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“Are you certain you're alright, Alexander?” Washington asked, eyes narrowing in concern as he once again took in Alexander’s pathetic state. Alexander was aware of how it looked; he was holding a red handkerchief to his nose to prevent himself from dripping snot all over his desk, but he was also trying to look over a stack of papers that demanded his attention.
“I'm alright, sir.” Alexander mumbled, his voice sounding noticeably more raspy, even with the handkerchief covering part of his mouth and muffling his voice. His throat ached with the words he'd forced out, though he didn't want to fetch himself a glass of water. That would end only one of two ways: either he would get up and have Washington jump in to try to do it for him, like he was a child, or he would stand up, stumble, and give Washington something worse to worry about.
Instead, Alexander stayed put, watching as the President’s gaze raked over his face once again. He could only hope he didn't notice the flush to his face the fever had brought on.
“I have no reason to believe that when you're in this state,” Washington finally said, “But I have a feeling you'll protest if I try to send you home, so I'll allow you to finish the workday.”
Before Alexander could breathe a sigh of relief, Washington interjected again. “However, I better not see you come in tomorrow, Mr. Hamilton. You need to rest.”
Washington then rose from the chair in front of Alexander’s desk, moving to leave. After he softly shut the door behind him, Alexander's professionalism melted away in an instant. His head thunked against the desk and he didn't bother moving it, finding an odd comfort in the cool wood. It felt good against his overheated skin, almost as satisfying as a cloth dipped in cold water.
Before he knew it, his eyelids began to feel heavy. It was only two in the afternoon and normally, Alexander would fight it, but something about the cold surface of his desk and the way the exhaustion seemed to seep into his very being, wearing him down slowly but surely, made him realize any effort to resist it would be in vain.
Within a minute, Alexander fell asleep.
Alexander was still dozing, face squished against his desk, but his body was gradually becoming aware of an odd sensation. He ever so slightly stirred, but that only made something jab him in the arm. Alexander jumped, immediately awakened to notice that the cause of his discomfort was a tip of a quill that had been digging into the flesh of his forearm.
The sight of the quill irritated him, but he wondered who would jab him so roughly. He got his answer when he heard a familiar, high-and-mighty voice greet him.
“I said, are you alive, or will I need to wheel out your carcass in a cart?”
Alexander wasn't in the mood for this. Alongside Thomas, a dull headache was making itself known. “Damn you.”
“Ooh, feisty today, aren't we? That's perfectly alright; I don't mind. You have uttered far worse things to me in the past… Before an audience, as well. If you intend to insult me, you will have to do much better.”
Insufferable, as always, Alexander thought, slowly lifting his head to meet Jefferson’s gaze. The man looked down at him with a satisfied smirk. To no one’s surprise, Jefferson seemed to enjoy looming over Alexander like this.
“What do you want?” Alexander rasped, his throat once again aching with each enunciation of every word he forced out.
Briefly, Jefferson’s smirk faltered. He raised an eyebrow, now scrutinizing Alexander. Alexander didn't know what had caused the change, but a part of him was becoming increasingly more aware that he didn't mind the attention in the slightest, especially when it came to Thomas.
“I was about to ask you to… oh, but it's none of your concern now. You sound ill, Mr. Hamilton.”
Ironically enough, his body chose that moment to send snot pouring down his nose again. Alexander reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose while Jefferson stood in front of him, that damned look on his face. Alexander tried not to think too much about how he hadn't said Mr. Hamilton condescendingly for once.
Alexander finished blowing his nose and moved the handkerchief away from his face before glancing up at Jefferson. “I have a mild cold, yes.”
“And you saw it prudent to stay here, instead of resting at home?”
Alexander glared at Jefferson. If he hadn't known better, he would've swore he heard a note of concern in his voice, but that was impossible. Jefferson would never feel concern for him.
“Because of present circumstances,” Alexander began, a cough building up in the back of his throat, “It's necessary I stay–”
He was rudely interrupted by a violent coughing fit. He covered his mouth with his elbow, tearing his gaze away from Jefferson as his chest heaved.
There was silence for a moment after he finished, but then Jefferson cleared his throat.
“You are not fit to stay here.”
“Now wait just a minute–”
“No. You are not well. I would bet money on you running a high fever.”
Before Alexander could so much as protest, Jefferson reached into his pocket and tugged on one of his white, intricately-designed gloves. He pressed the back of his gloved hand against Alexander’s forehead, his lips pulling into a frown before he snatched his hand away again. Alexander gaped at him, shocked Jefferson would dare touch him, especially while he was like this. The Secretary of State used to act mortified by even the slightest brush of their shoulders when they exited a room.
Gloves, Alexander thought, reeling himself back in, He wouldn't touch my bare skin.
“As I thought. You are feverish. You aren't going to be of use to anyone while you're in this pathetic state, but if you refuse to recognize that, then I will have no choice but to take this matter into my own hands.”
Alexander bristled. “Screw off, Jefferson.”
“And here we go.”
Suddenly, Jefferson walked around the desk, now standing behind Alexander. Without another word, he hoisted him up from his chair. Alexander yelped, trying to scramble away from the firm grip, but Jefferson didn't relent until he was fully out of his chair and standing beside the desk. Alexander didn't know if it was his fever, but his head was beginning to spin. He hadn't thought Jefferson was that strong or that he would so willingly lay hands on him to pull him out of his seat.
“For the love of God, why do you care so much?” Alexander snapped once Jefferson let go of him.
Jefferson raised an eyebrow, a small, potentially malicious grin playing on his lips. Alexander had no doubt he enjoyed seeing him in this weakened state.
The man leaned closer to him.
“I’m doing a favor to everyone. The sooner our favorite little Secretary of Treasury gets better, the sooner he can get back to being worth a damn.” he murmured above his ear, his amusement growing as Alexander felt his face redden with anger, “So you're going to go home, Mr. Hamilton.”
Alexander heard the determined note in Jefferson’s voice growing stronger with each word he spoke. The man was towering above him too. Knowing better than to test the other man’s resolve, Alexander grabbed his coat off the rack and shrugged it on. It felt uncomfortably warm, but he wouldn't dare let Jefferson see that. The last thing he wanted to do was fuel the fire that was his ego.
Alexander turned away from him, trying to shake his thoughts of the infuriating man standing in his office. This entire situation was far too strange for a singular day.
Maybe I do need to rest.
Alexander walked towards the door. When he pushed it open, it struck him again how odd this was… it was as if Jefferson cared for his well-being.
He couldn't handle that, but what he could handle was hate. In fact, he could dish it out any day of the week Jefferson graced his presence, and being under the weather certainly didn't hamper his ability to do so.
“I reviewed your proposal to lower property taxes. I'll tear it apart the next time we meet.”
Alexander regretted speaking as soon as he heard those words leave his mouth. They sounded unnaturally desperate, as if he was looking for a reason to tear Jefferson apart, but whether Jefferson noticed or not, he didn't give any indication.
“Must we discuss this now?” he said with a small, detached sigh, still facing away from Alexander. He wasn't engaging him like he wanted, which only served to irritate him.
Alexander made the mistake of quickly stepping forward, and a wave of vertigo washed over him. He was left leaning back against the doorframe, yet he fought through it, keeping his eyes on Jefferson. He breathed slowly through his nose, steadying himself.
“Why shouldn't we? You are standing in my office and your ludicrous proposal was in my hands not a day ago. You seemed rather passionate about it then, so why are you no longer as keen to stand by it?”
Why aren't you giving me what I want? I know you want to.
Jefferson turned around, stalking towards Alexander with a now neutral expression on his face. He stopped in front of him for a moment, just standing there, then he raised his hand at Alexander’s face. Alexander didn't flinch.
“You won't dare strike me, Thomas. We both know that.”
Just like that, Jefferson slapped Alexander. It hardly stung, yet the suddenness of it made Alexander’s head spin. One of his clammy hands reached up to touch his cheek.
“Then how lovely it is to prove you wrong, Mr. Hamilton. Hopefully, this will knock some sense into you, though I believe you were already on your way home, hm?”
Completely amazed, Alexander simply nodded and walked out of his office. He walked like that, all the way home, though many times he nearly fell to his knees. Later, once he stumbled through his front door and promptly collapsed onto his sofa, he reflected on both realizations he'd made: one, Thomas seemed to no longer be shying away from him, and two, he was still the same insufferable bastard Alexander had come to know and love.