A/N: Warning: Some swears! Anyway, this might be my last chapter in a while. Keep an eye out on my profile for the progress of the next chapter!
Chapter 10: Monmouth
June 28, 1781
"I don't like Lee." Genevieve said bluntly as she shed her jacket in the hundred degree heat. Sweat poured down her brow and the wind barely covered her shining neck. Her hair, which had been tucked into a hat, didn't stick to her face but she still felt the itch on the corner of her lip and the strands sticking to her neck and cheeks. Wiping at her temple, she looked at Lafayette who had stripped down to just a vest as well. His arms were covered in sweat and he wasn't so lucky, standing in the bare sun. While her hat had suffered rain damage as well as a few tears here and there, his was relatively untouched throughout the winter which lead to their situation now.
He had given her his hat without a second glance and she felt guilty. At first, there was an argument, ranting, minor French, and pulling the 'you lied to me' card on Lafayette's part. It ended with his hat on her head and a displeased expression etched on her face. She hated him for it.
No, she didn't.
"Neither do I," he admitted. "It took a battalion of 5,000 and the fact that I would've lead the unit in his stead to make him insist for command." His voice was quiet and strained as he forced himself to keep going. Their horses had been left to some of the other soldiers. Now, she cursed in her mind every minute or so when she tripped on air or her toe caught on a rock. Blinking hard, she saw dots blur her vision and she wiped the wet drops away from her eyes.
"Do you need water?" She asked quietly, looking at the women behind them. They would serve them water if they needed it during the battle but they were just as tired as the army was. "Lafayette…"
"I'm fine." She scowled at his defiant response. Spotting Alexander ahead of them just a few paces with a waterskin, Genevieve pushed herself the last few steps in a run. Her gut dropped at the sudden movement and her stomach heaved but she swallowed dryly, tongue thick in her mouth. John sent her a half-hearted smile from where he walked next to Alexander but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Alexander," she panted and he nodded. No words were needed and he took one last swig of water before passing it to her. Thanking him, she tipped it into her mouth clumsily, feeling the cold water drip down her chin and neck before retreating back to Lafayette. "You need to drink."
"Gen-"
"Lafayette, you're going to collapse." She reprimanded and he looked like he was. His posture was slouched and he was drenched in sweat. Holding out the water to him, she pinned him with a green glare. "Drink," Finally, he reached for it shakily and brought it to his lips. "I can't have you dying on me, alright?" She murmured and he nodded, exhausted. Taking off her hat, she grimaced when her hair stuck to her wet skin.
The marquis saw what she was doing and nearly choked on the mouthful of water. It dribbled out of his mouth as he capped the waterskin and passed it to the next soldier. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" He asked, unnerved. Tightening her ponytail, she shook her head and gave him the tricorne, fitting it over his hair somehow. He gave her an incredulous glance but she smiled tightly. "You're-"
"I'll be fine. You're the one who can barely keep up." She shot back sharply and he caved as George Washington turned to look at them with a sympathetic glint in his eyes. The General himself was coated in sweat as they saw how close they were to where the British were down Monmouth road.
"Water break." The order was quiet but it swept over the army as they stumbled into the shade, pulling their shirts from their sweaty chests and fanning themselves. The women immediately began to search for a nearby water supply and the soldiers settled down their muskets, using their jackets as towels to wipe away sweat.
Lafayette groaned and she immediately came to his side, ignoring how sticky and damp they both were. His arm wrapped around her back as they stumbled toward the shade of a tree where John and Alexander were. The two of them were lying down as if dead when John raised his head. "Hey, he alright?"
"No. Help him down," Alexander sat up as John helped Genevieve put him down. "He needs more water and shade."
"Heat exhaustion?"
"Definitely. The idiot gave me his hat," she murmured, wiping away any sweat from his skin with her jacket. When Lafayette opened his eyes tiredly, he grinned loosely at Genevieve. The women returned with skins full of water and cloths in hand, and Alexander waved one over.
"Thank you." The dark-haired man muttered as he tipped the skin into Lafayette's mouth. "You're right."
"That he's an idiot?" John asked as the Frenchman's eyes slowly opened wider. He flopped back onto his back with a sigh, lungs expanding as he gulped in air. Genevieve snorted, holding onto the man's hand as Washington began to make his way towards them.
"That it's heat exhaustion?" She said instead and Alexander grinned.
"Both." He affirmed. "God, it's getting hot." The Caribbean-born man pulled his shirt away from his chest and began to repeat the action to make some wind. Genevieve tugged her hair away from her skin.
"Shouldn't you be used to it by now?" John asked teasingly, throwing a lazy look his way. "You lived in the Caribbean,"
"Shouldn't you be used to Peggy writing you?" Alexander shot back, "Instead, you act like a five year old who got what he wanted for Christmas." A darker flush invaded the freckled man's cheeks and it wasn't from the heat. Chuckling, she made a point of changing the subject to their current journey.
"How much longer, you think?"
"Better yet, how do you think Lee is doing?" John looked relieved and sent her a grateful glance, asking the question quickly before Alexander could think of another response.
"Lee's an idiot." She said brusquely, letting Lafayette rest his head in her lap. Popping off his hat, she set it beside her and continued to pat away any sweat from his brow. John laughed but it quickly faded when a shadow, darker than the shade they were in, loomed over the four.
"Careful who you're speaking about," Washington warned. Alexander scowled and looked away as Genevieve met her general's dark eyes.
"Apologies, sir." She amended and he nodded. "But it's not like you trust him anyway." The General shook his head slightly and the brunette glanced at the soldier in her lap. "Major General Lafayette's a bit under the weather." The brunette added when his gaze drifted to the now-dozing man in her lap. "Heat exhaustion." The waterskin was still in Alexander's hands and John sat up, stole it from his best friend and offered it to the general.
"Water, sir?" He asked hopefully, trying to diffuse the tension.
"Thank you, but no, Lieutenant Colonel. We depart in twenty."
"Yes, sir." They chorused with the exception of the one soldier who was unconscious. John drank from the waterskin before offering it to Genevieve who took a few swigs. "What's that about?" She asked with a point at Alexander who looked like he was throwing a tantrum. The man sat against the tree's base, arms crossed and knees bent. A scowl and furrowed brows finished off the look of a spoiled child who didn't get what he wanted. It nearly made her laugh.
"Promoted Charles Lee instead of him." John smiled, "He's having a hissy fit."
"I am not." growled Alexander but the two laughed anyway. The intelligent man leaned forward to snatch the waterskin from Genevieve's hands and drank from it greedily. "Yes, I am. It's fucking Charles Lee. The man who was captured by the British and for all we know, traded away our secrets. I don't know what the General is thinking."
"Uh-huh." John drawled, eyes closed as he laid back down. The freckled man seemed to be trying to doze off as the man in her lap began to stir.
"Que?" Lafayette mumbled sleepily and Genevieve gave him a warm smile. "It is a good sight to wake up to, ma belle." Chuckling, Genevieve bent at her waist and kissed Lafayette's brow. Helping him slowly rise into a sitting position, she made sure he was steady and shot a playful glare when John and Alexander pretended to gag. "Très marrant." He drawled sarcastically, "You and Mrs. Hamilton are far worse, I am sure."
"'Liza and I are married. We have the right."
"And do John and a certain Margarita Schuyler have that right as well?" Lafayette countered which only brought memories of their last conversation topic. Alexander and Genevieve shared bright grins as John let out a frustrated groan. "He writes to a Schuyler more than you do, Alexander."
"I suppose so. John?"
"It's nothing. Swear it on my life." He insisted, raising his head with a beet-red face. As the two best friends bickered, Genevieve turned to Lafayette who smiled slightly at their banter. Already, he appeared better.
"Already up and making witty remarks. There's the Lafayette I remember," she remarked and he turned to her, a apologetic smile on his face. He rubbed the back of his neck and she narrowed her eyes. "Take care of yourself, please? We can't have one of our Major Generals suffering from heat illness." He nodded and she sighed. What was the point? The man was probably going to be unconsciously putting himself on the brink of danger twenty different times on the battlefield. She had to remind herself that they were both still young. They had the freedom to do whatever they want.
The marquis reached for her and she allowed him to stroke comforting circles on the back of her hand. He bent his right knee and rested his arm on the joint, bending his other knee on the ground so his foot could slip between his foot and his thigh in a relaxed, languid position.* Genevieve smiled to herself. It was the most relaxed he had been since the Battle of Barren Hill.
"Anyway," the curly-haired man broke off his argument with Alexander loudly and glanced at the couple. "We need you in tip-top shape, Major General." John teased, hands behind his head. His knees were bent and Alexander reposed an arm on one, leaning against it casually. The waterskin hung from his hand lazily and Lafayette grabbed it with the hand he had laid on his knee. His other propped him up as he uncapped it with his thumb.
"Oui. That's why I'll drink the rest of this now." He gave them a smirk and began to pretend to chug down the water. John raised his head with panic but groaned when he realized the man was joking. "It's always fun to fool you, Laurens."
"Look here, Marie." Genevieve laughed when John used one of Lafayette's names. Of course John would pick Marie. The look in Lafayette's eyes screamed murder as Alexander switched between staring between the two to meet Genevieve's eyes. There was a short silence before the three of them burst out laughing, much to Lafayette's displeasure.
Her gut hurt from laughing as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He gave her a sour look and she brushed her lips against his. Grimacing when her hand brushed against his sweaty neck out of instinct, the two broke apart. "Come on, Lafayette. He's only joking."
"Or am I?" John cleared his throat. "I'm not the one who just passed out in the sun." He smirked to the air from where he was still lying on his back as Alexander rolled his eyes. Lafayette's eyes widened in slight outrage and Genevieve sighed, burying her face in her hands. Here we go again.
.
They finally made their way farther up the Monmouth Road. The main force's morale was much higher after the break and while they were already sweating like no tomorrow, the water that trickled down their throats took the edge off exhaustion. Finally, George Washington called for a halt and Genevieve shared a few glances with her friends.
"Genny, look." John nudged her and she followed his line of sight. Alexander looked furious and Lafayette seemed to pass into a state of unimpressed and infuriated. "Charles Lee. Well, I'll be damned."
"What are you doing, Lee?" George roared, riding ahead and the main force followed after. Charles Lee's battalion was running for their lives as the British nipped on their heels, gunshots firing across the hot day. It was as if the bullets themselves were lethargic, the thick, humid air slowing their travel . As they came closer, the retreating soldiers seemed to cower under the General's thunderous expression.
"There's so many of them!" The man screamed as if that were an excuse. Washington reared his horse and turned to the rested army who stood at the ready. Some of the men in Lee's command held the British back as the General began to command his army.
"Take up positions further west!" He ordered and the other generals began to depart, screaming orders to their legions. Hamilton was beside the magnificent white horse, and she saw from his triumphant expression that Lee was getting the berating he deserved. "What is the meaning of this, sir? I desire to know the meaning of this disorder and confusion!"
Lee flushed but managed to glare at the General, "The American troops could not stand the British bayonets." He snapped in a peremptory tone. Genevieve turned to begin to march up west. Lafayette stayed behind with Washington and she sent him a glance. He nodded before turning back to the arguing leaders.
"You damned poltroon, you never tried them!"** Washington screamed as Lee began to finally have a slip on his defenses. "Hamilton!"
"Ready, sir."
"Have Lafayette take the lead."
"Yes, sir!" And the battle recommenced. Washing rallied the scrambling troops before screaming profanities at Charles Lee. Genevieve followed General Greene across the west. Washington's colorful vocabulary followed her even after she was a distance away.
.
The battle ended just after dark. Washington wanted to continue, but the darkness brought an end to it, as well as a cooler wind. Genevieve felt as if her head was floating as the women brought water to the dying soldiers. She collapsed against a dead horse, her muscles screaming in relief as she watched from a distance, the General speak to Nathanael Greene and Stirling.
Her eyes closed for a moment and the seductive pulls of sleep tugged at her consciousness. Blinking it away, she looked out into the barren field. Bodies littered the ground and from the ratio of blood to bodies, she could tell that more soldiers died from the scorching heat than bullets.
"Water?" The brunette looked up dazedly when a younger woman smiled at her. It reminded her of Ettie back home - they looked around the same age. "Are you alright?" Nodding slowly, she reached out an arm for the water before tipping it into her parched throat.
"I'm fine. Thank you," she rasped and the woman smiled again before returning to the hospital tent they had set up for the wounded. Leaning against the dead mammal, she rested her head on the still flank. Her joints cracked and her hair was becoming loose from its tight ponytail. Genevieve didn't really believe she could move. Soldiers hauled themselves around as they set up camp, clearing away bodies and setting up tents. I can do this, I can do this. She echoed to herself, pushing herself up with a crack of the knees. Immediately, her muscles screamed 'What are you doing?' but she urged herself towards the centre of camp, waterskin in hand.
"Genny!" Her head turned and saw John offering a drained smile. His head was wrapped clumsily with a spare cloth. He obviously did it himself. "You made it."
"Yeah." She agreed, "Your head alright?"
"Just a scrape." He waved the matter away.
And Alex?"
"Fine. Nearly dropped dead out of exhaustion, though. Lafayette?" His inquire was genuinely curious. As she drank from the pouch of water, she eyed the freckled man, but she felt her heart drop at the inquiry. Water went down the wrong pipe and up into her nose. Sputtering, she tried to stifle her choking coughs. "Genny?"
"You mean - wait, you haven't seen him?" Her voice was rough with worry. Wiping away the cold spring water, she raked her gaze over the men in camp. He had suffered one attack of heat illness that day. His chance of having another… Where are you, where are you?
"No, I haven't. Haven't seen him since noon before the battle." Oh, Jesus. "Genny, he can't be-"
"Heat exhaustion, John." She looked at him, a ring of white around her irises. "It's Lafayette. Don't you think that maybe he wouldn't stop fighting until we at least have a stalemate against the British?"
"He's okay. John sighed, tired as she was. Genevieve wanted nothing more than for the day to be over. "Lafayette is resistant. He's a smart man." He placed a hand on her shoulder and she met his eyes dubiously. "He'll be fine. Come on. You need something to eat."
"John-"
"You'll feel better once you do." He guided her towards one of the few fires where Alexander was already sitting, a bowl of black pepper soup cupped in his hands. Trying to stifle the growing worry that was tightening her throat, she sat down on the ground and extended her hands to the fire as wind swept through her hair. Bringing her knees to her chest, she wrapped an arm around her legs while her other took the bowl of soup offered to her.
After ten minutes or so passed, there was a loud yell. Men looked up and Genevieve hovered over the pistol she sat beside. "Get a doctor!" The voice continued and when the shadows became more distinct, she realized it was a patrol of men that had gone out to search for any survivors just as she had returned to their camp. Two soldiers had a man in between them as they basically dragged the body towards the fire. The doctor appeared at the entrance of his tent, disgruntled but raised his eyebrows when he saw the state of the body. Other men carried heavily injured soldiers between them and they transferred them to makeshift gurneys.
The soldiers who weren't as injured began to haul them towards the hospital tent. John's hand clamped on hers, trying to ground her as Alexander stood, going over to help. "Genny." Her name sounded far away.
Genevieve's heart stopped beating and any words she wanted to say died in her throat. The two men brought the slouched man closer and closer, each step a heavy one. His messy hair hid his face, a rip in his uniform showing a messily bandaged wound. Blood was bleeding through the dirty cloth and another cut scored across his thigh dripped the dark liquid. The doctor immediately disappeared inside the tent to get everything ready. They were only a few steps from the tent when the man slipped from the two soldier's grip and he landed with a dull thump on the ground.
The whole camp was sluggish with exhaustion - Genevieve couldn't blame them. But at that moment, the cocktail of worry and anger made her head spin.
"Major General!" A few shouts caused her to snap back into reality. Her eyes trained on the man lying unconscious on the cold floor. His face was covered in blood, splattering across his nose and cheeks and closed eyelids. Genevieve couldn't pinpoint the exact feeling of absolute dread nor did she know how to describe it other than the looming uncertainty if he would survive was choking her and the way her heart was being squeezed tighter than she could comprehend. Her limbs lost energy, her chest bloomed with pain and her head was dizzy with fear.
Forcing herself to move, she jerked up and ran towards them as his two supports began to haul him back up. His lip was cut and his eyes were closed. She wasn't even sure if he was breathing - if she was breathing.
Swallowing the tough knot in her throat, she attempted to follow them in but two arms wrapped around her and pulled her back. Straining against it, she threw an icy glare over her shoulder. John frowned back at her and for the first time, she noted how blurry his face was. "John!" The voice that met her ears was strained and shaking. Her face was hot and her eyes were stinging as John pulled her away, back to the fire. Grunting against her constraints, she felt his muscles tighten. "John, please."
"Come on, Genny." Tears traced down her nose and cheeks, the motivation to move failing. "He's going to be alright. Just let the doctor do his work." Collapsing against the ground, she balled up her fists, fingernails digging into her palms. Biting her lip, she heard men murmur around her.
"This is why women shouldn't be on the warfront."
"A sentimental lot, women are." Another agreed over a loud scream from the medicine tent. After a few more minutes, the shrieks died down and so did conversation before:
"Honestly, what was the General thinking?"
"Better yet, what's the marquis thinking?"
"She can load a gun fast - faster than all of us." One defiant voice tried to defend her against his fellow soldiers but he was quickly overtaken by the numerous other insults. The whole camp was buzzing with conversation. Some men refused to let her crying die as a topic and continued on over the next ten minutes.
"At least it's something to look at besides trees and rocks."
"And she can fire a pistol with some crazy accuracy."
"Puh, that means nothing when you're weak."
"Our army's weak enough without this shit. They should discharge her."
"I bet she can't shoot a deer if it were even one foot away. Useless, too, then."
"She's too small for the musket anyway."
"She's nearly as tall as you, Jenks." Again, the voice who defended her first pointed out, causing sniggers. Her knuckles blanched as she tried to stop herself from screaming. It had nearly died down when suddenly, a gravelly voice's words stood out among the others.
"Frail bitch. Should work at at a whorehouse rather than the warfront. At least do something useful for once. Put those hands at work."
The tone, especially near the end, grew increasingly suggestive and she had trouble trying not to commit murder.
Rage boiled in her blood and she raised her head, tears drying and eyes clear. John looked at her carefully and Alexander looked ready to burst, insults spilling off his tongue. Reaching over, she made him look at her and shook her head minutely, This is my fight, before standing up, gathering the attention of everyone in the camp.
"Weak. Frail. That's what you call it? How many of you have wives, siblings, family at home?" None dared to answer her. "And how many of you love them more than anything?" She raised her chin defiantly, "Skill may be something that you hold above courage and loyalty, but I believe it's just as telling, no matter my gender. If you think that I am weak, I dare you to place yourself in my position. What if it was your wife who was bleeding out in childbed? Your sister who was dying of illness? Your daughter who just crossed the wrong road? Your mother who just left this world without warning?" Genevieve knew her voice cracked, trembled with fear and grief. But I must do it. I must. Her eyes raked across the crowd, nameless faces not meeting her gaze. "And how would you feel, knowing you couldn't do anything? Helpless? Fear that strikes you in your very soul?" No answer.
Pointing a finger towards the tent, she took a deep breath and raised her voice. "That is your Major General, a man who has proven himself over and over again that he can lead us to victory. That is the man who secured an alliance with France - who saved your God-forsaken asses from starving to death in that frigid winter. Instead of worrying about whether or not I'm fit to be here - whether or not your leaders are thinking for the 'good of the army' - worry whether or not one of those leaders will live." There was a deadly silence in which she met Alexander's eyes. There was a proud glint in them and John was trying to hide his smile.
"What's with all the yelling?" Charles Lee had finally made his reappearance, George Washington behind him as they exited the General's tent. Lee was slightly disheveled, but was relatively clean compared to the other soldiers. Barely any blood stained his uniform and his forehead wasn't shining with sweat like the others. His tone was derogatory, sharp with annoyance and nasally to her ears.
"Nothing, Lee." She said shortly, beginning to sit down when she heard him scoff.
"Oh, just the woman. Then it really is nothing. Bitch." Freezing, she cocked her head at him.
"Says the man who shat the bed earlier today." She snapped coldly, "Your uniform is looking rather clean, General." The way the respectful title rolled off her tongue, it sounded more of an insult than a compliment. "Don't get it too dirty while you let others do the work for you."
"Alcott."
"Or better yet, maybe they should discharge you, you misogynistic bastard."
"Alcott." Washington's warning tone caused her to wince and her eyes drifted to the taller man. "A word." Courage faded away from her bones, adrenaline no longer pumping in her veins as she followed the stiff man into the medicinal tent. Whispers and smug glances nipped at her heels but she just ignored them, ducking under the flap of the tent before Washington. The scent of death, blood, and infection immediately invaded her senses, pungent and choking. Raking her gaze over the many moaning soldiers, women and men alike trying to ease their pain, she felt a stab of sympathy. The groans and gasps of pain tore at her resolve that she was struggling to build up.
Remembering her true purpose, she turned around as Washington entered. As soon as he did, it seemed like the tent had shrunk twice - the aura this man radiated automatically caused one's attention to land on him and know that he was someone to be respected. "Sir?"
"You won't speak to my men like that - I will not allow it." His voice quieted and for reasons unknown, that made her even more afraid. "I don't question my decision to allow your stay. But a world is a dangerous place for a woman. You may know how to fire a gun but words are your most powerful weapon," His eyes darted away from hers for just a moment, watching the other soldiers in the tent. When they returned, they were like two pieces of coal. Biting her tongue, she shook her head.
"Sir, if I don't respect-"
"You don't need to learn respect. You need to learn how to control your mouth."
"Sir-"
"Shut it." Respectfully, she did so. "I don't need my men questioning my judgement, especially now. So act as if you have earned to be here. Nothing more, nothing less." Nodding, she clasped her hands behind her back.
"Am I allowed a joke, sir?"
"Is this about Hamilton and his running mouth?"
"It was going to be, Your Excellency." She admitted. The corners of his lips quirked up and she rubbed the back of her neck guiltily.
"That is still a work in progress. Now, go see the Major General." He looked over her head to the far end of the tent. "I believe he's at the end of the row." Bowing at the waist, she waited until he gave her a nod and turned around before walking down the row of injured men. I used to be one of them. She realized compassionately. The doctor was sat by the cot, pulling a thread through the wound as he stitched the the skin together.
Slowing, her feet scuffed against the floor. A woman at the head of the bed glanced nervously between the doctor and the writhing man. His eyes were scrunched close with pain and sweat running down his skin. "Major General Lafayette, if you continue to move, I won't be able to stitch you up. Lily, you have to keep him still."
"I'm trying, sir." She bit back and Genevieve urged herself onward another two steps, coming in full view. From there, she could see the full extent of his injuries. The head wound was clean and stitched, blood wiped from his face in streaks. Dried russet stained his lips from the cut on his bottom lip and his leg was bandaged, but that was nothing compared to the abdominal wound. Based on the bottle of alcohol standing by the stool the doctor sat on and the knife in the pail of water, it wasn't hard to imagine his pain.
"Lafayette," his name came out strangled and she choked. Before she knew it, the brunette was crouched beside him, pressing her lips against the hand she held onto like a lifeline. "Hey, I'm here." She whispered, ignoring the pain as his back arched from the bed. He opened his eyes weakly and she stood, leaning over him and brushing back any hair that flew into his face.
A cloth was shoved into her hands and she looked up at the woman, Lily, whose eyes were wide with fear. Biting her lip, Genevieve wiped away any sweat and brushed her lips against his forehead.
"Gen?" He moaned and she nodded. His unfocused gaze lingered on her and she glanced at the doctor, heart falling when she saw how much was done - how little was done. We can do this. She breathed deeply and forced a smile on her face.
"I'm here," she promised. "Lafayette, listen to me." Genevieve ordered and his frantic eyes landed on hers as the doctor pulled his skin shut. "Think of home." He seemed to swallow hard and, whilst still holding on to his hand for dear life, she used her other to drag the cloth across his skin, trying to make him more comfortable. Pulling a stool by his bedside, she sat down and continued, "Think of the Alexander and Eliza's wedding. When I saw you in your uniform," she let out puff of air at the memory. She had been impressed, that was for sure. "you were devastatingly handsome. I thought I'd never saw anyone like you before." He blinked twice, fingers crushing her bones and Genevieve kissed his blanching knuckles. "And you called me the most beautiful woman in the room, even though the bride was standing only a few meters away. It was a reckless move," she teased, "but Merlot runs in our veins, doesn't it?"***
"It does." His voice shook and her green eyes raked over his body. The full extent of his injuries, it was a surprise he was even an awake right now.
"We danced… and after..."
"I came home," he gritted out, a hoarse yell growing at the back of his throat. His eyes scrunched closed again and his knees jerked, pushing against the cot. The brunette didn't let go of his hand. He moaned, attempting to say more but she shushed him.
"Save your strength, love." She soothed before a hesitant, but genuine smile came across her face. "Yes, you came home." The doctor gave no sign of hearing them and Lily had retreated to tend to other patients. "How much longer, doctor?"
"Only a few more stitches. Keep him distracted, it's working." The moment Lafayette couldn't focus on her words anymore, the more he began to writhe on the cot. Snapping her gaze back to him, she pulled a mask of tenderness over her face, and brushed sweat and tears away from his cheek with the cloth in her hand. Her lungs were weak, blood roaring in her ears as it froze in her veins, causing an icy frost to wrap around her arms and settle in her gut.
His eyes fluttered closed and she looked around desperately, trying to distract him. A scream ripped through him, resonating from his chest. One that was weaved with pain and exhaustion, one that wanted to give up. The doctor pulled hard on the stitch and Genevieve impelled herself to continue. More than anything, she wanted to stop his suffering.
"Or the time before the Battle of Barren Hill?" She prompted over his tortured screams, trying despairingly to stall the tears that beaded in her eyes. No one should endure such pain. Goddammit, it was beyond her power to take the pain for him. She tried to picture them, instead, under the tree near the church, his golden epaulets brushing against her arm as he leaned over to kiss her. It held for a moment before shattering under his grunts and groans, tears streaking down his face. "We were under that tree… there was peace. Everything was perfect. It was just the two of us, as it should be."
His eyes opened and in them, she no longer saw any pain. Scooting closer to his head, she held his hand in her lap and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "As it should be," he echoed, lungs gasping for air as if oxygen were silk, slipping between his fingers and always just out of his grasp. "Je t'aime."
"I know." She whispered, "I love you, too."
"Sorry to interrupt this lovely moment," the doctor snapped dryly, "I need to wrap the wound."
"And everything's going to be okay. You'll make it through this." The doctor sent her a sharp glance. Don't make promises you can't keep.
He continued on his instructions: "Alcott, help me lift him."
"Lift him?" She echoed, shocked. "You just sewed him up. What if the stitches break?" The injured man let out a guttural moan, all fight leaving him for a moment. Sweet covered his skin in a sheen and he twisted away from the doctor. "Look at him!"
"The stitches won't break if we are careful. And we will be. Wrapping the wound would be limiting his chance of infection. Believe me, this is saving him from pain." Was the precipitous reply and she shut her mouth, sliding her hands under his slick back. Fingers splayed, Genevieve, watched for the signal before lifting his midsection.
His hand clamped on her shoulder as he let out a gut-wrenching roar in pain. "Arrête! Merde! Tu es un enfoiré!" Lafayette gasped when he finally was let back down. The doctor ignored the river of swears pouring like a river from the Frenchman's mouth. The doctor reached for the other end of the cloth, tying it tightly and making sure it covered the wound. The marquis grunted when it was stretched tautly across his stomach but made no other sound. The doctor withdrew and gathered his instruments before nodding at Genevieve. Lafayette's eyes closed and he finally seemed to relax, back seeming the meld with the cot as if it were the fluffiest bed ever.
"He should sleep. I'll check up in the morning." The doctor covered his hands with a cloth and Genevieve sat down, looking at Lafayette's face. He was already sleeping, eyes shifting under his eyelids as if he were plagued by dreams. Kissing his knuckles, she held his hand against her cheek, relishing the warmth still in his body. That meant he wasn't dead. He isn't dead. He's alive. She told herself to try and calm her racing heart. For a moment, the hand in hers wasn't warm, but cold with death as the midwives pulled away the bloody linen. The raspy crying in her ears as her father cried over Ettie. Closing her eyes, she slouched on the cot. But it didn't happen. His pulse, I can feel it. He isn't dead. Thank God.
Sitting tediously on the edge of the bed, she brushed back his messy tendrils and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, my love. May your dreams be of sweeter times." Despite no reply, Genevieve knew that miraculously, he, in somehow, someway, heard her.
A/N: Any of you still out there, still reading about these two? If so, leave me a review commenting what you want to see between Genny and Lafayette. Marriage, kids, fighting side by side? Whatever you want. I might make a one-shot compilation and post it separately.
Anyway, enjoy that fluffy crap and Genny's speech. I am not someone who shoves feminism down people's throats but back in those days, men weren't as cool as they are today, as you might know. So, I might have over dramatized it but it was necessary for the Washington bit and it's a bit of foreshadowing for the future.
I only have like 2% done of the next chapter so it might be a while. Depends on my motivation/time between school.
Thank you: EmeraldGirl12, GodzNo, starswillreign123432 for following! And to BriCat03 and Kitty of 2 kingdoms who reviewed once again. Tons of love to you all.
REVIEWS:
BriCat03: I like the name Ishikawa a lot, actually. I just might use it! Thank you for that 'It's Quiet Uptown' lyric twist which just made me fall apart. That's so creative! I hope you're glad that Genny didn't get shot, instead we got Lafayette's injuries. I hope I didn't completely kill you, :P
Kitty of 2 kingdoms: I try to make Alex as close as possible to the show but y'know, when you're imagining Lin as Hamilton, you kinda get away with it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
*He bent his right knee and rested his arm on the joint, bending his other knee on the ground so his foot could slip between his foot and his thigh in a relaxed, languid position. The image that I'm trying to paint here - that is, if you don't get it - is Lafayette's left arm is holding him steady just slightly behind him. His right knee is pointing to the sky, bent, and his higher forearm rests on that knee while the other knee bends on the ground so his foot could slide in between the beginnings of his thigh and foot. Make sense? I hope so. It's one of those 'hot guy' poses I believe. I don't know.
**"You damned poltroon, you never tried them!" The exchange between Washington and Lee is historically accurate. He literally said that before swearing his ass off at Lee.
***"but Merlot runs in our veins, doesn't it?" Throwback! To the Winter's Ball!