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“Jefferson and Madison are intransigent! Completely and hopelessly devoted to ideals they only follow because they have no idea what life is like for people whose heads aren’t so deep up their own asses they’re being digested!”
Hamilton always had a colourful way with words. He wasn’t exactly wrong, recollections of Jefferson’s inability to follow the crowd if they disagreed with him and Madison’s inability to vote in opposition to even the most absurd of Jefferson’s ideas affirmed that much to Burr. But the imagery of digestion was a little excessive. It would be futile to ask Hamilton to rephrase, however, because Hamilton hadn’t listened to any of his advice in the eleven years they had known each other, it wasn’t like he would suddenly start listening now.
Burr clasped his hands together atop his desk and inhaled deeply. Counted to six, then held for four, and exhaled for six more. He didn’t count his next breath, but it came out calmer, and that needed to be enough for now. Burr was a restrained man, not a man without a temper.
“I have actual work to do, Alexander. Don’t you have a calculator to be tapping away at, Mister Secretary of the Treasury? We have a meeting soon with the President and Vice President.”
Hamilton chuckled sardonically and downed the rest of the coffee in his to-go cup, hand shaking as he threw it overhead in the direction of the bin and missed by an entire meter. His aim never improved, Burr didn’t understand why he still tried every single time he lingered around in his office.
Is he incapable of walking over to the bin and simply dropping it in? He asked himself, answering the question before he even finished asking it.
“Wow, you must be actually tired if you’re snarking at me instead of pretending to be polite even though you and I both know you don’t want to be. Well don’t you worry, Burr, I’ll head off.”
Burr rolled his eyes only once Hamilton had turned away to make said exit. Once again, protesting against Hamilton would simply be an exercise in futility.
“Talk less—”
“I know, smile more. Goodbye, Senator Burr, sir.”
The door pulled shut behind Hamilton, Burr finally allowed himself to unclasp his hands and bury his face in his empty palms. Oh, how Burr wished that Hamilton would stop coming to him to complain about Jefferson and Madison! How could Hamilton still come to him to whine, even as their friendship balanced so precariously?
His work telephone rang in its cradle, a rare sound. Usually, any prospective call would go through his secretary first and she would inform him of the caller’s identity and purpose. But straight to the telephone?
Burr reached for it, resting his chin in his right palm.
“Good morning, this is Senator Aaron Burr’s office, you are speaking to Senator Burr.”
“Oh, well, hello Senator Burr! Do they not check caller ID in the Senate in the modern year of 2013?” Jefferson’s sharp laughter rang through his ears, muffled from the sound barrier provided by the phone, but distinguishably his.
It was only then that Burr noticed how warm the cheek resting against his fingers had become. He straightened in his seat, making the first efforts of composure, even though his door and blinds were firmly closed.
“Hello, Thomas. I did not check the caller ID, my apologies. How are you?”
“If Hamilton is storming about the corridors of the Capitol building, searching for his next fix of caffeine, as he does by the hour, then I’m doing well.” Still, he spoke with that tone of amusement, but gentler now. Burr’s hand returned to his face, and his cheek was still warm. “Representative Madison is here with me as well, in my comfy armchair because I swear to you, he loves that chair more than his own family.” In the background: “Get off your ass Jemmy, say hi to Aaron!”
Shuffling noises filtered through the line as the phone was moved away from Jefferson’s face and instead taken up by Madison.
“Morning, Aaron. As you can hear, Thomas is in an awfully good mood. I’ve had to put up with him all day.” Dramatic, almost undignified exclamations could be heard from Madison’s end of the line, distant enough that Burr almost didn’t hear them. Burr didn’t need to be in the room with them to know that Madison was smiling on the other end of the line, the left corner of his lip twitched upwards in a teasing grin. But to know it and to witness it with his own eyes were two very different things.
“Anyway, are you busy for the next half hour or so?”
The day’s duties, outlined on his virtual planner, stared back at him in blinding blue-light white, blue, purple and pink. Carefully plotted by the hour, completed tasks struck through, the most essential tasks bolded, and keywords highlighted. This agenda was inflexible; it could not simply be shuffled for just anyone.
“What were you thinking? I might.”
“Thomas has ordered lunch to be delivered up here, we thought we might look over yesterday’s proposal. What did you think of that, anyway?”
Madison would have waited for Burr’s answer, but an exclamation through the phone from Jefferson as he snatched the telephone back prevented that. He said something to Madison, but Burr did not think he was able to quite distinguish what it was. What was it?
“Hand the phone over Jemmy, you’re dodging the question. Can’t trust you to make an invitation to save your life.” No, it cannot have been. There were too many implications in those two sentences for Burr to unfold and scrutinise right now, his primary question being why would James Madison, the most outwardly stoic person he knows, be nervous to ask him anything?
Madison huffed at that; Burr was sure. He was also certain that Madison rolled his eyes too. Did Jefferson think that expression was adorable? Surely. He had to, he couldn’t see how anyone could see that face and not think it was the cutest thing they had ever seen. And Madison was not someone one would typically associate with ‘cute’, but the heart’s perception was defiant towards convention or sensibility anyway.
“Anyway, James is right. We’re reviewing the proposal properly, with highlighters and pens and all. You and Jemmy’s idea of fun, damn type-A nerds…” he grumbled quietly at the last sentence, and Burr’s lips quirked up, not quite a smile, as he heard a soft thwack from the other end. Seemed like Madison was exasperated with Jefferson’s teasing. He was only guessing, of course, he was not in the room, and therefore could not verify one way or the other for certain.
“Are you joining us? We have enough food for three.”
Burr focused on his planner once again, reading the tasks listed there. It wouldn’t hurt to deviate from it, right? Not if he got to have lunch with Jefferson and Madison, anyway. He had meant to read that new treaty proposal anyway, albeit in a few hours. No reason to avoid the duo or anything. He could stand being in the same room as them for half an hour or an hour, he even enjoyed their company! Never mind the shameful thoughts creeping in as of late, he could endure this. He could.
“Yes, I’ll join you. Do you want me to come up now?”
“Come up when you’re ready, Aaron. Don’t feel the need to rush for our sake, anyway. We’ll see you soon?”
“See you soon,” Burr agreed, returning the phone to the cradle, hanging up before Jefferson could.
He turned off his monitors and stood up, fixing his already perfectly done tie and smoothing down his shirt and slacks. Checking his face in the reflection of the monitor, because what if he had food on his face? Or an embarrassing blemish he somehow hadn’t noticed yet?
This was ridiculous. Why did he even care? He always maintained himself to respectable standards. He needed to leave.
On his way to Jefferson’s office, Burr’s mind wandered to Jefferson and Madison, stronger and stronger the closer he walked to the office. He inhaled deeply, once again for six seconds, held his breath for four, and exhaled for six. What if the warmth on his cheeks radiated somehow in a way noticeable to the two? Burr had tried to suppress any nervous habits of his long ago, but if he broke this streak of composure, the astute Madison would surely notice. Silently and without judgement, he would mentally note it down. If Jefferson noticed anything, surely, he would do the same, perhaps with some judgement. The game of silent observation and weaponizing the smallest piece of information against opponents or even friends was the pastime of politicians, Burr himself had partaken in it more times than he could count.
“Aaron, come in!” Jefferson greeted him loudly, his eyes focused onto the computer screen. “James is retrieving our printed copies, apparently it’s faster if he does than if my secretary does?”
“James is right, you know. Your secretary—”
“James is always right.” He punctuated this sentence with a sigh and a shake of his head.
Jefferson interrupted people a lot; it was one of his more notable speaking habits. Burr didn’t believe this to because of ego or arrogance, though he indeed did have a large ego and was arrogant. He just had a lot of thoughts in that active mind of his and needed to express these thoughts before they left his mind entirely. Jefferson was not exactly an adherent to social norms. It wasn’t malicious, Jefferson interrupted everyone. Probably even President Washington had been interrupted by him at some point. It should have irked him, should have pissed him off enough to call Jefferson out on it, yet he remained silent.
“Anyway, your secretary. Is he even at his desk half the time? Thomas, if he weren’t your secretary, I’m sure he would be on the receiving end of a ‘bless your heart’, which we both know is not a compliment. He needs more training. You should budget for it, so you wouldn’t have to keep firing secretaries every month.”
“Budget for it… oh, you’re funny, Aaron. You sound like James right now, you know that? Y’all are so focused on efficiency… it keeps my days exciting by having new faces around here to bring me coffee, even if some of them aren’t very good at their jobs.”
“Everyone knows you don’t tolerate incompetence. Face it Thomas, you just don’t care.”
Jefferson threw his hands up in surrender and put on an offended expression. He was a terrible actor, however, and Burr resisted the urge to smile at his antics.
“Damn, you wound me. Let’s move over there.”
Jefferson gestured to the plush couch and armchair towards the left and stood up to sit on the couch. It was a silent agreement that Madison sat in the armchair while Jefferson and Burr sat next to each other on the couch. Those had been the arrangements most likely ever since Jefferson had first sat in this office, and who was Burr to argue against their customs?
Madison entered then, with a small stack of paper in his arms.
“I’ve got the copies. Is the food here yet? Oh, Aaron, hello. Here’s yours.”
An afterthought, was that all Burr was? That should not have irritated him, it was something so inconsequential. Just a few words. Why should he be the focus of Madison’s mind, anyway?
Be less sensitive, Aaron. You are the one thing you can control.
He nodded in thanks to Madison and turned the front cover. Jefferson rested his hand on Burr’s shoulder, and he caught his flinch of surprise barely in time. Jefferson chuckled, glancing down to the papers in Burr’s hands then back to Burr.
“Already getting started, hm? Our hardworking Senator Burr. Oh, and if you’d just look to my desk Jemmy, you’d see that the food came just before Aaron did.”
Burr’s mouth was dry. Their Senator Burr. Theirs. He could not linger on the thought too long, his mind would never return to a sensible place again.
Madison ignored the comment directed at him and chimed in only after a few seconds had passed. “We’re positively slacking in comparison, don’t you think, Thomas?” The comment wasn’t mocking him, if Burr’s ears did not have the habit of deceiving him, he would’ve thought that Madison sounded fond.
Jefferson nodded, reaching for the copy on his desk and removing his warm hand from Burr’s shoulder. Madison transferred the food from Jefferson’s desk to the coffee table, then sunk into the armchair and began his readthrough of the proposal. Burr glanced up from the preliminary comments to watch as Madison stretched out his left arm and Jefferson handed him a pen. Neither had looked up from their papers. Burr wondered how long it had taken them, to form such a deep synchronisation. Had it taken them months? Years?
They operated to the ticking of the same metronome; Burr would never be able to keep time with them.
His balance was askew; his shoulders were almost definitely different temperatures. The untouched shoulder remained the same temperature as the rest of his body, but the shoulder Jefferson had rested his hand on? Warm. Not excessively warm, not uncomfortably warm, just noticeably so.
Madison was shivering. Not shaking or trembling, but shivering. Jefferson’s heater was off; he must be too cold. He always had been very sensitive to temperature fluctuations, and it was an unusually cold day for autumn. If Madison stayed cold, he would become sick. He could have searched for the remote to the heater and turned it on, set it to warm enough that Madison stopped shivering. But instead, Burr reached for the blanket behind Jefferson draped across the back of the couch, before his brain could tell him to stop. Jefferson leaned forward so he could reach it without difficulty, only leaning back against the cushion again once Burr had gathered the blanket in one arm. Burr dropped the paperwork onto the table and crossed the space to where Madison sat, approaching him from behind.
“Lean forward.”
Madison obeyed without question, without even glancing back at him, and Burr draped the blanket over his shoulders. Only after he was wearing the blanket did Madison look away from his paperwork, and up at Burr with a small smile.
“Thank you, Aaron.”
Jefferson glanced up then and tutted.
“Why didn’t you say anything? If I had known that it was too cold for you, I would have turned on a heater!”
“Then it would be too hot for you, and you would complain.” Madison sighed, shook his head, and returned to the page.
The three of them reviewed in silence after that, writing in the margins and highlighting, dedicating themselves to understanding every proposed clause. They ate the food almost absently, inattentive to it. Burr could not focus fully; however, his mind sometimes wandered to Jefferson’s thigh next to his. Their thighs were a couple inches apart, but warmth radiated between them anyway. Madison bit his lip whenever he concentrated, did Jefferson notice that too? If Burr glanced up in Madison’s direction, he was sure his focus would stray from the political entirely. It was only in the past few weeks that these minor details began to bother Burr to this extent. And they were quite possibly the most frustrating weeks of his life.
Jefferson’s leg inched closer. There was so little space between them now. Burr could not take his eyes away from it, his attention running away from the paper he was meant to be reading from. Was it intentional? If Madison were in his position, sitting next to Jefferson, would he have leaned against Jefferson without even thinking about it? Burr could not remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel at ease when touched by another. Not since Theodosia.
“Zoning out? That’s unlike you.”
Burr’s head jolted up to meet Madison’s gaze, the sudden remark caught him off guard. His body, sat on the armchair, seemed so far away from Burr. An entire table between them. If Burr were a braver man, he would have walked around the damn table and sat on the ground by Madison’s feet. Madison would have swung his legs to rest against Burr’s shoulders, bracketing him against the armchair, leaving him unable and unwilling to leave. Perhaps Jefferson would join them, sitting on the wide armrest to Madison’s right, an idle hand resting upon Burr’s head as he talked without interruption.
But of course, this was all predicated upon the conditions of an alternative universe, in which Aaron Burr was someone else. In this room, Burr was a cautious man, not a brave one. Therefore, he responded to Madison without moving at all.
“Even I’m fallible.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
The tension from a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding sunk to the bottom of this stomach, even as he exhaled.
Madison must be mocking him, somehow. That deep voice usually so weighed down by gravitas was for a brief moment weightless and accompanied by eyes which crinkled at the corners. Burr frowned momentarily, before smoothing out his expression into something he hoped resembled neutrality. It was already so difficult to sit in the same room as him and Jefferson, he wished Madison wouldn’t make a fool of him.
Burr sighed and stood up, deciding that his productivity was lost and his patience was waning anyway.
“This was a productive session, gentlemen. I should be off; I have a meeting in half an hour. A pleasure as always.”
Jefferson grinned up at him from the couch, softer than the expression he wore when triumphant or passionate.
Burr averted his eyes away; eyes fixated onto the wall behind Jefferson before that irrational voice in his head could encourage him to do something stupid. Like stare silently for several minutes at that truly gorgeous smile, or even worse, stay behind and force himself to resist thinking of Jefferson’s proximity or Madison’s distance. Simultaneously too close and too far.
“It’s always a pleasure to have you, if we’re being formal. You should stay a little longer, you know. We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends spend time together.”
“Thomas, he has a meeting in half an hour. If he wants to get ready for that meeting, all alone, then that’s his decision. But if you would like to stay,” Madison addressed Burr now, a single eyebrow raised, “then we’d love to have you. We can have some coffee brought up to our offices, or a glass of wine.”
Burr hesitated, head facing Jefferson and Madison, but body inclined towards the door. The longer he stayed, the longer he would be forced to stare into Jefferson’s pretty eyes or notice every one of Madison’s little expressions. The problem was not with restraining himself — he was a master of the art; the issue was with the recurring feeling of irritation from said repression. Wanting to kiss Madison every time his voice turned sarcastic or Jefferson every time he laughed with his head thrown back was not conductive to a healthy friendship. Or even feasible for him to act upon.
They were politicians just as he was, he could not give them reasons to distrust him or accuse him of disorderly conduct. Madison had known him since college, if anyone was able to notice these little crushes — which were not getting out of hand, thank you very much — it would be Madison. He would tell Jefferson, of course, because Madison and Jefferson shared everything with each other; again, because of that bond between them. One he was not privy to.
Show some restraint, Aaron. You cannot sacrifice the political career you have worked so hard for, not even for this. You are the one thing in life you can control.
“Thank you for the offer, gentlemen. But I really must head off. Considering travel times and refamiliarizing myself with the agenda for said meeting, I unfortunately do not have the time.”
Jefferson frowned — was Burr being irrational again, or was Jefferson disappointed by the rejection? No, Jefferson had to be consciously making that expression. The only thing people could control were themselves; Jefferson could be applying the same principle. But how would he gain an advantage politically from pretending to be disappointed that Burr was leaving? It just made no sense.
“Another time, then.” Madison spoke this time. “Good luck, Aaron. Those meetings are a drag and a half.”
Burr chuckled in agreement and wondered what would even be appropriate to say here. Could he agree? But he, Jefferson and Madison had meetings a lot nowadays, that would be implying that those meetings were dull. He wouldn’t want to ever imply that their company wasn’t enjoyable, no, that wouldn’t do. He was about to leave the room anyway; he may as well bid them farewell.
“Thank you, James. I’ll see you both soon.”
He shut the door to Jefferson’s office behind him and exhaled deeply, walking back to his own office briefly before he could even process what the hell that was.
Burr needed to wean himself off of Jefferson and Madison’s friendship. Before this killed him. Stand a step further to the left when he spoke with them, because Madison was always on Jefferson’s left, therefore Burr needed to be on Madison’s left — did anyone else notice that? Jefferson always reserved the seat left of him for Madison, willingly submitting himself to the role of right-hand man to Madison’s schemes. Did Madison appreciate that? How willingly Jefferson submitted himself? He hoped so, Burr really hoped so. Most believed Jefferson to be the leader of the two, Madison his faithful shadow, but Burr had spent enough time watching and listening to the pair to know that most people were idiots.
He would have to busy himself with work when the three of them were in the same room, to ease the pain of ignoring the quiet laughter he never heard from Madison in their Princeton days. To ignore how Jefferson drew it out of him with pointed snark and dramatics. Jefferson had to be aware of the effect that drawl had on people, right? Even the melancholiest of minds, like Madison; and the most sensible of dispositions, like Burr; were swayed by Jefferson’s blinding magnetism.
It was almost dizzying, the tug-of-war between the reckless heart which yearned to reach out to the two men and the cautious mind which knew better.
The first thing Jefferson would say about his good friend James Madison wasn’t about his sickly constitution or anything physically obvious, but about his patience and composure. Jefferson could only sing Madison’s praises to anybody that would ask. And Madison? He would talk of Jefferson’s intelligence and passion and worldly character. Burr was in complete awe of it — that mutual admiration which characterised their friendship.
Water to fire, monochrome to multicolour. Opposites in some ways, identical in others. Absolutely perfect for one another. Everyone knew, didn’t they? Referred to them as Jefferson and Madison rather than Jefferson and Madison, and though they may sound like the same thing, they were completely and utterly different. Public perception mattered, one could not survive in politics and remain ignorant to that fact. No one would ever refer to Jefferson, Madison and Burr. He simply did not fit even if he was in full agreement with their ideas.
Over these past few months, Burr somehow went from an acquaintanceship with Madison to a friendship with both him and Jefferson, to having his mind reconfigured entirely somehow to orbit around the two men. Orbited around them, not become part of their tightknit, intuitive connection. He understood the difference.
The first thing Burr noticed upon entering his office was the new addition to his desk. A thin book laid at the edge of his desk, a lined piece of paper laying on top. Burr frowned, turning the book in his direction to read the note.
Aaron,
I noticed this collection of essays in my bookshelf last night and thought you may be interested. I’ve never gotten around to reading it myself, and don’t remember how this came to my collection, but you read feminist literature, don’t you? If this volume is already in your collection, then I apologise. But if not, then I hope you enjoy it. Tell us what you thought afterwards.
JM.
(P.S. Thomas has provided you with a bookmark, wedged into the front cover. He believes that dog-earring the pages is for “heathens” who “abuse the affections of physical books everywhere.” As I’m sure you also know, he also believes that the spines of paperbacks should be treated with delicacy and that annotating books is a sin equal to not paying your taxes. The spine of this book only remains unabused because I have not yet read it. Feel free to dog-ear the pages if you wish, it is now your copy.)
Burr’s shirt was too tight at the collar now, and he could not fight the smile that creeped across his face. Madison had probably dropped this off on his way to give them the copies. He read the note again, then again. He was not surprised that Madison had remembered his interest in feminist literature, only that Madison would then proceed to lend him something from his own shelves and implore him to give his opinion on it. He wouldn’t be able to look at the cracked spine of any book without thinking of Madison now. Or at any book really, without thinking about the two of them.
He could not allow himself to indulge in daydreams of romance, even though his mind wanted to. This was simply the action of an attentive friend, hardly a courting ritual.
I am the one thing in life I can control.
Control yourself, Aaron Burr.