Chapter Text
Jefferson sighed and leaned back in his chair with a small creak, closing his eyes and dimming the quiet, friendly chatter floating through the conference room. In mere moments he was back in Monticello, far away from the noise and suffocation of a city like D.C., far larger and more crowded and unwieldy than any place had a right to be. But back in Virginia, in his home, on his land, there were gently rolling hills covered in verdant green grass, tall trees with tops so luscious and full that they seemed to spill over and reach for the ground, providing inviting patches of shade perfect for any number of relaxing activities. And the flowers lining the walkways in the front, vibrant colours just beautifully - scratchscratchscratch- and just like that, back to the present.
A sharp spike of irritation rose in Jefferson's mind upon looking around to find that no, the meeting was not currently about to begin. Washington hadn’t even yet made an appearance, so then why had his peaceful reflections been interrupted, and by what? It was after taking a moment to compose himself, he did have an image to uphold as being cool and collected after all, that Jefferson chanced a glance to his right and discovered the source of his distraction.
Of course, he smirked minutely, taking in the sight of a bedraggled and flushed Alexander Hamilton, writing frantically on what appeared to be no more than a napkin. Look at those bags under his eyes, it's as if he hasn't slept in days…and knowing him and his habits he likely hasn't. And what in the name of Paris is he wearing? Thomas's lips curved unbidden into an expression of disgust at the picture Hamilton presented; pale from lack of sleep with messy hair pulled into a half bun hanging off the top of his head, and sporting a wrinkled suit with suspiciously ink-like stains scattered about. It's like he never learned how to dress himself. I wonder if he can even properly match his socks- nope. Black and navy. This man needs a girlfriend, or a mother.
“You know, Hamilton” Jefferson drawled leisurely, turning to the front and smirking slightly to himself, “I always look forward to seeing how disheveled and exhausted you can appear. Sometimes I truly wonder how it is you're even allowed anywhere near our meetings. Tell me, how many times have you been stopped by security and directed to the cemetery?”
The irritating scratching stopped, and Thomas could hear Hamilton shifting to face him. “Well, you know Jefferson, I have more to think about than just my appearance. But I guess it isn't your fault that all you have the capacity to care for is your quaint little piece of land out in Virginia.” The scratching resumed.
Jefferson gripped the arm of his chair tightly in an effort to quell the anger that rose up at Hamilton's comment. For a bastard, orphaned immigrant, this man sure has an inflated sense of self. And what is he even writing- how is he always writing? “And what,” Jefferson turned again to face Hamilton, “could possibly be so important that you seem to have neglected sleep for a week, and are now writing like you're running out of time on a napkin?”
The Secretary of the Treasury looked up, somehow managing to appear even more frazzled staring up from his position hunched over his napkin with pen in hand, his eyes wide in an expression that might be deemed cute if he didn't have the look of a frenzied psychopath in that moment. But his surprise quickly passed and he was sitting up straight and smirking in the most infuriating manner, “Funny you should ask Jefferson. This happens to be a draft of my proposal for some changes to our financial system. “
“Catering to Wall Street, I'm guessing. I thought we made it very clear last time, Hamilton- you simply don't have the votes, even after you've traded New York for the Potomac your plan is a danger to our nation,” Jefferson quipped as he stood and stretched.
“What are you doing?”
“The meeting’s about to start, and I don't think I can handle any more of your nervous energy. Good luck, Hamilton. “ Jefferson stood and practically sashayed over to where James Madison sat, leaving Hamilton to glare at his retreating form.
“Gentleman,” Washington made his appearance through the side door near the front of the room, “I'm running late, so let's get settled and begin this meeting.”
That cut off any retort Hamilton may have been thinking of flinging at Jefferson’s back, and the man settled back into his seat, irritation making him forget the next line he was going to write. There was a gentle commotion as all members of the cabinet migrated to a seat and ended their conversations, sitting and staring patiently at where George Washington sat in the front of the room. Once the shuffling had died down, Washington cleared his throat and began. “The issue on the table: France is on the verge of war with England. Do we provide aid and troops to our French allies or do we stay out of it? Remember, my decision on this matter is not subject to congressional approval. The only person you have to convince, is me. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor sir. “
Hamilton watched, fuming silently, as Jefferson sauntered up to the middle of the floor with that infuriating swagger of his, lazily glancing about the room before beginning his argument. “When we were on death’s door, when we were needy
We made a promise, we signed a treaty
We needed money and guns and half a chance
Who provided those funds?”
Jefferson looked straight at Hamilton with a smirk as the answer, ‘France’, was muttered by various people in the room. “That's right. France. Without requiring anything in return, it was France that helped us become a free nation. The only thing they asked was that we have their back in times of need. Now the French seek to follow in our footsteps- who are we to abandon them and break one of our first promises ever made as a free state?” Jefferson let his question hang in the air, the pause filled with murmurs of agreement from others in the room. Except, of course, from Hamilton.
Hamilton sat quietly glaring at Jefferson, scoffing inwardly- and quite possibly outwardly- at his sentimental defense of providing aid to the French. Of course he wants to get involved- the Francophile… He missed out on the whole of our revolution, rather convenient I suppose, off getting high with the French while we all almost died in a trench.
“ I know that Alexander Hamilton is here and he would rather not have this debate, but allow me to be the first to remind you: He is not Secretary of State. In fact, based on his ambition and desperateness to rise above his station, along with the disloyalty that makes this issue uncomfortable for him, I'd go as far as to say that his ideas completely betray the ideals of our nation.” This entire bit was delivered staring straight at Hamilton, who glared fiercely back, ire rising to a barely containable level at Jefferson's words. “Hey, and if you don't know, now you know, Mr. President.” Jefferson gave a little bow and once again sauntered over to his seat, sitting down among the snickers and grins of his little possé.
“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson,” sounded through the small room, the hard tone silencing any remaining conversation. “Secretary Hamilton,” Washington managed to capture the man's attention from where he was silently boiling over in his seat. “Your response.”
Washington kept eye contact with Hamilton as the man walked to the middle of the room with hands clenched into fists, silently begging Hamilton to be on his best behavior and willing his response to be mature and collected. The smirk he received in response did nothing to alleviate his worries about another imminent screaming match.
Hamilton arrived at his position in the middle of the room and smiled for a moment, locking eyes with Jefferson who could clearly see the fire burning behind the gentle expression.
Washington did his best to resist the urge to hide his head in his hands, instead discreetly looking up to the sky in a gesture that said, ‘dear Lord help me to endure’.
And Hamilton took a deep breath. “You must be out of your Goddamn mind if you think the President is gonna bring the nation to the brink of meddling in the middle of a military mess, a game of chess, where France is Queen and Kingless?”
Jefferson half stood and called out angrily, “We signed a treaty stating that we would help if-”
“We signed a treaty with a King whose head is now in a basket would you like to take it out and ask it,
“Should we honor our treaty, King Louis’ head?”
“Uh… do whatever you want, I’m super dead.”’
Just as Jefferson opened his mouth to respond, Washington stood and held up a hand. “Enough, enough. Hamilton is right. We’re too fragile to enter into another conflict. Hamilton, draft a statement of neutrality.”
As Washington escaped quickly without allowing a scandalized Jefferson and crew to respond, Hamilton stood smirking in the center of the floor. When he responded to Washington's order with a satisfied ‘Yes, sir’, Jefferson felt a wave of uncontrolled anger flush through him. This little shit…how could he go and betray Lafayette like this without even batting an eyelash? And he said as much as he turned to face Hamilton, revelling in the flash of guilt that appeared in his face as the others in the room watched quietly, painfully aware of the tension in the room, and Washington listened frozen from the doorway.
“Lafayette is a smart man, he'll be fine,” Hamilton finally responded. “We can't fight in every revolution in the world, Jefferson. If we do we never stop.”
“You know Hamilton, half the people in this room are too starstruck by your precociousness to ever tell you, so allow me to be the one to remind you of this. You are nothing without Washington behind you.”
During the course of the passionate interchange, Jefferson had migrated to the center of the room and was standing barely a foot away from Hamilton, both glaring intently as the room’s other occupants looked on in anxious apprehension. There was a brief pause following Jefferson's last statement in which Hamilton started incredulously at Jefferson, who looked back with a face that had lost his previous composure, momentarily betraying his slight surprise at what had flown out of his mouth.
Hamilton's mouth began to open, and Washington, in an effort to end the scene there, called out to him sharply, but was left wondering just when and where he signed up for babysitting a group of adult men when Jefferson recovered his smirk and shooed Hamilton along with a gasp and “Daddy’s calling.”
Hamilton screwed his eyes shut and seemed to contemplate something for a brief second before nodding to himself. “I think this would be an appropriate time to say fuck you, Jefferson.”
Before anyone in the room had time to react, Jefferson was stumbling back from the force of Hamilton's first impacting the side of his face, and the room erupted into chaos: the politicians all started to yell at the same time as Madison rushed to Jefferson's side and Hamilton attempted to rush the door, the volume and intensity of the arguing in the room growing by the second. Just as Hamilton's hand touched the door handle Washington let loose an authoritative, “All of you, shut up.” The entire room froze. “You are all dismissed for the day. Except for you two, Hamilton, Jefferson. I'll be in my office. You two can meet me inside.”