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Chapter Text

Thomas Jefferson knew this wasn’t supposed to happen. He could blame it on the wine they had consumed, it seemed the only logical thing he could do. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he would willingly allow himself to take place in their home, let alone their bed.

He looked over at the Hamiltons, they seemed such a happy couple, They lay curled into one another, a domestic sight of pure bliss.

Thomas laid off to the side, rolling onto his back. He stared up into the ceiling, mind wandering. He questioned the time, eyes glancing quickly out the window. The darkness laid siege to the everything around him.

He sighed, the sound heavy in his ears. His chest felt tight as he resisted the urge to look over at the Hamiltons once more. They were happily married, and Thomas couldn’t stave off the feeling that he was intruding upon their happiness.

Reasonably, he knew that they had invited him in, but did he truly know their intentions behind it? For all anyone knew, it could simply a sick power play on Hamilton’s part.

Thomas tried to shove those nagging thoughts to the very bottom of his subconscious. They were too kind to do that to him, despite the fact that he was Alexander’s sworn political enemy.

His stomach curled with heat as he thought to the passion they so regularly shared within cabinet meetings. The fight, the fire, and the animosity between them in public translated to such affectionate lovemaking alone.

His hand drifted to his neck, where fresh love bites had been placed the previous evening, in an attempt to relieve the weight of his presidential campaign.

Per usual, he had been loud, a strange occurrence for him. He preferred to keep quiet while alone. Only the ministrations of the two Hamiltons could bring out the most intriguing of noises from deep within him.

As he closed his eyes, he could imagine their touches along his body. He titled his head sideways, pulling himself out of his imagination. He couldn’t be doing this to himself, he shouldn’t be here to begin with.

He was running for President, the president of a new country who’s only had one new leader to date. His every move was being scrutinized and this was a scandal simply waiting to happen. In all fairness, he could handle his own reputation crashing and burning, yet when he thought of putting the Hamiltons legacy at risk, his heart would clench and his throat would tighten.

It was then he’d decided, it wasn’t safe to continue. It would hurt, losing the only other intimacy he’d held after his dearest Martha had departed this Earth and since The Adamses had lost interest in him. He shook his head, he could bear to be alone if it meant saving the reputation of those he cared for now, with the same burning intensity as the aforementioned relations.

He carefully removed himself from the bed, attempting to do so with as little noise and movements as possible. The last thing he wanted was to be confronted as to why he was leaving.

He spared one last look at the peacefully sleeping Hamiltons before exiting their bedroom.

As Thomas walked back to his New York apartments, he made a mental note to start packing up in the morning. If he were to campaign in the 1796 election, it would be best to do so far away from the Hamilton family.

When he arrived home, he noticed his only surviving children from his late wife, Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson.

“Father,” Martha Jefferson Randolph, the eldest of all the children that he’d once had, curtsied. Patsy was her nickname, and she was called so endearingly by all those around her. She was at the ripe age of 24, married for 6 years and counting, having already borne four children, losing one daughter, Ellen Wayles Jefferson I. To honour the daughter she had lost in 1795 while on a trip to improve her husband Thomas Mann Randolph’s, health, they named their next child Ellen Wayles II. Patsy, despite bearing the name of her mother, was Thomas’ carbon copy. She shared his fiery passion and intellect. She was never one to submit, and fought for what she knew was right. He supposed that she had inherited half of her composure from her mother as well. Yet, when it came to work, Patsy was more of a “get down in the dirt and do it yourself” kind of woman. She was fearless, and so very adult. She was only ten when her mother had passed. He knew that upon her deathbed, Martha had asked Patsy to care of the family for her. It made Thomas’ heart twinge, knowing that he had subjected Patsy to the need to grow up rapidly in order to take care of her sisters while he was in a debilitating state of grief after his wife’s passing.

“Papa!” Mary Jefferson explained, hurrying over to her father. She was but 18 years old. She was affectionately known as Polly to her family, and Maria to her close friend and her suitor, John Wayles Eppes. That, however, did not stop her bright ideas and soulful kindness towards others. She was most like her mother, carrying the more feminine talents. She had also inherited Martha’s dashingly beautiful looks. She could make heads turn in any room she entered. Her generosity matched her beauty, as she had a soft heart for those in need. Jefferson always admired how close the two sisters were, despite being separated for a period of time after their mother’s passing. She was a very high principled girl, with a very mild tempered. Although her wit and knowledge wasn’t as sharp as her sister’s, it never seemed to stop her nor hinder her in any way. The two sister could sit together and discuss many topics for hours, simply strengthening the bond between them.

Thomas slumped down into one of the chairs in the parlour, examining his daughters.

“Were you with them?” Patsy questioned, taking a seat as well, fixing her skirts around. She looked at her father, eyebrow quirked and arms crossed. Mary took a seat next to her sister on the arm of the sofa, he skirts swaying around the dainty heels she was wearing.

Thomas weakly nodded his head, gaze cast downward.

Patsy sighed softly, “you are aware this is a scandal waiting to happen, yes?”

“I know.”

“Father, you have to make a decision. I wish to see you happy, but you cannot have both.” Patsy said, keeping her tone soft and reassuring for her father. She had watch him struggle and drown in grief after her mother had passed. She had been the one left to pick up all the broken pieces of her father. She had been 10 years old after her mother passed. She had been tasked with caring for her two sisters- baby Lucy and 4 year old Polly. She was always there for her father through everything. “You have to choose which one you long for the most. Papa,” she paused, it had been so long since she had called him by that, “you’ve dreamed of being President since the new country was formed, this is your chance, are you willing to throw it away for two married people who have a family, and could survive without you?”

Thomas choked on a sob, he knew that Patsy was right. She was always right. She had inherited his wits after all. He longed for this Presidency. He knew he could do good for this country, he had good policies and ideals and he could help. He knew that, especially with his daughters by his side at the helm of the country, they could do good. Was he truly willing to throw his dream away for a warm bed and a good lay? He knew that the Hamiltons didn’t need him, they had each other. The Hamiltons has married in the war, several years ago, they had children and were in love. Thomas knew that he intruded in their marriage, that he didn’t fit in properly with their dynamic, despite how much he wanted to.

With a resigned sigh, he locked eyes with Patsy, “I have already resolved to stop seeing them as I made my way home.” He looked back to the floor, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes.

Both his daughters stepped up to him, pulling him into a hug.

“Papa, what will you do?” Mary asked, looking over her father sadly.

“I will be returning to Monticello while my campaign progresses.” Thomas decided firmly. “That way I can avoid the Hamiltons, and any pain or temptations they might bring me.”

“I can return with you,” Mary offered, looking worryingly over at her father. “I’m sure John would have no objections to me keeping you company while you campaign for your presidency.”

“And I shall return as well. I could work to manage your campaign, as well as accompany you as First Lady should you win.” Patsy declared. “I may be a woman, but I have the intelligence of one of the smartest men in America,” she beamed at her father, her comment implicating him, “and I shall convince my husband to accept this, for you mean far more me to me, father.’

~~

It was the fight and the fire and the passion.

Their bodies melded together, it was skin upon skin. The air hung hot and heavy within the room. Moans and whimpers pierced through the air.

Once finished, the three of them fell back onto the bed, panting loudly.

Thomas curled onto his side at the edge of the bed, skin sticky. He longed to be in the middle of the Hamiltons, wanting to feel the press of their bodies against his in a loving, non sexual.

However, he knew that he couldn’t allow himself to do that. It would be unfair to them, and frankly, rude. Alexander and Elizabeth were a happy family, they had their children and each other. Thomas knew that he was simply someone to be called upon on occasion, despite the fact that he ached for more.

He ached for the love and the passion that the married couple shared with one another, something he hadn’t felt since his beloved Martha had passed.

“You’re withdrawing,” Alexander remarked, turning over to look at the secluded Thomas. “You’re isolating yourself from us, why?”

Thomas watched as Alexander ran nimble fingers through the sleeping Elizabeth’s hair. He was propped up on his side, the arm not being used to card through Betsey’s hair was being used to hold up the immigrant’s small frame. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You used to be a lot more affectionate with us, you’re pulling that back now, why?” Alexander pressed, violet eyes piercing into Thomas’ soul. “We miss you, the real you.”

Thomas turned away from him, refusing to answer. He didn’t want to, he felt as if he would never truly fit within them. He bit back the sob that welled up in his throat.

“I suppose I’ll just have to force it out of you,” Alexander, mused, fingers dusting over Thomas’ sides as the older squirmed.

Thomas gasped, “Alexander-!” he tried to get away from the Caribbean male, “stop-!”

Alexander only pushed further, as he tickled Thomas, he pressed kisses to Thomas’ clavicle, murmuring soft compliments and sweet nothings against the smooth skin.

E lizabeth rolled over, having been stirred awake by the antics of her two beloved boys. “Now,” she quipped, “what have you gotten yourselves into?”

“Thomas is being stubborn,” Alexander explained to his beloved wife, laying a sweet kiss to her lips, “And I’m attempting to get the truth out of him with his weakness- he’s ticklish.”

Elizabeth turned her soft gaze to Thomas, auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, “my baby, whatever is the matter?”

Thomas huffed, shrinking under Eliza’s gaze. He knew that there was nothing but love and genuine concern there, but he could not help the shame bubbling up within him.

His heart dropped in his chest, and he glanced around quickly. His mind quickly spiralled into negativity and his breath hitched. He started to shake and tried sinking down into the mattress.

Elizabeth pulled back, keeping her gaze on the shaking man. She continued to watch him until he evidently calmed down.

“Thomas?” Alexander said softly, reaching out to the trembling male. He brushed Thomas’ hair gently.

Thomas laid there numbly, until he eventually fell asleep with his head in Alexander’s lap.

~~

He had lost. Thomas Jefferson had lost the election. He had come in second place, The Vice President, to John Adams. He was once again Adams’ underling, without any of the love and passion they had previously shared.

This fact led Thomas to a laughter. It was a laughter of a man who had truly lost everything, of someone who felt his whole world slipping. The laughter of someone who felt mania grasping him. His laughter soon turned to broken sobs.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, sobbing at his Vice Presidential desk. He sat there, shaking. He felt his whole world crashing down around him and he was shaking heavily. His mind disassociated once again.

John Adams heard whimpers and sobs coming from the Vice President’s office. He cracked the door open and witnessed the heart wrenching sight of Thomas Jefferson sat at his desk. The boy stared blankly at a wall, eyes red and puffy with tear streaked cheeks. John entered the room, and placed his hand against Thomas’ cheek, bringing the boy back to reality.

“Adams?” Thomas croaked, heart stinging at the sight of his former lover. “Wh- what are you doing here? Why are you in my office? You’re the President and you really shouldn’t concern yourself with-” He was caught off with Adams’ chapped lips pressing against his own.

“Come home with me.” John said softly, helping Thomas up to his feet, draping his waistcoat around the trembling redhead. He kept his arm around Thomas’ waist, gently leading him to his apartment.

“Abigail! We have a visitor!” John called out to his beloved wife, gently sliding his coat off of Thomas.

“John Adams! What did I tell you about bringing home guests without giving me a warning in advance!” Abigail scolded her husband, skirts bustling as she scurried into the living room with a wooden spoon in hand.

“This is a very special guest,” John noted, smirking in amusement as Abigail dropped her spoon and went flying towards Thomas, arms outstretched, when she noticed the boy. She secured her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

Thomas squirmed sheepishly, not willing to admit to himself how much he had missed the Adamses. He melted into Abigail’s arms.

He lost track of how long he stood wrapped in the arms of his previous lovers.

They guided him to the couch and Abigail returned to the kitchen. She brought over some macaroni and cheese- a meal she knew that Thomas had fallen in love with while in France.

Thomas beamed excitedly, cocking his head to the side. “For me?” He asked, a slight lisp slipping into his tone, “please?”

“Of course, baby,” John laughed softly, pulling the boy into his lap and held the bowl for him, gently feeding him with the spoon.

~~

Thomas had spent a wonderful four years being reintegrated into the Adamses life. He wasn’t sure how long he would have them back in his life.

It turned out that it would only last those four years.

Both John and Thomas decided to run for President once more, this time with Thomas winning.

He stood on the podium, at his inauguration, eyes scanning the crowd for any sight of John or Abigail. His heart dropped when he realized that neither had shown of them had shown up.

They hate me.

I beat John, they never want to see me again.

Did I lose my whole world? Again?

They hate me.

I’ve burdened them.

They hate me.

Thomas felt the tears well in his eyes as he attempted to make his speech. He stuttered and stammered his way through it, hurrying off the stage once he had finished.

His years in presidency passed through. Over the course of it, he lost his dear daughter Polly, receiving a simple condolence letter from Abigail Adams.

~~

In 1826, Thomas laid upon his death bed. Several years ago, he’d picked back up correspondence with the Adamses again. His heart had broken when Abigail had passed back in 1818.

He let out a feeble breath and looked up. A youthful Abigail, from their 1776 years. She reached her hand out to him and he gladly took it.

“Abigail,” he smiled softly, “I missed you.”

“Let’s go get John.” She answered, lightly kissing his cheek.

The two of them had retrieved John later that day and they stepped into the afterlife together.

Chapter Text

It was a loud, aggravating beeping that roused Thomas Jackson from his deep sleep. He groaned, slapping his hand over the annoying alarm clock.

“Bonjour, mon ami! Reveillez-vous!” Thomas’ energetic, and very French, roommate exclaimed loudly.

“Motier, I will murder you, I fucking swear to -”

Paul Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette from France, grinned cheekily at Thomas, as the latter flipped him off, face shoved in a pillow. “My dear Thomas, you need to get out of bed. It is freshman year of college! And you have your special performance tonight.”

Thomas groaned again, still making no effort to leave his bed.

Motier rolled his eyes and pulled Thomas out of the bed, much to the other male’s dismay.

“I hate you.” Thomas announced, sitting up upwards on the floor in a tangled mess of blankets.

“I know!” Motier chirped, returning to his vanity to apply some touch up makeup.

Thomas sat pouting on the floor, grumpy at being woken up in such a rude way.

Motier sighed, “do I have to do everything myself?” He asked, hauling Thomas up off the floor. “Jackson, do not test my patience. I will get your paramours.”

Thomas gasped, hurrying over to his own vanity to get ready for the day, exchanging his thick framed glasses for simple contacts.

While he loved his Abigail Hobbs and John Danois, they were slightly terrifying when angry. Not that they would be angry, per se, more that they would give him that scolding look that always makes his heart hurt inside. They only wanted the best for him, and that often meant handling him with a firm, but gentle, hand.

“Why don’t you wear your glasses on a more regular basis, Thoma’?”

“They’re humiliatin’.”

“Pourquoi?”

“I don’t people knowing how blind I am!”

“A fair point.”

Thomas didn’t bother dignifying Motier’s answer with a response, choosing instead to apply a light touch of makeup to his already refined features.

“What are you playing at the performance tonight?”

“Why?”

“Because I am your friend, et je suis, how you say, curieux?”

Thomas sighed, “you know English perfectly well, jackass.” he insulted fondly.

Motier blew a raspberry at him, “answer me.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Fine, my first set is on piano and I’ll be performing Mozart.”

“And your second set?”

“Violin.”

“The songs?”

“A surprise.”

Motier snorted, “a surprise, hah, fine then. Keep your secrets.”

“Oh, believe me, I will.”

“And believe me, I will snoop through your sheet music.”

“Motherfucker, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Thomas jumped over at him, tackling him to the ground. “Stay out of my bag,” he threatened.

Motier simply laughed, flipping their positions and standing up, brushing himself off.

“Fine, fine,” he relented, “I will not snoop through your music, but, you must promise me front row seats to your performance.”

Thomas scowled at him, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Whatever, front row seats, sure. Just, let the music be a surprise.”

“A deal is a deal, mon beau.”

“Don’t call me that, it’s factually incorrect.”

“Ever the fact enforcer, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

Thomas was holding his mascara wand in a threatening way, ready to throw it at the Marquis if he was teased any further. Fortunately for the Marquis, two swift knocks at the door pulled Thomas away. He stood up to answer the door, stretching and popping his back.

“Put proper clothes on.” Motier reminded, not looking away from his mirror.

Thomas looked down, realizing that he was, in fact, still dressed in his pyjamas. He flushed in embarrassment, scurrying over to his closet. He pulled on a hoodie that he stole from John and a pair of ratty jeans, worn out from years of being worn at a farm.

The person on the other side of the door knocked again, this time more fast paced- almost as if they were starting to get annoyed.

“Coming!” Thomas shouted out, making his way to the door. He unlocked the door and it swung open, revealing Abigail and John.

“Good God, man!” John exclaimed, making his way into the dorm room by pushing past Thomas, “what took you so long to answer the door? Are the both of you deaf?”

“No!” Thomas huffed defensively at the same time that Motier stated, “He forgot to put on actual clothes.”

Abigail laughed softly, guiding a hand around the waist of both John and Thomas. “Come, let’s go get breakfast, before Thomas has to prepare for his big performance.”

“The more people mention it’s big, the more I get nauseated. Maybe I should just drop out of the show.”

“Thomas,” John sighed, “You are the show. It’s the first day, you can’t not do what you were chosen to do. You have a musical scholarship, for fuck’s sake!”

Thomas groaned, tilting his head so it laid on top of John’s to which the brunette huffed.

“Stupid tall bastard,” John insulted, lacing his fingers with Thomas’.

“Boys, behave.” Abigail warned playfully, laughing at the synchronized whine from both John and Thomas. “Now, let’s finally go for breakfast. I know the most darling little restaurant.”

“Have him back by 1pm, he needs to get to the auditorium for a dress rehearsal, makeup, hair, etc.” Motier called from his vanity.

Abigail promised to have Thomas back by then, hustling her boys out the door.

--

The diner Abigail had mentioned was one that they had found while on their University hunt. It was a quaint little place, taking inspiration from a classic 50s diner. There were mini jukeboxes at each table, as well as a larger one near the front door. The booths and stools had bright red padding and the floor was a lovely checkered red and white.

Abigail quickly bounded over to her favourite booth, dragging John and Thomas by the wrists. When they had seated her boys across from her. “I love you,” they said, hands fiddling with chestnut coloured curls, “both of you.”

John’s heart melted, reaching forward and grasping one of Abigail’s hands, kissing her palm. “My Abby, my dearest friend, I love you too.”

Thomas sniffled, eyes watering with tears. “I love you guys! So much,” he wept, the feeling of joy setting deep in his chest. He kissed John quickly before kissing the palm of Abigail’s other hand.

The waitress who was approaching the table to take their order cooed softly. “Aren’t y’all just the sweetest couple?” She was of a tall height, towering over the three of them while they sat. A kind smiled played on her lips. She had dark eyes, ones that sparkled and pierced your soul. She had blonde curls that tumbled over her shoulders, bouncing as she titled her head to the side with a smile.

Thomas flushed brightly at being addressed, but his Southern parents’ teachings wouldn’t allow him to not respond to the kind woman, “thank you, ma’am.” He said, bowing his head.

Abigail laughed softly, ruffling Thomas’ hair. “Thank you, kindly, madam.” She answered, still holding John’s hands while the other one made it’s way into Thomas’ hair.

“Now, what can I get for you lovely folks today?” The waitress, who’s name tag, upon further inspection, read Magnolia, asked.

“I would kill for some coffee,” John said without looking up from the menu, “as well as the sausage and egg breakfast meal, please.”

Abigail, who was originally peering at John’s menu, looked up at Magnolia, “an earl grey tea, some homefries, and some pancakes, please” they ordered gracefully.

Magnolia nodded and looked to Thomas, “And for you?” She asked kindly with a smile.

“Uhm,” Thomas stammered, ducking his head, “I’d like some uhm,” he looked at Abigail helplessly.

“He’ll have waffles with some apple juice, please.” Abigail told Magnolia, returning the smile.

The three of them sat in peace while waiting for their food. Thomas and Abigail each held one of John’s hands while tangling their own legs together. Thomas yawned, leaning his head against John.

Magnolia brought their food over within half an hour, setting the plates down in front of them.

Abigail moved with grace, pulling the dish close to her and tucking a napkin over their lap.

John was a little less graceful, put still polite. He sipped his coffee before digging in hungrily to his food.

Thomas jumped in excitement when his food arrived, scrambling for his plate. He start wolfing down the waffles, only momentarily stopping for sips of apple juice to help wash the food down. He was, of course, the first to finish his food.

Magnolia stared at Thomas, shaking her head and reminded herself that staring was rude.

“He does that,” Abigail assured, an attempt to relieve Magnolia’s questioning gaze, “he’s a rather rapid eater when he wants to be.”

Magnolia opened her mouth to answer, pausing as her eyes went unfocused. She came back to reality with a gasp, eyes focusing with recognition on the three.

Abigail jumped up, hustling Magnolia and John to a separate corner of the restaurant. “Martha!” She exclaimed, hugging the girl in front of her.

John gave Mag- Martha a nod of recognition. “Madam,” he greeted.

“Does he know?” Martha asked, gesturing towards Thomas.

“No, and we haven’t try to trigger his revelation.” John answered, glancing worryingly at his boy. “I think it might be too much for him to handle if he found out.”

“I’m so happy to have found you,” Martha said, her gaze focused solely on Abigail.

--

Thomas paced around the dressing room of the auditorium. His ginger curls were fashioned into a tight ponytail, the hardened hairspray irritating him. He chewed his hands as he walked, mentally reviewing the chords of the songs he’d be performing.

“Jackson?” One of the college juniors- an Eliza Scholing, he’d seen her hanging around the theater- told him.

He took a rattling breath, feeling his binder tighten against his chest. “I can do this.” He told himself as he walked to the stage.

He approached the standing microphone. “Uh- hello, everyone. My name is Thomas Jackson, I-” he stammered, eyes focusing on Motier, Abigail, and John all sitting in the front. Upon seeing them, he felt his confidence boost slightly. “I will be performing for you tonight. I will be staring on the piano. Please, sit back, and enjoy.”

He turned around, mentally rewarding himself for handling his speech as well as he did. He sat at the piano and begun to play. The opening notes of “La Vie en Rose” flowed through the auditorium. He parted his lips and began to sing. His eyes closed, knowing the keys he needed to play by heart. With eyes closed, he pictured himself with John and Abigail. They were happy, he could imagine a future. The three of them together, perhaps some children of their own. Before long, he’d finished the first song and moved onto the second.

The second song was one very dear to his heart. “La Fille de Personne ll” was a song he felt in his bones. A big fuck you to gender norms, he sang with renewed passion. The song always elicited a bright reaction from it. Not only did the message hit close to his heart, but the music was also a masterpiece in it’s own. He finished, holding out the last note, stood and bowed. His first set was finished, and an intermission was called.

He’d agreed to play, but only two songs each. He returned to his dressing room while the intermission took place. He took a sip of water and changed into his next outfit. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he headed back out to the stage.

The standing microphone was still in the place it had been originally, now with a violin on a stand next to it. He picked it up and began the haunting chords of “J’ai demande a la lune.”

He locked with eyes another junior named Alexander Hartwright, Eliza’s boyfriend. He felt an insurmountable and inexplicable feeling of guilt as he did.

He finished the song with a gasp, taking a long pause before starting again.

He struck the chords of his violin, “Fairytale” playing in a heart wrenching manner. He opened his eyes and saw a life pass before his eyes, a life that was his but was not truly his own.

--

Martha Jefferson, his wife, and their children. Calm days with her on the Monticello grounds. Picnicking at their honeymoon cabin, the birth of Patsy. The birth of their other children, of Polly. Grieving the ones that unfortunately didn’t survive. Leaving Virginia for Congress, leaving his Martha at the plantation.

Meeting John Adams for the first time, following him like a dog through Congress. Writing the Declaration of Independence. The feeling of declared freedom racing through Congress.

Returning home to a sick Martha, her passing in 1782. Going to France, being an ambassador for years.

Coming home to America, meeting the Hamiltons for the first time and falling head over heels.

Fighting with Alexander in the cabinet battles, drifting away from John at the same time.

Giving up the Hamiltons to run for President.

Losing against John and falling back into the Adamses hearts.

Winning the next election, losing John, being alone.

Spending years alone until hge finally picked up correspondence with his beloved Adamses until they all passed away.

--

“I’m fucked.”