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"Gentlemen of the Congress, I say ye John Dickinson."
The men of the Second Continental Congress stood and recognized John Dickinson as he left the hall. Whether it was respect for him or gladness at seeing him leave, who can say? However, many believed it was the last they would see of him for a while.
There was an untold tale, unfinished business before he left, between Dickinson and his nemesis, John Adams.
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John Adams was lounging on his bed, for once relaxed, relieved that the combined efforts of Franklin, Jefferson, and himself finally bore fruit, and America would finally stand up to Britain and declare independency.
It was almost sad to say goodbye to Dickinson, however. Despite being a constant thorn in his side, arguing with him had been fun. Someone cool, conservative, collected, and even-tempered against someone loud, obnoxious, rebellious, and tempermental. That made for some interesting moments, in Congress, that's for sure.
A tentative rap at the door shook Adams out of his thoughts. Yet it was so light that he thought he only imagined it, until there was a more forceful knock at the door. Adams gave a slight groan (he HAD been comfortable), got up and answered to door.
John Dickinson stood ther, cap and cane in hand, slightly startled that Adams even answered the door.
"Mr. Dickinson?"
"Hello, Mr. Adams."
"What are you doing here?"
"I came here to talk to you before I go, and I would like to do it without street gawkers hearing every word."
Adams ushered Dickinson in, and shut the door. He offered Dickinson a seat but Dickinson declined, preferring to stand.
"I may have not always liked you, Mr. Adams. But that does not mean I hate you, or that I disrespect you. And I do not want to leave without making some sort of amends to you." He held out his hand. "I ask for your forgiveness for hindering you in your quest for independence."
Whatever Adams had been expecting Dickinson to say, it was not that.
"Mr. Dickinson..." Adams stopped, considering his words. "You have nothing to be forgiven about. You were defending your beliefs, which is an admirable trait." Dickinson sat down next to Adams on the bed. "Please, Mr. Adams."
Adams gave a small smile. "If it will ease your conscience, Mr. Dickinson, then I forgive you your actions."
Dickinson smiled back. "Thank you, John."
"You know, Mr. Dickinson, I've always respected you. Perhaps in other circumstances, we could have been friends." It was only then that Adams noticed Dickinson's hand on top of his own, lazily stroking it with his thumb.
"Perhaps." Dickinson lifted Adams's hand and placed a light kiss on the knuckles. Adams's expression was a mixture of terror and curiosity. Dickinson leaned in closer and the last thing Adams saw before he closed his eyes was Dickinson's blue eyes.
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The next morning, two men left, one to forever add his name to history, one to defend a country coming of age, both pondering what might have been.

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"Oh, John!""Huh?""What?""Not you.""Oh.""Oh, that feels good, John.""What?""What?""Not you two!""Don't...it's a sin" "Please, like I'd want to touch you, John.""Hey!""Hey!""NOT YOU!!!"

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It was a late hour when John Hancock snuffed his candle and shrugged his coat on. It had been settled, America had declared its independence and so far, only he had signed the Declaration. Tomorrow, the delegates would add their names.He could hear from the window that the torrent of rain that accented Congress today had dwindled down to a light drizzle, for which Hancock was glad. He'd hate to have to get soaked on the way to his apartment.He left the hall, waved goodbye to the custodian, and opened the door to the street.And nearly tripped over the man sitting on the steps."Thomson! I didn't see you there!"Charles Thomson made no sign of accepting Hancock's apology, or of even adknowledging Hancock's existence. He just sat on the steps, letting the light rain pelt him.A drop of rain fell down Thomson's cheek, and automatically Hancock reached to wipe it away. To his surprise, the droplet was warm. It wasn't a raindrop at all, but a teardrop."Thomson?" No response. "Thomson?" Hancock tapped Thomson's arm, and he jumped before seeing Hancock."Oh! Mr. President, I didn't see you there.""How long have you been sitting out here? You're soaked to the bone!"Thomson looked down. Sure enough, his clothes were saturated with rainwater and he hadn't noticed."Come on," Hancock said, helping Thomson up. "It would be bad if you caught your death of cold. Then who would help me keep order?" They started walking toward their apartments, which, coincidentally, were next to each other.Thomson had gotten out of his wet clothes and into something dry when there was a knock and Hancock poked his head in."Can I ask you something, Charles?"Thomson waved him in, and Hancock took a seat at a small table."Why were you crying?"Thomson turned from his selection of books. "How did you know I was...""I was wiping a drop of rain off your face, and it was warmer than the rain."Thomson sat across from Hancock. He didn't answer for a long time, but Hancock was patient and waited for Thomson's response."It was the last dispatch Washington sent."Not long after Hancock signed the Declaration, Washingtion's courier came in with a dispatch. It had described how battle with the British was imminent, and how the odds were against them. His last words were 'what brave men I shall lose before this business ends,' and Hancock thought he heard Thomson choke back a sob. His guess seemed correct."Those poor boys, those poor men, poor Washington," Thomson murmured, tears welling up in his eyes.Hancock blinked. He never really knew what to do when it came to emotions; he was usually too busy with politics."Perhaps you better go," Thomson said in a strained voice, trying to hold back those tears.Hancock got up, and began to head for the door, but turned back around and stood next to Thomson."Go ahead. Go ahead and cry for them."Thomson was silent, but he let the tears fall.Hancock awkwardly watched him for a minute, then pulled the chair around, sat down, and held Thomson in his arms.888888888The next morning...Thomson's eyes shot open and he looked around. He wasn't in his bed, if the soreness from sleeping in an awkward place was any indication. He tried to sit back in the chair, but couldn't for the arms wrapped aroung him.Hancock had fallen asleep in his chair as well, but the movement Thomson was making woke him up."Ah! Good morining, Charles. Did you sleep well, considering you fell asleep in a chair?" Thomson nodded. "Good." Hancock stretched. "Feeling better?" Thomson shrugged. "Charles, I feel bad that they have little chance of surviving, but Washington and the others will make sure that their deaths aren't in vain." Hancock gave a small smile. "Now we have to get ready to go to Congress. Hurry up and we'll go there together." He walked to his place next door.Thomson shook his head. Who knew John Hancock was a morning person? He changed and grabbed his coat, which was similar to the one he wore yesterday. What could he say? He liked the color blue, and from the grin on Hancock's face, so did Hancock.They walked toward the hall, and before stepping in, Thomson turned to Hancock."Thank you, John."And when the delegates filed in on the Fourth of July, John Hancock and Charles Thomson were at their seats.

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John Hancock knocked on his neighbor's door. "Come on, Charles, we're going to be late!"Charles Thomson opened the door and glared at Hancock. "How can you be so damn cheery?"Hancock blinked. That was not like Thomson to snap at him. He took a closer look. Thomson's face looked rather flushed, his eyes had a glassy look, and despite having a hold on the doorframe, he was swaying a bit."Charles, are you okay?""Not really," he murmured, leaning on the doorframe. Hancock raised his hand and felt Thomson's forehead. It was warmer than usual."I TOLD YOU SITTING OUT IN THE RAIN WOULD GET YOU SICK!" Hancock yelled at a volume that would put John Adams to shame. He pushed Thomson back into the room, slamming the door behind them. "I will not have my secretary come to Congress sick and just making himself worse!""But John...""No buts! I order you, as your president, to stay in bed and get better!" Hancock exclaimed, pulling the covers back."Somehow, I don't think that's what the delegates had in mind when they elected you."Hancock glared at him."Okay, I'll stay at home."88888It was only a few hours later when Hancock silently opened the door.Hancock made sure that he made no noise, then crept over to the sleeping Thomson. He felt his forehead again. Still warm. Still sick.Hancock sat down at a clear spot on the bed and brushed a few stray locks from Thomson's face. Thomson stirred a bit and curled up. A small face adorned his face as Hancock continued to stroke it.Hancock permitted himself a smile at how peaceful Thomson looked when he was asleep. Hancock had quietly had a soft spot for the secretary since they were both elected to office, and hated to see him sick. He hoped the smile meant he was getting better.Thomson moved again and opened his eyes. "Mr. President?""Please, it's just us, you can call me John.""Sorry. Instinct. Congress is out already?"Hancock nodded. "The othes hope you get better soon.""That's nice of them. Thomson sat up to have a proper conversation with Hancock. "I was dreaming of you." Hancock raised an eyebrow. "You were chasing Adams around with your flyswatter, yelling 'I'm the president, I boss the Johns around!'"They laughed at the absurdity of the dream. Thomson had his head propped on his knees and Hancock was sitting on the edge of the bed. Hancock pulled his hand away, but Thomson caught it and replaced it against his face."No, I like your hand there. It's so cool." Hancock humoured Thomson and left his hand against his face, idly stroking the cheek."I hope you get better soon as well. I had Dr. Hall substitute for you, but I'd rather have you.""Aww, that's nice of you, John. Thanks."They talked until it got dark, and Thomson's eyelids began to droop."Sleepy?"Thomson nodded."I'll leave so you can sleep."Thomson curled up under the covers. "Good night, John."Hancock surprised himself and Thomson by kneeling down to his eye level and lightly kissed his forehead. "Good night, Charles." And he darted out before Thomson could see the manic grin of triumph on his face.8888Hancock may be a morning person, but he is also less coordinated in the morning.Case in point: He's all ready, about to check on Thomson, he opens the door...and the door smacks him on the forehead."Owww..." Hancock exclaimed, then proceeded next door. He knocked."Come in!"Hancock saw Thomson, up and about, getting ready. He shut the door behind them."I see you're feeling better.""Much better.""You still look a little flushed, though.""Well, I've been moving.""True."Thomson faced Hancock. "About last night...""Um..." Hancock looked down to the floor. "Sorry about the forehead thing, I couldn't help myself..." He stopped when he saw a second pair of feet and looked up. Thomson brushed his fingers along the forming bruise on Hancock's forehead."Don't think about it." Thomson's fingers trailed down Hancock's face and cupped his chin. Hancock's hands reached for Thomson. Their lips grazed each other's, never looking away from each other."We should go to Congress""After you tempt me like this, you expect me to go to Congress?""Yes. We'll continue later.""Charles.""I promise."88888"Does.""Doesn't.""I swear to you, he fancies Thomson!" John Adams told his cousin Samuel, who had just returned from Massachusetts."Hancock? Fancing Thomson? Not likely.""I swear! You haven't seen the way he looks at him! Just like the way you looked at Mr. Revere!"Samuel turned crimson. "I thought you weren't going to bring that up.""I forgot, sorry." It was obvious John wasn't."You're early, John. Ah, Sam! Glad to see you back." Hancock came in, with Thomson in tow."Hello."The newly arrived went to their desks at the front of the room. Thomson smiled at Hancock. Hancock blushed and turned away. Sam blinked."I told you," John said in a low, but smug voice."Sometimes, Johnny, I really hate you."

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John HancockThomson calls Adams up to sign the declaration. John stops momentarily when the bell first tolls, then proceeds to sign.I can't help but look at his hands. So slender, for once not flailing about, attracting attention. Well, I take that back. They still have my attention.John hands the quill to Rhode Island and goes back to Massachusetts's table, hands clasped behind his back. If only they were in my hands.John AdamsIt's done; it's done.All the efforts of myself, Jefferson, Franklin-culminated in that one sheet of parchment, being signed by all. Now all we can do is wait for what the future brings to America, its citizens, and us, its representatives.Stephen HopkinsI may be drunk most of the time, and sometimes I may act a bit senile, but even I know when to put up the rum and be sober. This is important. Against all odds, those sons of bitches got the vote, and I salute them for it. I told Johnny Hancock I wanted to remember each face as they signed, becoming part of this important event.I wonder what they're thinking?Because to be honest, I AM thinking about going to the tavern.Lewis MorrisDamn New York.The legislature is so ineffective. Was it too much to ask for them to let one person speak at a time? It's no wonder I ignored them and vowed to sign. It didn't help that Washington reported the British ransacking my property. It's not so much about the property, but my family could have been harmed in the process. My four older boys have long ago told me of their pro-independence views and have apparently joined the army.They can serve that way, I will serve this way.John WitherspoonThe last name the secretary called was Dr. Hall's. I was near the table where Dr. Hall was signing. Despite efforts to control it, my pulse quickened and my breath was caught short when he passed by. I hate my body for betraying me like that.It is quite a precarious situation, a man of God having affections for another man. I wish I could talk to someone about this, but the only other person who I could speak with on the same level is the one I have the fondness for. Quite a situation.I must pray to God, atone and be forgiven for my transgression.Benjamin FranklinOne advantage of being left handed-I don't smear the signatures.Ha ha ha.James WilsonWhen I put the tip of the quill to the declaration, I felt a pang in my heart. I could not get the look of betrayal on John Dickinson's face out of my mind. He had been shocked; everyone had been shocked by my vote of yea. I couldn't stand to be marked in history like that, but John's face nearly made me regret it. We were close, perhaps too close by some standards, but the relationship between us would not be the same after this.Ceasar RodneyAt this fateful moment, the colonel helped me get back to Philadelphia. He knew, as I did, that I was a dying man, but I am also a patriot. I would willingly give my life for my country. Not the grand British Empire, but the rustic America.It was quiet (sans the bell) when the president came over with the declaration to save me from getting up. I was basically signing my death warrant; no respectable English doctor would help me now.I would do it again in a heartbeat.George ReadI knew it was pointless to try to bar independency. Once NcKean left to get Ceasar, it was over. All I could do was follow their lead and sign.So much for glory.Samuel ChaseI'm hungry.Thomas JeffersonThey finally stopped. They stopped altering my declaration. I worked very hard on it, but they wouldn't leave it alone.If John Adams hadn't said something, I think I would have lost it.He called it a 'masterful expression of the human mind'. He liked and appreciated the work I did on it, even if he didn't show it often. A small smile or a gesture of his hands were the only expressions. At least he liked it.Actually, not just him. I helped Thomson write the final copy, the one we were signing. He had told me he liked it as it had been. I know I saw dissapointment when I told him to change anything.Doesn't exactly explain his look of threat when Adams said as much, though. I'll have to ask him about that.Charles ThomsonJefferson looks relieved. And all during the revision, he looked hurt every time I had to change something. And that hurt me. I thought the declaration was perfect, and I thought Jefferson didn't have to be put through this.Jefferson walked up to sign. He stopped in front of me and we stared at each other. He nodded at me and signed the declaration. Somehow, I was sure he knew how I felt about it.And about him.Andrew McNairThis stinks. Something important is happening, and I have to ring a stupid bell that Mr. Adams obsesses over.There's gotta be better work than this!

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Thomas plays the violin.Thomas Jefferson raised his bow to the violin and began playing. It was no particular song he meant to play, just a tune. He kept his body straight; his eyes never left the violin.There were many talents he possessed. However, it was this one, his skills on the violin, that hw was most proud of. He had enamored Martha with his music, it kept him from going insane on lonely nights, and no matter who the person, they appreciated the talent he displayed.Charles plays the piano.Compared to many instruments, the piano was relatively new, having only been invented in this century (according to my research). The one Charles Thomson had was simple, which suited his needs well. He smiled whenever he remembered first getting the piano. On a whim, he had ordered it and then taught himself how to play.He loved to play it everyday, sometimes to the annoyance, other times to the delight of his neighbors, the Massachusetts delegation and Ben Franklin. The notes of a piano trickled down the street.Together they make a duet.It had started out with people not watching where they were going. This time, it was Hancock and Thomson. Jefferson had come over to help them pick up their papers. He came across a piece with a series of musical notes written on it. Hancock had already claimed his materials, so it belonged to Thomson. Jefferson arched an eyebrow and handed the sheet back to Thomson.Later, Thomson was surprised to find Jefferson at his door, violin case in hand. He had remembered what Thomson had written, and wanted to transpose his music to violin, if possible. Finally, Jefferson had written a piece to accompany the piano piece. They glanced at each other so they would start at the same time and began playing. It was honestly a beautiful duet.At the end of the song, Jefferson segued into the familiar tune that his wife loved. (Or as we like to call it, He Plays the Violin :P) Somehow, Thomson knew which chords best matched the melody.They stopped. Jefferson put his violin away as Thomson watched. He scooted over so Jefferson could sit next to him on the bench. They sat side by side for a few seconds, just watching each other. Then Thomson kissed Jefferson.It startled Jeferson. He jumped and his hand hit the keys, making a very sour sounding chord. There were three loud knocks from the other side of the wall."Keep it down!" A muffled voice that sounded like Hancock yelled from the other side."Please do!" The other voice definately belonged to John Adams.The musicians shook their heads.

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John Hancock had invited all the Massachusetts delegates, but only John Adams accepted the invitation to dinner. They had made small talk about their families and livelihoods, until some music drifted through the air."Thomson's at it again," Hancock muttered, referring to the secretary of Congress, who played the piano everyday.Adams, who had a better ear for music than Hancock, shook his head. "He's got someone with him. I hear a violin." He took a sip of his rum. "Might be Jefferson; I know he's got a violin."They listened to the music for a few minutes. Adams took another sip of his rum."Good music to dance to. If only there were women to dance with.""And if only I could dance."Adams set down his drink and stared at Hancock. "Do you mean to say that you do not know how to dance?""Yes."Adams stood up, seized Hancock's wrist, pulled him up, and brought him to the center of the room, the only clear spot in Hancock's room."Wha?""I am teaching you how to dance, Mr. Hancock."Hancock blinked. "Okay," he said warily.Adams took Hancock's hand, placed it on his waist, put his own hand on Hancock's shoulder, and they grasped each other's other hand."Just follow my lead for now." Adams began to teach Hancock how to dance the waltz. They danced until the music died down. Then another song began to play. Adams let out a small laugh."It's definately Jefferson. That's the song his wife loves.""Can I lead?" Hancock asked."You may."Now it was Hancock's trun to lead Adams. To the surprise of both men, he was doing rather well."Oh John, you can dance." Adams said."I can still learn a few things, Mr. Adams." Hancock responded.Again the music stopped. Adams realized that he was leaning against the wall. Hancock was leaning foward and whispering in his ear: "It is true, you annoy me quite a lot, but still I'd rather trot to your waltz or your gavotte."Adams shivered at the close proximity of Hancock. Hancock kissed Adams on the neck. He was about to kiss Adams on the lips when a particularly bad set of notes sounded from the other side.Now Hancock was annoyed. He banged on the wall. "Keep it down!""Please do!" Adams added. He effectively silenced Hancock's next retort by meeting his lips.Hancock swung Adams around and they waltzed a few steps, breaking only when they reached Hancock's bed."John..." both said at the same time, then both laughed."Are you sure...""Shut up and kiss me, John."

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James Wilson sighed as he entered the hall. Out of one convention and into another. It seemed only yesterday that he cast the deciding vote that declared America's independence, now he was joining the convention that would write a constitution to maintain it.Most of his fellow congressmen were serving elsewhere, but he did nod to Roger Sherman and Dr. Benjamin Franklin before taking his seat.The temporary president banged his gavel and brought the convention to order. Almost immediately after, the door opened and a man rushed in, taking his seat among the Delaware delegates.James went pale.It was John Dickinson!The last time he saw John, he was storming out the door in anger at what he considered James's betrayal. James had argued back, and the fighting ended only when John Hancock yelled that if they didn't shut up he would shoot them both.Although what he was doing at Thomson's place was beyond him.James kept quiet, hoping John would take no notice of him.The day went by smoothly, by no means a sign of what was to come, but a relief at least. Positions were named, a rough agenda was presented, and Dr. Franklin made some comment about a rising sun.James had collected his things and was about to leave when he stopped. John stood in front of him, clearly seeing that he was at the convention. James opened his mouth to say something, but John turned around and left.888888James had pulled out a book to read when a rap came at the door."Come in!"A person entered and shut the door behind him."James..."James dropped his book. "John!""Hello, James.""Hello."John sat down. They eyed each other for a few seconds, wondering what the other thought."It's good to see you again.""Is it, John?""Yes. I've been meaning to contact you for a while.""I see.""James, don't be like that. If you're still upset about that fight, I've long since forgiven you; can't we put this behind us and move on?"James shook his head. "I still haven't forgiven you, John.""What?""You were a manipulative, obsessive maniac. You used your voice, mind, and body to coerce me to your side against my will. And when I made my own decision, you couldn't have the decency to accept it with grace. You never even apologized to me for the arguement."John watched James for afew minutes, then leaned over and banged his head on the table."John?""I was manipuative, wasn't I?" he murmured."Yes.""I'm sorry, James. I wasn't fully aware of my effect on you. I'm sorry for that."Silence."Can you forgive me now?""No."John hung his head."But it's a start."John smiled."Can we be friends again at least?"James smiled back."Okay."

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They were at it again. Hancock had a bored look on his face as Adams and Dickinson argued. He could swear that General Washington could hear them in New York, they were so loud."What do we have to gain with independency?""What do we have to gain with British rule?""Continued protection, the benefits of the empire...""What benefits? We're taxed to death, and treated like substandard citizens!""Continue under this rebellion, and we will become substandard citizens.""Not if we gain our independence.""We'll never succeed on our own."Adams grabbed Dickinson by the coat, and kissed him square on the mouth, stunning everyone in Congress."You'll think differently someday," Adams said in a taunting, singing voice, let go of Dickinson, and calmly walked out of Congress like nothing happened.It was silent. One could hear a quill drop. Dickinson stood in the middle of the hall, near catatonic in his shock."I'm not putting this in the minutes," the secretary noted.

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It was dark save for that particular corner. Samuel Chase was in his usual chair, eating some tasty dish or another."Hello, you fat lard."Chase looked up. Samuel Adams stood in the doorway, in naught but his breeches. Something was in his hand but couldn't be made out in this light."Look at you stuff yourself. It's anyone's guess how you can even move.Sam Adams lifted his hand to reveal his cane. With one swing he knocked all of Chase's food to the ground.Chase, for his part, was too confused to say anything."Now, to beat all that fat out of you."He raised his cane to hit Chase.7777777Chase woke up with a start. Damn it all, he had fallen asleep at Congress again! He shifted in his seat and tried to stay awake.It was a shame he couldn't remember his dreams; thinking of them would keep him awake for a while.

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Dickinson could pull off wearing green, Wilson decided. Someone else, say Adams, wearing green, and it doesn't look as alluring. Not even Rutledge, who looks good in anything, would look as good as Dickinson.It made watching him easier, especially when he wasn't the center of attention.Sometimes, when it was a heated discussion or just the heat, Dickinson would take off his coat and lay it on the chair. And some of those timesm Wilson would take the coat, use it to cover himself, and pretend to fall asleep, but really relishing the fact that he was holding Dickinson's coat.No one thought anything of it. It was not uncommon to fall asleep in Congress. It was not even uncommon to use someone else's coat; in fact, he had seen Jefferson cover Lee with his coat before continuing in his book.He gave a quick glance to his clothes. Drab grey. Walking into the hall, he only reflected Dickinson.

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He was pushed against the wall, held there by the only other man in the room. He could feel lips on his neck, and he moaned in pleasure."Edward..." he said to Mr. Rutledge."Shh, Lyman," he addressed Dr. Hall. "The walls have ears."Lyman responded by supplanting kisses all over Edward's face while undoing his cravat. Edward unbuttoned Lyman's waistcoat and pulled at his shirt.As more bare skin was revealed, the more frantic their ministrations unto each other were. Lyman kept it down to a whisper, but still, the only word which left his mouth was "Edward...Edward..."Said Edward was enjoying this night with Lyman. A night were they could forget all moral standards and satisfy each other.

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Thomson: The situation is most desperate in New Brunswick, where every able bodied whore in the...whore? in the colony has assembled.

Witherspoon:There must be some mistake. I have an aunt in New Brunswick.Dickinson:You must tell her to keep up the good work!
John Witherspoon rushed out of the hall once Dickinson began singing. He'd had enough of sarcastic conservatives today. And that really stung, that comment about his aunt. Even if it was true, Dickinson didn't have to say anything.He stormed into Roger Sherman's lodgings, for they were going to have supper together. Roger looked up from yet another one of his books."So even you get angry," he said."Yes, I do. What right does Dickinson have to make jest of my aunt?""Well, is she a whore?""Yes, but he still had no right." John sunk down into a chair and laid his head down on the table. Yelling about Dickinson was giving him a headache."And aside from her trade, she's a nice person.""So you've visited her.""A few times, befor I joined the ministry. Nice person, great cook, but very odd. She insisted on showing me a few 'techniques', saying I might use them someday."Roger raised an eyebrow."What kind of techniques?""Well," John hesitated, clearly embarrassed at this conversation, "she taught me how to, well, pleasure a man.""Really." Roger shut his book. "Show me.""What?""Show me. I dare you."A little known fact is, no matter how stupid, dangerous, or sinful it was, John Witherspoon cannot resist a dare.He got up and proceeded to make himself comfortable on Roger's lap. He wrapped his arms around Roger's neck and began to passionately kiss him. His thumbs stroked Roger behind the ears, making him shiver in pleasure. John's hands moved down his body to his hardening cock, and began to fondle it, much to Roger's delight. He hardly noticed his breeches being undone until John left his field of vision to take the cock in his mouth.Roger moaned at the sensation of John's tongue teasing his shaft. It did not take long for him to come, fairly shouting John's name.John sat back on Roger's lap. "Yes, well, that's what she taught me.""I'd take you over a whore any day."

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I don't know what possessed me to go change my vote at this time of night, but I left my apartment and walked toward the hall. I met Thomson at the door, but he just gave me a pitiful look and walked out the door.I was about to enter the hall, but caught Mr. Adams reading a letter and stopped."Is anybody there?"At first, I thought he heard me. I backed up and peeked at him through a crack, trying to remain quiet."Does anybody care?"Okay, not talking to me, then."Does anybody see what I see?"I opened the door a crack."They want me to quit. They say 'John, give up the fight; still to England I say 'good night, forever, good night!'"I caught my breath and gripped the door handle. Somehow, Adams's voice was mesmerizing me, making me forget even to breathe."For I have crossed the Rubicon. Let the bridge be burned behind me; come what may, come what may. Committment!"John Adams. Bane of the Conservatives. Champion of the Patriots. Voice of Massachusetts.And at the moment, driving me insane."The croakers all say we'll rue the day. There'll be hell to pay in firey purgatory. Through all the gloom, through all the gloom, I can seee the rays of ravishing light and glory!"By now, his voice was becoming louder and stronger."Is anybody there?"I am."Does anybody care?"I do."Does anybody see what I see?"Yes. I do."I see fireworks! I see the pagent and pomp and parade!"As Adams described the jubilee, I could see it in my mind's eye."I hear the bells ringing out! I hear the cannons roar!"Sorry, I'm still fixated on you, John. You're drowning out the cannons and bells."I see Americans! All Americans! Free! Forevermore!"John suddenly grew quiet, and I felt a pang of disappointment in my chest. I went in to confront him, tell him he wasn't alone in his thoughts, when he began again, so soft and low it was practically a whisper."How quiet, how quiet the chamber is."True."How silent, how silent the chamber is."I snuck into the room."Is anybody there? Does anybody care? Does anybody see what I see?""Yes, Mr. Adams. I do."John turned around, obviously startled by my presence. He got a panicked look in his eyes."Dr. Hall! I didn't know anyone was...""I'm sorry if I startled you. I couldn't sleep."And so I revealed to John my revelation that led me to this time, this place, his song."And in trying to resolve my dilemma, I remembered something I once read. 'That a representative not only owes the people his industry, but his judgement, and he betrays them if he sacrifices it for their opinion.' That was written by Edmund Burke, a member of the British Parliament."I walked over to the tally board and moved Georgia's vote to yea. John nearly dropped his coat in surprise."Good night, Mr. Adams.""Good night." This time it was a whisper.I walked back out into the hot Philadelphia night."Lyman!"I turned. John was catching up to me."I just wanted to say, thanks for understanding. You're one of the few who does.""You're welcome, John.""Well, good night." And before I could register it, he got on his tiptoes, kissed me on the cheek, and went back inside.I touched my face at that spot. Did he just...? Was it on purpose?No doubt tonight, my dreams would be haunted by a raven-haired man with a hypnotizing voice.

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If Caesar dies because of this, I'm going to kill John Adams.What the hell was he thinking, telling me to bring him back for the vote? Unless a miracle happens, Pennsylvania and the South are going to shoot down independency. And that just might kill him.I watch Caesar as we ride back to Philadelphia. The years and his illness have had their way with his body, and now he looked a mere shadow of the man he used to be,A bump knocked the carriage about and the coat Caesar was using for a cover fell. I reached down and covered him with it. He's got so much wrong with him, least I can do is make sure he doesn't get cold.

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He could see why Mr. Adams came up here, the Leather Apron, Nathan, thought. The bell tower had a great view, it was quiet, and because it could only be reached by climbing four flights of stairs, only a few people came here.Speaking of, someone was coming up. Nathan hid in a corner, behind the bell, hoping Mr. McNair wasn't looking for him.It was Mr. Hancock. He looked around for a bit, went into the sunniest corner, and settled in for a quick nap.Nathan tried to sneak back down without disturbing him, but tripped and fell against the bell, letting off a dull clank and waking Mr. Hancock up."Nathan? Are you okay?"He picked himself off the floor."Yes, sir, I'm..." and Nathan nearly fell over, but Mr. Hancock caught him."You're not okay," Mr. Hancock confirmed.Nathan tried to deny it, but passed out before saying anything.8888888It was dark in the room when Nathan came to. His head hurt somewhat, but it helped that his head was resting on something comfortable."Are you okay?" a very familiar voice whispered. Nathan opened his eyes to find Mr. Hancock above him. The something comfortable his head was resting on was Mr. Hancock's lap. He was brushing stray locks of hair from Nathan's face."Where am I?""My place.""Do I have to get up?"Mr. Hancock smiled. "No."Nathan smiled back. "Good."

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"Damn that Adams," Jefferson muttered as he walked down the street toward the tavern that Rutledge frequented. If he had his way, he'd go to sleep and panic about the vote tomorrow, but Adams was...quite persistent.Jefferson ignored the rabble and went straight to Rutledge in the back. Rutledge gave a wave to him and finished his drink."You're not going to back down on this issue, are you?""Nope."Rutledge ordered another drink and got one for Jefferson as well."Why must you be so stubborn?"Rutledge finished his second drink, left a couple of coins on the table, and tapped Jefferson on the nose."Because Adams is so adorable when he's pissed off."

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There he sits, behind his desk, in yet another blue outfit, closer to indigo today. I lean back in my chair, thinking back to when I first came to Congress, and I don't remember Thomson wearing any color besides blue.Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Blue suits him. Makes his eyes and hair darker. Makes him easier to identify in the rabble of Congressmen.The day's over and I walk down the street. A flash of indigo catches my eye, and Thomson walks up beside me."Hello, Mr. Thomson.""Hello, Mr. Lee."

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It wasn't until late at night that John Witherspoon remembered that he left his book at Congress. He went to go get it.He stopped at the threshold. In the corner behind Hancock's desk, John Adams and John Hancock were madly snogging as if the apocalypse was coming.Witherspoon's jaw dropped, then he prepared to tell them off for sodomy, when John Dickinson's voice cut in."Nice, isn't it?""What?!""Watching them.""Are you insane? It's sodomy!""And your point is?"Dickinson came closer to Witherspoon, who backed up amd tripped over his feet, falling down. Dickinson calmly straddled him."Shall I show you?" And before Witherspoon could refuse, Dickinson kissed him, touching tongues.Despite all his teachings otherwise, Witherspoon found himself enjoying this. He reached for Dickinson."Now was that bad?" Dickinson asked after they pulled apart."I must say...no, it wasn't, John.""Wha?"Witherspoon and Dickinson turned to see Adams and Hancock looking at them, completely confused."Well, I was referring to...""We're all Johns here," Adams interrupted."Good Lord! So we are!""Yes, well," Dickinson cleared his throat. "We'll just have to be more specific. Anyway, now that I have your attention, would you join us?" Witherspoon looked confused. "The more people, the more enjoyable.""I think Rutledge's train of thought is rubbing off on you," Adams muttered befor he tounged Witherspoon. Dickinson began to kiss Adams's neck, while Hancock settled for removing articles of clothing from everyone.Soon, four naked men stood in Congress.Adams stroked his hands over Withespoon's cock, while he was being kissed by Hancock, whose own cock was beginning to be sucked off by Dickinson."Mmm...fuck me, John," Hancock murmured against Witherspoon's lips."Which John" Adams asked."Good point. Adams, fuck me."Adams was happy to oblige. As he slid behind Hancock, Witherspoon grasped Dickinson by the hips and entered him. Dickinson gasped around Hancock's...well, cock.The Johns enjoyed each other until all were spent.Meanwhile, Edward Rutledge walked down the street when he saw a very peculiar sight.James Wilson was sitting under a window. Charles Thomson and Thomas Jefferson stood on either side of him. All had their arms crossed and a miffed look on their faces."What's with you three?""They're having fun in there, but Dickinson wouldn't let us join in because our names aren't John!"Rutledge looked from them to the window, then shrugged and walked on.

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This was not a good day for Thomas Jefferson. He was forced on a committee he wanted no part of, he was saddled with writing a declaration, he couldn't go see his wife, and after only staying long enough to move for independence, Lee was going back to Virginia.Lee had stopped by before going home. They spent the little time they had left drowning each other in the affection and love they had for each other.As Lee prepared to leave, he whispered a final goodbye, placed something in Jefferson's hand, and left.Jefferson stood at the window, watching Lee ride away, clutching a ribbon as if it were a lifeline.It was the only thing he had left of Richard Henry Lee.

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He was riding toward the third day of Congress, when he saw an unfamiliar face looking confused on the street. He told the driver to stop and hailed the person."Are you all right, sir?""Well, I'm afraid I got myself turned aout and don't know where I am," the other man said in a distinctive Southern accent."Where are you trying to go?""To the Second Continental Congress. I'm a delegate there.""How convienent! So am I. Come, we'll go there together."The man climbed into the carriage, not noticing the predatory grin on the other's face."Thomas Heyward, South Carolina.""John Dickinson, Pennsylvania."

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"What the hell?"Not exactly words one expected to hear from a reverend, but it summed the situation up quite nicely.There were two John Adamses at the Massachusetts table, one in the traditional russet, the other in black. "What?""You...and you...but...what the hell?" Witherspoon said again.John Hancock came in and saw what happened."Hello, John. Hello, Sam.""Sam?!""Yes, don't you know? This is John's cousin, Samuel Adams.""Cousin? But you look so much alike!""Yes, I know," Sam said. Even his voice sounded like John's."How do people tell you apart?""They don't always. Annoys the hell out of them, too." John and Sam Adams smirked, eerily alike, and turned to talk to each other.

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It was late at night, but Charles Thomson paid no mind to it as he hurried to finish his notes of the day's events. A hand was placed on his shoulder and he jumped before turning to see who it was."Did I startle you, Mr. Thomson?" Edward Rutledge asked."I'm sorry, Mr. Rutledge. I didn't know anyone was still here.""That is quite all right." Rutledge sat on the table and stroked Thomson's hand. He blinked."What do you want?""Why, isn't it obvious?" Rutledge's hand moved to cup Thomson's face. "I want you."Thomson quickly got up and backed away from Rutledge. "What do you mean?""I want you." Rutledge walked toward Thomson and began to kiss him. Thomson pushed him away and ran around so that the president's desk was between them."What are you doing?""Oh, don't be so naive, Mr. Thomson. You know what some of our fellow congressmen do behind closed doors, And I've seen your longing looks at Hancock."Thomson's eyes widened. "No."Rutledge raised an eyebrow. "No? You'll change your mind soon." He took a step forward; Thomson took a step back and fell behind Rhode Island's desk."I'll never change my mind, and I'll never give in to you.""I do not like the word 'never', and you will give in," Rutledge said as he straddled Thomson before he could get away. Thomson tried to hit Rutledge, but he grabbed Thomson's wrist and held them over his head. "And one way or another, I get my way."

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Obituary for John Adams(As Written by his Enemies)30 June 1776John Adams WAS obnoxious and disliked. He was most likely the most disliked man in Congress, aside from maybe the drunk in the corner. Adams talked entirely too much and too loud, constantly trying to push heretical views such as independence on his peers. Even his second cousin couldn’t put up with him.John Adams came from Massachusetts. He became a lawyer, which explains the dislike. Never has there been a well-liked lawyer, or if there is, he hasn’t been heard of. The obnoxiousness was part of Adams’s character and personality. Even if he was something tame such as a preacher, he would still be obnoxious.It must be noted, however, that John Adams is a good man, despite his faults, and lets no one sway him on his convictions. Even his enemies respected him for that. As for his friends, they always turned to him for advice, and he was good at persuading people to do some of the tasks he wanted done. According to rumour and hearsay (from the women), he was also quite the handsome man and a wonderful dancer.It had always been assumed by the conservatives of the Second Continental Congress that Adams would not only hang for treason to the British Crown, he would be the first one to be hanged. The conservatives proved to be a little too impatient regarding his death. One night, after Adams was particularly verbal, the conservatives, led by John Dickinson and Edward Rutledge, seized him and dragged him out, with the rest of Congress following, except John Hancock and Charles Thomson, whom are a pair of sticks-in-the-mud.As the others watched in shock, Adams was taken to a nearby park, stripped to the waist, and then tied to two trees. Quills were then brought forth, and used to tickle Adams, who, depending on who was asked, either enjoyed or loathed the tickling.The tar and feathers were pulled out next. This was a common punishment for those who were on the side of the British, so it seems apropos that Adams would suffer the pain, not to mention the indignity, of the tar and feathers. His screams could probably be heard in England, as the conservatives were very generous with both items. They slopped on the tar, painting his body almost completely black, and then covered him with feathers of many covers, looking like some sort of chicken creature. He was quite a sight to look at.Some of the more sadistic members of Congress (i.e. Rutledge) pulled out whips, subjecting Adams to the brutal torture of being whipped. By this point, Adams’s voice had gotten hoarse and his screams had been reduced to whimpers. Some of his allies tried to get the whips away, but were pushed down.The conservatives then proceeded to pull apart Adams, and he definitely did not enjoy that. Southern aristocrats and Pennsylvanian merchants they may be, together they were pretty strong and pulled him apart with minimal effort. His body was then paraded around Philadelphia and thrown into a river, but promptly fished out so the remains could be sent to his family, along with a well-concocted lie as to what happened.John Adams leaves behind a wife, Abigail, who must either be insane or a saint to marry, let alone sleep with him, and four or five children, (who can keep count?) who for their own good better now be as vocal as their father.Or rather, he would have, if any of this actually happened, but sadly, he’s still alive, yelling at us for making yet another change to the declaration Jefferson wrote. Honestly, Mr. Adams, everything can’t go your way. If he can’t learn to get over it, then we plan on doing all these things and more if we think of any, to him. Maybe we will not commit the murder, that will be too much a headache, but the tar and feathering we will do for certain.Written by and signed byJohn DickinsonEdward Rutledge

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Dr. Lyman Hall couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following him. As he walked down the street, he could sense someone behind him, but when he turned around, no one was there.He turned onto a smaller street and could hear footsteps getting closer and faster. In turn, Hall sped up to try to outrun the pursuer.Not soon enough, Hall spotted his lodgings, and quickly unlocked the door. Before he could shut the door, someone tackled him and sat on top of him. Hall looked up and couldn't help but laugh."John, was that you? Don't scare me like that!"John Witherspoon grinned sheepishly as Hall lightly whacked him on the head. "Aww, but it's so much fun scaring you!"

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"Quit being a grump," George Washington said as he packed. "The vote doesn't lie.""I know," John Hancock said, "But I wanted to lead the army."George stopped and held John's face in his hands. "If the British get you, they'll immediately kill you. And then what good will you be to the cause? Here you're somewhat safe.""That's true." John gave a small smile. George resumed his packing."You're going to be famous in history.""Who, me?" George laughed. "I doubt it.""No, I'm serious. People will talk about you for centuries." John flipped a coin. "It may be your face on a coin someday."George shook his head. "You're ridiculous, John."

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There was a loud whoop and Richard Henry Lee ran out in the rain, wearing only his breeches. Roger Sherman gaped at him and then laughed."What are you doing?" he said between chuckles."Running out in the rain," Lee answered as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Which it kind of was, but it wasn't the most obvious action in the world."You're strange," Sherman turned to walk away, but Lee grabbed his arm."Join me!""What?""Join me!""Why?""It's fun!" And he pulled Sherman into the rain, swinging him back and forth."Stop, stop! The rain's getting into my eyes!"Lee stopped and helped get the rainwater out of Sherman's eyes, still wearing his familiar silly grin. Sherman looked up at him, made up his mind, and kissed him.

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Mornings are hell, John Adams decided as he walked to the hall. He did not like mornings. They come too early and the sky was so dull compared to the afternoon.Something tugged on the ribbon in his hair and pulled it out. He turned and saw a horse nibbling on it."Give it back!" He yelled and pulled on the ribbon to try and get it out of its mouth. Another hand covered his, pulled, and tapped on the horse's nose. The horse let go.Adams looked down at the dilapidated ribbon. It was chewed up, saliva covered, and basically ruined."Johnny, I'm sorry, Spirit must have thought it was food, I'm so sorry."Adams looked up to see Richard Henry Lee making the apologies for his horse. He looked from Lee to the horse, back to Lee, glared at the horse, then turned back to Lee."Your horse is an idiot," he said, dropped the ribbon into the street and continued toward Congress.He heard a set of hooves come up beside him. Lee had pulled up beside him and held out his hand."At least let us give you a ride."Adams huffed a bit, said "Fine", and took Lee's hand. Lee pulled him up and Adams settled in behind Lee, wrapping his arms around him. Lee nudged his horse, Spirit, onward.Riding on a horse with Lee was...kind of nice, he had to admit. He leaned his head against Lee's back and closed his eyes.Almost too soon, they arrived at the hall. They got down and Lee led Spirit to the nearby stable. Adams followed them and petted the horse.Lee watched them for a few seconds, then pulled out his hair ribbon and threw it in a corner. Adams stared at Lee."What was that for?""So you don't feel so alone," and with that, he pulled Adams toward Congress."That makes no sense," Adams muttered.Like he said, mornings were hell. And confusing.

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John Adams, in general, is grumpy. John Adams, when ill, is extra grumpy.He glared at Edward Rutledge's smirk as Rutledge came in after a long (boring) day in Congress. He took off his coat and sat on the bed."How are you feeling, John?""Don't patronize me, Edward." And Adams burrowed under the covers."Can't I worry about you?""No!"Rutledge watched Adams curl up. Then he got a devilish grin and wrapped his arms around Adams."What the hell are you doing?""I'm going to make you feel better.""Not a chance!" Adams squirmed and wiggled, but Rutledge had a tight grip on him. "Fine," he acquiesced, and settled into Rutledge's arms.They sat like that for a while, Rutledge rocking Adams back and forth, humming some song."Now was that so bad?"No answer. Adams had fallen asleep, a smile on his face.

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His feet were propped up on the table, practically showing off his legs before the Congress. Hancock watched as Dickinson, not even bothering to get up, was arguing against something or another, irking John Adams to no end.Hancock heard not one word of the discussion. He couldn't pry his eyes away from Dickinson's legs. Very long, well muscled. Hancock pondered how it would feel if he ran his hands along those legs.Silence took over Congress and everyone stared expectantly at him. Hancock stared back, before he remembered that he was the president and therefore adjourned Congress. He ended Congress. As the other delegates moved to leave, Dickinson still sat, feet on table, smirking, egging Hancock on.

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It was only for a few seconds, but to Thomson it seemed like an eternity. Surprisingly soft lips met his and he could do nothing but stand there and blink. It felt nice, and very gentle, but still, he never thought that this person, of all people, would be kissing him.John Witherspoon pulled away and grinned. "Didn't see that coming at all, did you?"Thomson could only make incoherent noises.

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That was an interesting shade Jefferson was turning, Dr. Hall mused as Congress began. Because of the return of the Lee brothers, Jefferson sat at the end of the table, back toward Hancock and Thomson, facing the Southern delegates. His eyes met Hall's and he began turning bright red.They stared at each other until Hancock yelled at Jefferson to give the weather report. Still blushing, Jefferson gave it.Hall shifted in his seat, trying not to stare back at Jefferson, unaware that his face was the same hue as Jefferson's.

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Stephen Hopkins woke up with a splitting headache. All those rums gave him a hangover. He reached up to hold his head, only to find that his arms couldn't move. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in the hall, tied up to his chair.Andrew McNair was sitting across from him on New York's table, an evil smirk on his face."McNair! What is the meaning of this?""I am sick of having to get you rum all the time! Maybe this way you'll learn to stop drinking!"Hopkins struggled against the ropes. "Hancock will never agree to this!""Who do you think got the rope?"McNair walked away, evil smirk still on his face. Oh, what a cunning plan he had.

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They loved each other's hands running against skin. The feel of each other's lips was soft and inviting. They quite well fit against each other.They had met quite by accident, and quickly became friends. It didn't take them long to become lovers. Each loved and adored the other.However, they each had another loved one, and the two felt guilty for being adulterous. They decided to come clean."John, Thomas," Abigail said as she sat next to Martha, "there's something we need to tell you."

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John Adams was mad. The fiftieth annivesary of the Declaration of Independence, and he was stuck in bed dying! How typical.John leaned back into his pillow and huffed. He was utterly bored, and all he could do was think. He thought of many things: death, freedom...Abigail.A smile graced his face at the thought of Abby. He remembered when they first met. She was in a foul mood, and wouldn't speak to anyone. Then he began to dance with her, and she was charmed immediately.There were some things he wouldn't trade for the world. Waking up to her every morning, their fierce arguements and making up afterwards, the smile on her face as he held each of his children, her utter confusion when she met Sam.John gave a silent chuckle at that. God, he and Sam loved confusing people. Although they were cousins, second cousins in fact, John and Sam looked exactly alike. They liked to switch places and scare the hell out of children when they were that young themselves. They did it less frequently as young adults, but when both went to the Continental Congress, they were at it again, switching every so often, much to the amusement of John Hancock and to the annoyance of the other delegates.Thinking of the Continental Congress made John think of...him.Thomas Jefferson.What an enigma, John had thought when they first met. Once Sam left to take care of matters in Massachusetts, John had gravitated toward Thomas and they became fast friends. Thomas was the exact opposite; tall, eloquent, quiet, while John was average height, blunt, and loud, yet they were friends for a while. They had a falling out over politics, and it was years before they reconciled. They constantly wrote to each other. Right now though, Thomas was probably at the celebrations in Washington.He could just picture Thomas now. Or rather, the Thomas he first met. Red hair, gentle eyes, soft smile. John smiled at the memory in his head.He felt his body start to go cold, and he knew that this was it."Thomas Jefferson...still surivives."And John Adams, husband, father, patriot, and friend died.

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Moments like these were stolen moments, only a few minutes at a time before the courier had to go back. Which is why he was in the storeroom, madly snogging the leather apron. They were so into the heated kiss that neither noticed the secretary coming in for a rum. For his part, the secretary merely shook his head, got his rum, and left.Thomson sat down and sipped at his rum while McNair passed out quills for the tables."He's in the storeroom with the courier, by the way.""What, again? Sweet Jesus!" McNair stomped over to the door and opened it, yelling "quit snogging him, it's time to work!"

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Hancock called for the weather report, and when none seemed forthcoming, he looked up to see Jefferson, beet red, staring at someone.“MR. JEFFERSON!”Jefferson jumped and turned to Hancock. “Present, sir.”“The weather?”Jefferson quickly jumped up, trying to hide his blush as he gave the weather report.Hancock scanned the Congress, wondering what could have triggered such a reaction in Jefferson. He noticed Dr. Hall shifting to avoid Jefferson’s gaze, also red faced. A glance to the left confirmed that Thomson had seen the same thing.88888Congress adjourned for the day. After waiting for the way to clear a bit, Jefferson got up to leave.And ran right into Dr. Hall.“Ah! Dr. Hall, I am sorry,” Jefferson said while fighting down a reaction to the collision.“I am at fault, Mr. Jefferson,” he responded, and darted out.Jefferson followed him out, glad that Hall did not notice anything. Little did he know that three other people did.8888Hancock, Adams, and Thomson watched this encounter. When the hall was empty save for themselves, they began to talk.“Do you think something is happening between them?” Adams asked as he handed rum to his fellow patriots.“No. Leastways not yet.” Hancock smoked on his pipe. “I mean, they might not even be aware that they’re attracted to each other. After all, you weren’t aware of your attraction to me until we confronted you.”Thomson gave a look that clearly said ‘shut up’.Adams sipped his rum and stared at the door where they left. An idea began to form in his head.“Oh, no. I hate it when you get that look in your eyes. It usually means something rebellious, insane, or just idiotic.”“Aw, Charles, where’s the trust?”888The Carolinians were making quite a ruckus, but Lyman Hall sat away from them, not wanting to get tangled up in what web they wove.“Mind if I join you?” Hall looked up and saw Charles Thomson smiling at him, rum in hand.“By all means,” Hall answered, waving him a seat. Neither said anything for a few minutes, simply enjoying their drinks.“You’re not saying much, Dr. Hall. Is something on your mind?”Hall gave a wry smile and nodded. “Mr. Jefferson.”“Where?” Thomson looked around.“No, he’s what’s on my mind.” He sighed. “I think I may be attracted to him.”“Hm.” Thomson took another sip. “Have you told him?” Hall stared at him, surprised that he didn’t recoil in disgust. “He’s attracted to you.”“How do you know?”“I have to do something between votes and dispatches. So I watch Congress. Trust me, I saw it. He’s fond of you.”“Yes, well,” Hall cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t know where to find him.”“I do. Come along.”8888888888888“So tell me, do you love Dr. Hall or not?”“JOHN!!!!” Both Jefferson and Hancock screeched.“How is that any of your business?” Jefferson yelled, turning red.“Aha! So you do!” Adams said gleefully.“John, have you no tact?”“I hate drawn out discussions. I want to get to the point!”As Adams and Hancock continued arguing, Jefferson got up to leave, but stopped when Hall and Thomson came in. Thomson took one look at the bickering Bostonians, rolled his eyes, walked over to them, and cracked their heads together.Hall and Jefferson were oblivious to this, as they were too fixated on each other.“Hello, Mr. Jefferson.”“Hello, Dr. Hall.”“Mr. Jefferson, I…” Hall couldn’t get the words out. Jefferson looked into his eyes, and saw the same adoration that he had for Dr. Hall.The Virginian closed the gap between them and kissed Hall, who was happy to return the favor.The trio in the corner gave satisfied grins (despite the Johns’ headaches) and snuck off to commit debauchery of their own.

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John Dickinson couldn't sleep. There was something nagging at the back of his head, telling him to get up.He decided to get a drink at a nearby tavern. Maybe it would shut that nag up and he could sleep.He went there and got his drink. As he sipped at it. he looked around and spotted a familiar face. He mildly wondered why John Adams of all people had to be here. Dickinson noted a group of surly, not entirely sober men glaring and gesturing in Adams's direction.Before Dickinson could register it, the men had surrounded Adams, giving him cross words. Adams tried to get up and walk away, but they pushed him back down and began to hit him.Dickinson saw red. He ran to the men and began to swing his cane,fending off the men, trying to get to Adams. With the help of the more sober men, the proprietor threw them out, yelling at them to fight in someone else's tavern.Dickinson helped Adams up. "Are you all right, Mr. Adams?""I'm fine," Adams answered. He was a little briused from the blows, and there was a cut near his ear."Here, let's go clean you up." Dickinson left payment on the table and led Adams out.Upon reaching his lodgings, Dickinson sat Adams on his bed, wet his handkerchef, and began to clean his cut. Adams winced at the initial touch, but let Dickinson continue his ministrations."Why did they attack you?"Adams shrugged. "I think they were just drunk and looking for a fight."Dickinson finished with Adams's face, fingers gingerly grazing a bruise."I didn;t expect you to help me, though.""Just because I disagree with you doesn't me I won't be human to you."They stared at each other, Dickinson's hand still on Adams's face. Adams stifled a yawn.Dickinson noticed this. "Would you like to stay here tonight?""What?""Those drunkards may still be looking for a fight."Adams conceded the point and nodded.Dickinson lent him some spare nightclothes, and they changed, backs to each other, to allow modesty.They climbed into the bed, laeving some space in between them. Both began to drift off.Dickinson woke back up. Apparently Adams moves in his sleep, for now he was curled up next to Dickinson. Dickinson wrapped his arms around Adams and went back to sleep.

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Charles Thomson shuffled through his papers, trying to find a blank one to take notes on. He found his piece of parchment, and began to scribble the notes. When he finished, he looked down at them. Then he noticed another piece of paper. Only the corner of it was visible, as if someone deliberately put it there, but didn’t want it to be found.He tugged on the paper, revealing what was on it. He nearly dropped said paper.It was him.Someone had sketched out a picture of him, sitting at his desk, writing. To be perfectly honest, it was beautiful. The Thomson on paper looked like the real Thomson exactly, and it looked like the drawing was moving, the artist captured him so well.But who would draw him?He couldn’t answer that question at the moment, for the courier had arrived with another dispatch. Thomson read the gloomy words of George Washington, followed by the complaints of Colonel McKean. Thomson moved to his seat, and found that he had turned the sketch over. What surprised him was what was written on the back.“J. Adams.”Couldn’t be. Thomson turned over the sheet. The sketch was there. He turned it back over. The signature was there.He looked up. Adams was looking at Thomson, trying not to make it obvious that he was. It wasn’t working, by the way. Thomson gestured to his sketch. Adams nodded. Thomson gave a smile and nodded. Adams blushed and looked down.Thomson turned the parchment over so others could only see the handwriting. He gave another smile at the thought of Adams drawing him, and made a mental to talk to Adams later.He wanted to know what else Adams was talented with.

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It had been a long day at Congress. John Dickinson waved his goodbye to the president, finished his letter, and put on his coat, preparing to leave.Outside the door, he heard a yelp, followed by a series of crashes, and a loud THUMP before silence again overtook the hall.Dickinson opened the door. John Adams was sprawled facedown at the bottom of the stairs. Dickinson knelt down, shook Adams a bit, and called to him. He did not stir.Another door opened, and the custodian crossed the doorway."What happened?""Never mind that, get a doctor."000000000000000"He may have a concussion. He's still breathing, that's a good sign. However, I don't know if or when he'll wake." He had forgotten that the new Georgian delegate was a physician until McNair brought him and then helped carry him to Dickinson's place, which was closer than Dr. Hall's.Dickinson bit his lip. He never liked seeing people hurt."Worried for Mr. Adams? After swinging a cane at him?"Before Dickinson could think of a response or retort, a noise behind them made them turn.Adams was sitting up, holding his head."Are you feeling better?"Adams just stared blankly at the doctor."Idiot!" Dickinson said. "You had me worried...sick?" He finished in a more hesitant tone, for Adams was looking at him with the same blank stare."Who are you two?"Granted, he hadn't been properly introduced to Dr. Hall, so he might not have known who he was. But that question was also directed at Dickinson-whom Adams knew well.If he didn't recognize Dickinson, then that meant..."The fall must have given him memory loss. I don't know how long it will last, but until he gets his memory back, I don't want him to be alone.""He can stay here for now.""Mr. Dickinson?""He's already here. Might as well."000000000000After Dickinson showed Hall to the door, he faced Adams. The Bostonian watched Dickinson as he arranged for food to be brought."Thank you," he said as the plates were set down. "I mean, for feeding a stranger."Dickinson couldn't eat. "Do you remember anything?""Of course I do," Adams said with familiar imperiousness. "I'm John Adams. I'm supposed to be in Philadelphia for the Second Continental Congress.So he remembered up to traveling to Philadelphia. At least he had some memory, instead of none. But he still had no memory of Congress or anyone in it."Mr. Adams, you are at Congress. It's been a year since it began. I'm John Dickinson. I'm one of Pennsylvania's delegates.""Mr. John Dickinson," Adams let the name roll on his tongue. "Do we know each other?"Dickinson didn't exactly want to tell Adams that they were enemies. He may overreact and stomp out, and become easy prey to the delegates who would take advantage of the situation."Yes," he finally said. "We know each other."Adams seemed content with this answer and went back to his meal, as did Dickinson.After the meal was finished, they shared some wine."Mr. Dickinson," Adams asked hesitantly. "Are we...not friends?""What makes you say that?""You had a pained look on your face when I asked if we knew each other. And you were kind of hesitant to answer."Dickinson bowed his head. "No, we're not friends. In fact, yesterday we were fighting each other with our canes."Adams began to laugh. "That's an amusing thought.""It's true. We're enemies. We have completely different viewpoints. I think of myself first. And loath as I am to tell you this, you're obnoxious and disliked.""Ah, I forgot about that."Dickinson laughed. Adams glared at him."Now that is more like the Adams I know. Always glaring at me." Adams continued to glare. "Oh, Mr. Adams, it's so easy to provoke you."He rolled his eyes. "Do we really fight like ths all the time? I don't like it."Dickinson didn't like it either. Adams was a brilliant man. The only thing keeping them from being civil to each other, let alone friends, was politics."That's just how it is, Mr. Adams.""Can we be friends?""I don't know, John."Adams smiled. "You called me John! I like it.""It's getting late. I'll let you use my bed for tonight. I've slept on floors before.""You don't have to...""I want to."They settled in for the night."Good night, John.""Good night, Mr. Dickinson.""You can call me John.""Okay. Good night, John."00000Adams woke up with a headache. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what happened last night.He remembered another unproductive day in Congress. Then going to think in the tower. He missed a step on the stairs and fell. Then a few fuzzy memories about John Dickinson.He pried an eye open. Speaking of, Dickinson was asleep, head on the bed, hand in Adams's hand."Mr. Dickinson?" He tapped Dickinson on the head. Dickinson jerked up, letting out a high pitched yelp. "You scream like a girl.""I take it you're back to nromal, then.""Of course I am."Dickinson looked almost sad. "I'll leave you to get dressed." He began to leave the room. Adams watched him, as he remembered the conversation last night."John, wait!" Dickinson turned around. "I meant what I said last night. About being friends. I may not have remembered you then, but I still mean it now. Could we-at least outside Congress-put aside our differences?"Dickinson gave him a small smile. "Sure."

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With our eyes we see
John Hancock surveyed the Congress. He watched the South gather around two tables to play some card game. Adams brooding over his next scheme. Jefferson reading some book. Sherman doing the same. McKean…watching him?Hancock stared at McKean. McKean stared right back. In his peripheral vision, he saw the Scotsman’s fingers tapping some unknown tattoo. A muscle twitch. A bob of his Adam’s apple. A flushing of the face and McKean turned away.Hancock blinked. Were his eyes deceiving him? 
With our ears we hear
A few notes, melancholy at first, but became more cheerful as Thomas Jefferson played. His notes were joined by the sound of Lyman Hall’s voice, matching pitch for pitch Jefferson’s violin. Passerby could hear the perfect harmony.Afterwards, Jefferson put up his violin. There was some rustling of clothes and sheets; he climbed into bed.He fell asleep listening to Dr. Hall’s heartbeat.
With our fingers we can touch
Charles Thomson shivered as John Dickinson moved his fingers across his face. He was so delicate with his touch, in contrast to his forceful voice and manner. Almost as if his fingers were not there.Dickinson was stroking Thomson’s cheek. Thomson reached up to cup Dickinson’s face. His skin was smooth and cold.As opposed to his lips, which were soft and warm.
With our nose we smell
Richard Henry Lee had returned. While he greeted Lee with only a handshake at Congress, when the two were alone, John Adams embraced him.He could still smell hay and horses on Lee. It was comforting, and while Lee was gone, Adams simply had to walk by a stable to bring back nostalgic memories of him.Lee, for his part, rocked Adams back and forth, Adams’s head tucked under his, thinking of how Adams’s hair smelled like violets.
With our mouth we taste
The wine was rich coming down Edward Rutledge’s throat. He sipped at it, enjoying the taste, when Stephen Hopkins sat down next to him, ever present rum in hand.“How ya doing, Neddie?” Hopkins asked, gulping down his rum.“Fine,” Rutledge answered, still drinking his wine.“I tell ya, Neddie,” Hopkins continued, still gulping his rum, “this place has the best rum ever. Better even than the rum at Congress.” He set down his tankard.There was nothing left in it.Rutledge leaned over and gave Hopkins a kiss, tongue and all.It did taste better, but Rutledge thought the best taste was wine, rum, and Hopkins.
I thank you very much

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It was very odd to see a grown man kneeling against a window, arms on a sill, staring dreamily at the sky. Yet, if one went to the bell tower of the State House, he would see John Adams in exactly the position described.Downstairs, there was a big to-so going on as part of a twelve-day-long Christmas celebration. It was mainly attended by Southern delegates, who celebrated every year, but a few of the Middle Colonies came as well. The New Englanders, who did not celebrate Christmas, refused to attend, save one.John had come out of curiosity, but soon found their revelry too loud and raucous for his tastes. When he tried to leave, there was a crowd at the door, so he went the only other direction available: up.So he sat at the bell tower, lost in thought.John blinked. On occasion, his mind would show events that would happen in the future. Of course, he didn't recognize them as such until he saw himself dancing with a beautiful woman, then met that woman, who became his wife Abigail.Right now, he was seeing some events. A cocky delegate resolving something. Himself swinging his cane at John Dickinson. Being cornered on the stairwell by Mr. Jefferson. The secretary glaring at him as he said that he stood with the general. A solemn Congress as they signed some parchment.John felt someone shaking him and blinking again, losing these visions. The concerned face of Richard Henry Lee, the 'cocky delegate' he saw, looked down at him."Johnny, are you all right? You weren't responding to my voice or touch.""I..." he cleared his throat, "I'm fine. I was just thinking.""Must have been some deep thoughts," Richard commented as he sat down next to John."Just thinking about what the next year will bring."John shivered. While it wasn't especially cold in Philadelphia, and he was wearing his cloak to keep warm, winds could be quite the biting temperature. Richard wrapped an arm around John, trying to keep them both warm."I would think you would be downstairs with the others."Richard gave a lopsided smile. "When the South Carolina delegates started to dance with each other, I knew it was my cue to leave."John arched an eyebrow. "They must have been pretty drunk.""Something like that." Richard brushed the subject away. "I'm surprised you even showed up, John. I invited Sherman; his glare could send me to an early grave." He gave a hearty laugh, and John permitted himself a smile.Another breeze came through. Richard pulled off his cloak, which easily covered both of them when spread out, and pulled John closer to him. John hesitantly placed his head on Richard's shoulder. He made no move to shrug it off.They sat in the bell tower, watching the night sky, comforted by the silent closeness of each other. Twelve notes chimed through the air, signalling that it was now midnight, the first of January."1776," Richard said. "Feels about the same."John playfully swatted at him, drawing a laugh from the both of them.

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For the record, spending the night asleep at the base of a staircase and being woken up by-of all people-Benjamin Franklin is not a good way to start the morning. I don't care if he's wise, Franklin is not a pretty sight.We were about to go wake up the Jeffersons, decency be damned, when the window opened and Jefferson's wife looked out into the city. Franklin said-probably rhetorically-to look at her.Believe me, I was.Now hear me out. I love Abigail. However, it was becoming harder to picture her in my mind. Also, it is almost impossible for a man to resist looking at a beautiful woman.So I watched her until Franklin bellowed out a greeting. I echoed with one of my own. We conversed with her for a few minutes, learning that she didn't remember meeting us last night. She promised to come down and properly meet us before leaving the window.I felt completely foolish. Here we were, two distinguished men (although someone may argue mine) standing on a street calling out to a married woman like we were erstwhile lovers. I couldn't help it. She was fascinating.Franklin made some smartass comment about history books cleaning history up. Of course, I couldn't resist an equally smart comment regarding Franklin's place in it.Then she finally joined us on the stairs. She said that she was honored to meet two of the greatest men in America, as Thomas had spoken of his admiration for both of us.I felt utterly silly. I didn't even know her name, and already she charmed even my ever present grumpiness away. I had the adverse effect. Someone once called me a 'bull in a china shop'. I think it applies here. Luckily, Franklin changed the subject.So her name was Martha. Well, now I know what to call her.We mentioned that Thomas wasn't much of a talker, to which Martha agreed. We asked her how such a silent man won her heart.She began to sing about his skills with the violin. We ended up retreating to a nearby garden, all the while hearing her praises about her husband. Franklin decided that he was taking up the violin. Whether it was in jest or serious, I'll never know.I asked her what happened next. It was dancing.She began dancing with Franklin. I made a joke about who was playing the violin.Then Martha was face to face with me, and I felt Franklin take my cane out of my hand.I was nervous. I haven't danced in a while with anyone, let alone my wife, and now I was about to with someone else. I swallowed a bit and gave a small bow to her curtsey.I didn't notice how soft her hands were until I took one into my hand. As soon as our hands met, I fell back into my familiar patterns, dancing as naturally with her as if my sole reason for existence was for dance.And she was an excellent dancer, as well. Better even than Abigail.The longer we danced, the faster we got, and almost too soon, it came to an end. My face, I knew, was flushed. No doubt Franklin thought it was because of the energy I exerted.Let him think that.We followed her back to the stairs, where she gave us one final curtsey and wrapped her arms around Thomas, who had just exited his room.In that split second, my grip tightened around my cane. I was jealous.God damn me for it, I was coveting my neighbor's wife.She was radiant, a nice person to talk to, a great dancer, and she was here. I still loved Abby, but wished I had Martha. And I envied Tom for having her.Franklin had no clue. Jefferson let float down a note saying that he was taking Martha back to bed. I was fuming. To all appearances, it was because he wasn't working on the declaration, but actually it was because he had that privilege.I carried on like the warhorse I was, and we left to get food.There will be time for brooding and jealousy later.

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It had landed oh-so-innocently on his head. John Adams plucked the leaf from the top of his head, twirling it for a few minutes. He was sitting under a tree, watching the leaves change, waiting for someone as was his custom.Finally, the courier that always delivers General Washington’s dispatches walked up and sat next to John.He always drew circles and other indistinguishable shapes in the dirt with the toe of his boot. It never bothered John. He pinned it down to nervous habit, one he noticed when the courier first hesitantly asked if they could share the bench John had been sitting on.The two do not talk much. Hell, they don't even know each other's name. They just sit together, watch the town, watch the trees, feeling comfort in each other's company. The courier writing in the ground.Sometimes, one would bring the other a token of some sort. A treat. A handkerchief. Once, some bandages when the courier got injured on the way here. He later repaid John with his own when he got caught up in a fight and his wound was bleeding through the old set of bandages.It was never long, the time they sat together. The courier had his duties to the army, and John had his duties to Congress. The courier left first, as always, giving John a small crescent of a smile as he mounted his horse and left. John then got up and went his way, careful not to disturb the courier's circles.

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I am the watcher. I see everything.I see Edward Rutledge lead his sheep. North Carolina and Georgia are their own delegations by name only. In reality, Rutledge has them on a tight leash, at his beck and call. If he says something must be done, they obey. No matter how cruel, ignoble, or immoral.I see it in a smaller scale between Dickinson and Wilson. While the South cower and cringe at Rutledge’s authority, Wilson willingly accepts Dickinson’s dominance, yearning for it even, as if Dickinson did not order him around, he would not exist.I see John Adams. Energy radiates off him. Always loud, always vehemently arguing, he is a fascinating sight. His oration skills are extraordinary, yet when faced with someone who doesn’t see things from his point of view, he tends to lose his temper.I see Jefferson’s calming effect on Adams. A few soothing words and he quiets. Jefferson has that effect on people. It’s no wonder Adams, Lee, even Dr. Franklin gravitate toward him.I see the Delaware delegation. Mr. Rodney is getting frailer and weaker every time I see him. McKean is ever present, keeping a watchful, caring eye on him. When his gaze shifts to Read, though, his eye turn to hatred.I see the Courier. He always gives me the dispatches. The look on his face was so bleak, and then he sees me, and his countenance immediately cheers up. The first time I smiled back at him, he got a sparkle in his eyes and he smiled back.I see many changes in the Congressional delegates.I see Adams and Jefferson become closer together. Then one day they avoided each other. That night, they confronted each other when they thought no one was around. I didn’t hear a word they said, but the conversation ended in a kiss, as tender as a newlywed couple’s first one.I see Dr. Hall trying to break away from Rutledge. Anger radiates from the South Carolina delegate. No one has ever refused him before, and now he was being ignored completely. Dr. Hall begins to join others at the Virginian table, and he seems to become fast friends with Mr. Lee.I see the tension mount between Dickinson and Wilson. It seems the judge has begun to find his path at last. He begins to make his own decisions, and Dickinson worries that he will turn to the side of independence.I see the look in McKean’s eyes change. His looks of hatred give way to mild irritation, irritated fondness, until he begins to look at Read with the same caring eye he gives Rodney.I see the courier hang back a bit after giving me dispatches. One day he comes in as delegates are leaving. Another when they haven’t arrived. We begin to talk about common interests, the war, General Washington, and so on. We begin to see each other more often. And out of the corner of my eye, I see John Hancock begin to grow jealous.My name is Charles Thomson. I am the watcher. I see everything.

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She was asleep, head in Thomas’s lap, as he finished a rough draft of the declaration. He was not that pleased with it, either.He threw his quill down and turned toward his wife, idly stroking her cheek. If it wasn’t for this infernal thing called politics, he could just stay with his wife and run their house together. And as loving as she was, Martha just didn’t understand about Congress, or the declaration. But he couldn’t refuse her pleas to put it off for “just one night”. Her face lit up so much when his attention was on her.She stirred a bit and settled down. His hand moved to her hair as the thought about the declaration. What could the words for it be? What would he write? What were they fighting for?Martha’s eyes blinked open. She moved closer to Tom and fell back asleep, a smile on her face. Thomas stared for a second, then picked up his quill and began to write.He knew where his words came from now.

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James Wilson walked down the street, relieved to get away from Congress. Things were starting to come to a head, and the vote on independence was looming over each delegate’s head, Wilson’s included. John Dickinson was determined to prevent the motion from passing, and was confident in Wilson siding with him, not even knowing that he was having second thoughts.He stopped on the side of the road to rest. He mopped his head with a handkerchief and looked into the yard of the house. He nearly dropped said handkerchief.In the yard were two children playing. That wasn’t so odd, but the children themselves were odd. They were wearing the queerest clothing, and one had pink hair while her companion had blue hair.No one else seemed to notice these children. Wilson leaned on the fence, and was overcome with a desire to enter the yard. When he set food in the yard, the children stopped and watched him.“Welcome to our humble home!” they cried, each reaching for one of Wilson’s hands and leading him to the door.“No, wait, I’m…”“Mistress, we have a guest!” again they said in unison.“But, I didn’t mean to come in,” Wilson tried to explain, “I just felt like I had to.”“That is proof that your coming here was hitsuzen.” A mysterious feminine voice replied from behind a screen. The pink haired girl slid it open while the blue haired one led Wilson in.Lying on a chaise lounge was a woman with raven colored hair. She was wearing a loosely tied robe, shamelessly revealing her legs. In her right hand was a pipe, smoke wafting from it. Wilson was shocked at this display and planned to tell this strange woman so, but the only word he got out was “hitsuzen?”.“Hitsuzen,” the woman repeated. “A naturally foreordained event. A state in which other outcomes are impossible. A result withch can only be obtained by a single causality, and other causalities would necessarily create different results.” She stopped to smoke her pipe. “So reads the Kodansha Japanese Desk Dictionary, second edition.”Wilson scrunched his face. “Forgive me, madam, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that book.”“Of course you haven’t.” She smiled. “It hasn’t been created yet.” Wilson’s eyes widened. The woman laughed. “What a silly face!”“Silly face! Silly face!” the children chimed in.Wilson glanced at the children, then turned back to the woman. “Excuse me, madam, but how can you have a book that hasn’t been created yet?”“This place transcends time and space. In fact, I have been called the space-time witch.”“A witch?”“Yes. Oh, don’t look so shocked. More people than you think are practicing magicians and witches.”Wilson turned to leave, but the screen slid shut in front of him.“Madam, let me leave. I do not have any business here. I don’t even know why I’m here.”“There is no such thing as coincidence in this world. The only thing is hitsuzen.” Wilson turned back to the witch. “Your name?”“I beg your pardon?”“What is your name?”“James Wilson.”“With the knowledge of a person’s name, one can lay hold of a piece of the person’s soul.” Wilson quickly backed away. Again the woman laughed. “You walk funny as well.”“Walk funny! Walk Funny!”“Shall I tell you my name?”“No, I…”“It’s Yuko. Yuko Ichihara.” The children walked to Yuko and hugged her. “And this is Moro,” indicating the pink haired one, “and Maru,” indicating the blue one.Wilson tilted his head. He was still horrified to learn that he was talking to a witch, but he was also a bit incredulous at the claim.“You are doubtful as to whether I’m a witch.” Yuko shifted and held out her hand. “Hand me your ribbon.”“Excuse me?”“Just hand me it.”Wilson reached up and untied the ribbon. He held it out for Moro to take and give to Yuko.“A fine ribbon, although it has seen better days. Ah well, this will do.” She held the ribbon in her hands while symbols began to glow on the floor. “James Wilson. You were born and educated in Scotland. You moved here to teach Latin, but soon became a lawyer. You now serve as a delegate to the Second Continental Congress, along with your teacher and friend. The Congress is about to vote on whether to declare America’s independence. You are unsure, and follow your teacher’s instruction again. The crux of your indecision…” Yuko looked up. “You don’t want to be remembered, do you?”Wilson’s jaw dropped. “All that from one ribbon?”“It is true, is it not?”He bowed his head. “Yes.”“And that means your ribbon is mine.”Wilson got mad. “How does that follow?”“Payment,” Yuko said matter-of-factly. “Proper compensation must be made for goods or services. And the payment must be equal to the service rendered. If not, someone can get hurt.”He had to admit, it did make sense.“Miss Ichihara…”“Call me Yuko.”“If you really are a witch, then what is this place?”“A shop.”“A shop?”“Where wishes are granted. And in exchange, proper payment.”“Any wish?”“If it is possible.”“Even mine?” he whispered.“Even yours, James. If you don’t want to be remembered, we’ll grant it.” Wilson thought. “Do you want your wish granted?”“What would I have to pay?”“Dickinson.”Wilson’s head shot up. “What do you want with him?”“So quick to shield him. The care you feel for him is strong, as is his for you. That is the price: Your relationship with Dickinson.”Wilson took a deep breath.000000“I’m sorry, John. My vote is yea.”“Mr. Secretary, Pennsylvania says yea.”Dickinson’s eyes showed every sign of betrayal as he backed away from Wilson. To save himself from fame, he defied Dickinson and joined the dozens who voted for independence. The price he had to pay was saying goodbye to Dickinson, who left that day to join the army.0000“Why did you grant him that wish, Yuko?” a man asked as he took drink with the witch.“What could it have hurt? His was a small price to pay compared to Mr. Adams’s price, besides.”“It does show his resolve, though, to give up his fame to ensure independence.”“I have one question, Lyman. Why did they come to me for their wishes and not you?”

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Richard Henry Lee sighed as he noticed the impending storm clouds coming toward Philadelphia. He hated being cooped up in a building when he could be outside. Especially with all the hot headed delegates he was forced to work with.Rain began to pour down, and he sighed again as he began to head back toward the meeting hall. The previously dark sky suddenly lit up with a flash of lightning, allowing Richard to catch the tail of an unfamiliar coat darting into the stable, door banging behind him. Richard followed the person in, hoping to God it wasn’t some thief trying to steal their horses again.There was no sign of the person, just the horses, all accounted for and contentedly munching on their food. Richard looked around a bit, and was about to leave, chalking the person to his imagination, when a loud thunderclap sounded over their heads and a yelp could be heard. It was coming from one of the unused stalls. Richard peeked his head around.The courier, the one that always brought General Washington’s dispatches, was sitting on the ground, curled up in a ball, shaking. Richard knelt down to eye level and lightly tapped the boy. His head shot up, eyes fearful and darting everywhere.“Are you okay?”Another peal of thunder, this one louder, banged. The courier let out another yelp and lowered his head back down to his knees, his shaking worse. Richard slid so that he was sitting next to the courier.“Does thunder scare you?” The poor boy nodded his head. Richard bit his lip, unsure of what to do. Thunder sounded again. The courier began to whimper. He felt arms snake around him, drawing him closer. Richard began to slowly rock him back and forth, as a parent would do to a crying child.“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe here.”The storm continued outside, but the courier began to be less affected by it, shielded as it were by Richard’s presence. He did feel safe in the older man’s arms, not so much different from the general’s, holding him back out of harm’s way.He ended up falling asleep in Richard’s arms, protected from all harm.

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Thomas Jefferson sighed as he wadded another piece of parchment with useless words written on it. Try as he might, he could not think of what to write for the declaration. His thoughts kept drifting to John Adams. His eyes kept haunting him.Thomas pulled our another piece and tried again. He would write a few words, pause, stare into blank space, then wad the paper. This pattern continued for a while.Finally, Thomas let out a scream of frustration as he threw the quill at the wall. Then the parchment. Then anything else he could get his hands on. He took great satisfaction at the thuds and sounds of shattering glass that he made.When he calmed down, he looked about at the mess he made. Among the scattered items were the remains of two glass bottles. One held ink, the other red wine.Thomas watched, fascinated, as the contrasting liquids meandered around the broken glass and merged into one puddle on the floor.He got up and walked out into the streets.00000"Ah, Mr. Jefferson!" John said when he opened the door. "Is it finished?" The Virginian shook his head. "Then what are you doing here?" Thomas moved closer to John, who took a step back. "Mr. Jefferson?" Any further words were silenced when Thomas kissed him.000000John woke up to the sounds of frantic writing. He turned to see Thomas writing the declaration, the words coming easily.

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I held back a few choice words as I helped my coachman bring i Charles. The poor man had drunk himself unconscious, and I wasn't about to leave him alone.I dismissed him and divested Charles of some of his clothes, leaving him in breeches and shirt. His brow was still furrowed, even as he slept.Tucking a cover around him. I went to prepare myself for some sleep. As I headed for the next room, though, a loud noise turned me back toward my bed.Whatever demons that drew Charles to drink now seemed to plague him as he slept. He was shaking and beginning to whimper. I reached for him, rubbing his arm, going 'shh, shh, it's all right, I'm here'. Eventually, I got the sleeping man to calm down.As I left to sleep, the whimpering and shaking began again. I went back to calm him down, but now I was concerned. What could be tormenting Charles so?Despite many attempts, I could only keep him calm for a few minutes. I could see no other solution.Making myself comfortable on the bed, I pulled Charles toward me and held him in my arms. I thought to the day's events. General Washington's dispatch sprang to mind. It had described the amount of troops and the state of said troops-25,000 British men in their prime against 5000 old men and boys barely old enough to fight. I remembered Charles reading the dispatch, his words becoming more choked as the letter was concluded.My attention turned to Charles himself. Whatever troubled him before, he looked peaceful now, as if he knew he was safe in my arms.Holding him seemed to be beneficial to me as well. My own personal anxieties drifted away until there was only him and I.I soon followed him in sleep.-----Luckily, I woke up before he did, otherwise I might have had some explaining to do. Luckily, he was perfectly calm and I could let him go, however much I didn't want to.I left him to go prepare a hangover remedy. God knows he'll need it.He woke up soon after, feeling the full effects of the drink. I lightly chastized him for drinking so much, then asked why he did it. It was because of Washington's troops, like I thought. His headache was beginning again, so I gave him the remedy, holding him steady as he took it. He realizedd that he wasn't at his place. I pulled away, explaining that I didn't know where he lived.It surprised me how much it hurt to pull away.Silence settled in as he thought about that. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around him, but I knew it wouldn't be well received. Charles noticed my discomfort andasked what was wrong. I was reluctant to answer, but he pressed. So I told him about taking him here. About how I tried to prepare for bed, but kept getting interrupted by his agitation.About how I held him as he slept.Charles said nothing. A blush started to creep in his cheeks. I said I hoped it didn't make him uncomfortable. He said, no, he felt comforted. Again, silence. He asked if this made me feel uncomforable. I told him quite the contrary, holding him was comforting to me. Charles just kept looking at me. I commented that he wasn't acting like himself, and asked him if something was wrong.He kissed me.Time stopped.------It was quite amusing to see him disoriented again. When he saw me sharing the bed with him, he asked if he was dreaming. I said if it was, we were sharing it.He smiled at me and leaned in for another kiss.

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It looked so innocent. A slip of paper placed under the door. It said simply two words: Midnight. Congress.John smiled at the words. The world as he knew it changed once the secretary declared the resolution on independence adopted.It was time for one final round.0000He was greeted at the door with the usual eyeroll by McNair, who found this whole exercise pointless. Still, he had his instructions: Tell no one, let them in, and leave them be.Dickinson saw Adams at the president’s desk, fiddling with the quill in his left hand, cane resting in his relaxed right hand. The hand gripped the cane as he heard the door shut and Dickinson coming forward.“Mr. Adams.”“Mr. Dickinson,” Adams replied. “I thought you would have been gone by now.”“I have some business to attend to.” A curt answer, and a truthful one. Dickinson would have never forgiven himself if he did not come.“I see.” Adams got up from his seat. He nonchalantly walked toward the window, but once he passed Dickinson, he whirled around, swinging his cane. Dickinson blocked with his own cane.It was a bit of a ritual with them, started after their first fight back when Congress began. Hancock yelled at them to quit fighting and sit down, but they were hellbent on fighting. So they met up at midnight to finish. Then the next night. And the next. It was a good way to vent out their anger at each other, and other frustrations from outside sources.Dickinson feinted a wave at the right, but Adams saw right through it and parried, pushing Dickinson toward a table. Dickinson used the momentum to push Adams onto the table instead, giving a tantalizing grin as Adams squirmed under him. Adams caught Dickinson in a kiss, using the distraction to push the Pennsylvanian to the floor.This second part came about around last January, during one of their duels, where Dickinson pinned Adams to the wall and each discovered, to their shock and amusement, that the other was hard. That duel quickly disintegrated into a passionate coupling. After that night of fate, even though they still played the parts of bitter enemies in Congress, in private, they were lovers.Adams dove behind Massachusetts’ table, wincing at the loud clunk Dickinson’s cane made. His vision became a bit blurry and he blinked to clear them.Dickinson shook his hand and turned his attention back to his opponent. It momentarily startled him to see a couple tears run down the Bostonian’s face, and he was about to ask if he had hurt him, when Adams lunged at Dickinson with a new fury, knocking both of them onto the floor.They remained on the floor, trying to catch their breaths. Another tear fell down Adams’s face, and this time Dickinson had one to match, for now he knew the significance of it.This would be the last time they can confront each other.It may even be the last time they encounter each other.Dickinson helped Adams up, and with a nod to each other, left the congressional hall to spend their last night together.

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Ever since he arrived at Congress, everyone tried to tempt him to their side. However, quickly each man found the tables turned, his back against the wall, being ravished by this newcomer, quckly submitting to his demands.Lee was the first to fall under his spell, although it wasn't known until years later. Then Rutledge was swayed by him. Then Jefferson.At first, they were shamed to have been with him. As the amount grew, shame gave way to amusement: retelling the tales, wonder of who he would be with next, even a few side bets of how long it would take before Thomson would fall.Every day, he would come in, seemingly inconspicuous, yet everyone noticed. And they always said a greeting to Dr. Lyman Hall of Georgia.

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The first time I met him, he was a very tall man, with the most unusual hair and a scarf easily three times his length. He had just stood there, bemused, while I ranted about my exasperating Congressmen before he made his presence known. To be honest, it was so long ago, I don't remember what we talked about, but I was sorry to see him go into that queer blue box and disappear.The next time I saw him was about a year later. I wouldn't have known it was him if it wasn't for that blue box. He was now average height, younger, with blond hair. He explained that his people changed into a different person when they die. He listened to me as I told him of my worries over Thomas's declaration constantly being changed, and the very likely chance that independence may never happen. He reassured me that America will become a country of it's own, although he wouldn't tell me how he knew this. Before he left, I remembered to ask what his name was. He said he was simply called "The Doctor", and left.I almost didn't see him the next time the Doctor came. I was too caught up in my own shortconing, orr so I viewed it. I was starting to feel an attraction to my collegue Thomas Jefferson, one I haven't felt since meeting Abigail, and it frightened me.Especially as I have percieved these feelings as a sin. The Doctor calmly listened to me, and then told me that such feelings were not a sin. He assured me that it was not evil to think of Thomas that way.I asked if he ever was in my predicament. He said, once, yes, he was. He said it wasn't all bad. A very pleasurable experience, in fact. I wanted proof. He gave it to me. He kissed me.That night, he taught me many things.The next time I saw the Doctor, it was six months later. I had worked up the nerve to talk to Thomas, and we had been...together. The Doctor had a companion, a boy whose hair matched Thomas's, to my amusement. It was also amusing to see the way the Doctor watched him.After that, I did not see him for many years. When I saw him for what would be the final time, I was dying. He had changed again to a darker haired man dressed in what he called Edwardian clothes.I told him of Thomas's and my falling out, and our eventual reconciliation. He told me many stories about what happened to him, from saying goodbye to Turlough (his redheaded companion) to losing his memory. He finally told me that he was a Time Lord, a man who travels through time and space. Which is how he knew that America would be independent.We talked like old friends until I felt a shudder in my body. The Doctor knew I was dying, would die today, so he made no effort to save me. I told him that Thomas Jefferson still survived. He gave a very sad smile that did not meet his eyes. I knew then that he had already died. I shut my eyes one last time, felt a light kiss on my forehead, and died to the sound of that blue box leaving.

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It was silent in the small room he was using while in Philadelphia. Not a noise. Just him twirling the quill in his fingers, without even the gumption to write to his beloved Abby.He can’t get Thomas’s face out of his mind. It had been two days since Franklin talked to Thomas, confirming what he had feared, and then told him that John had no…further interest in him. Thomas never showed up one day, and today….He looked like a dead man. Listless, like he never had anything to live for in the first place.It frightened John. Why can’t he just let this drop? Surely Thomas will see the fallacy of this and get over it….won’t he? And why can’t he get over it? Thomas was starting to distract him, and even the conservatives-who never paid him mind except to tell him off-were beginning to notice. His hours of sleep were few and far between. He had no appetite. All because of that man from Virginia.John threw down the quill and began pacing. What was Thomas Jefferson doing to him? It wasn’t attraction on his part. No it couldn’t be. It better not be.John flounced down on the bed, preparing for another restless night.

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"I...am intoxicated...right now!""That much is obvious." Edward Rutledge was starting to regret joining Charles Thomson for a drink. One drink led to two, then to five, and soon he had no idea how many he imbibed, only that Thomson had a significant amount more.The secretary was giggling endlessly and toying with the food they were served. He grabbed an apple and held it up."Apples!" "What about them?""The world would be a better place if apples ruled it!"Rutledge's eyebrow arched. "Would it?""Of course!" Thomson looked affronted, or as affronted as one could be while drunk. "They taste good! They have many uses in cooking. They come in many different colors. And the seeds can be planted! They're perfect!" Thomson grinned and tossed the apple. It hit him on the head and landed on the table. He continued to grin and picked the apple back up.A slew of delegates came in. Thomson held the apple up to eye level and studied it."Isn't Samuel Chase shaped just like an apple?""Mr. Thomson!" Rutledge left pay on the table, helped Thomson up, and led him to where Rutledge was staying, not trusting him to get home on his own.Thomson still grinned inanely, and still held the apple. However he didn't manage to drop it, Rutledge would never know.Rutledge let him go and he flopped down on a chair. He finally went silent and seemed to be asleep. Rutledge shrugged and prepared for bed. He was about to fall asleep when he felt someone climb into bed with him. He opened his eyes and jumped at Thomson being mere inches from his face."You smell like apples.""Will you forget about the apples and get some sleep?Instead of complying, Thomson pinned him down."Have I mentioned I like apples?""Uh..."Thomson leaned down and kissed Rutledge. Rutledge pushed back against him. Normally he wouldn't hesitate to have anyone, but he'd never lay with a drunk man, no matter how willing."Charles, please go to sleep."So he did. Rutledge soon followed.-----This is the last time I will drink, I swear, Thomson thought. His head was threatening to implode.He felt a warm body next to him. He opened his eyes and let out a groan. Partly because of the light, and partly because Edward Rutledge was sharing the bed with him."Good morning to you too.""What are you doing here?""I live here. I brought you to my place.""Oh, wonderful.""Nothing happened."That seemed to follow. Rutledge only was missing his coat, cravat, and shoes, and Thomson was still fully clothed."I couldn't leave you alone. You were ranting about apples and being foolish.""I do not need this from you." Thomson tried to get up and leave, but stumbled and fell to the floor. Rutledge got up, reached down, and helped him up."Thank you," a surprised Thomson said.Rutledge idly smiled at him, stroked his face, and sat down. He picked up an apple from a bowl."My favorite food," he said, and took a bite. Thomson walked over to him and placed his hands on the armrests, leaning toward Rutledge."Mine too," and again they kissed.Rutledge tasted like apples.

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The day had started quietly enough. General Washington was talking with his officers, and the soldiers were surviving another day, taking full advantage of the river. The sound of a horse's footsteps pricked Washington's ears. He saw one of his couriers returning from another dispatch to the Continental Congress.The horse then began to freak, rearing up, throwing the courier off into the river. The courier splashed up and began flailing.Washington called for some people to help him out of the water. A few soldiers half heartedly made an effort to get something to reach out to him, which did no good as the river was wide and the courier was on the other side. Some of the officers began to walk to the bridge joining the two sides, not really hurrying.The courier began to slip under the surface.Washington quickly shed his coat and dove in. He swam for the courier and pulled him back up to the surface, sputtering. The poor courier's breathing was ragged, and he spit up water. The officers finally caught up to them. After Washington gave them a good telling off, he helped the courier to his personal tent to be properly cared for. Despite the courier's protests that there was no need to go this far, Washington would not hear of him going back to the tent he shared with some soldiers or the doctor's tent. By then, the courier was shaking from the cold water. Washington, not as easily affected by the water, lent him a spare nightshirt, followed by a blanket. Again the courier started to protest, but Washington quickly shushed him, wrapped him up, and let him fall asleep.

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Sometimes Sam resented their similarity in looks.True, it was fun to startle people, and then trying to trick others (it never worked with Hancock) by switching. However, sometimes it hurts him.He knew of certain...relations between congressmen. However, he never had considered taking part before, or that John would either. True, there were a few men who were tempting, but he still did not take part.Then he heard a conversation. One man he was tempted by, Thomas Jefferson, was talking to his cousin. They were almost done when he asked if John would accompany him back to his apartment. John asked why would he do that. Thomas hesitated before answering that he hoped that they could be more than friends. John answered no and walked away. Thomas looked crestfallen.The next day, he asked Sam the same question.It hurt. It really hurt. He was infatuated with Thomas, but knew deep down that there were no feelings returned. Thomas is just with him because he looked like John.Sometimes Sam resented their similarity in looks.

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Whatever others' opinions, John Hancock did enjoy walking to Congress. It gave him time to think, to be just a person instead of the President of the Continental Congress.He spotted a familiar coat and hailed the man wearing it. Sure enough, it was Richard Henry Lee, uncharacteristically sans horse."No horse, Mr. Lee?""Can't a man walk every so often?""I suppose you're right."The two of them walked side by side."May I ask why you and Mr. Adams had your hair down yesterday?""Oh, that," Lee grinned. "My horse ruined Johnny's tie, and I didn't want him to feel alone in Congress.""Is that so?" Hancock said, holding back a laugh. Only Lee."And it was so fun, getting all those looks.""Well, I must say, I think it suits you.""Do you?" Lee stops, pulls out the ribbon, and throws it into the street, running a hand through his hair. "How's that?"Now Hancock did laugh. "It's perfect!""No, not quite." And Lee snatched the ribbon from Hancock's hair."Mr. Lee!""Oh, come now, Johnny! Maybe everyone will sport the look after you.""Richard...""Besides, wearing your hair down suits you too."Hancock was more touched by this than he's care to admit. And he found that he did not want to argue with Lee anymore."Oh, very well."And whatever strange looks he may get from Congress, Hancock was pleased that Lee thought it looked good on him.

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War
It was Adams who moved first. He raised his cane and swung wildly at Dickinson. Dickinson let reflex take over and blocked, springing back. A blow landed on Adams's shoulder, which made him snarl, drop his cane, and lunge for Dickinson. Dickinson caught him, digging his fingernails into clothing and flesh, drawing blood. They probably would have continued fighting until exhausted if the other congress members hadn't had the foresight to pull them apart and keep them apart. 
Peace
Of all the people Dickinson was thinking would be at the door, he wasn't expecting Adams. Adams was let in, and without preamble, apologized for his treatment in Congress.Dickinson was baffled by this change in Adams's behavior. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before shaking his head and offering Adams something to drink.They talked through the night, sparring with words instead of canes, in an almost playful manner as both enjoyed the conversation. As dawn broke, they left for Congress with smiles on their faces.

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For a moment, I thought that he was Dr. Hall. I had never seen Richard in blue before. Once getting over that minor change, it registered that he was actually here and not in Virginia. I walked over to him and greeted him cordially.Congress went on as usual. During the recess, instead of leaving with everyone else to eat, I went and hid myself in the bell tower.Not long after, Richard came up with some food. As we ate, he wiped his mouth and said to me “Do you know what today is?”I shrugged and answered, “The seventh of June. Why…” and I stopped. It hit me why he asked.It was this time last year that he made the bid for independence.I shivered a bit at the significance of today’s date. Richard smiled in understanding and scooted closer to me.“Amazing how much difference a year can make,” he said knowingly. Richard was smarter than he let on. He began to intertwine his hand with mine.“I would think that Mr. Adams would have said something.”“Wait until next month. He’d rather remember the day we signed the declaration.”“He would.”McNair’s assistant’s head popped up. He blinked for a second, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. “You two look so similar when you wear the same color. Anyway, Mr. Thomson, Mr. Hancock would like to have a word with you.” He proceeded down the stairs.“Do we really look similar?”Richard shrugged. We both got up, ready to go downstairs.“I’d rather remember 7 June anyway.”“Why is that?”“My dear Charles, don’t you remember? The seventh of June was when we first did this,” he leaned in and kissed me.Silly me. I had forgotten.

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I paused and held my breath when I walked in. Dr. Hall was early as usual. But something was different this time. Something that made me stop and pause.He was staring out the window, sunlight illuminating his face. His clothes were of a lighter blue than was his custom, making him seem much younger. I had never seen Lyman like this, so serene and beautiful.I had felt, for a moment at least, that he was an angel clad in blue sent from heaven to walk among the unworthy.Lyman turned to greet me. If he noticed the blush across my face, he said nothing about it.I don’t think he knew how unearthly he was.

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It was a small thing, quite insignificant, and due to the growing darkness and the amount of rust, nearly invisible. But still, Dr. Hall picked it up on the way to Mr. Adams’s place.Since that night not so long ago when Hall quoted Edmund Burke and changed his vote to yea, Adams began to take notice of him. Sometimes one would go to the other’s lodgings and they would have a bit of conversation.Tonight Adams seemed edgy and not himself. When he inquired about this odd behavior, Hall was met with a veiled answer that evaded rather than answered his question. They began discussing ways to aid General Washington while Adams became more agitated. Finally, Hall could stand it no longer and asked what the hell was wrong with Adams. He tried to claim it was nothing, but Hall, temper short, yelled that if Adams was tired of him, he should say so. It wasn’t like that, Adams has said, prompting Hall to ask what would be so bad that it rattled him this much.Finally Adams pleaded that it wasn’t his fault that he had fallen for the Georgian.He succeeded in stopping Hall mid-word.Adams turned his back on Hall, not wanting to see the look of disgust he was sure would be on Hall’s face. Therefore, he did not see Hall approach him or was aware of his true intentions until he felt lips against his neck.They shared a night and a bed. Upon the morning, as they readied themselves for Congress, what Hall had picked up off the Philadelphia street fell to the floor. Adams asked what it went to, and in a fey fit of humour, Hall said it went to the memories of last night. Adams smirked and handed it back.He did not see it until many years later, when he was an old man. It was in Hall’s final letter to him, asking him to keep it.And among the possessions found on Adams’s person when he died was a key that went to nothing.

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They say to live your life with no regrets, never look back.They clearly had nothing to regret.Richard had announced that he couldn't work on the declaration committee because he had to serve in Virginia. After convincing Jefferson to write the declaration, I walked over to where he had been staying, hoping he hadn't left already. Luckily, he was still packing his belongings.He had expressed surprise that I of all people came to say farewell. Despite all outwardly appearances, he was very intelligent, and knew damn well that I was not fond of him. I admitted that. But I also admitted that I did enjoy his company, especially during the long, boring sessions of Congress. He did make it slightly more tolerable.He gave that smile that was so characteristic-Lee (and here I inwardly smirked) and thanked me for the compliment.He finished packing and turned to leave. Right before he reached the door, he turned and asked if he could do something brash. I shrugged and asked whether that stopped him before.Then he did the most astonishing thing.He kissed me.Right on the lips.Almost as soon as it happened, he pulled away, opening the door and ushering me out.I was still in a daze as he got on his horse and left, the carriage with his belongings following. As I watched, I felt a small pang in my chest.He had never done that before.And if he had, I would have known sooner that I wanted it, wanted more of it.One kiss with Lee was not enough.And now he's gone.

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"A compromise?"Edward Rutledge smirked. "Yes, Mr. Adams, that's what this is. A compromise."John looked down at the floor in thought. On the one hand, they needed the South's votes if this issue was to pass. On the other hand, Edward's terms for the 'yea' votes benefited no one but himself. Given the circumstances, though, he had to surrender if he was going to get his way."Very well. I accept."He smirked again. "Glad to hear it, Mr. Adams." He then poured John a glass of wine. John tried to refuse it, but Edward would have none of it. "A toast...to the collaboration of our causes."John had his misgivings... but he supposed one drink couldn't hurt.They talked while sipping their wine. John had every intent of leaving once he finished, but before he could say anything, Edward refilled his glass. Not wanting to seem impolite, he remained where he was.As he sipped at his glass, he noticed Edward inching closer to him. He also noticed the gleam in his eyes and the way the mouth ever so slightly curved. And he kept watching him. All the attention Edward was giving him was making John uncomfortable.As Edward poured John a third drink, he leaned in close, faces inches apart, his hand on John's knee."Mr. Rutledge?""Yes, John?""What are you doing?""Isn't it obvious?""I..." John couldn't speak. He just gripped the armrests as Edward kissed him, his eyes shut, not seeing the horror in John's eyes.He was beginning to think that the reason Edward invited him here had nothing to do with the compromise.He was right.