Chapter Text
1.) Thomas had terrible anxiety.
Alex and Thomas were only a few days into their "friendship," he guessed you could call it. He really wanted to call it an acquaintance but they knew too intimate of facts about each other. It wasn't like he wanted to help "Thomas" through a panic attack but he couldn't just leave the man there. At least, that was his reasoning. He'd only helped because he'd never seen Jeffer-Thomas look so helpless and broken. It was wrong, to see a man he had associated with a strong, charismatic, and slightly annoying ego, crying and unable to breath. He had thankfully remembered grounding techniques he had been taught and put them to use. What probably surprised him the most about the event was the way Jef-Thomas had stood up, brushed his tears away and seemed almost unaffected by the whole ordeal. He'd walked out of the elevator every bit the pomp, pristine prince he'd walked in. He'd been silent the ride to Thomas' place because he had gotten whiplash from Thomas' change in personality. He had been unable to wrap his head around the way Thomas hid something so easily.
He'd walked into work today thinking about how he could absolutely destroy Jefferson (not Thomas, he became Jefferson for their debates) at the meeting today. But something made him freeze and think for a moment about something. If Thomas (not Jefferson but Thomas) could so easily brush off a panic attack that large, how often had they happened? The thought made him freeze and he remembered the way Thomas' hands had twitched to his necklace. He wondered what was on it as he often touched it, almost as if to check something was indeed there. He had often see Thomas do that but only now did he have the foresight and knowledge to speculate maybe, just maybe, that's how he calmed himself. As he thought back to all their arguments he finally recognized something, eventually Thomas' hand would twitch towards his necklace. He would then snap and wrap the argument up, through pushing it too far or through ignoring him.
He supposed the signs were all there. Thomas' avoidance of eye contact while speaking. Thomas' tendency to go spend time alone before and after a speech he had to deliver. Thomas' general quiet demeanor, with everyone but himself. Sure, he exuded charm and confidence but his aura he put off was "I know more than you don't even try," so people didn’t. Thomas actually seemed to be a professional at avoiding long talks with people, he thought. Thomas always avoided him, if he could get away with it. In fact the longer Alex thought about it the more obvious it became that Thomas must have some form of social anxiety, or anxiety in general.
Upon this revelation he immediately felt his gut twist in shame. He had some anxiety, it was rather mild, but to think he'd been putting someone he, albeit hated, through what he was once compared to living hell. He wanted to run over to Thomas and beg for forgiveness. He knew his pride wouldn't actually let him do that but he certainly felt like doing it. It was the thought that counted. He made himself a promise in that moment, he would immediately stop arguing with Thomas if he saw any signs of anxiety or unease.
He nodded to himself. Yes, this would work, he thought to himself. With that in his mind he focused back on his work. With new found determination he picked up his pen and began writing. There, easy enough to be dealt with.
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Not easy enough. Today he had planned on introducing his financial plan to the whole staff. Jefferson had barely let him get a word out before he was denouncing the whole plan, not even letting him explain the whole thing. It would have benefitted them so much if his plan had been approved. So here he was, arguing with Jefferson, again. He was red in the face and beyond frustrated when Jefferson began to lay in on him rather brutally, something about him being an orphan, again. He was flinging a particularly creative curse when Thomas' (they may be the same literal person but the mannerisms were different) hand reached up to touch his necklace. He froze, words on the tip of his tongue, hand half raised in a gesture, and legs locked in anger. He froze and felt his promise from earlier, it reverberated in his head, it poured ice into his bones, but most of all, it reminded him that Jefferson and Thomas were the same person.
He unlocked his legs and forced himself to sit. He unclenched his hands and calmly stacked his papers. The eyes of the room were on him but he ignored them. "You're absolutely right," he said, calmly, "I'll see to it that I revise my plan. Do you have any suggestions I should write down or would a meeting be better?"
He took out a notepad and pen too take any possible notes and finally looked up expectantly from his stare at the table. Everyone was frozen in various stages of shock. Washington had dropped his pen and was blankly staring at him. Adams looked like he had just had a stroke. All three of the Schuyler sisters were looking at each other with varying degrees of "unbelievable" on their face. His close friends (Laf, and Herc) were blinking dumbly at each other. Thomas himself was staring down at him in pure shock. This didn't even begin to cover all the assistants, some of whom had sputtered marvelously. He was pretty sure someone had done a spit take and someone else had choked on what they were eating.
He made an impatient gesture. Washington cleared his throat, and said, "Mr. Jefferson, your response?"
Thomas blinked out of his shocked stupor. He opened his mouth twice before anything came out. Finally, he said, "Right, I'm sorry Mr. President. Yes, I would..... I would like to make a meeting with you, Mr. Hamilton. If you'll come with me after this meeting I have a couple quick things to discuss then you can make an appointment with Sally that will work with both of our schedules."
He nodded, pleased. "That work for me. Is there anything else to discuss Mr. President," he said, turning to Washington.
Thomas sat down in the meantime. Everyone was getting over their shock. After all it wasn't too often (no one thought they had ever seen it) that one would see Hamilton and Jefferson agreeing on something. Not only that, Hamilton the by far and away more hot headed of the two had been the one to calm down and proceed calmly. Many of them had wished for things like this but it had been just that, a wish. No one had ever thought that this would actually happen. Many bets had even been made in the opposite result of this meaning. To put it simply, one Margarita Schuyler had just made a small fortune from her coworkers.
Washington shook his head, "That was the last thing for the meeting. I suppose you are all free to go."
Everyone got up, including him, some blinking more stupidly than others. He let most of them shuffle out, looking at him like had just done straight heroin in front of them. He waved his friends on when they went to stop by him. He waited until only he and Thomas (Jefferson?) were in the room. Thomas stood slowly, organizing his papers as he stood before packing them into his folder. He then turned on him, the look on his face one of complete and utter fury.He shrunk against the wall while Thomas (maybe this was Jefferson?) advanced on him. He was grabbed by the collar and pinned to the wall. He swallowed nervously as Thomas (Jefferson) leaned down into his space.
"What the hell was that today Hamilton?" He demanded.
He cocked an eyebrow in answer, "If we're alone I believe we established I am Alexander and you are Thomas. Besides I have no idea what you are talking about. I was merely being polite and courteous to you, as I should've been from the beginning."
He was released and he brushed himself off. An incredulous snort, "Liar, you were fully prepared to continue that argument. So spill, Alexander, what changed your mind?"
"I was merely being courteous, Thomas. Can you really find fault in that?"
A sigh, "Yes I can and I just did. Can you, please, tell me why you stopped now?"
He bit his lip and looked down, "Fine. I put some puzzle pieces together earlier. You seem to only reach for your necklace when you presumably feel overwhelmed or anxious. So, when I saw you reaching for your necklace I stopped," he began to ramble, "Besides it's not like it totally wasn't worth everyone's faces when we stopped. We should do this more often; it makes for a much faster time of our meetings."
Thomas' eyes widened in surprise as he continued to speak. He stood up and walked a few feet backwards from him. "You're serious?" He said incredulously, "There's no way you can seriously mean that."
"I do, and I intend to find out what most, if not all, of the signs are. I won't put you through torment for my own amusement," he said, earnestly.
Thomas nodded, observing him uneasily. He motioned for him to follow, so he did. Awkwardly he trailed behind Thomas. He put his hands in his pockets, to avoid making any awkward motions with them. They began to sweat as he began to worry over what Thomas wanted. (He was Thomas now, they weren't fighting, a first.) He gave Sally a small smile and she gave him a deadpan glare when he walked by with Thomas. When the door was shut behind him he swallowed nervously. Thomas circled around and sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He sat down on the plush (for an office chair) seat in front of Thomas' desk and pulled his hands out of his pockets to nervously wring them. Thomas studied him, deeply, and it was quite unnerving but he endured.
At length, he spoke, "What do you know, Alexander? Not what can you guess; what do you know?"
He fidgeted at the intensity of the gaze before responding, "I know you get panic attacks, a lot. You know how to hide when you're feeling anxious or scared. I know you hate when anyone sees you as weak and I know that you are anything but" the compliment was unintentional but true all the same, "I know, I know that you have some form of anxiety and it's not new. I know you're still dealing with your grief over your wife's death," a sharp inhale, "and, lastly, I know that you most likely do not want to have this conversation."
Thomas nodded and leaned into the back of his chair, looking to the sky, almost as if silently praying. This was, of course, slightly ridiculous given that Thomas was a deist but not completely out of the question. He wasn't about to point out what he was doing or how it seemed to be in conflict with his beliefs.
"What you said was true, all of it," Thomas admitted, voice quiet buy carrying well enough, "To let you know everything I'm about to put you in the position of holding my trust. I'm not too sure if you deserve to be in this position but I'm giving it to you all the same. I have social anxiety, had it all my life. It used to be worse when I was a teen but I believe I have gotten better at managing it. Not good enough, obviously, but, better. I often grab for my necklace when I feel overwhelmed or anxious. Another thing I'll do is twirl my pen. If you really want to help me with my anxiety then please, just leave me alone. I-"
"Like hell I will, Thomas! You obviously need some form of help more than James is able to provide. Look I know we don't trust each other, for obvious reasons, but, if we want to make this thing between us try and work we need to. Look I know for people with anxiety it's hard to make friends or friends that you consider legitimate. I guess you can say I know this from experience-" he broke off as Thomas began to chuckle, then full on laugh at him. Soon Thomas had tears running down his face. He crossed his arms in annoyance but waited for him to finish.
"Alexander, no need to tell lies you know," Thomas scolded.
He grew red in annoyance, "I'm not! Just because I'm fine now doesn't mean I always was. I used to be terrified of what everyone thought of me. Through years of reluctant therapy I've narrowed it down to only caring what a select group of people think of me. I hate that I need some form of validation so I feel better but I can't just leave it alone. One more thing is, I'm terrified of crowds, never let me alone in them."
"But you walk through crowds on a daily basis. You have to, being Secretary of the Treasury," Thomas pointed out, wiping the tears from his face.
"Yes and you deal with being anxious on a daily basis. We both live with it," He responded.
Thomas nodded and they lapsed into silence. They studied each other, looking for something. He was looking for some sign that Thomas accepted what he said.
The silence engulfed them. It bled into every pore of his skin and seeped through his bones. He could feel it settle in him and slowly begin to strangle him. He couldn't deal with silence; his mind worked too fast to deal with silence. Even now his mind began to froth with impatience as his thoughts came in flurries. The words beat against his skull and a question was posed, "why do I care what Thomas Jefferson thinks?" For once, he didn't have an answer. He was lost, why did he care? He looked down at his hands and searched for the answer. His thoughts had kicked into overdrive and he wanted, needed, to quiet them. He needed to say or do something, anything. However some small part of him reminded him that it was technically Thomas who should break the silence. He shifted his feet and reminded himself that not every silence was a judging one. His throat began to itch but he fought down the urge to cough.
The silence was drawing on too long. He was too consumed at this point. His thoughts threw terrible, horrible ideas at him. His hands moved to cover his face. He knew this was a terrible idea. Soon enough he could barely focus on what was actually happening in the real world. His mind was known for putting him through hell, but many didn't know that. His mind just would not shut up. He felt a hand on his shoulder and his hands fell from his face. He looked with wide eyes at Thomas who looked just a bit concerned. He cocked his head, " Yes?"
Thomas shook his head and said, "I'll email you later about my plan. For now, get out of my office. We can talk later."
He nodded and practically sprinted to his office, ignoring his poor assistant. (He'd had so many he forgot the names eventually. Her name started with an "S," maybe, he wasn't sure.) He locked his office door behind himself and collapsed in his swivel chair. He scrubbed at his face tiredly and looked to the sky. He hated when that happened. That was his problem some days; his mind just didn't shut down. He could talk and talk and talk somedays because he had to, not because he wanted to. He knew it wasn't exactly shall he say, normal, for someone to be consumed by their thought but he managed well enough. He began to work on calming his thoughts, not an easy task. He slowly and methodically sifted through them, sorting through them and managing them. Eventually he was rewarded with a not necessarily calm mind per say as a calmer mind.
He sighed heavily and slipped on his glasses. He could feel the headache coming on and he didn't want to make it worse and not use his glasses. His glasses were a small point of pride for him. Yes he did need them but they were so sleek he found he quite liked them. Speaking of glasses he would have never guess that Thomas, of all people, wore glasses. They were quite well suited to his face too. Thick frames did Thomas well. Another point of interest was how, dare he say, sexy Thomas looked with his hair wet. He had blushed so fiercely he simply had to avoid eye contact. It was just a passing phase, surely, it had to be. (He needed it to be. He couldn't deal with anything else.)
However, one good thing did come from his foray with Thomas. He had been right. Thomas did have anxiety. He knew some signs to watch out for now; he could do this. With a determined nod he sat forward, mind beginning to let go of unimportant facts; there was work to do now. He picked up his pen and began.