Jefferson's POV
The words echoed in his ears as he sat down. "Boyfriend." That was new, specifically because it was tied to the young woman lying prone on the beach-white bed.
The nurse - he didn't pay attention to his name - had already left, telling him that it was just an extremely harmful flu and that she could easily be treated with antibiotics, sleep, and moral support.
Even when the man said it, Jefferson was internally laughing; the first two he could provide, the third, he was sure, would be a bit more challenging. It was Alexandra Hamilton. That was all he needed to say.
He - Nurseman - had said that they could after another hour, but he recommended that once they got home, Alex rested. It was all he could do to not flinch every time he said 'their'. Like they shared a room.
Or shared anything, in general.
Because that would never happen. A fact in which he was grateful for. Yeah...That was the total truth, too.
Shaking his head as if to get rid of some unwanted thoughts, Jefferson focused on her. He didn't get a good look when she had first come to him due to the need of a hospital.
Now, with the chance, he couldn't not notice how terrible she honestly did look. And, no, it wasn't the I'm-your-arch nemesis-and-I'm-going-to-insult-you-in-every-possible-way type of terrible. It was the pale skin, ingrained frown, and gathering sweat on her brow. It was the skinniness of Hamilton that was impossible to ignore in the gown that they gave her to wear. It was the way Jefferson felt worry pool in the pit of his stomach.
It was all those things and more. He wasn't supposed to be stressed about her. Thomas wasn't kidding when he called her his 'arch nemesis'; it had been like that since ever. Actually, the single time that wasn't true was the first few times they met and had never had a real conversation with each other. Alex was trailing behind George Washington on his first day back from France, and cut the man off before he could say 'hello'. Thomas had thought it was a bit rude, but he couldn't deny she was a very intriguing human; brutally honest in a world that needed more people like her. And she was hot.
That was always a plus.
His best friend and wing-man, James Madison, had told him about her later. How they used to be partners on a lot of projects, because most of their classes were together and they were the two people in said classes that could easily keep up with the other.
Then there was huge argument between the two of them about a topic that, to quote Madison, "They both agreed not to tell anyone else about". It infuriated Jefferson that he wouldn't tell him, but Thomas eventually left it alone.
(Occasionally, Madison and Hamilton could be seen having very tentative conversation - by Alexandra's standards, at least - in the hallways before classes. Jefferson, although he would fervently repudiate any hinting in this thought process, was jealous; Madison, for however painfully shy he was, could still interact with other people. Thomas could exclusively talk well on the podium and cross fires, and nothing outside that realm; luckily enough, Hamilton and his conversations fell under cross-fire. Social interaction had never been his forte unless he was desperate for it, and forced himself to act to the best of his ability.
There were usually panic attacks at the end of his performances.)
A soft gasp brought his attention back to reality. Jumping to his feet to make it look like he hadn't been concerningly leaning over the side of her bed, Thomas clasped his hands behind him and stood at her left hand. Alex groaned louder, and he couldn't quite make out the word he was beginning to hear.
"What?" He asked, wincing when he did realize how anxious he sounded.
"W-water." Sooner than she was finished, Jefferson's body leaned over her's to get the tan pitcher, setting the half full cup in her hand.
As soon as he did so, Thomas wished he hadn't. Alex's outstretched hand had been shaking from the chills and nausea, and wasn't prepared for the weight of the water, spilling it all over her lap and down the front of her gown. "Merde."
The soaked shirt left nothing to the imagination, drawing Jefferson's attention to her chest. She, no matter how valiantly Alex tried, blushed like a virgin and folded her arms over herself. It had the opposite effect; instead of shielding, all she did was move her breasts up and outwards.
Alexandra opened her mouth to speak - what? Jefferson particularly wanted to know - but a different nurse walked in, awkwardly halted as she became aware of the situation she walked into, and said, "Sir, if you would leave for a moment, I need to change Miss Hamilton's shirt."
If possible, Alex became redder, and sunk into the bed in her embarrassment. "Yeah." Thomas whispered, "Sure."
He high-tailing it out the door, but not before hearing, "Is he your boyfriend?" Followed with, "Oui, son nom est Thomas."
The man in question thought he heard tinkling laughter behind, probably from Al- Hamilton correcting herself back into English, but his mind was preoccupied. Thoughts were flying all over the place and the one connection all they had was going by the name of 'Spamilton' per his contacts.
The nervous energy was merely becoming too much for him, causing him to pace as he waited for the nurse to tell him he could come back in. Thomas knew he wouldn't be able to look Hamilton in the eye for a long while after what had just occurred.
Why did that woman have to be so freaking distracting; it couldn't have been healthy by any means.
One, two, three, four, turn back around, un, deux, trois, quatre, encore. Five minutes had passed, but, finally, when she - whose name turned out to Lu Quen - let him go back in, Lu took one look at him and pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle.
Now what did that mean?
Mumbling abuse under his breath, Thomas runs his hand through his hair, as best he could anyways, and walked in.
Dressed in the clothes she had come in there with, Alexandra had her back turned to him. Her green long sleeve paired well with her loose jeans and loose dark brown hair. Theoretically, that was. It wasn't like Thomas heeded himself with trivialities such as the likes of Hamilton's clothing.
Clearing his throat to make his presence known, Thomas saw the way her back clench and release in the span of half a second like she didn't mean to. Okay...
"Hey, um-" Fudge, he stuttered. He can't stutter, not around Alexandra. "Question: What did you tell the nurse? She came out all giggly and stuff."
Not any less tired, but having a couple more energy reserves to back her up, Alex bent down to get her shoes. Jefferson would have sighed for how long it took her to answer him.
"What's so wrong with being happy?" She asked.
He felt his blood pressure rise. It was a simple question why couldn't- oh, that was why. She was teasing him. Was that physically possible for her?
But two could play that game. "I worry when it's 'giggling' and 'Hamilton' in the same sentence." If she wanted to confuse him with playfully bantering, he could return the favor.
"Yeah, because when I giggle, it's usually about your face. Now, get me out of this horrid building." And they were back to insults. Nice.
Thomas rolled his eyes. "Is 'please' in your vocabulary?"
Alex, still sitting on the edge of the bed, gave him the middle finger. She was still sick. All Alexandra wanted to do was go home and write some more. Or sleep. Sleep seemed like a good idea too.
Pushing herself to get up, the brunette shrieked when she felt her legs fail, collapsing to the ground. Again, Jefferson's feet carried him over to her. He crouched his large form next to the 5'2" frame and pulled her back up onto the bed.
Like an octopus, she had wrapped her limbs around him in a short burst of alarm. Thomas didn't say anything for fear of saying something wrong, not encouraging her but not throwing Alex off.
Something like that had never happened between them; it was constantly ribbing and infuriating the other. Most times it was the highlight of their day. But there was never any sense of kindness of comfort. Nothing like that.
"Hamilton," Jefferson murmured after a moment. "I'm going to get you a wheelchair for to ride home in, okay?" She was kind of scaring him. Jefferson had never seen her as anything other than the annoyingly brilliant immigrant that couldn't pull her head out of her arse. Not as the frightened, tired girl who wanted not to be sick.
Her face was going to be a deep shade of red, Jefferson was sure of it. She quickly pulled back like she was burnt and stared into the opposite direction. "Yep." Short and terse, guarding her emotions to the outside world as best she could.
xxoOoxx
On the way back to their dorm house, Jefferson and Alex visited CVS to pick up a much needed bottle of Nyquil and her prescriptions. Already having taken the former, she had passed out sleeping in a matter of minutes. Looking over from the driver's seat, Jefferson could see the premature wrinkles already carving their spot out in her forehead and the beginnings of crow's feet around her eyes.
Then it hit him: he had no idea where her room was at. Sure, Thomas had a general area estimation, but it would slightly not okay for him to try to open every door.
And waking her up wasn't an option. She needed her rest; the doctors had made that clear. The stuff they had drugged her up with would only last for a little while longer before the pain came fully back.
"Fichu!" Thomas snarled. He didn't want to explain what was had happened to Madison - his roommate - later that night, but if she was there, there was no way he could not tell him. That quiet, sickly man had a whole other layer once you got to know him, and Thomas knew - he knew that the bastard wouldn't let him hear the end of it.
But there wasn't anything he could do about it unless he was going to dump her off in the middle of the hallway.
So, the chocolate skinned man gripped the steering wheel tighter and pushed onwards to the rooms.
The building was as silent as it was when he left, the white noise of a TV or computer playing in the background. Through a good deal of acrobatics and examples of a flexibility range he didn't think he had, Jefferson had opened the door, unbuckled her, taken her out, positioned her in bridal style - which he refused to think about - shut the car door, opened the door to their dorm house, shut the door, carried her up a couple flights of stairs, magically managed to pull the key out of his pocket, unlock the door, shut the door behind them, and delicately placed her on his bed. It was entirely done without waking her up.
Nevertheless, there was something that worried him. She had been too light. Yeah, Hamilton was small, but he should've had some more meat on her bones. That was a conversation for never.
In becoming Alexandra's self-proclaimed (but not really) babysitter, the options he had were limited. He could, either, watch a movie, read, or work on some of the homework Mr. Adams - because he was douchebag - had sent with them.
Or wait for Madison and not touch any of it, fretting about how he was going to explain the predicament that the two high schoolers had found themselves in.