Because of a dream | A Jamilton Story

Chapter 2: Work

A. Ham POV

At work, I stared blankly at the document I was supposed to be writing up. But I couldn't focus, the dream was still vivid in my mind; his love struck eyes, his skilled mouth, and nimble fingers.

'Stop,' I said to myself as a familiar warmth from my dream spread through my stomach. My hands were clammy with want. Out of frustration, I took out a fresh piece of parchment to write the events in subconscious.

After about an hour, five sheets of paper, and one and a half bottles of ink, I'd finally finished. I opened the drawer the drawer I'd dubbed The Drawer of Unspeakable Things, aka, The Jefferson Drawer. I called it this as well because it mostly consisted of dreams like this one, but occasionally things such as the letter from James Reynolds were scattered amongst the papers. I took out a sheet of tallies, added one, put it back, and slid the drawer back into place. I looked over the papers with content, my mind had cleared, so I set the papers aside, to dry and got to work on what I was supposed to be writing.

*Time jump to 8:00 PM*  Third POV

Jefferson was staying late to finish up some stuff when he ran out of parchment.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed in frustration. 'Hamilton probably wouldn't mind if I snagged a few pages,' he thought to himself after a moment. He stood up and walked out of his office, down the hallway, and entered the Secretary of Treasury's office. It was quite dark, so the Virginian lit a candle in order to navigate the unfamiliar room. The tired man slowly shuffled to the desk in the middle of the room. 'What's this' he silently pondered when he'd seen a short row of five papers, the first with the title Dream 89. Curiosity compelled the man as he gathered the papers to read later. and snatched a few blanks from a drawer.

Thomas finally finished his work at ten. Feeling that he had time to spare, he picked up the stolen pages and calmly began to read. By the time he'd finished, a half an hour had passed and his face was such a noticeable red that one could mistake it for an oddly shaped cherry with hair. He cleared his throat and made his leave, still clutching the extraordinarily descriptive papers in his slightly shaking hands.

The Next Day

Alexander had another night of naughty dreams involving Jefferson, but thankfully he hadn't spoken in his dreams again.

At about noon in the white house, Madison approached Jefferson.

"Hey, I think it's about time we went to find some dirt on Hamilshit," he suggested mischeviously.

"I think that's a great idea," Jefferson responded, a malicious grin formed on his lips.

The two stealthily lingered in the doorway of their target, he seemed... tired and... unfocused. Hamilton blankly stared at his papers. Suddenly, he shook his head and moved them to the side, he grabbed his quill and labeled the a new page Dream 90, then started to scribble furiously, occasionally pausing to dip his feather. Jefferson started to think, and eventually had the influence that Hamilton was writing something similar to yesterday's work. Rose gently dusted his cheeks at the thought. An hour passed over his face and Hamilton finally stopped, and layed them out to dry. He took out the tally sheet from the bottom left drawer and counted them, then looked to see if that one was on top. It wasn't. A small look of terror passed over his face as a hard blush stained his cheeks. He looked around frantically, trying to find the papers. He quickly added a tally to the sheet and shoved it into the drawer before speedily going to his door. By the time he exited his office the two spies had sprinted off as to not to get caught. Hamilton sped off to Washington's office.

"Gen- I mean- President Washington, sir," Hamilton addressed him once he'd entered.

"Yes, son?" Washington looked up inquisitively.

"I'd like to report five stolen papers," he said, "also, I'm not your son."

"What was on them?" droned the president, looking back down. Hamilton's face began to heat up as he shifted uncomfortably. Noticing the talkative man was silent, Washington looked up with a look of interest written on his features, "Well?"

"I- I," Hamilton paused. He tried to form what to say in his brain while trying to talk through the lump in his throat.

"I cannot properly address this to the others without a description, son," Washington said flatly.

"It had, um... Oh! A title! It was titled Dream 89!" Hamilton explained, relieved that he didn't have to go into the content's detail.

"Dream? And exactly why is it called Dream 89?" Washington continued. Hamilton paused again.

Meanwhile, Jefferson and Madison were rifling through Hamilton's office. Jefferson ushered the other away when they'd investigated everything, except the papers on the desk and the drawer, and found nothing.

"But we're in this together!" Madison protested.

"Trust me, James. If what's on these papers is what I think it is, it will scar you," Jefferson replied demandingly.

"Fine," Madison mumbled as he stormed out to keep guard. Knowing he didn't have much time until Hamilton came back, he scooped up all the papers from the drawer, slammed it shut, and ran to his office, Madison tailing him closely.

"Shit! That's right!" Madison exclaimed out of nowhere.

"What?"

"The Cabinet Meeting!" Madison said. Jefferson's face deadpanned. They raced out of the office to where the meeting would be held. It took them about ten minutes, they made it, just barely on time.