Hey! Sorry for a few mistakes I made with the French last time, I'm trying but it's not my first language. However, a writer by the name of Siffly helped me out! They write super cool fanfictions in french and were so helpful.

Anyway, thanks for all the positive reviews, they make my day! Just a question for any other writers on this site reading this, do you find when you update your story it doesn't move to the top of the page and stays where it was before? This happens all the time and I hate it! It annoys me because my views just half when people don't see my updates! Very annoying...

Trigger warnings: self harm, panic attack, medication, allusion to suicide

Alex was jerked out of his melancholy when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, his eyes snapping open and his fingers clenching around his cutlery so tight it felt as though the skin across his knuckles would split.

"Alex... you okay there?"

It was Lafayette, his silvery french accent was tinged with concern.

Alex looked up and saw every eye on the table trained on him

No, please, don't look at me. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me.

He glanced down at his hands and only then noticed how much they were shaking. The sound of the metal of his fork rattling against his mug was far too loud and pressed against his ears like an incessant alarm, warning him. Of what, Alexander didn't know.

The silence in the kitchen continued to weigh down on the air around him like treacle. A cough sounded dimly, as though through many layers of clothing.

Alex was suddenly very aware of his heart pounding in him. Had it always been that loud? Like the beating wings of a caged bird.

In an instant he was back, again sitting at the kitchen table in front of searching stares and scrutiny, like a deer in headlights.

"I-I'm fine." His voice sounded thick and false, like someone doing a poor imitation of him.

George and Martha looked at each other and Lafayette spoke again.

"Would you like to go for a nap Alex? You look tired."

His French accent was more pronounced when he was worried.

Alex nodded slowly and stood up, legs buckling almost instantly as white flashed in his vision. He slumped in his chair and George stood suddenly, causing him to flinch and curl up, trembling knees pressed to chest.

Martha came around the table to him and stroked his head gently, letting Alex lean into her touch. Lafayette was watching on, helpless and confused, wanting to help but not exactly knowing how.

Qu'est qui ce passe?

George came back to the table in quick strides, his posture stiff. In his hand he carried the two boxes of pills they'd collected at the hospital and a tall glass of water. Sitting down next to Alex he silently popped the sliver foil and placed the Prozac and iron in front of the trembling boy.

Alex took a few minutes to calm down and slowed his breathing, pushing himself from the edge of a panic attack. His hands still shaking violently he picked up the two pills and with a flat palm, tipped them into his mouth and gulped down the water behind them.

"I think those should help you calm down a little, along with some rest."

George's voice was gruff and for a moment, Alex mistook it for angered. However, turning he saw his foster father's jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were shining slightly.

Alex stood up again and fought to keep himself on his feet, blinking back the spots in his vision.

"You'll be okay going up those stairs alone Alex?"

He nodded vacantly and brought his glass of water to the sink, rinsing it quickly and putting it slowly back in the cupboard. Walking back to the door he stopped at the kitchen table.

"Thanks Martha, George..." he twitched his lips into a faint smile.

They smiled warmly back and Alex turned to Lafayette.

"Tu as la chance d'avoir leur, ce sont de bonnes personnes."

Lafayette smiled softly and nodded, glancing at Martha and George who looked politely confused.

Without another word, Alex turned his back to the family and walked unsteadily back down the hallway and upstairs, clutching the rail tightly and cursing his shaking legs.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the Washintons conversed in hushed tones.

"What did he say Gil? You know how appalling my French is."

Lafayette smirked. "Tu as la chance d'avoir leur, ce sont de bonnes personnes. Basically; 'you are lucky to have them, they are good people.'"

Martha blinked back surprise and felt her heart ache for Alex, wishing he had come to them sooner, wishing people in their world were kinder.

George stood up and put his arm around Lafayette and Martha.

"We are lucky to have you, Gil, and we are lucky to have Alex. If I didn't have you running around and annoying me everyday, I'm sure I'd go mad with the work at the office."

Laf laughed and flicked his father playfully on the arm.

"I shall go and check on Alex soon, yes?"

George nodded thoughtfully, "yeah that's a good idea, son. He should get comfortable with you. Not that he's exactly comfortable with us at all either, but you're his age, you plan to introduce him to your friends. It's good he has someone he can relate to here."

"I will go to my room, Mr Geoffrey est fou! Crazy! He's given us a seven thousand word essay project for September and I want to type three thousand ce soir."

The French boy ran up the stairs to his bedroom and flung himself onto the beanbag he'd bought two summers ago.

Internally promising to start the essay in fifteen minutes, he grabbed his phone and looked at the new messages from John.

John (5hrs ago): Yo! Laf! Back in the states! Missed me?

Lafrançaise (Just now): my friend! We texted last night!

John (just now): ah, can I not greet my most exotic European friend, back from his travels?

Lafrançaise(Just now): I am not exotic! There are 67 million people in France!

Lafrançaise(Just now): Alex has arrived also.

John (Just now): Oh my god yeah! What's he like?

Lafrançaise (Just know): that is, how I think you say, a full question.

John (Just now): a loaded question. Nvm, what do you mean?

Lafrançaise(Just now): not quite how we expected. He is no delinquent. Very shy.

John (Just now): rather shy than violent right?

Lafrançaise (Just now): it is not good, 'John Laurens when he sees a cute boy' shy.

John (Just now): standoffish? (I'm going to ignore that)

Lafrançaise(Just now): no. I guess I should tell you.

John (Just now): yeah?

Lafrançaise (Just now): well, maman et papa took him to hospital yesterday. He's been abused and he's anxious all the time because of it.

John (Just now): shit. . . Is he okay?

Lafrançaise (just now): I don't know. He's sleeping now. Got nervous breakfast and took (what do you call them? Little ovals?)

John (Just now): pills. So, if we hang tomorrow do you want to invite him or leave him to rest?

Lafrançaise (Just now): I'll invite him. Je ne sais pas. He might not want to come. I have to go, aurevoir mon ami!

John (Just now): sounds cool. Bye my friend!

John left the chat

Lafrançaise left the chat

Laf turned off his phone and went to his desk, preparing to type out his essay but still plauged by thoughts of Alex.


Alex lay on his bed, turned on his side. He was staring at the Prozac and iron on his table across the room. He wasn't sure it was a good idea for him to have pills handy, then again, he wasn't exactly about to go and talk about that with the Washingtons.

They'd think you were a freak. You are a freak. If there was anything stopping you from being kicked out, telling them that would be the last straw. You'd be back at Pace within the day.

Alex turned on his other side, refusing to look at the pills, praying to God, to whatever was or wasn't up there, that he didn't do anything stupid.

It was only ten milligrams. But in a week it would be twenty, then thirty. If he went up to forty and there was enough meds in the box for three months, that was a whole lot of pills.

Pushing these thoughts out of his mind, he turned his attention to his bags which he hadn't yet bothered to unpack.

Rummaging through his admittedly meagre possessions he quickly found his small black note book, the 13th in a collection of books that he had been writing in for almost two years.

The rest were tucked away somewhere, or thrown out. He had only chosen five to bring with him to the Washingtons.

Opening to the next free page and writing in the date, he thought of the discussion he'd had with George in the car. Biting the end of his biro for a moment, he started to scribble down on the paper, words flowing out of his mind like a stream that soon swelled to a rushing river.

In reviewing the administration of our latest president, Donald. J. Trump, I am conscious of many errors in the biased and unprofessional measures of staffing and delegation that have been made. It seems to me that the current government is altogether backstabbing and egocentric, a reflection of The President's less than self-sacrificing character. One can only assume, in the sixth month of his office, the Whitehouse has descended into the kill or be killed state one might associate with the vicious court of a Tudor king, rather than the office of the 45th president...

Alex finished this rather cutting essay nearly two hours later, forgetting totally about the nap he was supposed to be having. Culminating it in a final, sneering insult he scratched down his signature with the last traces of ink in his pen and closed his notebook, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He couldn't be sure, but he made an informed guess of around 4,000 words in that essay. He had written so much on the political situation in America for the past few years, he could probably pass the SAT American politics exam easily.

Wondering vaguely what high school he would attend for his sophomore year, he lay his head down on top of his notebook and closed his eyes, not even bothering to kick off his shoes before letting sleep welcome him with open arms.

Lafayette had finished around two thousand words on his computer and reviewed the first thousand words when it occurred to him that he had promised to check in on Alex.

Saving his work and deciding to continue the correcting tomorrow, he logged off and walked out of his room and on to the landing.

Not wanting to disturb Alex by knocking, but wanting to make sure he was getting some well needed sleep, he slowly pushed open the door of his bedroom and peeked in, careful not to let the hinges creak.

Alex was fast asleep on his bed, eyes shut and mouth closed. It was perhaps the most peaceful Lafayette had ever seen him. His dark eyes, usually filled with worry or a skittish sense of watchfulness, were closed and thick lashes rested on his cheeks.

Despite Alex's less than impressive height, the contrast between his long limbs and slender body made him almost willowy looking and graceful. It was a shame he spent most of his time trying to make himself as small as possible.

Shutting the door again gently he made his way back to his bedroom and decided to take a nap as well. It was nearing one o'clock and his late arrival last night had tired him.

Collapsing onto his bed, which was white with subtle blue and red details, he drifted into a unexpectedly peaceful, but nevertheless welcome, sleep.

When six o'clock came, the usual time for dinner, Martha called up to the boys to come down for something to eat. As was per usual, she heard the tell tale scrambling of Gilbert and heard him run unceremoniously down the stairs.

All was silent, however, from the side of the hallway Alex had been sleeping. Climbing the stairs, she knocked gently on his door though, eventually receiving no answer, she allowed herself in.

Smiling to herself, she walked over to Alex who was still deep in his slumber, she pulled something out from underneath his cheek and noticed a pen till clutched loosely in his hand. She turned the battered notebook over in her hands and took in the bend edges of its cover and the loose pieces of paper hastily stapled to the back page.

Not wanting to pry, she placed the book on his bedside table and gently nudged him awake.

"Alex, dear, it's dinner time now."

He stirred and nodded groggily at her, rolling over onto his feet.

Suddenly, he stiffened.

"My note book." He said, scanning the bed. Where is it?"

Martha gestured towards the bedside table.

"I just moved it out from under your face. It looked uncomfortable. I didn't look through it, don't worry."

Alex relaxed and smiled. "Of course, thank you."

They walked together downstairs in a semi-awkward silence and sat themselves down at the dinner table where the food again had been layed out in huge dishes in the centre to take from.

Sipping at his glass of water and waiting until everyone had taken their portions, Alexander fiddled with his sleeve.

The Prozac seemed to be doing something. He felt less... tense, but there was a strange tinge of something else now in the back of his mind. He couldn't quite explain it but it felt almost as though he was running nearer and nearer to the edge of a cliff, but had no way to stop himself when he met the sheer drop.

Focusing instead on the food he glanced at the Washingtons to see if they had taken their portions yet, which they had. He caught George's eye who didn't smile but glanced at the food and then back at Alex in an encouraging manner.

He lifted the salad tongs and pulled some of the food onto his plate. Iceberg lettuce with cherry tomatoes, sweetcorn, grated carrots and some other vegetables garnished with some kind of dressing.

Next to the salad a steaming plate of grilled halloumi and vegetables sat. He cautiously lifted a small piece of the cheese onto his plate and began to eat. This food was good. Safe. It didn't remind him of Pace, or the Johnson's, or his real family. It was just... Washington.

"So, Alex." It was George speaking.

"How did you come to learn French?"

Alex started slightly and put down his knife and fork, not trusting himself to be able to make small talk and eat at the same time.

"Oh. My mother was french by descent. We spoke it at home along with English and Spanish, besides, The Caribbean has a large French population and a lot of French influence left from colonial times. More so in Haiti or... Guadeloupe, but in Nevis too."

George nodded and cut into a large piece of halloumi.

"Indeeed, well, it's very admirable to have such proficient language skills, especially if you're considering any law or political related studies in the future."

Alex nodded quickly and George continued.

"Have you ever considered any SAT's in those subjects?"

Alex thought about that for second, "yeah... I'd like to do American politics and history. English language and literature as well. Maybe French."

Lafayette spoke next, "choose those subjects! You will be in class with me and John!"

Alex smiled slightly and continued eating, the room settling into comfortable silence as everyone ate.

Soon their plates were cleared and Martha was passing round dessert - a small portion of ice cream and fruit.

Staring down at his serving, Alex shuddered. It was hard enough eating the halloumi and salad, a second course seemed unnecessary and frankly, he was too full anyway.

Nibbling at the end of a strawberry he listened to the idle chit chat that he had learned was commonplace in the Washington household.

Soon the rest of the table had finished almost all of their food, including desert. Alex washed his plate next to Martha and felt a sense of guilt squirm in his stomach as he watched George wrapping cling film over his untouched food and sliding it into the freezer.

Still, he thought it was probably better than them wasting it.

"Oh Alex," it was George, "I didn't ask, how is the medication? Do you feel any better?"

Alex started a little and responded, "oh, um, it's fine yeah. I don't feel it that much but it's only ten milligrams I guess..."

George nodded, "we'll go around to the drug store next week, pick up the next prescription."

Alex nodded and wondered for the first time how much this was costing the Washingtons. They had to pay his hospital bill, for his food, now for his pills too.

Alex must have looked uncomfortable then because Martha spoke up.

"Alex? Do you want to go back upstairs or stay down here with us. After dinner we normally sit down and watch something together, or have a discussion about politics. Something along those lines."

Normally this would have sounded quite appealing to Alex but right now that uneasy feeling had crept back into his mind and he still felt such crushing guilt around the Washingtons that sitting with them for any longer sounded like torture.

Alex slowly shook his head. "Is it okay if I go up instead... only if that's okay. I'm not demanding or anything. Sorry."

Martha shook her head.

"No, no, you're not demanding at all! To tell you the truth, we'll probably just watch another one of Gil's French films."

Alex nodded and stood in the door way as Martha walked back into the sitting room. Lafayette was fiddling with the wires on the box and cursing under his breath in french.

George was leant back on the sofa reading the paper, occasionally calling Martha over to show her an article or picture. The two would study it together for a while, intellectual equals, before Martha would return back to helping Laf.

Alex wondered what it was like to be part of a family like this. A family that didn't hit you or starve you, or whisper snide remarks about you when they thought you wouldn't hear.

He thought of his own home for a moment. It had never been like this but he could still remember the scent on his mother's perfume, like the thousands of raindrops that rattled their window panes on rainy days. Her hands had always been soft and he sometimes still felt the sensation of her hand stroking his face.

Shaking himself out of this nostalgia he turned away from the sitting room and traipsed back upstairs into his room.

Alex sighed and clicked the lock on his door, relaxing as soon as it was secure. This was better, safe.

Wow, they only time you're not an anxious mess is when your literally locked inside a room. You're going to love the psych ward. It's where you'll end up eventually.

Alex couldn't be bothered to take these thoughts away, instead wallowing in them.

He wasn't part of the Washington family, he never would be. They had eachother, they didn't need another burden. Because that was all he was. A drain on their money and patience.

Alex rummaged through his bag and pulled out a small metal tin. He walked into the bathroom and slid down against the tiled wall and rolled back the sleeve of his hoodie.

When he was done, Alex put the box of razors back in his bag and changed so he was just wearing a shirt with his boxers. He flopped onto his bed and fell in to a restless, fitful sleep. More than once waking up sweating and gasping, unable to breathe.

The next morning Alex awoke to the feeling of something wet pressing against his cheek. He felt his face and looked at his fingers.

They were dark red; blood.

Looking down at the bed he swore and sat up immediately. His arm had lain next to his face as he slept and unbeknownst to him, blood had leaked over night onto his sheet leaving a sizeable stain where his arm had been.

Stumbling to the bathroom, Alex scrubbed the blood off his face and plucked up the courage to look down at his arm. He winced, not good. Gently washing around the cuts, he hissed as they stung painfully.

Before figuring out what he could do about the sheet, Alex pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and a new shirt with his usual dark blue jeans and hoodie.

Sighing he looked at the clock. It was 5:55. Good, he had time to try and wash this stain out before anyone woke up.

He pulled the sheet off the bed and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where he figured there would be cleaning products.

He turned on the tap as quietly and as cold as he could and filled up a bowl with water. He knew the routine of getting blood out of things well by now. Water, scrub, soap, scrub, brush fabric, dry.

He found some detergent under the sink. The same brand Pace used, he noted, and poured some in to the water. Working quickly, he scrubbed and saw the stain start to fade slowly.

"Alexandre? Mon ami? C'est trop tôt le matin! Qu'est-ce tu fais?"

My friend, it's really early, what are you doing?

Alex jumped and whipped round.

"Rien. Nothing, go back to sleep."

He didn't know what to do, his lungs were tightening, his vision was flickering.

"Alex, qu'est que c'est?" He motioned to the bowl in the sink.

What's this?

Lafayette walked over and examined the bowl in confusion. His eyes widened when he saw the large red stain against the smooth white fabric.

"Alexandre... Why is there blood?"

Alex didn't know what to say, his eyes were stinging, though not as painfully as his arm, and his breath was coming faster and faster now.

"Alexandre!" Lafayette cried, he grabbed Alex's wrists tightly in his strong grip.

He stopped abruptly when Alex cried out in pain and flinched. Lafayette looked slowly down at his grip on the boy's arm. He pushed Alex sleeve up to his elbow and stared. Alex merely stood there, breathing getting faster.

He yanked his arm from Lafayette's grasp and slid down against the kitchen wall. He buried his head into his knees and drew in deep breath.

"Alexandre! You calm yourself okay, count your breathing. Je vais la laver."

I will wash it.

Alex drew in ragged breaths and whimpered against his trembling knees. Lafayette was going to punish him - Alex assumed he had the authority to do so in this house. He tried to count his breaths, an attempt to steal himself for the inevitable blows he was about to endure.

A few minutes later Lafayette was done. He wrung the water out of the sheet and hung it on the back of a chair, facing the rising sun.

"Deep breaths Alex, je suis ici, I am not going to leave."

Alex nodded and rested his head against Lafayette's shoulder.

"You're- you're not mad?"

"Non, of course not."

They stayed like that for a while, watching the dawn creep in like the tide across the tiles. The smell of laundry detergent and friendship was thick in the air.

"We should put a bandage on your arm, Alexandre."

"Okay..."

Lafayette pulled a roll of bandage and some plasters from the cupboard and pulled up Alex's sleeve. He kept his face calm and expressionless as he helped wrap the cuts.

When they were done Alex pulled back his sleeve and they went to check how dry the sheet was. They decided it was okay to put back on his bed and together they spent a comfortably silent few minutes making Alex's bed.

They sat on it together.

"Alex, I will not ask you to stop or take whatever you use. That could only make things worse, I just want you to know it's not your only choice. You can talk with me."

"Okay Laf."

"Do you want to talk about it now?"

"Not right now."

"Okay."

They stayed in silence for a while until eventually they heard stirring in Martha and George's room.

"Ils sont éveillé."

They're awake.

Alex's eyes suddenly widened and he gripped Lafayette's bicep.

"Laf, please, don't tell George and Martha. Please, they'll kick me out. They'll be so mad, please laf."

He looked so frightened that Lafayette embraced him again.

"Mon ami, I will not tell them. Though if I did, they woukd not kick you out or be mad. However, I will keep the secret."

Alex nodded quickly and calmed somewhat. Neither of them said it, but they could both feel the rapid beating of Alex's heart and the beginnings of a friendship.

Hey guys. Thanks for getting this far. To be clear this is not a Lafayette x Hamilton story, it's a slow burn lams.