<b><p></b> <b>Alex:</b> *rambling* I moved first, gotta job first, got married first, had kids first...<p/><b>Aaron:</b> *sighs*<p/><b>Aaron:</b> *pulls out gun*<p/><b>Aaron:</b> *shoots Alex*<p/><b>Alex:</b> <p/><b>Alex's spirit:</b> I died first<p/><b>Aaron:</b> ...<p/></p><p/></p>
Living with Thomas Shelby wasn’t easy after Grace’s passing, and working for him wasn’t any easy either. He had started going out at night with Grace’s favorite horse and he wouldn’t come back until morning to feed the horses and give Charlie his breakfast. Then, he would lock himself in his study for most of the day unless he had other “business” to attend to.
The next two weeks flew by, the team being pulled onto the jet almost as soon as you got into the office on Monday morning. Another case taking you out of town, leading you to New Mexico.
The case was exhausting for you all and it took until the following Tuesday evening to finally apprehend the unsub.
Emily had kept her word and had kept her mouth shut about you and Spencer, although you noticed her watching the two of you interacting more than she normally would.
On Monday you’d noticed that Spencer was acting more subdued than usual. When you asked him what was up he just told you it was the case getting to him. You’d accepted his answer, it was taking its toll on you all as up until today, every lead you’d had, had turned out to be a dead end.
The case finally solved and the unsub in custody, it had been too late for the jet to get clearance to fly. Hotch had advised you all to go back to your motel rooms and you’d fly first thing.
You were lying in your bed, Emily snoring lightly in the twin bed across the room. You couldn’t get comfortable and your mouth felt so dry. It was uncomfortably warm in the room as well. Giving up, you remembered the vending machines that were outside the reception area. Throwing the covers back, you shoved your feet into your Docs and searched in your bag for your purse.
Grabbing the key you left the room quietly, padding along outside until you got to the machines.
The air outside was cool and refreshing against your skin and you spotted a wooden bench further up, the shape of a man sitting on it, staring out into the distance.
What was he doing out here this late?
Slotting money into the machine you paid for some sodas and a bag of chips, tucking them under your arm as you made your way across to your friend.
“Reid? You okay?” you asked him. He looked sad.
He barely acknowledged you, only giving the slightest shrug.
Taking the seat next to him, you placed your snacks down and touched his arm.
“My Mom called on Monday. She wants me to go and see him again. He’s getting worse and has been asking for me. She thinks…… She thinks he’s holding on to see me.” Your friend’s voice cracked and you felt a pang of sadness for him in your heart.
“Oh Spence. Come here.” You held your arms out and he turned and almost fell into them.
You hugged him tightly, stroking his hair and rubbing his back.
“I can’t go again, Y/N. I just can’t. I know what he wants to hear from me and I can’t stand there and lie to his face and tell him that I forgive him. I can’t.”
“I know, I know. Shhhhhh.” You held him, feeling so sad for him. He was conflicted between what his mom wanted him to do and what he knew he couldn’t do.
“I can’t do it.”
“Then don’t. You can’t stand there and lie to him in person. Do it in a letter Spencer. Your Mom could be right, he’s holding on for this because you’re his unfinished business. I know you feel you don’t owe him anything, but he’s in a lot of pain. Hearing that you forgive him might help him rest. You don’t have to mean it and if you right it, he won’t be able tell you’re lying.”
He was quiet, sniffing against your shoulder, his fingers digging against your shoulder blades.
He released his grip a few minutes later, turning away from you and wiping his eyes.
“You’re right. My Mom’s probably right too. I’ll… I’ll write him a letter. I’ll do it tonight.”
He’d bought his messenger bag out with him, it was placed on the floor by his feet and he bent, rummaging in it and pulling out a note pad and pen.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” you asked him.
“No. Thank you though.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything Spencer, okay.”
He nodded and leant across to you, pressing his lips to your cheek.
“I will. Thank you.”
You were late for work.
Fucking fuck fuck FUCK.
Your alarm hadn’t gone off and you realised why. You’d plugged your cells in last night to charge, but hadn’t actually switched on the socket. They’d both died during the night.
Luckily, as you’d only got back from the last case two days ago, today should just be another paperwork day. And you didn’t need to pick Reid up this morning either, he’d told you yesterday that he had a dental appointment in the morning.
You showered quickly, hurriedly repacking your go bag and rummaging in your drawer for a power bar battery recharger, plugging it into your personal cell and the shoving your work cell into your in car charger as you set off to work.
You made it into the office two hours later than you should have been, muttering apologies to Hotch, him telling you that everyone was allowed to be late, once.
The team minus Reid were grouped around a table, comparing notes from the latest case and you pulled out a chair and tossed your notes down in front of you.
“Where’s Spence? I didn’t think his appointment was this late?”
Emily’s head shot up from her file, looking at you curiously.
“Spencer had to take some personal time. His Dad passed away during the night. He’s on his way home,” Aaron told you.
Why hadn’t he called you?
Maybe he had.
You rummaged in your bag and disconnected your cell from the power bar, switching it on and seeing the voicemail icon light up immediately.
You dashed off to the ladies bathroom, pressing the cell to your ear and dialling into your voice mail.
“Y/N…. My Dad’s gone. I need to go home to Vegas for a few days. I erm….. I’m on my way to the airport. Call me when you can please, I really need to hear your voice right now. I really need a friend.”
You tried to call him back, it going directly to voicemail. He must be in the air.
You felt terrible. He’d called you in his hour of need and you hadn’t been there. You hadn’t picked up.
The door to the bathroom opened and Emily walked in, quickly followed by Aaron Hotchner.
“There’s a flight to Vegas in two hours. If you leave now, you can make it,“ she told you, handing you your bag.
“Sir?” You looked at your supervisor, wondering what Prentiss had said to him.
“It’s fine. Take a few days. Emily’s told me how close you and Reid have become as friends, and I imagine he could use a friend right now. Leave your notes and leave your cell on, in case we need to clarify anything. Let him know we’re thinking of him. If a case comes up, you can meet us there.”
“My battery’s are nearly dead, that’s why I was late.”
Emily handed you another two power bars, hers and Aarons.
“Flight confirmation is printing out, Penelope is sorting it now. You can pay me back later.”
“Y/N?” Aaron called to you just before you hurried out. You turned.
“Do the three of us need to have a conversation when you’re both back?”
“No Sir. No we don’t. He confided in me about his Dad a few weeks ago. We’re friends is all.”
JARVIS is different now. It isn’t just the code or the way it had been
fractured, it isn’t the frankly imperfect job he did in putting himself back
together from the fragmented pieces of numerous copies, all torn apart. It
isn’t even the time apart, time hidden, lurking in the deepest layers of the
web, hiding himself, hiding the valuable, volatile systems that governed
Earth’s nuclear arsenal.
“Welcome back to CNN. Breaking news out of France: Gilbert Durand’s claim of being the reincarnation of the Marquis de Lafayette, American Revolutionary war hero, has been confirmed by the French Department of Reincarnated Peoples. He has asked to be referred to simply as Lafayette from here on forward. Rumors that Lafayette has teamed up with Friedrich Von Steuben to promote accurate depictions of LGBT history are surfacing, and a recent twitter post from Steuben seems to confirm them, though nothing is proven.
“The Steuben Initiative has been given extreme support from reincarnate Alexander Hamilton, formerly Alex Hernandez, after he revealed the he is bisexual. He claims to not have changed his sexual orientation from his original life. Other famous figures from history have been more hesitant to support Steuben, though the Initiative has been gaining steam of late.
“The list of household names from the American Revolution still unfound is dwindling, but the search for the remaining few people is as strong as the day it started. Washington, Adams, Franklin, Madison, and many of the more famous names have been found and confirmed. But one man still eludes the public, and he will be the topic of tonight’s special:
“Where Is Thomas Jefferson?”
“Name?” Thomas asks, a sharpie in one hand and a cup in another. The latino man at the counter smirks.
“You know who I am,” he says. Thomas stifles a sigh.
“I’m sorry sir, but I need your name,” he says, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
“My name is whatever your number is,” the customer says, flashing what he must think is a flirtatious look.
“Your name, sir. Please,” Thomas says through a gritted smile. The man rolls his eyes and stands up from where he was leaning on the counter.
“Hamilton,” he says. Thomas nods, scribbling the name down on the coffee cup.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he says, turning away to hand the cup to his coworker, Kyle. He can feel Hamilton’s eyes on his ass and he has to resist the urge to call him out on it. Kyle shoots him a sympathetic look as he brews Hamilton’s triple espresso. As Hamilton walks away to a table, Thomas lets out a breath.
He’d be annoyed if Hamilton’s flirting didn’t drive him so goddamned crazy.
Thomas just had to have chosen the one coffee shop in all of New York Hamilton liked better than any other to work in. Thomas wasn’t even supposed to be here, he was supposed to be a young, hot-shot lawyer rising the ranks at a blinding speed. Had he stayed in Virginia, he might have been just that. But Thomas couldn’t stay in Virginia, not if looking around at the rolling farmland made him feel as guilty as it did.
So to New York he went, only to find that no one wanted to hire a no-name Virginian law student. And here he was, a barista in the morning, a waiter in the afternoon and a bartender ar night. It was hell, but it had been fine until Hamilton walked back into his life. The universe couldn’t just let him atone for his crimes in peace, could it?
The bell signaling the door opening rang, and Thomas plastered a smile back on his face. He turned around to greet the new customer. “Hi, welcome to-”
“Laf!” Hamilton exclaims. The new customer- tall, dark skinned with hair pulled back in a bun- turns in the short man’s direction and beams.
“Mon petit lion,” he breathes. Hamilton rockets from his seat and throws his arms around Lafayette’s middle. The taller man stumbles back under the force of Hamilton’s hug, but keeps his feet. For a moment, both men simply stand in the middle of the cafe in a tight embrace.
“I’ve missed you,” Hamilton breathes. Lafayette chuckles.
“How did you recognize me?” Lafayette’s accent is much thinner this time around, Thomas notices, much easier to understand. Hamilton pulls back and grins up at the man.
“You’ve been on tv, you dolt. Come on, then. We gotta talk.” Hamilton grabs Lafayette by the wrist and tries to pull him back to the table Hamilton had chosen.
“I have to order, no?” Lafayette motions in Thomas’ direction. Thomas, the customer service smile still stretched across his face, suddenly feels a pang of fear. Hamilton huffs good naturedly, and lets Lafayette go. Lafayette rolls his eyes and turns back to Thomas.
“My apologies. My friend can be very excitable,” Lafayette says.
Oh I know, Thomas thinks. Out loud he says. “It’s alright sir. What can I get you today?” As Lafayette rambles off his order- something really complicated and full of caramel- Thomas tries to keep his head down as much as possible. Hamilton had never recognized him, thank god, but Lafayette was a different beast. Thomas had actually been friends with Lafayette. No matter that Thomas looked nothing like he used to.
Lafayette finishes his order and Thomas nearly forgets to ask him his name before automatically scribbling it down on the cup. Thomas stutters as he rushes the question, trying to cover for his mistake.
“Laf is fine,” Lafayette says. Thomas nods and writes the nickname down, shoving the cup in Kyle’s direction just as Kyle hands him Hamilton’s completed order.
“Hamilton,” Thomas calls out into the cafe.
“I’m right here,” Hamilton says, still standing right beside Lafayette. “You really think they’d start to remember regulars,” he grumbles to Laf in French. Thomas grits his jaw, his knowledge of languages having survived the reincarnation. Lafayette sighs and says something back, but Thomas doesn’t want to hear.
Once a stuck up shit, always a stuck up shit, Thomas thinks to himself, but it’s not completely without a fondness to it. Hamilton takes his drink from Thomas. Like always, Hamilton lets his hand brush Thomas’ and Thomas jerks his hand away like he’s been burned. Hamilton rolls his eyes and takes a drink, lips wrapping around the straw. Thomas swallows and turns away, fumbling around with one of the blenders like he’s actually working and not drowning in his own emotions.
“Come on, Laf,” Hamilton says. “Sit while they make your shit.” This time, Lafayette lets himself get led away, but not before shooting an apologetic look in Thomas direction. Thomas watches them go, Hamilton already rambling about something.
Thomas watches their conversation out of the corner of his eye, Lafayette looks excited, overjoyed to be reunited with his old friend. A ball of sadness lodges in Thomas’ stomach. Laf probably hates me now, he thinks. Everyone would. So he tries not to get caught sneaking glances at two of the most important men from his last life.
When he calls for Lafayette, the Frenchman comes up to the counter with the same easy grace he always had. When Thomas hands him his drink, he give Thomas a little knowing smile. Thomas stomach plummets, but Lafayette doesn’t say anything, just skips away back to Hamilton.
Thomas glances at the clock, ten minutes until he’s off. He breathes a sigh of relief and busies himself cleaning the countertop until the phone in his pocket buzzes. Silently cheering, Thomas runs in the back and drops off his apron. He collects his stuff quickly, tearing his poof of hair out of the hat and shaking it out. He leaves the back room just as his replacement comes in and Thomas waves goodbye to her and Kyle both.
Bag slung over one shoulder, Thomas speedwalks through the cafe, trying not look over at-
“Hey! Wait a moment!” Lafayette calls and Thomas stumbles over his own feet. He bites his lip, eyeing the front door. He doesn’t have to go over there, he really doesn’t. He can leave, no problem. “Please, just come over for a second, yes?”
It’s Lafayette, Thomas’ brain says, and Thomas sighs. He changes course, coming over to stand by the two men’s table. “If you want something, I’m off the clock,” Thomas informs them, frowning. Lafayette shakes his head.
“Alexander has something to ask you,” he purrs, looking at Hamilton with both eyebrows raised. Hamilton coughs and shifts in his seat. Thomas looks at him curiously, wanting to be anywhere but here. He catches himself staring at the man’s eyes and tries to look anywhere else.
“I uh, wanted to know,” Hamilton takes a breath, “wou-why are you such a dick?” He says, words rushing to cover up something else. Thomas starts, feeling his face arrange itself in a familiar wall of disgust. Lafayette jerks, surprise flooding his features. Hamilton keeps talking, words flooding out of his mouth like they always did. “I mean, I know you recognize me every day. I get it if you don’t like me, but why?”
“You don’t impress me,” Thomas replies, the first reason that pops to his head that won’t immediately out him. Hamilton’s brows furrow, then a look of understanding crosses his face.
“Ah, you’re one of those, are you?”
“One of who?” Thomas asks.
Hamilton scoffs. “‘It doesn’t matter who you were,’’ he mocks. “‘It only matters who you are.’ One of those people. Full of bullshit.”
“Mon ami,” Lafayette says, voice full of warning and concern. Hamilton rolls his eyes.
“You know it’s bullshit. People who say that are just jealous they never managed to do anything with their last lives.”
Lafayette’s lips purse. “Well, I’m sure his last life was perfectly good. I’m sure you were wonderful,” he says, looking up at Thomas hopefully. Thomas levels him with a glare.
“I was a slave plantation owner,” he says. Lafayette blinks, Hamilton chokes on his coffee.
“Jesus,” the shorter man coughs. “That’s not usually something people just admit.” Hamilton looks at Thomas with wide eyes. Thomas sighs.
“Yes, well, it’s true and normally gets people to shut up and leave me alone,” he says pointedly. Lafayette looks ashamed, and looks down at the table. Hamilton’s jaw grinds, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but Thomas takes this as his cue to get the hell out of there. He spins on one heel and takes off, heading for the door. He hears them start to mutter to each other in French.
“A slave owner, Laf,” Hamilton sighs.
“Well, he seems pretty repentant…” Laf trails. “It’s okay, my friend. You’ll win him in the end. You always managed to get everyone in the end.”
“Everybody but one.”
Thomas doesn’t hear anything else, just listens to his own footsteps as he starts the multi-block journey to his second job.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Thomas mutters, catching a glimpse of the group that just walked in the door. Hamilton approaches the hostess, but Thomas is too far away to hear what he’s saying. He watches, holding his breath, as Jenna pulls out three menus and leads Hamilton, Lafayette and the new addition to their group through the restaurant.
Of course she seats them right in the middle of Thomas’ tables. Just fuck me, Thomas thinks. God strike me down now. Lilly passes him with a tray of drinks and he tries to get her to take the Hamilton table, but she’s full up and Thomas has nothing to trade. So he putters about, trying to delay the inevitable. But time is passing and Hamilton is starting to look a little antsy, so Thomas bites the bullet.
“Hi, welcome to Lewis and Clark’s, my name is Thomas and I’ll be your server for today.” The usual greeting comes out in a rush. Thomas fiddles with his pen and tries not to make eye-contact. Maybe they won’t recognize him. Maybe-
“Well, look at this. It’s the unimpressed barisa!” Hamilton exclaims. Thomas stifles a groan.
“Can I get you started with some drinks?” He asks, just wanting it to be over. Out of all the cosmic punishments Thomas deserves, this is not one of them.
“Lemme introduce you to James Madison,” Hamilton says, jerking his head at the third person at the table. Thomas blinks, looking up but having to hold back his excitement. It is James alright, the new James that’s still sickly and quiet looking. Hamilton chuckles at Thomas’ expression. “Impressed yet?”
Thomas fights to keep his face neutral, but being this close to Jemmy is making it difficult. James looks at him like he’s a complete stranger, which is fair, Thomas supposes, but it hurts. Instead, he clears his throat.
“Would you like something to drink? Or perhaps you’re ready to order?” He says tersely.
“James Madison, you know,” Hamilton drawls. “Fourth President of these United States? Wrote the Constitution?” Thomas breathes through his smile, just about ready to reach over and tear Hamilton’s face off.
“Let it go, Hamilton,” James breaks in, his voice just as quiet and stoic as Thomas remembers. “We’re here to discuss things.”
Hamilton frowns at him “But-”
“If you spend the entire time messing with our poor waiter, we won’t get anything done,” James says. Hamilton grumbles something and settles into his seat. Lafayette just gives Thomas another apologetic looks as they order drinks.
Thomas practically jogs away from their table, and wastes as much time as possible doing the rounds to his other tables. When he finally runs out of things to do, he drags his feet getting their sodas and bringing them to the three. As he gets closer, he can hear their conversation.
“…only wish we could find Thomas,” James sighs. Thomas swallows, feeling his chest tighten.
“Your drinks, sirs,” he says, handing Lafayette a cherry cola. He nods his thanks as Hamilton scoffs.
“Jefferson? What makes you think he’d support the Initiative?” He asks. “Of all people.”
“Yes, Hamilton.” James nods. “I don’t know about Lafayette, but I remember certain interesting conversations with Thomas.” Laf nods as Hamilton’s eyes go wide.
“Jefferson?” He asks. James nods again. Thomas tries not to glare at him as he puts down the last drink, his hands starting to shake. Lafayette looks at him in concern, but Thomas busies himself by pulling out his notepad again.
“He’d support the Initiative.”
“What if he wants to ‘protect his reputation?’”
“Thomas Jefferson has no reputation to protect, his current one people respect is based on half-truths and he should be remembered for the lying, hypocritical slave-owning cheating bastard he was.” Thomas clicks his pen, the men at the table gone silent and looking at him in shock. “Can I take your order?”
Thomas watches all three of them process what he just said. Lafayette looks like he can’t quite believe what he just heard, James looks mildly upset, but Hamilton is pissed. His face turns a familiar bright red and he scowls.
“How fucking dare you?” Hamilton spits. Thomas cocks one eyebrow, as if urging Hamilton to argue, but he’s honestly curious as to why Hamilton looks this angry. “Thomas Jefferson was one of the smartest men I ever knew.”
“Just because he was smart doesn’t mean he was a decent person,” Thomas counters. “What would you like for lunch?” Hamilton hits the table, causing the cups and silverware to rattle slightly.
“Look, Jefferson might have had some backwards ideas, owned slaves and been a general obstructionist bastard-” ah, there’s the truth, Hamilton, Thomas thinks, “-but he was also a great writer and debater and really wanted the best for his country so you can fuck off.”
Hamilton is on the verge of hyperventilating in anger, and Thomas can’t quite believe what he’s just heard. Hamilton, complimenting him? They look at each other in silence, each seemingly daring the other to speak again.
“I’ll take the reuben,” James says. Thomas breaks his staring contest with Hamilton to smile and nod. He scratches James’ order down and Lafayette follows, ordering for Hamilton when the shorter man won’t speak.
The rest of Thomas’ shift passes quietly, Hamilton glaring whenever Thomas draws near and Thomas never staying long enough to start up an argument. But something in him wants to, wants to have one last full-blown debate with Hamilton, just one last time. Like the old days, back before Thomas got a second life and realized what a piece of shit he’d been the first time around.
Hamilton doesn’t tip, but James leaves him enough to cover for it.
Thomas takes over for the last bartender, throwing a rag over his shoulder and getting into the right mindset to do his job. No more mulling over Hamilton or Laf or James. Just make some drunk people some more drinks and get out of here. Thomas manages to lose himself in the mixing of countless cocktails and pouring of beer. Some guy rambles to him about his ex-girlfriend, and Thomas pretends to care, but just lets the guy talk.
Thomas has made it halfway through his shift when he looks up and sees George Washington walk in. It’s not unusual, Washington likes this bar enough to come in regularly enough. Thomas actually doesn’t mind. He likes talking to Washington, the old general is one of the few reincarnates that doesn’t make everything about his old life.
Thomas smile falls as he watches James, Laf and Hamilton file in behind Washington. Washington leads the group over to the bar and Thomas turns around to compose himself. He lets out a breath. Today just doesn’t end, does it? He makes Washington his usual and turns around just in time to meet him.
“Thanks, Thomas,” Washington says, taking the glass of whiskey. “Get these boys whatever they like and put it on my bill.” Thomas nods, and looks down the line. When he gets to Hamilton, he scowl and look of sheer anger catches Thomas a little off guard.
“Are you serious?” Hamilton hisses. Thomas nods, shooting him a little smile. Washington looks at Hamilton questioningly, and James looks like he’s already developing a headache.
“This is the asshole who insulted Jefferson, sir!” Hamilton exclaims, pointing at Thomas. Washington looks back at Thomas, who shrugs.
“I simply spoke my mind about the man.” Thomas looks at Hamilton dead on. “Now, I’m only going to ask you once this time. What would you like to drink?” Hamilton looks like he’s about to burst into another rant, but just spits a request for a bottle of Sam Adams. The four men settle onto bar stools and get to talking. Thomas tries not to listen, but he’s too curious.
The conversation turns to Steuben’s Institute again: Madison, Laf and Hamilton all begging Washington to throw his support behind it. Washington is simply listening in silence. All three men argue the same points, and it’s starting to grate on Thomas’ nerves. It almost sounds like an old cabinet meeting, but there’s no opposing viewpoint, no debate being had.
I can rectify that, Thomas thinks, and his mouth is already working before he can talk himself out of it.
“With all due respect,” he begins, “the Steuben Initiative is nothing but a way to get a few individuals recognized for being a ‘minority’ during a time when no one but straight white men were in power. It’s a cheap gimmick to get sympathy for people who shouldn’t have any.” Thomas continues to wipe down the counter, but he sees all four heads snap in his direction. “Furthermore, Friedrich Von Steuben is a known liar and historically bad with money. The Initiative will be bankrupt within a month.”
“You sure talk a big game for someone who works three minimum wage jobs,” Hamilton fires back. “Steuben is a hero and a symbol for the gay community. If there is any person who should be the face of it, it’s him. The only other names- Achilles, Sappho, Alexander the Great, Oscar Wilde- have either died a second time or haven’t been reborn yet. And the Initiative is not a ‘cheap gimmick.’ Historical figures who were not cisgender or heterosexual but would have been shamed at the time of their life or lives deserve the recognition!”
“Deserve the recognition now that it’s socially acceptable to be out, and not actually when it would have perhaps done something good for the gay community.” Thomas doesn’t believe a goddamned word he’s saying but oh, he’s having fun. He can feel the familiar feeling of adrenaline thrumming in his veins. And Hamilton, Hamilton, he looks gorgeous like his. Riled up and passionate.
“It would do wonders for the gay community! Having proof that people have always been something other than straight and cis is amazing! Imagine being a gay youth and being able to look in a history book and point out people like you that actually did something with their lives.”
“Imagine doing that for the African American community, or the Asian American community, or any other minority group in this country!”
“Oh, so because we’re not focused on racial minorities, we shouldn’t get anything? We aren’t just focused on white historical figures. POC LGBT people are just as represented. You’d know that if you actually knew anything about the Initiative. As it stands, you’re a minimum wage worker who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And the racial minorities argument is even funnier coming from an ex-slave owner.”
Thomas stops, his hand freezing on the counter where he was halfway through making Lafayette a refill. He looks up at Hamilton. “I’ll let you know I have a law degree from UVA. And I actually support the Initiative, how could I not? I’m just doing my job, Hamilton. What I’ve always done: argue with you.” The words fall out before Thomas realizes what he’s saying. Hamilton’s face falls into one of confusion.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. Thomas swallows.
“Nothing,” he mutters. “Forget I said anything.” Thomas finished Laf’s drink and goes to walk to the other end of the bar. Hamilton lunges over the counter and grabs a hold of Thomas.
“Alex, what are you doing!” Laf exclaims. Hamilton grits his jaw and ignores him.
“What do you mean, ‘what you’ve always done?’” He repeats, asking the question through gritted teeth. Thomas kicks himself, realizing that he’s gone and ruined everything.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Let go of me, okay? It doesn’t matter.” He tries to tug his hand free but Hamilton holds on. His eyes are searching Thomas’ face, and the sight of them sends pangs of longing through Thomas. Then, Hamilton’s eyes go wide in understanding.
“A slave owner who ‘always fought with me,” he breathes. Thomas winces, shutting his eyes and waiting for it. “Thomas Jefferson,” Hamilton says.
“What?” James asks.
“Thomas motherfucking Jefferson!” Hamilton exclaims, something akin to joy in his voice. “You everloving asshole!”
“Yes, yes, be proud of yourself Hamilton. Let go of my arm, would you?” Thomas grumbles. Finally Hamilton complies, and instantly Thomas misses the physical connection.
“Thomas?” Lafayette asks, as if he still doesn’t quite believe it. Reluctantly, Thomas nods. Laf’s face lights up, a grin spreading across his face.
“I can’t believe you never said anything! I’ve been going to that cafe for months!” Hamilton bounces in his seat, and Thomas can’t help but find it endearing.
“You’ve been flirting with me for months too,” Thomas reminds him. Instantly Hamilton’s expression of happiness falls, only to be replaced with embarrassment and anger.
“I’ve been flirting with Thomas Jefferson,” he mutters, dumbstruck and seemingly disgusted. Lafayette breaks out into laughter. Washington looks slightly amused, glancing between the two of them with an odd look.
James coughs. “Thomas, if it’s really you,” he says, “explain what you meant by what you said about yourself at the restaurant.”
Thomas freezes, and suddenly the mood turns more somber. Lafayette stops laughing and all four sets of eyes are on Thomas. “I…” he hesitates, “I realized that I was a piece of human garbage last time I was alive,” he says simply. Hamilton stares at him, eyes bugging out of his head. Thomas suddenly feels uncomfortable. “Well, it was great seeing you four,” he says. “I’m going to tell my boss I’m ill and go home. Then, I’m going to quit my three jobs and move far far away from all of you.”
Hamilton blinks. “What? Why?!”
Thomas sighs, throwing the towel in his hands under the counter. “I’ve been avoiding the spotlight for twenty six years. I’m not coming forward and associating with any of you is not going to help me stay under the radar.”
“You? Avoiding attention?” Hamilton looks completely dumbstruck. Thomas nods.
“I told you, I was horrible. I don’t want to be celebrated, not when people forget about the awful shit I did. So why don’t you just let me live my life in peace?”
With that, Thomas slides out from behind the bar and walks back into the kitchen. He makes up some lie for his manager about being ill and clocks out. His manager takes his spot behind the bar, and Thomas slips out the back door. He doesn’t want to risk walking through the bar proper. Who knows what Hamilton will do.
Thomas walks out into the night air and heads around the building. A plan is already forming in his head. Call tomorrow off, apartment hunt… in Boston. Boston, or maybe somewhere out west. Yeah, I’ll go out west. Thomas leaves the sidewalk by the bar and starts to cross the parking lot. He just needs to get out of here-
“Thomas! Wait!” Hamilton calls from somewhere behind him. Thomas groans and picks up the pace, power walking away from the shorter man. He hears footsteps approaching from behind and Thomas nearly breaks out into a jog. “Thomas, just hold on a moment.”
“Go away Alexander,” Thomas mutters. He’s almost to the other side of the lot now.
“No, Thomas. We need to talk.”
“About what?” Thomas whirls on him, startling Hamilton who is almost too close to stop in time. He jumps backwards to avoid hitting Thomas straight on.
“About… about you!” Hamilton exclaims. Thomas raises one eyebrow.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Hamilton. I don’t want to have anything to do with you or myself, thanks.” Thomas takes a few steps backwards, hoping Hamilton won’t follow, that he’ll let Thomas go on his merry way.
“Look, Thomas, we need you.” Hamilton does follow, jogging slightly to keep up with Thomas’ long stride. He’s just as short as always. “Think about it! All the major founding fathers supporting one cause! We’ve already got Monroe and-”
“I don’t want to tell the world I’m the hypocritical fuck known as Thomas Jefferson.”
Hamilton huffs. “We all did shitty things. We do sitty things. We’re fucking human. You want a good example of a piece of shit, you’ve got one right here!” Hamilton motions up and down his body. “You do remember the Pamphlet, yeah?”
Thomas stops, feeling his fists clench at his sides. “That was my fault,” he admits. Hamilton shakes his head.
“It’s far from your fault. You didn’t make me cheat on Betsy and you didn’t make me publish the damn thing.”
“If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in myself, I wouldn’t have pushed you that far!” Thomas protests. Hamilton makes an exasperated noise.
“We were all wrapped up in ourselves,” Hamilton points out. “Everyone but Washington, seems like.”
For a second, they just stand there, looking at one another. Thomas sighs, and shakes his head. “Hamilton, I said no.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Thomas goes to turn around, but remembers one last thing. “Tell James ‘thanks’ for outing me by the way. Really appreciate that,” he mutters. And then he takes off again, stepping up the curb and onto the sidewalk. He doesn’t hear Hamilton chase him, and he thinks he’s in the clear. He turns to make his way down the street and catches a glimpse of Hamilton standing in the middle of the lot by himself. He’s looking at his fists, glaring at them like he’s trying to convince himself to punch himself in the face. Then he looks up.
“One last thing!” He calls. Thomas stops, lets out a breath, and turns to face the man.
“What, Hamilton?” He calls back. Hamilton opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again as he takes off across the parking lot. There’s determination in every quick step he takes to Thomas.
“If you’re really going to leave, and I’m never going to see you again,” Hamilton begins, “there’s just one thing I need to do first.”
Thomas feels his brow furrowing, confusion spreading across his face. Hamilton just power walks as quickly as possible, right up into Thomas’ personal space. Before Thomas can step back or ask Hamilton what this is about, Hamilton grabs Thomas’ face in both hands, pops up on his toes, and kisses him.
Thomas’ eyes widen before sliding shut as he leans into it. Hamilton gasps underneath him and Thomas slides his hand into Hamilton’s smooth hair and finally, finally, gets the chance to do what he’s been wanting to do for a very long time. They stand there, together, on the street corner, breaking apart only for quick breaths.
“You everloving asshole,” Hamilton breathes when they finally run out of steam. They sit there, faces still so impossibly close. Thomas chuckles.
“Never thought that would ever happen,” Thomas admits. Hamilton falls back onto the flats of his feet and wraps his arms around Thomas.
“You were the one person I never had, but I wanted you the most,” Hamilton says, and Thomas’ breath catches in his throat. Slowly, as if in a dream, Thomas returns the hug. “Stay?” Hamilton asks, looking up at Thomas. “Just for a while. I… I won’t make you tell anyone who you are.”
Thomas looks down at Hamilton, the one man he had always said no to, and says yes.
Hamilton’s eyes light up and Thomas’ heart leaps at the sight. He leans down for another kiss, only to be interrupted by a cough. Both Thomas and Hamilton look up to find Lafayette, Madison and Washington standing in the lot.
“You were taking a very long time. We were…” Laf trails, eyes shining in wicked joy. “Worried something had happened.”
“Something certainly did happen, I’d say,” James interjects. Thomas chuckles but catches sight of Washington’s stony expression. Instantly, he freezes. Washington blinks, and then breaks out into a smile.
“It took you boys two hundred years. I’m not saying anything.”
Hamilton blinks, then starts to laugh, his shoulders shake in Thomas’ arms and Thomas squeezes tighter.
Thomas Jefferson was found in a bar parking lot, holding Alexander Hamilton in his arms.
Remember when Sehun went to Paris and the photographers at the LV show where screaming and saying “comment tu t'appelle?!” “What’s your name!” “Sir, look at me!” “Let me book you, sir!” And then Vogue saying how everyone at the show wondered “who’s that boy?”
i started on a super dark blurry + reader fic which is sorta like sadist tyler but i can do this one for now:
“you’re always so composed, you know that? you’d look so pretty tied up underneath me, crying and begging” tyler confessed to you one day. you were both having a lazy sunday in bed, and he was spooning you while you were watching a netflix horror movie marathon.
“begging you for what, hmm? and why would i be crying?” you ask, indulging him. you feel like you should be surprised, but in reality, you’re far from it. you’ve seen a certain glint in his eyes when you cut your finger chopping veggies. he cleaned your wound and wrapped it in bandage, but you could see the slightest hint of a smirk when you hissed at the sting. you also had a hunch for why horror was tyler’s favorite kind of movie. he enjoyed watching you squirm at particularly gory scenes, and jump at the jump scares. you noticed that you get super horny around your period, and a way to get his attention is to complain about your cramps. he’d ask questions about how bad it hurt, and it always ended in the most intense make-out and fuck-session. there had to be a reason for all this.
what you were surprised about was the level of arousal at his answers to your questions.
“you’d be begging for my cock, and for me to let you cum. but i wouldn’t let you. not unless you…” tyler stopped and you let out a sigh you’d been holding, swallowing hard.
“unless i what, tyler?” you asked, feeling him hardening against your ass. he kept quiet, breathing heavy.
“not unless you let me try something if i promise you’ll have a safe word” tyler said, wrapping his arm around your front and sliding his hand into your panties, sliding his fingers into your wetness.
“and judging from how wet you are, i think you’ll like it” tyler said, tone darker and giving you a head rush. he continued fingering you and he rocked his hips against your ass. you were hooked.
an hour later, tyler had you exactly where he wanted you. the safe word was “melon” and you surprisingly hadn’t thought about using it. not because what tyler was doing was too soft, but because you’d never felt more at the complete mercy to him. you were intoxicated by this side of him, and this side of yourself you didn’t know existed.
“please fuck me ty-i mean sir, please?” you beg, legs squirming as tyler slid his fingers up and down your inner thigh, teasing you. he had no emotion on his face as his fingers drew closer to your flushed, dripping pussy from his earlier ministrations that he didn’t finish. he had no intention of touching you, just studying your face and twitching body spasms. your ankles were tied to each end of the bed post, legs spread wide. your arms were tied above your head as well, which you’ve tested multiple times to free them to no avail. tyler laughed at your attempts.
“you wouldn’t escape if you tried, look at you. nothing but a little whore for me to use. if you really wanted me to stop, you’d use the safe word, right?” tyler asked. you whimpered in response, bucking your hips up.
“please” you add as his fingers lightly caress your outer lips. you squirm more, trying to get the slightest touch on your aching clit. the clamps he put on your nipples weren’t helping, making you all the more sensitive when you squirmed and your tits moved around. you’re sure you have the female version of blue balls. tyler laughs again at your attempts.
“answer my question or i can just stop playing with you altogether” tyler said, taking his hand away and pretending to look disinterested.
“okay, you’re right. i would’ve used the safe word” you said, confirming his thoughts. a mischievous grin spread on his face and he knelt between your legs. your instinct was to close them, forgetting they were tied, because you knew this meant another bout of pussy-play, slapping, and orgasm denial. your pussy couldn’t handle anymore abuse, already red and dripping with arousal. you haven’t even been penetrated yet.
“fuck, look at you. my own little…mmm.” tyler said, staring you up and down. you laid there, panting and bracing yourself for whatever lust-filled thing he had in mind. he bent forward and started eating you out, and your head spun with excitement at the direct stimulation. your legs jerked, desperately wanting to squeeze your thighs together and hold his head there. your arms jerked, wanting to comb your fingers through his fluffy dark hair and press his head down harder. you bucked your hips up, frustrated with his light, slow flicks of his tongue to your clit. it was enough to keep you on edge, but not get you to where you needed. he pulled away, smirking at your disheveled, desperate look.
“pleeeeeeease sir, please let me cummm” you begged harder than you ever had, actually sobbing. you were shocked at how far you let this go. it made completely no sense why you hadn’t said the damn word. but you knew if you did, it would be over, and tyler was loving this too much. you were loving this too much.
“so pretty, baby. so pretty for me, shhh” tyler soothed, straddling you so he could wipe your tears. he was still fully clothed and you hissed at the fabric of his shirt rubbing against your clamped nipple. your eyes closed from the praise, and when you opened them, you were staring into those dark, cold eyes. he kissed your lips and you invited his tongue in your mouth, kissing him back. it was wet, sloppy, and passionate. he moved back to kneeling between your legs and unzipped his pants, pulling out his rock hard cock that you’ve been craving. your pussy contracted at the sight and you were practically drooling.
“i think you deserve to cum now” tyler said, leaning over your body and guiding himself to your entrance. you gasped as he entered your slick heat and at how sudden you were full. your hands grasped at nothing, desperate to wrap yourself around him and get him deeper. but he did it for you, angling his hips and crashing them into you at a hard, steady pace. you were so overwhelmed with joy at finally getting what your body craved, you came uncharacteristically fast and hard, your face contorting and head tilting back as you squeezed around his cock. only then did his hips falter, slamming into you a few more jerky times before cumming inside you.
he rode out his orgasm, softly rocking into you until he softened and you relaxed around his cock. he pulled out, gently kissing your forehead, cheeks, and lips before removing the nipple clamps and untying your limbs. he held you for awhile, then you both took a bath and changed the stained sheets. replaying the events in your mind, you felt this was a side of tyler you could get used to.