Chapter Text
James Madison watched the last autumn leaves flitter down from tall branches outside his office window at his home in Montpelier, Virginia. The fireplace burned low, leaving the room dimmer and colder on such a dull gray morning. To his left, stacks of Congressional papers lay waiting, but his eyes turned back to the letter in his hand.
He couldn't fathom what was going through his friend's head as he read the words of the paper. Collaborate, with Alexander Hamilton? Jefferson could not possibly believe the Treasury’s books were as clean as Hamilton claimed. Could he?
He hadn't seen Thomas Jefferson for nearly three weeks, only receiving updates via letters. His friend had been recovering from his illness. It didn't surprise James that Thomas had allowed Hamilton and his wife to recover in his country house. He had, after all, lectured his friend on being more sympathetic to Hamilton after the man had nearly been paralyzed.
He told himself he was being unfair. Jefferson was no fool. And Hamilton? Well, Hamilton had suffered enough lately to soften any man’s judgment. Even so, a quiet unease settled in Madison’s chest, a nagging whisper filling his mind.
It wasn’t only Jefferson’s letter that unsettled him. The memory of 1790 still stung. Hamilton had gotten the better of them during the dinnertime compromise, when they traded support for the Assumption Bill for the location of the permanent capital. Madison now saw the deal as a reflection of the man himself: corrupt, speculative, and an overreach of Federal power. He had since distanced himself from the bargain, pivoting instead to oppose the Treasury department’s relentless growth.
Madison stood up and began to pace the office. Perhaps he should ride over to Jefferson's country house and speak to Thomas directly? His friend's quarantine would be over and Hamilton would have departed to Albany by the time he returned to Pennsylvania. He could speak plainly about Jefferson's changed opinion on the Treasury Secretary.
Sitting at his desk again, Madison reached for a piece of parchment and began a letter. He wouldn't demand, he'd inquire about an explanation from his fellow Virginian. They could not afford to be sympathetic. Not to this man, and certainly not while the nation's foreign finances remained so suspiciously unresolved.
~
Thomas padded carefully down the steps from the second floor, the faint glow of his candle guiding him through the moonless dark. A thin line of light spilled from beneath the library’s nearly closed door, stopping him mid‑stride. He moved closer on quiet feet. Jefferson had offered the room to his guests for reading, and he assumed one of the Hamilton's had simply stayed up with a book.
But when he peered through the narrow crack, he found Alexander himself at the desk, papers scattered across the wood like fallen leaves. A candle burned low, nearly to the stub. Hamilton leaned on one elbow, lip caught lightly between his teeth, eyes fixed on the page. Every so often he let out a soft grunt of frustration, dragging his quill across a line before pressing fingers to his brow.
Jefferson wondered what could demand such intensity, though the answer came quickly enough. The report to Congress. Of course Hamilton would sacrifice sleep for it. Yet something in the scene unsettled him; the heaviness in Hamilton’s eyes, the way his head dipped as exhaustion tugged at him. He knocked at the door, which startled the younger man enough to look over to him as the taller man approached the Caribbean man.
"What are you doing up so late, Hamilton? I suspect your wife will be none too happy to find you missing from bed. You're still recovering from illness; I don't think you should be taxing yourself at such an hour."
Alexander rubbed his eye and glanced up with a small downward twitch of his mouth. "I couldn't sleep." His shoulders rose. "I was hoping to get some writing done." He hesitated at placing some drying powder on the page, his fingers stopping mid-motion.
Thomas didn't reply to this but rather approached the desk. "May I?"
Hamilton's shoulder slumped as he gave an acknowledging nod.
Jefferson picked up the paper and read the small paragraph which was scrawled on the parchment. Thomas eyebrows rose and he internally flinched at the uneven writing and few words his fellow cabinet member had managed to put to paper. Hamilton was so adept at writing like water rushing over a waterfall.
The Secretary of the Treasury presents his respects to the President & transmits the copy of a paper, which he proposes to communicate to the Committee on the state of the Treasury Department and which he hopes will be found by the President conformable with what passed in the interview……*
"That's ….a good start, I suppose." Thomas said quietly, letting the paper fall back gently to the desk. Alexander nodded dimly, not really looking at him, but at the paper scattered around him.
"Hamilton…." Thomas pressed his lips together, pausing as Hamilton's head came up, eyebrows raised as their eyes met. "Alexander….you'll do yourself no good if you run yourself into the ground. You should rest. I will assist with the report tomorrow, as promised.”
The Treasury Secretary opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again with a loud sigh. Bracing his hands on the desk, he pushed himself away from the desk and moved around it slowly. Even so, a wheel caught on the edge of the rug, and he stumbled forward slightly.
Jefferson caught him before he could fall out and settled him back into the chair's seat. Thomas could see the younger man was blushing with embarrassment at the clumsiness of his movements in the wheelchair. The younger man's exhaustion making steering it difficult.
Their walk back to the guest wing of the house was silent. Thomas’s eyes flicked toward Alexander now and then, keeping an eye on the other man to make sure he was still awake.
They arrived at the guest room door, Alexander stared at the handle before he looked up to meet Jefferson's eyes. "Thank you...Thomas."
Jefferson inclined his head, though something in Hamilton’s voice lingered with him longer than he expected.
I... I'll appreciate your help tomorrow." He said quietly, though his eyes were back on the doorknob.
Jefferson hadn’t expected the softness in Hamilton’s voice. He shifted on his feet, something settling that was deep and unwelcome. He nodded, but the moment stayed with him as Hamilton slipped inside the room.
Jefferson remained in the doorway until the sound of Hamilton’s wheelchair faded into silence. He looked down at his hand—the one that had braced the smaller man and slowly curled his fingers inward. It was a dangerous thing, he realized, to glimpse the man behind the political power of the financial system. It was far easier to call him a “Monarchist” or an “upstart,” far easier to spar with the idea than to face a man worn thin by his own relentless mind.
Tomorrow, they would surely find their footing, though perhaps not as adversaries. As Jefferson climbed the stairs, the memory of Hamilton’s exhaustion stayed with him; heavy, unbidden, and followed him into the dark of his room.
~*~
"Hamilton. who was this written for?" Jefferson asked while reading the scrawling handwriting on a piece of parchment. They were sitting at the desk, Jefferson sitting behind it in his chair, and Hamilton seated on the right side of it, letters and documents spread in front of them.
"Hmm?" Alexander took his eyes off the paper he was writing, leaning to look over at the paper Jefferson was holding. The Virginian slid the parchment over to read. "Let's see...." he said again." Ah, this paper is out of order. That is from...."
Alexander pulled more papers towards himself, skimming through each at a speed that made Thomas' eyebrows rise. His rival's memory was something to behold as the younger man went through a letter and with a small shake of the head, set it aside for the next. Finally, there was a quiet 'ah' from him that told Thomas that he had found the corresponding letter in question.
"It was for the private Dutch bank investors to pay loan debts begun in 1782." He paused, "For the sum of 3 million guilders with five percent interest. If I recall, John Adams acquired the loan while ambassador in the Netherlands." *
"When will this be paid in full?" He wondered aloud.
Automatically, Alexander answered nonchalantly still re-reading the page before him, "1803. We've taken out that amount in loan each year."
Jefferson blinked, looking at the enormous sum written down on the paper. Surely they could not have afforded such an amount. He studied him for a long moment. This slight, restless man had not only steadied the nation’s debts but brought foreign trust back into a country that had nearly squandered it. Congress had failed to do it. Hamilton had simply done it.
He remembered when he and Jemmy had sneered at the debt plan Hamilton had proposed in 1790. But the fact that it allowed credit and trade to flow in their fledgling country was a marvel.
"When...do you expect we will pay off our debts to France?"
Without looking up from the writing he was doing on another piece of paper, the younger man replied, "September of 1795." *
Jefferson sat back in his seat, staring at this man who had an amazing talent for numbers and money. He had laughed at Alexander's attempts to start manufacturing in Paterson, New Jersey. The Virginian still believed that exporting crops and other home-grown materials would boost the economy, but he had to admit that Hamilton's financial plans were nothing short of genius. It had allowed the country to go about its business and strengthening their currency at home and abroad. They had finally gotten their finances and debt under control and offered the nation stability. Unlike in France who were now burdened with unimaginable debt and economic strife that caused a Revolution among their poorest citizens.
"Hamilton?" Thomas finally spoke, his voice cutting through the scratch of the quill.
"Hmm...?" The Treasury Secretary was too occupied with his work to look up.
"What do you imagine will happen in France once this fire has burned out? I still hope to see a stable republic rise from the ashes."
Alexander set down his quill and gazed at the drying ink. "Given how many 'governments' have risen and dissolved in as many months?" He shrugged, his expression darkening. "I only hope that the void in government is not filled by someone like Robespierre—or that they do not simply trade one absolute crown for another."
Jefferson frowned, "If they perhaps adopted Lafayette's idea of a Constitutional Monarchy such as they have in England?"
Alexander shook his head. "One monarchy is very much like another. They promise to obey the assembly, then claw back power the moment it suits them. And when the poor realize nothing has changed, they revolt again."
The Virginian slumped in his seat and didn't speak. As Hamilton had said, the future was uncertain, but the thought of endless coups and revolutions in a country that he loved seemed tragic to him. More so was the fact that the French had turned against their beloved 'Hero of Two Worlds', Lafayette for defending the monarchy for speaking against the radicals and fleeing to Austria rather than return to the chaos. Now his friend had been imprisoned for sparking the French Revolution after fighting for America's liberty. Would his own countrymen let him return? Would he be shunned by Europe for his vision of to bring freedom from monarchy to his home country?
Perhaps he thought to himself, the Revolution was just....even if its leaders were not.
He tried to return his attention to the task, yet the turmoil abroad and Hamilton’s unsettling insight pressed against his thoughts.