#doing my part to keep them clean since 1799 when I started watching this damn show

[winchester-reload]

And they say romance is dead.

[my-dear-hammy]

Falling Through Time: Book 2

Masterpost

Jamilton Series Masterpost

Basking in Firelight

Part Twenty-Five

Old Wounds

----

Warnings: Mentions of blood, questioning life, questioning death, questioning existence, basically a small mental breakdown. Cause we all know I can only go so long before fucking something up.

----

Several days passed since Hamilton got Jefferson those horses and though life was overall the happiest it could be, Hamilton's worry for Jefferson was increasing. He slipped back in time more and more often, talking about the politics of the eighteen hundreds. Sometimes he would look around and then ask Hamilton why he was here and not at the presidential mansion doing everything he could to prevent a future war with France or England, other times it'd be why he wasn't in France trying to secure a treaty so they would help America fight for their freedom from the British Crown. Sometimes he would act as though everything was normal until Hamilton pulled out his phone or cleaned one of his guns. Jefferson would take it from him and inspect it like he'd never seen it before, asking how the magazine worked to allow one to fire it without reloading every shot, or how the screen of the phone lit up and moved when touched.

He'd always snap back to himself after a second, sometimes Hamilton didn't even have to point it out, Jefferson would just hand it back to him silently and go pound his head against the wall, go for a walk, or just sigh and let Hamilton hold his head while he stared absently at the ceiling. Why this was such a problem for Jefferson and not Hamilton, he didn't know, at least until one night.

Jefferson woke up screaming, clutching at his chest, sweat drenching his body. Hamilton was instantly awake and trying to soothe him as he frantically looked around, trying to get his bearings. When he finally realized he was a Monticello and Hamilton was beside him, he finally started to relax, but his hand remained clutched to his chest.

"What is it, Thomas? What happened?" Hamilton asked after Jefferson seemed to have calmed down.

"You won't believe this," Jefferson said shakily, "You and I left Monticello and returned to New York where I became president. You came to visit me one night as a way of saying goodbye just in case you would die in an upcoming duel with Burr. Well, I found out, naturally, and followed you there, where I found you facing off with Burr. My chest was filled with dread and I just knew that if I didn't get you out of there, you would never return to Monticello with me to live out a happy life. So of course, I shouted, but you didn't hear me, I ran for you but I knew I wouldn't make it in time, so I settled of blocking the bullet's path instead. I had to protect you. A-and, I died. Alexander, I died. You never die in dreams, you always wake up, but I died. It felt so real. I'm glad it wasn't though," Jefferson said, entwining his hand with Hamilton's. "You're still with me. I'm still alive. We're still in Monticello. Let's not go back to New York, okay? Let's just stay here."

"Thomas,"

"Please, Alexander. I know you always have to be in the thick of things, but please, at least until after the election of 1800. Then we can go do whatever you want."

"Thomas-"

"How about we go travel Europe? All of it. We can visit Lafayette on our way through. He'd enjoy that. You know, he'd be the one person that didn't care that we're together. He'd be overjoyed."

"Thomas-"

"I bet he'd throw a party. You know what, nevermind. That's probably not a good idea. He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it."

"Thomas!" Hamilton said sternly, finally catching Jefferson's attention.

"What?" Jefferson asked, looking at him.

"You did die. Your dream was real."

"What? No, I didn't die, look at me, I'm right in front of you, beating heart, working lungs. Still alive."

"You died over two hundred years ago in a duel with Aaron Burr on the 11th of July in 1804."

"That's ridiculous, it's January, 1799." Hamilton let him think for a moment. Jefferson closed his eyes, "Shit." Hamilton rubbed his back. "Shit, I can't believe I keep doing this."

"Take your time-"

"No! Don't you see? It's getting worse. Every day it happens more and more often."

"It just takes time-"

"Alexander, listen to me. This is not normal. None of this is normal. I'm not supposed to be here, we're not supposed to be here. We died. Do you understand that? We died. Dead. Gone. No longer of this earth."

"But we are here, Thomas. Against all logic and reason, we are here."

"But why? Why are we here?"

Hamilton thought for a moment, "To fix the country."

"What right do we have to fix the country? We're dead! *The earth belongs to the living, not to the dead.*"

"Thomas, we are alive, you have to get that through your head. We are alive, we are affected by what happens in the world. We bleed, we cry, we feel pain, we laugh. If we get shot in the head, we die, if we get stabbed in the heart, we die. We can die because we're alive. We are living. Okay?"

"Okay," Jefferson replied, shoulders slumping, hands rubbing his face, "I think I need a walk."

"No."

"What?" Jefferson asked, pausing.

"I said no," Hamilton repeated, climbing out of bed and walking around to Jefferson.

"It's never been a problem before."

"It's never been this bad before," Hamilton responded, stopping in front of Jefferson, crossing his arms defiantly. His stance and posture told Jefferson he was serious and he wasn't going to move out of the way.

"Fine," Jefferson said, slightly irritated, but too exhausted to fight back. "What is it you'd rather me do?"

Hamilton took one of Jefferson's hands and held it to his bare chest, "Do you feel that?" Hamilton asked, trying not to wince when Jefferson's ice cold hands came into contact with his skin. Shit, they were cold.

"What exactly?"

"My heartbeat." Jefferson remained silent, his gaze lowered. "Look at me," Hamilton commanded, holding Jefferson hand to his chest still. Jefferson met his gaze. "Do you feel it?"

Jefferson watched Hamilton's stubborn eyes intently, admiring the how the deep brown looked black in this light, like Jefferson could get lost in them forever. In fact, he could. "Yes," he whispered.

Hamilton placed his own hand on Jefferson's bare chest. "I can feel yours too. You know what that means?" Jefferson waited. "It means that there's warm blood pumping through veins. Blood that quickens when we kiss, blood that bleeds when we're cut, blood that slows when we sleep. Blood that flows in our bodies. It keeps us alive. And as long as our hearts are pumping, we are alive. It doesn't matter why, it doesn't matter if we already lived, it doesn't matter if we already died. We are alive now and I'll be damned if we don't wring every second we can out of it. So now you and I are going to climb back into bed and we are going to hold each other close enough that we can feel each other's heartbeat. Got it?"

Jefferson smiled slightly, "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Would you rather sleep on the couch?"

Jefferson laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Hamilton's lips, "Thank you, darlin."

"Oh get into bed for fuck's sake."

----

[my-dear-hammy]

Basking in Firelight-Jamilton Sequel-Part Twenty Five

Masterpost

Part Twenty-Five: Old Wounds

AN

I'm going to start puttin little *'s at each end of a real quote that Jefferson or Hamilton actually said in real life. so it would be like this: *------* Got it? K, good. ^-^

----

Warnings below

----

Several days passed since Hamilton got Jefferson those horses and though life was overall the happiest it could be, Hamilton's worry for Jefferson was increasing. He slipped back in time more and more often, talking about the politics of the eighteens hundreds. Sometimes he would look around and then ask Hamilton why he was here and not at the presidential mansion doing everything he could to prevent a future war with France or England, other times it'd be why he wasn't in France trying to secure a treaty so they would help America fight for their freedom from the British Crown. Sometimes he would act as though everything was normal until Hamilton pulled out his phone or cleaned one of his guns. Jefferson would take it from him and inspect it like he'd never seen it before, asking how the magazine worked to allow one to fire it without reloading every shot, or how the screen of the phone lit up and moved when touched.

He'd always snap back to himself after a second, sometimes Hamilton didn't even to point it, Jefferson would just hand it back to him silently and go pound his head against the wall, go for a walk, or just sigh and let Hamilton hold his head while he stared absently at the ceiling. Why this was such a problem for Jefferson and not Hamilton, he didn't know, at least until one night.

Jefferson woke up screaming, clutching at his chest, sweat drenching his body. Hamilton was instantly awake and trying to soothe him as he frantically looked around, trying to get his bearings. When he finally realized he was a Monticello and Hamilton was beside him, he finally started to relax, but his hand remained clutched to his chest.

"What is it, Thomas? What happened?" Hamilton asked after Jefferson seemed to have calmed down.

"You won't believe this," Jefferson said shakily, "You and I left Monticello and returned to New York where I became president. You came to visit me one night as a way of saying goodbye just in case you would die in an upcoming duel with Burr. Well, I found out, naturally, and followed you there, where I found you facing off with Burr. My chest was filled with dread and I just knew that if I didn't get you out of there, you would never return to Monticello with me to live out a happy life. So of course, I shouted, but you didn't hear me, I ran for you but I knew I wouldn't make it in time, so I settled of blocking the bullet's path instead. I had to protect you. A-and, I died. Alexander, I died. You never die in dreams, you always wake up, but I died. It felt so real. I'm glad it wasn't though," Jefferson said, entwining his hand with Hamilton's. "You're still with me. I'm still alive. We're still in Monticello. Let's not go back to New York, okay? Let's just stay here."

"Thomas,"

"Please, Alexander. I know you always have to be in the thick of things, but please, at least until after the election of 1800. Then we can go do whatever you want."

"Thomas-"

"How about we go travel Europe? All of it. We can visit Lafayette on our way through. He'd enjoy that. You know, he'd be the one person that didn't care that we're together. He'd be overjoyed."

"Thomas-"

"I bet he'd throw a party. You know what, nevermind. That's probably not a good idea. He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it."

"Thomas!" Hamilton said sternly, finally catching Jefferson's attention.

"What?" Jefferson asked, looking at him.

"You did die. Your dream was real."

"What? No, I didn't die, look at me, I'm right in front of you, beating heart, working lungs. Still alive."

"You died over two hundred years ago in a duel with Aaron Burr on the 11th of July in 1804."

"That's ridiculous, it's January, 1799." Hamilton let him think for a moment. Jefferson closed his eyes, "Shit." Hamilton rubbed his back. "Shit, I can't believe I keep doing this."

"Take your time-"

"No! Don't you see? It's getting worse. Every day it happens more and more often."

"It just takes time-"

"Alexander, listen to me. This is not normal. None of this is normal. I'm not supposed to be here, we're not supposed to be here. We died. Do you understand that? We died. Dead. Gone. No longer of this earth."

"But we are here, Thomas. Against all logic and reason, we are here."

"Buy why? Why are we here?"

Hamilton thought for a moment, "To fix the country."

"What right do we have to fix the country? We're dead! *The earth belongs to the living, not to the dead.*"

"Thomas, we are alive, you have to get that through your head. We are alive, we are affected by what happens in the world. We bleed, we cry, we feel pain, we laugh. If we get shot in the head, we die, if we get stabbed in the heart, we die. We can die because we're alive. We are living. Okay?"

"Okay," Jefferson replied, shoulders slumping, hands rubbing his face, "I think I need a walk."

"No."

"What?" Jefferson asked, pausing.

"I said no," Hamilton repeated, climbing out of bed and walking around to Jefferson.

"It's never been a problem before."

"It's never been this bad before," Hamilton responded, stopping front of Jefferson, crossing his arms defiantly. His stance and posture told Jefferson he was serious and he wasn't going to move out of the way.

"Fine," Jefferson said, slightly irritated, but too exhausted to fight back. "What is it you'd rather me do?"

Hamilton took one of Jefferson's hands and held it to his bare chest, "Do you feel that?" Hamilton asked, trying not to wince when Jefferson's ice cold hands came into contact with his skin. Shit, they were cold.

"What exactly?"

"My heartbeat." Jefferson remained silent, his gaze lowered.

"Look at me," Hamilton commanded, holding Jefferson hand to his chest still. Jefferson met his gaze. "Do you feel it?"

Jefferson watched Hamilton's stubborn eyes intently, admiring the how the deep brown looked black in this light, like Jefferson could get lost in them forever. In fact, he could. "Yes," he whispered.

Hamilton placed his own hand on Jefferson's bare chest. "I can feel yours too. You know what that means?" Jefferson waited. "It means that there's warm blood pumping through veins. Blood that quickens when we kiss, blood that bleeds when we're cut, blood that slows when we sleep. Blood that flows in our bodies. It keeps us alive. And as long as our hearts are pumping, we are alive. It doesn't matter why, it doesn't matter if we already lived, it doesn't matter if we already died. We are alive now and I'll be damned if we don't wring every second we can out of it. So now you and I are going to climb back into bed and we are going to hold each other close enough that we can feel each other's heartbeat. Got it?"

Jefferson smiled slightly, "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Would you rather sleep on the couch?"

Jefferson laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Hamilton's lips, "Thank you, darling."

"Oh get into bed for fuck's sake."

----

Warnings: Mentions of blood, questioning life, questioning death, questioning existence, basically a small mental breakdown.