In Sickness And In Health (Jeffmads): a Hamilton fanfiction

Chapter 6

Chapter 6, darlings, and extra long to make up for the wait! Enjoy, and please note that I was listening to the end of the musical when writing at the time, so I was rather sad. DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters or Daveed Diggs' INCREDIBLE hair (I hope you can tell that I love his hair), those belong to the precious Lin Manuel Miranda and (unfortunately) Daveed Diggs. I'm just using them for my own amusement and hopefully yours.

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Jefferson's p.o.v

"So he just shoved you out the way?"

I dropped my head into my hands in exasperation, fighting the strong urge to slap his stupid fat face off.

"No, a great big green alien did," I replied sarcastically. "Who else would've!? I've told you this about a million times. Has it got through your thick skull yet or is it still stuck at passport control?"

I like that insult. I'd used it on Hamilton once, and I still maintain that the black eye was totally worth it for the look on his face, so ignore whatever Madison tells you about it.

"I just wanna make sure I get the full story," he said, his Tennessee accent thick. There was a couple from Tennessee that used to live down the street from me and Mads when we were younger. Anyway, not important. "So you were tryna hail a cab, then he pushed you and next thing you knew, he'd been run over?"

"THANK YOU, WE GOT THERE!" I exclaimed, giving him a mocking round of applause. "Now piss off so I can get some bloody sleep."

He held up his hands in a symbol of surrender, but I gave him another glare and he quickly scuttled out.

"It's nice to know that it's not just me you hate," Hamilton said from the corner, and I shot him a dirty look.

"You can piss off as well," I grumbled as I curled up, sighing in annoyance as I almost choked on my hair, angrily flicking it out of my face. When I didn't hear the door close within 10 seconds, I flipped him off without even looking at him.

"Charming!" he huffed, and the door slammed loudly, causing my head to pound even harder than it already was. Concussions aren't as fun as I remember, I thought dryly as I pulled the thin blanket over my head to block out the sunlight that filtered through the useless curtains. My brain wanted to break out, and my skull was currently trying to negotiate its staying, but getting beaten up in the process. I was still reeling from the fact that I was in love with my best friend.

Out of the blue, I figured out the answer. Of course! Seizing my phone from the bedside table and composed an email to Lafayette, one of my buddies from France I'd actually managed to stay in touch with. He'd asked me to write in English, which made it considerably easier on my injured brain.

Dear Lafayette,

How are you, mon ami? Things here in America have gone a little downhill since you last emailed. The other night (I can't remember whether it was one or two nights ago now), I somehow ended up at Hamilton's, of all people. Before you ask, no, I was not drunk, I could barely walk. You know how the old wound gets sometimes.

Madison, of course, came over and we stayed the night at Hamilton's. We had a bit of an argument, but managed to work it out. Before we could get home, however, something awful happened: I was trying to hail a cab, when Madison pushed me out the way and was subsequently (that's ensuite in French) hit by a car. He saved my life.