Four Story House
Thomas laid the fragile woman next to him in bed.
It had been 3 weeks that she had been healing.
Sally had just taken her off the pain and sleeping drugs, along that she could now walk with crutches.
He lays down next to her, his body propped on his forearms, gazing down at Alexandra’s peaceful face.
Thomas brushes his lips against her forehead.
“How have you managed to make me helpless?” Thomas whispers.
He lowers his head on the pillows, eyes gently closing.
Hazily, he feels a warm body curl into his side.
Thomas warily opens his eyes to see Alexandra’s sleeping form curled into his side.
Her chocolate hair brushed his chin and her breath tickled his neck.
Thomas feels the corner of his lips turn upwards.
He wraps his arms carefully around the sniper, avoiding her injury and is lulled to sleep by the beating of her heart.
***
Alexandra woke up drowsily.
Immediately she noticed a broad tan chest in front of her and an incredible pain in her abdomen.
Suddenly memories came rushing back.
The shooting, the explosion, the pain.
She looks down at her stomach.
Blood soaked bandages were the only thing visible under her breasts and above her waistline.
Alexa winces.
She knew it was going to leave a scar.
She moves slightly and pain shoots through her ribs.
3 or 4 broken ribs were her best guess.
Then came the mystery of who was in front of her.
As she carefully viewed his scarred body, she saw twin dragons extending from the man’s elbow curling around his bicep to their head on his shoulder releasing blue, red, and violet flames across his neck. One dragon was white and the other was black.
Another tattoo was a horned skull on his lower side. It had a daunting look to it and had a sense of foreboding to go with it.
And as Alexandra looked up, she saw the sleeping face of Thomas Jefferson.
He looked almost peaceful.
And then Alexandra remembered what he had done.
Then Alexandra frowns.
Bombs weren’t Jefferson’s MO.
They were….Adams, the fat mother fucker.
Alexandra ponders her options.
If she ran she probably could find a base from Washington’s side.
Or she would die.
But if she stayed she could still possibly die.
It was a lose-lose situation.
“I’m not going to kill you for fucks’ sake. Get the hell back to sleep,” a deep voice, husky from sleep came from above her.
Alexandra fought the urge to shiver at the low tenor the words were spoken at.
“And why not? Had no problem bombing me,” Alexandra counters, looking to look at Thomas.
Thomas opens one eye to glare at the sniper. “I didn’t. Besides, we’re trying to make a peace treaty to kill that asshole, George King. You’re our leverage if all else fails.”
Alexandra purses her lips.
It was no secret that both Jefferson and Washington hated George King with a passion.
But the man was somehow always a step ahead of them.
But how? The only ones who knew about each other were Jefferson and Washington.
No one else knew about their secret lives.
The two were supposedly very close.
President George Washington and his right-hand man, Secretary of State, Thomas Jefferson.
But the two had privately had a fallout a couple of years ago.
No one knew what happened except the two.
So how was the information of their gangs leaked?
Did he plant a spy?
But how?
It wasn’t adding up.
Alexandra was snapped out of her reverie as Thomas drawled, “Done being a dumbass or still need some more time?”
Alexandra glares at Thomas.
“How long have I been out?” Alexa inquires.
Thomas hums. “About 3 weeks.”
Alexandra gapes at the man.
Thomas just sighs and pulls her close to him once more.
Alexandra let him, body and mind not willing to argue with the man.
“Not going to fight against me holding you?” Thomas questions.
Alexandra can hear the smirk in his voice.
“I can’t move, fucker,” Alexandra retorts.
“So, do you want me to let you go?”
“…. That’s not what I said.”
“Hm.”
“Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep.”
Alexandra feels Thomas’s chest rumble.
He was laughing, Alexa belatedly realized.
“Good night, Alexandra.”
“Alexa.”
Alexa surprised both Thomas and herself with the sudden outburst.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Call me Alexa.”
Thomas hums.
“Ok, Alexa.”
Alexa huffs.
He even said her name patronizingly.
***
The next time Alexandra wakes up, it's to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes.
She attempts to get up, the pain significantly dulled.
She sees crutches leaning on the nightstand and grabs them, maneuvering herself into a position where she can get up.
As she gets up, she realizes she is in nothing but shorts, a bra, and a shit ton of bandages.
She grabs one of Thomas’s shirts out of the dresser and throws it over herself.
It dwarfed her small frame and made it to her mid-thighs, giving it the illusion of her having nothing but the shirt on.
She leans heavily on the crutches but manages to make her way to the hallway.
She just laughs when she sees the elevator in the middle of the hall.
George also had an elevator in his house but only because Martha sometimes had back problems and couldn’t get down the stairs.
She gets into the elevator.
4 floored house.
Damn.
It was big enough to be a fucking apartment building.
And Alexandra knew he had more than one, most likely just as big as this.
George also had big houses.
Alexandra felt her throat tighten.
George and Martha must be worried sick along with the rest of her friends.
Before she can think further, the door opens and Alexandra is greeted to a very nice sight.