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There was tension at this dinner table. Madison figured that there were three ways that this tension was get spent.
- Hamilton or Jefferson would leap across the table and slit the other’s throat.
- Hamilton or Jefferson would leap across the table and start making out with the other, or
- The table itself would just catch fire from the sheer heat of the staring.
Hamilton, as usual, was talking at 1,000,000,000,000 miles per hour. Madison had given up trying to make out what he was saying about ten minutes ago, but Jefferson looked encaptured, painfully aware of every word.
Madison decided to try and steer the topic back to the matter at hand. “But as we were saying, earlier, about the Potomac…?” his sentence went unnoticed as Hamilton plowed forward with whatever topic he thought would annoy Jefferson most. Madison tuned out again, and took a sip of his drink. He tried to gage how much time there was before one of them snapped by reading their body language. Madison was seated at one end of the small, slightly oval-shape table, with Jefferson at the other, and Hamilton in between. Currently, Alexander was turned almost completely around in his seat, so he could monologue directly at Thomas, and Thomas was angled slightly at Alexander.
Apparently, something in the never-ending rant struck a nerve, because Thomas physically recoiled in his seat.
“Alexander, just shut the fuck up already.” he spat.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“ Make me .”
Madison put his brain on pause for a second. He considered the pros and cons of each of the three eventualities. If option 1) came to pass, then he would have to bury a body, which, to say the least, would not be pleasant. However, it would leave the surviving cabinet member free to pursue their plan, unopposed, so something would get done.
In the event of option 2), knowing Hamilton, things would probably, (cough cough) escalate. As Alexander and Thomas were a) more than slightly drunk at the moment, and b) hated each other with a fiery passion, they would no doubt regret and be embarrassed by any mention of this encounter in several hours time. That would essentially leave Madison open to make any compromise he wanted. He wouldn’t even have to threaten to reveal the event to the public, he could just threaten to describe the event in full detail to either of them when they were completely sober, and he could get them to agree to anything.
In the event of option 3), the table would catch fire. All three men would burn a fiery death. The rest of New York City would most likely burn as well. There would be no financial plan or capital city. All of the heads of state would be dead. America would burn a fiery death. Alexander and Thomas would continue arguing in the afterlife.
James took his brain off pause. Jefferson leaped to his feet, grabbed Hamilton by his lapels, and connected their faces. Eventuality #2, then. Alexander shed his jacket and began fiddling with the buttons at Thomas’s collar, and Madison took this as his cue to exit the room. He wandered the halls of Thomas’s house for ten minutes before eventually seeking refuge with a bowl of grapes in the kitchen. The kitchen was far enough away from any of the bedrooms that he didn’t hear any of the secretaries’ actions, but he could hazard a rather good guess at what they were up to.
Looking around, Madison resigned himself to sitting alone on the floor of the kitchen for the next several hours.
In the morning, James drifted back into the dining room. He tried not to stare at the jackets and shoes that were scattered on the floor, leading in an indirect line to the door on the opposite side of the room. He sat down in what had been his chair the night before, and picked at the now cold remains of the macaroni and cheese. It was about seventeen minutes before Hamilton came stumbling into the room, looking severely disheveled.
“Good morning.” Madison piped up.
Hamilton made a face, slammed his hands over his ears, and said, “Stop- stop, just, just stop talking. My head hurts. A lot.” Then, more softly, “God, I hate alcohol.” He stepped into one of his shoes that was laying on the ground, tried for a second to put in on without using his hands, failed at that, and took his hands off of his ears to yank on the boot. He then looked around the room with a questioning expression on his face, as if looking for something else. Madison got the idea.
“It’s on the-”
Hamilton winced.
Madison pointed to where Hamilton’s ridiculous green jacket still lay on the chair he used the night before. The other man’s face lit up with understanding as he walked over to pick it up. He straightened up and snapped his fingers a few times like he was trying to remember something. “Oh, oh, what you said last night! What was it?” his eye twitched with every sound he made, but nothing ever stopped Alexander Hamilton from talking. He stared forward for a few seconds before pointing emphatically at Madison.
“The thing, about the capital, the Potomac river, moving it. Moving the capital, not the river, that is. Do that. Do that thing. Just make sure my plan gets passed, in all of its federalist glory.” He winced again. His voiced tended to pitch up when he didn’t pay attention. “Did I say that I hate alcohol?”
Madison nodded.
“I really hate alcohol. I should tax it.” And with that, he swept out of the room via the outside door. Well , Madison thought, That takes care of him . Sadly, I don’t think Thomas will be so easily swayed.
Madison slowly rose from his chair and mentally prepared himself for the impending conversation. Sure, he loved Thomas, in a way. He was Madison’s best only friend. But he could be a dramatic fucker sometimes. Slowly, Madison made his way over to the door that led down a hallway to Thomas’s bedroom. Sure enough, there Thomas lay, almost completely covered in blankets and quilts, with just the top of his head poking out on his pillow.
“Jemmy, ‘zat you?” he asked as Madison walked it.
“Good morning to you too.” Madison pulled up a seat by the side of the bed Thomas was facing. That didn’t make him more visible to the other man though, as his eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
“I regret,” Thomas began, “ all of my life decisions. I mean, Alexander Hamilton ? I hate him. So much.”
“He is pretty awful.”
“Why did you let me make that decision, Jemmy? Why ?”
“You’re a grown man.”
“I’m a grown man who becomes very stupid when drunk.”
“Agreed.”
Thomas brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes, finally opening them. “I’m going to have to burn these sheets.”
“That would be another stupid idea.”
Thomas groaned. “And on top of that, we didn’t actually make any compromise.”
“Actually,” Madison began, deliberately pausing to let his friend react. As expected, his eyes widened.
“Jemmy, did you manage to get something done?”
Madison allowed himself a moment of pride, and smiled. “Yes, yes I did. A simple trade. We get the capital; he gets his plan.”
Thomas sat up slightly, propping himself up on his pillow. “Wait, he gets his entire plan? Consolidated debt and everything?”
Madison nodded, knowing what was coming.
“No. No way. I don’t care if I have to personally bribe every senator and congressman myself, he doesn’t get the satisfaction of such an easy trade.”
“I doubt he would have settled for less.”
“No deal.” Thomas said, and flopped back down under his sheets, this time completely burying himself in blankets.
“Well, I hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this, but last night I found myself with a certain number of hours with nothing to do.”
Thomas drew the covers back very slightly, just so his eyes peeked over the side, like a child frightened of a monster under the bed.
“So I took it upon myself,” Madison took out a few pieces of paper from his inside pocket, “to write a complete account of the meeting. For posterity. Would you like me to read it to you? I need to check my grammar.”
“No! No no no no no no no no!” An arm shot out and tried to grab the pages from Madisons’ hands, but he pulled them just out of Thomas’s reach.
“You can have these if you promise not to interfere with the passing of Hamilton’s debt plan.” Madison had never seen his friend look so panicked.
“Fine! I won’t interfere with the passing of the debt plan that is sure to implode America! Just gimme!” Thomas opened and closed his hand in a grabbing motion a few times. Madison smiled again and gave them to him.
“You clearly want them more than me.” Madison said as Thomas tossed them directly into the fire place. He got up and put the chair he had been using back where it belonged. Thomas finally sat up completely in bed, and pulled his knees up to his chest. As Madison approached the door, he heard him mutter, “Fuck Alexander Hamilton.”
He couldn’t resist. “That’s what you did.” Madison found himself being hit in the face with a large pillow.