Falling Through Time: Basking in Firelight: Book 2

City Streets

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Warnings: A mugging, arguing, stir crazy symptoms.

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Jefferson was going stir crazy.

As much as he loved having Hamilton around and now Lafayette, he couldn't last much longer confined to the house. His morning walks have turned into him tirelessly pacing the hallways and running up and down the stairs over and over again. His pacing drove Hamilton crazy who in turn would drag Jefferson in his exercise room and set him loose on the treadmill or something. That was where Jefferson spent most of his time lately. He and confinement didn't mix well.

His nightmares were worsening with every passing day. His own halls were turning into stone walls of a prison he couldn't even remember.

Hamilton was much better off. He typically didn't leave the house for days on end when he had a lot of documents to write. He wasn't a naturalist like Jefferson was, morning walks weren't his thing. It was mostly normal for him, except his increasing concern for Jefferson.

Lafayette had been there for a couple days now and seemed perfectly fine. He found Jefferson's secret wine stash and the two of them poured a couple glasses and would laugh about French things. Hamilton tended to tune those conversations out.

Hamilton finally pulled Jefferson aside one day, "Thomas, I should really get out of this house. I've stuff to do in the outside world." In reality, he just wanted to leave so the crowd would disperse. He knew they wouldn't leave entirely, but the numbers would significantly lessen to where Jefferson could actually walk out his door.

Jefferson nodded, thinking of ways to smuggle Hamilton out of the house. "Tonight, we crawl out the window Assassin's Creed style. You and I could easily sneak past the crowd in the dark."

***

After the sun sank below the horizon and darkness fell, Jefferson and Hamilton slipped out of the window and scaled down the side of Jefferson's house, blending in with the shadows as they crept by the crowd that for some reason, took night and day shifts. Lafayette had chosen to stay behind, standing suspiciously close to Jefferson's wine collection with a grin on his face.

"Wow, they're really intent on getting us together," Hamilton commented in a hushed whisper.

"You wouldn't believe how far some shippers go," Jefferson replied, his voice low as they stole across the street.

"I bet you there's fanfiction," Hamilton smirked, the moonlight just catching his lips, concealing the rest of his face in shadows.

"Shit, your probably right."

After they put enough distance between themselves and the crowd, they resumed walking down the street like normal people. But to the rest of the community of the area they were walking through, they looked like a couple of rich snobs that found themselves lost in the wrong neighborhood. They didn't seem to notice how with every step they took, the streets got rougher and the night seemed to grow darker, almost like someone turned the air into ink that only the flickering street lights could cut through, barely.

Hamilton felt right at home and practically didn't notice the change in scenery. He grew up in streets like this, these streets were his home until he managed to claw his way out and rise to the top. Jefferson on the other hand, had an entirely different experience with streets like these, none. He'd been raised in a wealthy family and inherited a good sized chunk of land from his father when he passed away when Jefferson was only fourteen. He improved it and made his family go from well off to vastly wealthy. But despite his soft upbringing, the world turned Jefferson hard, streets like this didn't bother him. He'd seen enough blood to make this look like a park.

Funny really, at the age of fourteen both Hamilton and Jefferson were pretty much running companies. The only difference was that Jefferson owned his and got to keep all the profits whereas Hamilton used it to get out of the hell he was living in.

So when the stranger stepped out in front of them, pistol raised, Jefferson and Hamilton just came calmly to a stop and studied the person before them. He was haggard looking, his clothes were rags and his face was covered in layers of dirt and grease and a matted beard to top it all off. Jefferson cringed, ever heard of personal hygiene? There's gotta at least be a river nearby to wash in. Seriously. The ocean wasn't far off.

Hamilton was looking for openings in the man's defense and had already calculated fourteen possible actions. Jefferson counted sixteen.

"Money and belongings. Now," the man demanded.

Hamilton looked at Jefferson, an eyebrow raised in question. Jefferson shook his head slightly in answer.

The man mistook Jefferson's reply to Hamilton as a refusal to give up his belongings. "It wasn't a question you rich bastards," he sneered, "Now hand over everything you got and I'll let you walk away."

"Can I at least deck him?" Hamilton asked, completely ignoring the mugger.

"No, Alexander, you know that's not the best course of action here," Jefferson replied, facing Hamilton, on hands on his hip and the other atop the cane he was using to support his weight as he leaned against it. The robber had no idea what to make of the situation, he wasn't lying, he would shoot them, but he'd never come across rich people who weren't flustered and blubbering. It threw him off.

"I swear, I can have him on the ground and begging for mercy in less than three seconds," Hamilton insisted.

"I'd bet two, but no."

"Why not?" Hamilton complained, "So you can do it yourself? I called dibs first."

"I know how much you want to punch this guy, you're a fun-sized package of rage and anger, but that is not how we're handling this," Jefferson replied sternly. He wasn't budging on this.

"Quit bickering like an old married couple and hand everything over! I will not hesitate to shoot you!" the mugger yelled.

Hamilton and Jefferson turned their attention back to him as if they'd completely forgotten he was there. Jefferson smiled one of his most charming smiles, "What's your name?" he asked.

"Like I'd tell you," the man scoffed, "you'll just turn around and turn me into the police."

"Okay, fair enough. My name is Thomas."

"Common name, I like that," the man said, "Now stop chatting me up and give me your fucking wallet already."

"Hey!" Hamilton snapped, "Watch your fucking language in front of the fucking ex-president you asshole."

Jefferson facepalmed as the other man paled. "Alexander, how many times do I have to fucking tell you, quit telling everyone I'm the fucking president!"

"Hey! I said ex this time, it's entirely different."

"My God, your insufferable, I'm going to shove your face into that dumpster," Jefferson threatened, pointing to a nearby dumpster.

"Yeah? Try me!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?" the mugger yelled.

Hamilton whirled on him, "I SAID DONT FUCKING CUSS IN FRONT OF JEFFERSON YOU CUNT!" Hamilton launched at the mugger right as a gunshot went off.

A body thudded to the ground.

"Alexander!"

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