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Gotta love the yamame trout. Photo Credit: @tiemcoflyfishing (at 台灣基督長老教會總會)

Dry fly fishing in the sun.

Why a Hamilton? - Part 4

Character: Jefferson X Reader Prompt: Running away from your problems is a bad idea. Especially if you are running away in the rain. Extra especial if you get sick in said rain. :D Word Count: 2,043 W/T: Some cursing A/N: To the Anon wanting a Madison appearance, there will be a MUCH bigger role for him in Part 5, he just didn’t fit in all that well in this one. Hope y'all enjoy! ~SJ

———

The sight of your warm and inviting home dawns in your eyes, the dim windows enticing you to run to them. A small smile works its way onto your lips, but only a moment before you begin to sneeze. You were happy to be away from Alexander and Thomas’ fighting for the time being, but you weren’t so happy about the quick cold you’ve caught from being out in this downpour for so long. The rain has even changed temperature against your skin, indicating that you almost certainly have a fever.

It’s always been like this, for you and Alexander both. You were both prone to catching some sort of cold or fever, but neither of you were ever stricken down by it. It would only last for a day or so before you’d be back on your feet, ready to go. You hope this is the same situation.

Gathering up the last ounce of strength you have, you trudge on to your house, ready to be out of the cold. A single bolt of lightning flashes across the sky, and a deafening clap of thunder follows after it, only adding to your desire to be inside. You sneeze again, a fleck of dry blood flying onto your forearm from your cheek, the cut from earlier stinging a bit. Shivering, you step onto the muddy pathway to the front porch of the house, praying that there was already firewood in the house. Sneezing again, you hike your dress up in your hands and ascend the small set of stairs up the front porch and to the front door, wringing out your hair.

Seeing as the front door was unlocked, you press your hands against the cool wood, the hinges obeying your push. You quickly step inside, allowing the door to slam behind you, the sound echoing through the empty house. The house itself was dark except for a single, flickering flame from a nearby candle that Alexander must have forgotten to blow out. Cautiously, you grab ahold of the silver holder, the light from the candle dully reflecting off of the metal, and tiptoe over to the other candles around the room, the interior becoming brighter and brighter. The added flames jump atop their wicks, their heated tops licking upwards, casting odd and scattered shadows around the room.

Silently, you stand in awe of the commonplace lighting, the sound of the relentless storm outside mercilessly pounding against the roof of the house. The utter absence of any other voices sends another shiver down your spine, an all too eerie sensation filling the room. Your quick onslaught of sneezes interrupts it, but the silence swallows the noise as quickly as it comes.

But a strong series of knocks rings out across the room, startling you backwards a couple of feet. Sneezing once more, you compose yourself slightly, wishing to be out of your sopping wet dress. The knocks sound again, this time an urgency to them. Taking a deep breath, you wrap your fingers around the handle once more and crack it open, peeking out around door to see who was there. Eyes wide with worry and hair drooping with rain stood Thomas, his magenta coat a deeper shade of purple than usual. “Thomas?” You manage to ask before another sneeze, your vision blurring for a split second. “May I come in?” He laughs nervously, glancing up at incoming rain. Opening the door further, you motion for him to come in, something dropping in your chest at the sight of him drenched.

“Wha… I don't…” You trail, fumbling to find the right words for the current situation. “Are you alright?” He spouts off, holding your chin in his hand as he examines your cut from earlier in the meeting room. “W-what are you doing here?” You finally muster out, his face inches from yours. His dark eyes lower to meet yours, swimming with emotion. He pauses for a moment, almost as if he were surprised by your question. “What do you mean, Y/N? You were injured and then you ran off without warning and… why wouldn’t I have followed you? I had to make sure you weren’t in pain, at least.” He answers softly, his hand moving from your chin to gently running itself across your cut. You wince at the touch, taking in a sharp breath. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You open your mouth to tell him yes, but instead you quickly snap your head to the side, breaking into a small coughing fit. You lean away from him, trying to keep your hacking under control. “Obviously you aren’t.” He breathes, blinking slowly. You smile weakly at him, unsure how to respond. “Come on, you need to get out of that dress.” Thomas deadpans, his eyes still worried sick over you. “Bet you’d like that.” You murmur, earning a mischievous smile from him. “You’re not wrong, kitten, but that’s not what I meant. You’re going to keep coughing as long as you’re in that thing.” Giving him a small nod, you briskly brush past him, heading towards your bedroom. You try to snake your hands around to untie the back of the dress, but that’s when you remember that you’re wearing your “help dress” as you call it, being that you always have to get help untying it.

“Uh, Thomas?” You call out, already knowing that your cheeks are burning pink. “Yeah, what do you need, are you okay?” He asks, rushing over to you. You cough again, your vision blurring for another moment before turning to him, a sheepish smile etched onto your lips. “No no, I’m fine, I just… I need help untying this.” You admit, not wanting to meet his gaze. A surprised noise escapes Thomas’ mouth before he can stop himself, forcing an embarrassed blush across his own cheeks. “Uuhhhhhh, yeah. This here?” He asks hesitantly, the warmth from his hands burning through the damp dress backing. You place a hand under the breast of the dress, making sure it doesn’t slip. “Yeah.” You breathe, trying to suppress the heat rising in your cheeks and chest. You could feel him right behind you, his body not even inches from yours. Thomas’ sickly hot breath creeps down your neck, making the hairs on the back of it stand up as he continues.

“Y/N!” Alexander shouts, scaring you just as badly as it does Thomas. He shoots backward, and you spin around on your heels just as quickly, scanning the now wide open front door, where your brother stood, about to boil over with rage. “You fucking Francophile! How dare you enter my own home and then proceed to-” “Alex it’s not what it looks like.” You plead, stepping in front of him as quickly as you can to stop him from charging st Thomas. He himself was also soaking wet, but it was a minimal detail compared to his outrage. “Not what it looks like?! He had his hands all over you, Y/N! Like hell it wasn’t what it looked like!” He fumes, attempting to push past you. “Like hell I would mistreat Y/N like that.” Thomas growls, stepping towards Alexander. “Both of you stop it.” You demand, glaring at Thomas while pushing Alex back with your free hand. “Alexander, you are jumping to conclusions again.” You hiss. “How am I jumping to conclusions when I saw everything I needed to?” He exclaims, crossing his arms.

“Please explain this to him, for most definitely will not listen to me.” Thomas groans, rubbing his temples. “Alex, you remember this dress, don’t you?” You ask as politely and aggressively as you can sound. “Yeah that’s your… Oh. It’s the ‘Help Dress’, isn’t it?” He trails, quickly putting two and two together. “Yes. And because you weren’t here at the time, I let Thomas help me, before you so rudely yelled at him.” You spit, pinching the bridge of your noise to try and refocus your vision that seems to keep going fuzzy, especially when you sneeze or cough. “Exactly why he should-” “Thomas, don’t start this.” You warn, still trying to clear your sight of all fuzziness.

“So what if he as just helping you out of your dress, Y/N? He shouldn’t even be here in the first place! This is the Hamilton residence, last I checked.” Alexander points out, narrowing his eyes at him. “Well maybe it’s because I wanted to make sure that your sister hadn’t been hurt too badly by your ill actions to her from earlier. Forgive me for attempting to care.” Thomas sneers, rewarding him in another glare from you. “Get out of my house, Jefferson.” “No. In fact, I’m going to stay here to make Y/N isn’t feeling awful.” He refuses, trying to push Alexander over the edge. “That isn’t your decision to make, so I suggest you leave before things turn ugly again.” Alex huffs in an attempt to control his anger. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it, you short fucker?” “Guys please.” You beg, trying to push them away from each other again.

“Jefferson, stop.” A new voice demands in a rather polite tone, adding only confusion to the mess. Glancing around Alexander, you catch sight of Madison standing in your doorway, shaking off an umbrella onto the porch. “James? What are you doing here?” Thomas questions, the surprise and confusion very evident in his voice. “I came because I knew you were going to get yourself into trouble.” He answers softly, a look of annoyance on his face. “From what I can glean from what I am seeing, I would go as far to say that my hunch was correct.” Madison carefully leans the umbrella against the inside of the wall and shuts the door behind him, the small click filling the room instead of a slam.

Another onslaught of coughs rattles through you, making your vision fuzzy once again, this time much darker than the first few times. You feel as though you hear Madison mutter “same” under his breath, but your dizziness is a much more pressing matter at the moment. “Look,” You start, trying to steady yourself. “Washington told me that I need to get you two to work this out. So if you could figure this out before I pass out, that would be fantastic.” You grimace, a wave of exhaustion flooding over you as another round of coughs overtakes you. “What? Y/N, are you okay?” Alex quickly asks, stepping forward to feel your forehead. “Not really.” You murmur, still trying to blink away the fuzziness. “You’re burning up.” He whispers, taking your hands in his. “Which is exactly why I was helping her out of that sopping wet dress, Hamilton.” Thomas scoffs, gently pulling you back towards him. “You have no need to, Jefferson. You don’t know how bad our immune systems are. You may take your leave now.” You blink at Alexander, trying to get his face to focus, but everything seems like it’s wrapping into an impressionist painting, where the colors blend together and nothing is in focus.

“Both of you, please stop arguing over her health.” Madison interjects, stepping forward. “At least I don’t lash out and physically hurt people.” Thomas fires back, tugging on your shoulder a little harder. “At least I know that I’m not going to let you touch her.” Alexander presses, almost yanking you back to him. “Guys.” You whisper, black dots now appearing across your eyes. Neither one of them look to you, they just continue to argue, your arms being pulled on mercilessly. You try to shake their grip, but their hold on you seemed to be the only thing keeping you upright. “Hamilton. Jefferson.” Madison finally raises his voice, allowing for it to boom around the room. Both men turn to him, surprised. They both unlatch themselves from your arms, only giving you full mobility to drop to the ground.

The hardwood floor rushed to meet you, and your head bashes against it, pain surging through you. The black dots grow to swallow almost everything in sight, and the shouts become faded whispers as your weak immune system takes ahold of you, pulling you to unconsciousness.

Why did you have to be a Hamilton?

Out of this world.. Photo Credit: @seanlandsman

A rare catch! Photo credit: @pietro.mo

Sunny holiday postcard of Brandywine Beach in Hoffman’s Mill, Mass., the summer home of Thomas Morehouse-Croft, an eastern brook trout who lived most of the year in Settler’s Creek, West Virginia, where he served as advisor to the Longfellow Center for Hillbilly Telematics, while feasting upon mayflies, caddisflies and midges.

Morehouse-Croft is the brook trout famous for solving the Troll Bridge Dilemma, the mathematical construct that makes possible the double stamping of Bitcoins and PixelFarthings.

FUN FACT: Sunbathing at the bottom center of the postcard is believed to be Morehouse-Croft’s adoring mistress, Abigail Stamford, whom he later left for a southern Appalachian brook trout.

Cool wings!

Beautiful Brook Trout near the A.T. ~At Firescald Falls in Dennis Cove.

The right way to spend your weekend Photo credit: @maxxponce