'd throw it in the closet or something later. His phone pinged, alerting him that he'd received a text. From Madison it seemed, letting him know that Hamilton had already published the first essay they were to be helping him with. Jefferson didn't think Hamilton wanted his help anymore after last night, but the pile of papers that he brought were still on the counter so Jefferson looked through the proposal. It was outlined in great detail exactly what they'd be doing. Twenty-five essays divided evenly among the three men. Well, how that supposed to work? Twenty-five wasn't divisible by three. Hamilton must expect someone to slack off, probably Jefferson.

Yeah right, people forgot that Jefferson was always a writer. He wrote all the time, preferred it to public speaking and just about any other form of communication. As if he'd fall behind. It almost felt like a challenge. Jefferson wasn't going to let Hamilton outwrite him.

Madison said Hamilton wrote the first one already, that meant it was Jefferson's turn. He grabbed the coffee maker and after a moment of thought, grabbed a bottle of wine, and went to his office where he pulled up Hamilton's publication and read it over. Jefferson immediately saw exactly how to pick it apart.

But that's not what he was doing, his job was to write a follow essay addressing the points Hamilton didn't cover and support what Hamilton was saying. That's when Jefferson saw Hamilton had signed it under a pseudonym. Oh hell no. Hell no. He wasn't writing under a pseudonym. He whipped out his phone and called Hamilton.

"What do you want Thomas?" Hamilton asked groggily, Jefferson must've woken him up.

"*I never did in my life, either by myself or by any other, have a sentence of mine inserted in a newspaper without putting my name to it; and I believe I never shall.* And that means I'm not writing these essays under a stupid pseudonym."

He heard Hamilton groan in frustration. Hamilton was famous for his pseudonyms, he wrote under them all the time. Jefferson never did. On rare occasion, he requested his name to be left unknown, but never a pseudonym. "Why not?"

"I've always felt like if I can't put my name on it, then I don't truly believe it."

Hamilton sighed, "Fine, I don't care, put your name on it, just make sure to title it the same and group them together." Then he hung up. Hamilton must've been too tired to argue.