Chapter 4: The Winter's Ball and the Battle of Brandywine

February 24, 1780

Genevieve descended the stairs with Eliza, Peggy and Angelica. Her feet in heels and feeling awkward, she nearly stumbled and clutched onto Peggy. Swallowing nervously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear but was careful not to dislodge the elaborate twists of hair pinned up. Angelica was immediately swept away by a man, so was Peggy by John, leaving Eliza with Genevieve.

She knew that the Schuyler sisters were the envy of all. All equally beautiful, they were rich and charismatic and many wanted to wed them. Sighing, she followed Eliza through the crowd as Continental Army soldiers began to sweep through the crowd. She spotted Aaron Burr with Alexander and John, smiling at all the women they were surrounded by.

"Look, it's your future husband." Eliza hissed in her ear and Genevieve started. Turning to see where Eliza was pointing at, she saw a man wearing the navy jacket, ruffles at his neck and wearing a pristine vest, the black buttons done up. He was about to go up to Angelica when Alexander ran up to him and scared him off. Surprised, Lafayette backed away and retreated to the edge of the ballroom, a sour look on his face.

"Funny," she murmured back, not losing sight of him. "I'm going, I'm going," she added when Eliza pushed her in the direction. Knowing that her friend's eyes were full of mischief and amusement, she managed to push past the crowd and approach him. He spotted her and immediately came closer, bowing.

"Sir," she curtseyed as he kissed her hand.

"Mademoiselle," he straightened and she looked straight into his face, waiting for him to remember. Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled widely. Her hand cupped his jaw, thumb tracing over the scar under his eye as his mouth fell open. "Genevieve, is it - is it really you? Genevieve," he repeated her name as if a mantra and took the hand that held his face and kissed her palm repeatedly. She pulled him into a hug and he wrapped his arms around her waist and twirled her around.

"Lafayette," she whispered and he pressed their foreheads together. She could've fallen in love with those eyes at that moment. "It's me - I swear, it's me." Her voice was shaky and he barely could contain himself, sweeping her into a dance. His movements were clumsy but she didn't mind, helping him get into the practice. She winced when he stepped on her foot more than once but smiled graciously.* "I'm so sorry," were the first words out of her mouth once they had settled into the rhythm.

"Ma chérie, just tell me where you've been all this time." He grumbled in a strained manner back and when she looked into his eyes, she realized that they were alight with life again. "Before I left for war, I confess, I looked for you everywhere."

"I'm sorry - I -" she stopped. There was nothing to say. She couldn't say she didn't trust Lafayette but not to the point as she trusted the sisters. There was still the tiny chance he would turn her in. This war was what they both wanted to fight for and she wouldn't let him stop her. "I'm here now."

"And I'm glad for that," he said, a lapse of silence falling over the two. When they swept past his friends who cat-called, he rolled his eyes playfully. "Ignore my friends. They seem to forget that we are back in civilization where etiquette is something needed." She hummed thoughtfully at that, holding on tighter to his hands.

"The warfront and drawing room both require different skills," she quipped and he chuckled. "Did you bring them here to cause trouble or because it is true that the French need too much company to have fun?"

"Right on two accounts," he replied although she already knew that. "Although, it seems I've found more pleasant company than they."

"Quite a compliment, monsieur," she teased and Lafayette grinned down at her before looking over her shoulder. She looked as well and saw John making wildly inappropriate gestures. Chuckling, she shook her head and twirled them closer to him. Breaking away from her partner briefly, she went over to him. "Don't forget about that horse, John," she pushed a finger into his chest and he flushed. "It is good to see you again," even though I saw you yesterday. She added in her mind.

"You too, Genny, if I may call you that." She nodded and they embraced quickly. "Strange, you strike me familiar to someone back in camp. Do you have any siblings in the army?"

"Bennett's too young, I'm sure." She murmured although by now, he was sixteen. "Must be your imagination, anyhow." A warm hand was on the small of her back and she looked to her right to see Lafayette smiling at her. It was not too low but still intimate as she leaned into his side.

"John," the French lieutenant gave a warning through the stare and she chuckled, placing a hand on his chest.

"My, my, jealous are we?" She sang and Lafayette rolled his eyes. "You could take me for another dance." she suggested and he took her hand. "Goodbye John!" The freckled man smiled and waved, returning to dance with Peggy. When he lead her through the crowd, Genevieve smiled foolishly to herself at the sight of the debonair on her arm. "What are you doing?" She asked, realizing he had grabbed her a glass of wine. It was dark, swishing in the crystalline glass. The flavors came in tides, overlapping each other on her tongue and she sighed at the well-aged alcohol. Turning to Lafayette, she raised her eyebrows as she watched him down it easily. "Does Merlot run in your veins?"

"Oui, and it does for you I suppose." He replied and she raised her eyebrows. "Am I wrong to assume you're reckless?"

"Why?" She asked, voice barely managing to conceal her nervousness. This was her first glass of wine but by the stronger scent on his breath, she knew it was not his.

"You're wearing this kind of dress at an occasional like this. Men may think you're alone tonight." He whispered breathily against her ear and she chuckled in relief. Squeezing his arm, she rolled her eyes at his flirtatious comment. The two couldn't blame the alcohol though. By the look in his eye, he knew exactly what he was saying - the man was as sober as a judge.

"And I'm not?"

"Of course not. I promised years ago that I would always protect you and here I am." Surprised, she took another sip.

"I guess you are a man of your promises," she finished her wine quickly, setting it on a nearby server's tray and offered him her hand again. In the center of the ballroom was Angelica, glowing in her gown as Alexander shared a dance with her. The Schuyler was completely enraptured with the man. Frowning thoughtfully, she turned back to Lafayette.

"No one ever says Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette is a liar." He announced and she laughed as the band switched to a polonaise. She dragged him onto the dance floor and he attempted to lead into a waltz. She had one hand on his shoulder and another in his hand and she grinned at his attempt to lead them into a dance, his face a mask of concentration. After a few minutes of dipping and spinning, he decided that it was better off to just sway and step in timed movements lest he be too exhausted to dance longer. Plus, Genevieve wouldn't admit it but she was afraid he'd step on her feet again. She found it endearing that this soldier who knew how to fire a gun and command armies, could barely dance.

"That's because no one has the time to." She snorted and he laughed animatedly. So far, this war was both the best and worst thing she had decided to enlist in. The music ended and he broke away. Bowing again, he took her hand and placed a long-lasting kiss on her knuckles. When he straightened, she kissed him on the cheek chastely.

"Will I ever see you again?" He murmured and she looked away. The last time he had promised to do so, she had disappeared. "Or will I have fallen in love with a ghost?" Her heart seized at the tender, low note in his voice and she shook her head.

"You have not fallen in love with me," she whispered, "just who you imagine me to be. But, perhaps, if Fate gives us another chance…"

"Bien. Adieu, ma chérie." He pulled away and turned away. The crowds nearly swallowed him but she ran after him.

"Attends!" She yelled and he paused. The French pierced his hearing and he spun around just as Genevieve launched herself into his arms. Her mouth landed on his and he kissed back with such passion, avoiding all the whoops and hollers of his friends and the many judging glares of other nobles. "I could not let you leave without doing that." She whispered and one of the hands on her back reached up and warmed the back of her neck as he gently pulled her down again. The taste of wine on his tongue mixed with hers and Genevieve swore she could have never replicate that taste again. His lips were soft, plush as they glided gently over hers and every sense was in overdrive. Her hearing was impeccable, every nerve ending was sending signals faster than a bullet and the only thing she had on her mind was Lafayette.

"Ma chérie," he breathed and she hugged him tightly around the neck. "Would it do any use to write?"

"Not where I will be," she murmured. "Just stay alive," she demanded and he nodded.

"I will," he promised, "but you have to be here when I return." Nodding, she felt him slip away from her grasp and disappear from sight.

March 15, 1780

"Who are you writing to?" Genevieve asked, spotting Alexander hunched over and writing, the quill moving quicker than many could run. Tying her newly cut hair up, she saw Alexander blush. "God, is it your secret lover?" She peeked over and saw the name Eliza.

"No, of course not." Alexander looked at his friend and she scoffed.

"Eliza Schuyler is your pen pal?" She snatched the letter and began at the top. "The day before yesterday, my angel, I arrived here, but for the want of an opportunity could not write you sooner-"**

"Stop!"

"Isn't that cute?" She teased and he tackled her for his letter. He grabbed it back and folded it. Grinning nefariously, she went to her own bed and sighed. "We have to get some sleep soon, anyways, Alexander."

"I know."

"Then why are you still writing? We need to get to Bound Brook by tomorrow night." She fluffed her pillow and turned on one side. The cot was hard against her hip and side but she ignored it and closed her eyes. The scratch of the quill kept her company in the night as she dreamed of her father, brother, and her sister.

September 11, 1780

The fog was what doomed them. Genevieve knew that Washington thought they were still attacking Chadds Ford. As they trekked the Great Road from Kennett Square, the first shots of gunfire could be heard. Immediately, the battle commenced and muskets were raised to return fire. Genevieve swallowed whatever fear she had and gazed at the still-dark sky. Men fell all around her and she spotted Alexander charging into the fray, gun clutched to his chest. It was chaotic, redcoats bursting from the fog and she ran, hearing the bullets whizzing past her ears.

Pushing herself up onto the hill for the height advantage, she shot down the redcoats that chased her up the hill. When she finally saw no other men, she settled her gun down and just breathed, and for just a moment's peace, she took out her telescope, pulled it out and looked near Osbourne's Hill. It was a commanding position North of their army and could flank them easily. There were thousands of them, resting in their camp as they prepared to attack. Her eyes widened as she watched them in their camp. The troops would completely massacre them if she didn't reach any of the generals in time so she ran down again, the information needing to be reported back to Washington. Shooting down the redcoats in her way, she reloaded just as a British soldier leaped over a dead body and charged at her with a musket, a bayonet barely recognizable under the dirt and blood.

Turning around, she unsheathed her sword and parried his blow and pushed him away. They circled each other as she slashed and he blocked. It was a deadly dance with each lunge and retreat. She took a stab at his shoulder, he deflected it. He aimed for her neck, she ducked and pulled back. He feinted but she wasn't fool and swung as he stepped to his other side. It caught him in the shoulder and he grunted, shoving her away. His hand cupped his injured shoulder for a moment, realizing that she had drawn blood before steadying his musket.

The renewed blood lust in his eyes made her shake. He charged straight at her, nearly missing her neck as she ducked, ramming her shoulder into his gut. As he fell back, his bayonet pierced her arm and she winced. It scraped her, drawing blood and enough to weaken her arm. Cupping the wound, she tried to renew her vigor to fight but couldn't find the motivation as someone screamed, "Charge!" She looked away from the redcoat on the ground for a millisecond. No, don't charge! She thought wordlessly.

That was her mistake. The redcoat pushed himself and lunged at her. When she looked back, it was nearly too late to redirect the sword so it glanced off her sword but she managed to, the clash of metal ringing in her ears more than the rapid fire of gunshots. Instead of her heart, the bayonet's sharp end dove through her forearm, lacerating the skin and leaving a jagged bloody gash from her wrist to her elbow. It was ugly, gushing out blood like a river. Screaming in pain, she felt herself collapse to her knees and stabbed in front of her, hearing the sick swoosh as metal entered his body. Blinking repeatedly, she tried to ignore the pulsing blood running down her arm but every time she tried to move, white hot pain would blind her.

The life faded from his eyes and she pulled her sword out, clutching onto the gushing slash on her arm. Retreating, she ducked behind cover of a cannon. Gasping for breath, she felt tears prick at the side of her eyes. Survive, must survive, was the only thought on her mind and she got up and tried to run forward back to where Washington's camp was. Stumbling to the dirt, she felt her arm flare in pain, gasping and moaning on her side. The dirt was in her wound now, and she could just imagine the flares of infection beginning to take hold.

"Smith!" Alexander, she realized dully as her eyes began to close. Blackness edged her vision and she reached a hand to claw herself through the dirt. "Hey, you're gonna be okay." He barked in her ear. He wrapped something tightly around her arm despite her moans of pain, hauling her up and putting an arm around her. "Someone get a doctor!"

"Alexander," she coughed, tears flowing down her face from the pain, "need to see… the… Washington…" Her mind went blank and she was aware that she was plummeting to the ground as she opened her eyes again. Alexander managed to keep her up, gunfire still ringing in their ears.

"Come on, come on," he muttered and after what felt like years to her, the gunshots faded away as did the screams, instead replaced by the steadiness of his footsteps and the dragging of hers. "Smith, you still there?" He asked in her ear and her head lolled to the side with a half-conscious moan. The soldier was delirious. Cursing to himself, he hitched her over his shoulder, uncaring of the blood that stained his white vest as he made sure his jacket was still tied tightly around his arm.

Sprinting up to the camp, he screamed for the doctor and he poked his head out from the tent, "Get General Washington as well. Tell him it's more important that whatever he's doing right now,"***

"Right away," one of the men who had stayed behind nodded. Entering the medicinal tent, he laid the soldier on the cot who was now mumbling feverish words. Alexander stayed by the woman's side as the doctor brought out bundles of clothes and commanded a soldier for boiling water. More and more blood soaked through Alexander's jacket as she clenched her jaw, determined to stop the sobs in her throat as the doctor untied the jacket and she felt fresh, stinging air against her lacerated arm. He tsked when he saw the state of it.

"He's lost a lot of blood and the wound is much too dirty too treat-" the doctor began but Alexander slammed his fist on the cot.

"Try. You try and save this soldier's life or I will end yours." He growled lowly and the doctor nodded, grabbing a dry towel and prying the woman's mouth open. Stuffing it in, he made sure that if the woman did clench her teeth, it wouldn't damage herself, and he returned to the arm.

"Then you have to find something to cauterize this wound," the doctor fired back, "Anything - he will bleed out if we don't."

The soldier returned with a cauldron and the doctor nodded his thanks. He dipped the towel in hot water and with a final glance at Alexander, slowly inserted the towel into the wound.

Immediately, Genevieve's green eyes flew open and a scream tore from the back of her throat. The doctor swallowed and continued on as her whole body tensed, legs bending and feet pushing against the cot in an attempt to escape. Shock flooded her brain, causing her to sweat and blanche as Alexander had to restrain her. "Oliver, hey! Calm down, we have to clean the wound, alright? Try and stay still," he ordered and grabbed onto her uninjured arm. One hand in hers, he watched as she gave him a wide-eyed, half-insane looking stare. "Are you sure that's the only way?" He added with a glance at the doctor. The doctor nodded. "Then do what you must."

The doctor turned around to tell one of his less injured soldiers to take a bayonet… he paused, looking at the feverish woman on the cot, pondering whether or not he should do this. But the look in Hamilton's eyes forbade the doctor from giving up so he continued his order to tell him to heat it in the fire. Tears traced clear trails down her cheeks as she felt a sob wrack her body.

Her hand squeezed his, fingernails digging into his flesh in panic and in pain. They were about to insert something burning into her? Alexander whispered something as if to comfort her - really, nothing could - as the tent flap opened to reveal George Washington in his glory. "What in God's name is going on?" He snapped and Alexander saluted. The doctor paused in his work before continuing. He was only one-third through the wound, the towel thoroughly soaked in blood and dirt as he switched cloths.

"Sir," Alexander began and Genevieve's mind cleared. This was her purpose. If she didn't say it now before she left this world… the revolution would die. Raising a clenched hand to her mouth, every muscle stiff and shaking, she clawed the towel out of her mouth and raised her head.

"General Washington, sir," she breathed weakly and Alexander returned to her bedside, taking the towel and propping her head up with his hand. The pain invaded her mind again and the doctor opened a bottle of brandy, pouring a generous amount into the glass as she struggled to form words. Her brain was a haze as the general came closer. "You need to tell your generals to retaliate…"

"Against?"

"The… the men c-camped on Osbourne's hill." A storm settled over the General's face and Genevieve pursued to explain, "I-I-I saw them with… my own eyes sir," she spat through gritted teeth. The doctor pried open her mouth and tipped the glass of brandy down her throat. Pouring another glass, he made her swallow again. She choked on the alcohol, letting it dribble down her chin. It was like fire down her throat and anything that could be heard faded away as the energy was sapped from her body. The alcohol seemed to work and everything dulled as the colors molded together. "Lafayette will…" her voice faded as the energy became a lost entity to her.

"Find Sullivan and tell him to meet me immediately," Washington seemed to order and Alexander responded with a muted 'yes, sir.' His face appeared in front of her again and he had a mask of grim determination. His mouth moved but she heard no words as her eyes slid to half-mast. The towel was shoved into her mouth and then the blazing inferno on her arm returned.

After an eternity, when the pain became muted because her brain simply couldn't take it, she raised her head dizzily. Was it over? Why did he stop? But the doctor's back was towards her and when she saw him turn around and meet his eyes, they were shining with sympathy. In his hand was a flask and he took a strong hold of her wrist. Everything was in slow motion as he tipped the flask. Steeling her nerves, she thought it wouldn't be as bad as having something probe her insides.

She was wrong.

Instead, every nerve ending burned as he poured the alcohol into her wound. The signals were sent to her brain faster than she could comprehend as it continued to slosh around inside her gash to disinfect it. By the end of the ordeal, she wasn't sure if she was even conscious. She could recall the world fading in and out, blurry as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. But when the doctor didn't start sewing - when he didn't do anything - she knew she was conscious because she knew what came next. Cauterization. Crying through her gag, she screamed in protest and blinked as if to say no. She'd rather die, let her die...

"I'm sorry. But this," the doctor paused as a soldier came in with a bayonet, its metal glowing and she shrunk away from it. That was the very thing that was going to kill her - no, no, no. The horror caught a knot in her throat as he ignored whatever signal her eyes sent to him. Her shoulders shook with sobs and her throat felt bruised and tight, knots making it so difficult to breathe. Who'd do this? Why? Let me die... let me die... she repeated hopelessly in her delusion. Helpless, she struggled away but he wouldn't let her and her energy was failing. Second by second, the blood loss sapped life from her. "I'm sorry." He repeated, "I have to stop this bleeding somehow."

It wasn't up for her to decide anyway. The doctor took it gingerly in her hands, asking the soldier to hold her still as he steadied her arm. Then he lowered the heated metal to her skin, the tip of it digging past her muscle and skin. The agonized screeches split the silence in the camp. Genevieve squeezed her eyes shut, clenching every muscle in her body as magma continued to poke and prod and burn away her body.

She screamed until her vocal chords could no longer form a single sound and she passed out. Either or, she couldn't tell when the blood soaked the right side of the cot and the dark wing of something akin to death clouded over her.

A/N: Hey, guys! The feedback from the last chapter was absolutely astonishing! Thank you all for reading this fic! Thank you: Bordeaux Lady, BriCat03, mayeevee and somewhere along that line for following and mayeevee for favoriting as well! Thank you all for giving me a chance to hopefully do justice to the Hamilton fandom!

REVIEWS:

mayeevee: Aw, that's so sweet! I think they deserve to end up together too. Laf is such a dork.

Guest: Thank you so much!

RiseUpWiseUp: I hope you have a heart because I can't take poor Phillip being so sad LOL. Anyway, thank you for reviewing and reading!

* She winced when he stepped on her foot more than once but smiled graciously. Lafayette was known to be clumsy but more on that in future chapters

** "The day before yesterday, my angel, I arrived here, but for the want of an opportunity could not write you sooner-" This is taken from a letter wrote to Eliza on July 10, 1781. A bit of a discrepancy but it's still sweet.

*** "Tell him it's more important that whatever he's doing right now," Alexander and Genevieve have served together for about four years. By then, he's trust her judgement whether or not she lies about what gender she is.