A/N: WARNING: THIS HAS MENTIONS AND SUGGESTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AT THE POINT OF JULY 1, 1781. DON'T READ IT JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT TO KNOW THE PLOT. PUT YOUR OWN TRIGGERS/SAFETY FIRST. THERE WILL BE A SUMMARY NEXT CHAPTER WITHOUT EXPLICIT DETAIL.

This chapter also contains an amount of swearing. Please be advised.

THANK YOU!

Chapter 11: Harcourt

June 29, 1781

A twist to the side. A tingling sensation on his left arm. A dry throat.

Twitching fingers. The pressure's gone from his hand. A stretch of his left leg.

Everything hurt. His head, his leg, his side. Everything ached.

"Lafayette?" An angel's voice. Was he dead?

No, he would recognize that voice anywhere. He knew every sound it made, words twisted with fear, anger, the most tender note ever sung. The moans of passion, the little yelps of surprise, grunts of exertion, and every sigh after a hard day. A yawn against his cheek before pressing a kiss against his stubbly jaw.

No, you can't be dead. He thought desperately, You have so much more to live for. His eyes searched in the darkness, tossing around, trying to find her. Her hand slipped into his, he could feel it, but he just couldn't find her.

"Lafayette, I'm here."

His throat scratched when he tried to make a sound but when his muscles twitched in his left arm, fire flared in his side and he let out a groan. No words came out, tongue twisted in knots.

"Lafayette, you're awake. Thank God." The voice was so twisted with worry and he tried to make some semblance of a nod, still clouded in darkness. He wanted to assure her that he was okay. But the burning flames inside him said otherwise and all he wanted to do was sleep again - maybe forever. That sounded nice.

"What's going on?" At least, that's what he tried to say. Instead, it came out slurred and broken. The dry flower of thirst bloomed in his mouth and he coughed painfully, agony like lances stabbing through his side jolting up and down his abdomen. His stomach tried to heave but it was empty and it came out as dry, foul puffs of air.

"Drink," Something nudged at his lips and he opened his mouth as a tiny stream of water trickled down his throat. His eyes sprung open, a sigh escaping his lips and he jolted up, hand flying to his wrapped abdomen. His lip stung when the water dribbled down his chin and he flinched.

"Merde." He cursed, other hand propping himself up as he winced. Immediately, a hand spanned across his bare back and the water continued to drip down his throat. Greedily, his left hand cupped the waterskin. Ignoring the burning intensity of his side, he flinched when Genevieve shuffled onto the bed. His body seemed to revolt against the sudden movement and he stiffened, hand leaving the waterskin to clutch his wound.

"Sorry." She murmured against his ear. "Here," his sticky hair was lifted from his back and neck. It was uncomfortable and he wanted to bat away the curls. Trying to raise his arm, he felt energy fade as quickly as it came. The circulation loss made his arm numb and it fell weakly back against the cot.

Lafayette clenched his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line as her fingernails scraped against his scalp. The sensation crawled up and down his spine as she gathered his hair into a ponytail. The twang of his cotton band against his hair echoed in his head and when her hands settled on his shoulders, he relaxed against her stomach. The small pouch of fat proved to be a useful pillow and he turned his head to burrow deeper into her scent. As sweaty and like shit she smelled, he could still make out the slight whiff of the winter wind.

"Gen?" He asked weakly and her arms wrapped around his neck. His arms slid down to rest on the cot. He felt lightheaded and, dizzy, his head dipped forward. Eyes at half-mast, he tried to stay awake, but the fingers where his temple was pulsing cool and contrasting against the pounding headache building on his right side. "God, my head…"

"You have a cut. That might be why." She murmured, amused and his head rocked back, resting on her breasts as she bent over his head. He sniffed when her hair brushed against his closed eyes but sighed when she took away the weight of the abandoned waterskin on his chest. "Lafayette," a kiss on the forehead and her hair brushed against his chest, "I was so scared."

"I… je sais." He mumbled and she just let out a sharp puff of air, leaning back. Her fingers continued their ministrations through his hair and tiredness swept through his mind, flooding him like the inebriation after three pints of Sam Adams. "How bad?"

"Not too deep on the leg, but still long so you might have to be careful on it." Her words were soft, not too loud on his headache. "Head's a bit of a mess and you have a cut lip but otherwise, you're okay."

"I am still handsome, though, oui?" He checked weakly and her body vibrated with deep chuckles. "I cannot live if you don't think that I'm handsome."

"Oh, shut up. Scars are beautiful." Genevieve assured, hand stroking his cheek and he could hear the smile, even when his eyes were closed. "You are still handsome to me. Just, don't move, okay? Your side was pretty bad and the doctor checked up on you when we were still sleeping."

"What time is it?"

"Not too late in the morning." The brunette murmured. "You can sleep a bit more."

"Alexander and John?"

"We're taking shifts." She clarified and slipped away from him. No, my acting pillow! He thought with a mixture of amusement and disappointment as his head was lowered on the hard pillow. "They should be back after breakfast. I have you all to myself for another ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Are we making use of that time?" He groaned, rolling onto his uninjured side. He opened his eyes and saw the dull, dirty tent end. An completely melted candle in its holder rested on its stool, its black wick bent and fragile. He blinked hard and tried to raise his head but let it fall back down when his head protested. Dirty white pants invaded his vision as someone climbed onto the small sliver of bed left. Immediately, a familiar smile made his heart sing, blood warming when she leaned over to kiss him.

"Hey." Her green eyes were alert, sharp, hands clasping in his rough ones. Although her fingers were calloused up to where they joined with her palm, the skin of her palm was soft. "I'm glad you're okay." For the first time, he saw her face and realized that the dark circles around her eyes were caused by exhaustion.

"Did you sleep?" He asked quietly and she smiled, not answering the question. "It appears I'm not the only one not taking care of myself."

"I slept. Just… not that much." She admitted and he chuckled before wincing. "Worry kept me up." They bathed in each other's presence and he watched as she closed her eyes. Content with just watching her doze off, he closed his eyes too. There was peace where it was just their matched breathing until a certain pair decided to come in.

"Aye, Laf!" Someone yelled before being shushed.

"John, not so loud." Alexander scolded. Lafayette sighed, groaning when Genevieve's hand slipped away. She pushed herself up to look over him, glaring. He didn't bother to move, eyes still closed. "There they are. Didn't see you last night in the tent, Genny."

"Obviously," she snorted. "Lafayette, you still there?" She asked, amused and he scrunched up his nose without a response. Laughing, the brunette brushed her knuckles against his beard before kissing him deeply. He sighed at the familiar ecstasy of her mouth but she got off, cot bouncing from the sudden weight loss before he could properly indulge in it. Straightening, she pinned the devil duo with a amused, smiling gaze. "He's a bit dazed. Please keep him in a sane state of mind."

"No promises," Alexander commented dryly as she groaned dramatically. Lafayette reached for her hand and caught it miraculously.

"I'll be right back. Your friends are here to see you."

"Obviously," he said drily and was rewarded with a peck on the lips.

"I'll be back. Don't worry." She promised before leaving him alone with two enthusiastic men who acted like five-year olds. Great, he mused but rolled onto his back to look at his friends. Their faces flooded with relief and he allowed a small grin on his face.

"Well, mes amis, do I look bad or not?"

July 1, 1781

"Slowly," Genevieve murmured as he pulled on his jacket. He grunted but Genevieve didn't make a move to help him, knowing he wanted to do it himself. The brunette glanced outside the tent and scowled. After her insubordination, she had been the target of malicious taunts and glares. While when she was with John or Alexander, it lessened but there were moments she just wanted to shove her knuckles into someone's face.

This was her sanctuary. Any free time she had was spent in Lafayette's presence. And it was very little time. The man was frustrated by his limitations but the doctor had brandished a scalpel when the marquis tried to escape. "Is Lee being tried today?"

"Tomorrow. You know what he's saying about Washington?" She asked, nudging his boots closer towards him. He carefully swung his legs over the edge and shoved them into the black boots.

"Something stupid, I am guessing." Lafayette grunted and Genevieve offered a hand, lips quirking up. "I can do this."

"Lafayette," she warned and he looked up at her, dark eyes alight with energy he had just regained. "The training grounds aren't going anywhere." His hand slid into hers and she gently helped him up. "Major General Friedrich isn't either. He assures you that you can take your time."

"My men cannot wait." Rolling her eyes, she wrapped an arm around his waist as he hugged her shoulder with one arm. Her other hand rested on his chest, steadying him. Together, they took steps towards the entrance. He favored his left leg heavily and limped, almost all his weight on Genevieve. Her shoulder became sore quickly but she hitched him up higher. Sweat was beading his forehead and under her fingers, she could feel his healing wound, the cloth wrapped tightly as his lungs struggled for breath.

Finally, they reached the entrance and she pulled apart the tent flap, ducking under it with him. He tried to stifle his limp but ended up leaning more on her. She sent him a strained smile and an apologetic glint in his eyes sparkled back at her. "Come on, just a few more steps." She murmured and he nodded.

"Major General Lafayette!" An excited voice piped up. "You're up!" Lafayette's grin grew and Genevieve felt the tension in his body melt away. Looking up at the man who spoke, she met his eyes and he seemed to shrink.

"It is nice to see the sky again." They limped past the soldier in which Genevieve kept eyes on the ground ahead. The man muttered his greetings but she just acknowledged it with a sharp nod. "What was that?"

"What?" She asked innocently and he raised an eyebrow.

"What did you do?" He questioned slowly and a flush rose in her face.

"I may have yelled at all the men in the camp for calling me weak." She admitted and he laughed, immediately wincing because damn, that side burned. Her hand steadied him as he caught his breath, trying to calm himself down at the thought of the brunette yelling at all the larger, taller, bulkier men like a mother would scold their child.

"Ah, so another perfect thing you did." He teased, kissing her temple and she looked up at him with a roll of her eyes.

"Right," she drawled sarcastically and Lafayette pressed a kiss against her lips before her head turned back towards the road ahead of them. More soldiers called out their greetings. A seasoned warrior snorted at their actions and turned away, turning to say something to his friend. She immediately recognised his gritty, dry voice. The one who had set her off. He began following them, not too closely but close enough to put her on edge. Trying to hide her scowl, she just kept her eyes ahead. Lafayette seemed to stand straighter, talk more optimistically as if he were just as knowing of their situation.

When they finally reached the open space they used as a training ground, she saw Washington and Friedrich watching a few of the troops sparring. Washington looked up first, a spark of surprise lighting up his gaze. "Lafayette!"

"I am up, a surprise, I know." He commented drily and Genevieve laughed, helping him settle back down on a stump of a cut tree. "I wanted to breath fresh air for once."

"It took a lot of convincing," she added. Her gaze turned to the men and she, in the corner of her eye, saw the man and his friend still following to stand beside her. Her hand settled on his shoulder. He gave her a slight grin but she couldn't return it when she could feel the man's burning stare on her neck.

She watched the two men continue to tussle when her name was called. "Alcott." Her head snapped towards the man who stood beside her. For a moment, his name, Harcourt, was present in her mind before it vanished at his next words. "Care for a spar?" She stared at him, registering that Lafayette's hand covered the one on her shoulder. "Wouldn't want our skills to get rusty just because we won one battle, am I right?"

"Of course." She agreed tartly, unwilling to give a reason as to why not. Goddamn my pride. She growled inwardly to herself. His friend smirked, taking her place beside Lafayette as she took a step forward. Shrugging off her jacket, she left it in Lafayette's care. He held onto her wrist and she leaned down, staring into his eyes.

"I don't like the feeling of this. Something is going on between you and Harcourt." The man murmured.

"You've been out of commision. You missed a lot, love." She offered a grim smile before straightening up and rolling her shoulders back. "Let's go, Harcourt."

"Your Excellency, we'll just be in the clearing yonder." Harcourt pointed at a space where the trees parted as a window to another glade. Other men were sparring in different dells of the forest - the request wasn't unreasonable. Washington crossed his arms and Friedrich raised his head, curious.

"Fine."

The grizzly-like man smirked, leading her to the more private area. Lafayette looked ready to murder but couldn't protest as to why not the two should leave. Washington's gaze followed after them, tainted with suspicion. She wasn't the only one then. Good. She felt relieved at the thought that at least a healthy and fit soldier was keeping an eye out. When they finally passed the brush and trees - farther than she'd like - Harcourt took up a position, raising his fists. She didn't say anything, only took a defensive position, low to the ground.

"Aren't you gonna come and sit in my lap, little girl?" He taunted and she clenched her fists even tighter. Without a warning, he charged at her. Ducking under his first swing, she shifted to his side and swung a right hook into his ribs. He pivoted out of the way and they began to circle each other. Scanning for any twitching movements, Genevieve began to slowly close the distance between them.

He's bigger. Fast, but not as fast as me. She thought, More power behind his swings but he can't pull back. That means short, quick strokes.

He lunged at her and she juked out of the way, spinning on the ball of her foot. He landed on all fours and the brunette was about to jab an elbow into his spine when his hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her off balance. Back landing on the hard ground, she felt the air knocked out of her. Shock flooded her system as he pulled her towards him and straddled her hips. His legs kept hers unable to move and she twisted, trying to push the heavy man off. Grunting, she tried to push him off with a powerful shove to the chest but he wouldn't budge. Every plan she had made to beat him flew out the window.

Terror and panic made her unable to think straight and she started struggling blindly. Her feet pushed against the dirt but it didn't help as he gathered her wrists in one hand. The grasp was so hard it hurt as she kept wriggling underneath him.

"Fuck you." She spat up at him as he brought her hands above him. "Get off of me!" If this was just a regular old sparring, he'd have gotten off of her by now. Her lungs, still recovering, heaved as much oxygen as possible, trying to calm herself.

"Like that'll work on the battlefield, sweetheart." He snarled. Harcourt leaned down and she shivered when the bristles of his beard brushed against her cheek. "Don't scream." The heavier man's words caused even more fear to strike her core. No, no, no. Pure instinct overwhelmed every move drilled into her mind and she struggled even harder, even when it burned against her wrists and waist.

"You wouldn't dare." She hissed back at him. "Not with the repercussions." Feeling his thighs loosen around her hips, she bent her knees slowly as to not gain his attention. If she could distract him long enough, then she'd be free.

"Like I care. This war's a lost one." He sneered. His fist landed on her cheek and her neck twisted at the force. Pain bloomed from her cheek and she could feel the beginnings of a bruise form as blood rushed to the area of contact. Then, he began to skim her side, roughly feeling the curve of her waist and breast. So hard that she thought it'd leave marks. So hard that she knew it'd leave marks.

"What are you doing?" She asked shakily. Her lip trembled when she saw him smirk. Intentionally mauling at her body harder, she nearly let out a scream. When the sound was just about to leave her throat, his hand squeezed her windpipe so it died quicker than a bullet to a bird. Biting her lip to keep herself from crying, Genevieve already knew the answer. When the hand left, she wheezed out, "No, Washington's only-"

"Washington won't hear a thing." He growled.

"You corrupt bastard!" Another blow on the same cheek. Flinching, she let out an erratic breath. "What the hell is wrong with you?" With every word, his thighs slowly loosened. "I will kill you." She promised. He chuckled under her lethal glare as if it were nothing. When his hand flitted to her waistband, she stiffened. Every muscle was paralysed with absolute horror. Where's Washington? Where is he?

"That marquis is a lucky man to have you every night. What is he giving you? Riches? Land?" Resentful, she swallowed and closed her eyes. If she could just pretend this wasn't happening, if she could just imagine that this was just a dream, maybe it would be true. "Or is this all for free?" When his hand began to pull her pants down, she felt a whine rise in her throat.

"Don't you dare speak his name. You don't deserve to say it." Spitting in his face, she felt a flicker of satisfaction at the shock on his face. "You are not even half the man he is."

"I assure you. I am more than enough." He growled in her ear and she realised that she could feel the wind on her stomach and her lower back. His insinuation made her blood boil and she was about to scream when his hand clamped over his mouth. Biting the skin of his hand as hard as she could, she spat out blood when he withdrew with a bunch of curses.

Rolling her onto her back, Harcourt took his jacket and tied it around her open mouth, effectively gagging her. She choked on the dirt as he slammed her head into the ground. Feeling her gag reflex touch the cloth, the urge to heave made tears spring into her eyes.

She was on her back again and he resumed his task, one hand slithering all over her body and roughly groping at her. "You're a naïve girl if you think that man loves you. A Frenchman never stays loyal to a woman."

You're wrong. She thought back, unable to speak. When his hand finally managed to shimmy down her pants, she looked up at the sky, trying to block out the feeling of whatever he was doing. Genevieve knew her voice shook beyond her control as she sobbed and she made no attempt to stop it. For a moment, the fight left her and she relaxed as he thumbed the rim of the band again. Then, it flitted across the space of her navel. Her wrists burned against the constraints of his hand and she realised how truly helpless she was. His body became closer to hers, widening the stance of his knees.

The way his body was so close to hers, a position she had only ever shared intimately with Lafayette, made her feel tainted. Dirty. Used. Broken.

She continued to stare up into the sky. It's all a dream, only a dream. Unfortunately, most often, the nightmares were what became reality.

"You're a bad girl. A lesson needs to be taught." The words caused disgust to rise up in her throat and she felt the fight return even harder. The urge was powerful, as powerful as the dread and alarm racing in her body. It caused her reflexes to be faster than a bullet, muscles energised with adrenaline and fear. Sudden bravery flashed in her mind, taking it off whatever he was going to do to her. It was white, hot, and blinding. She did not go down without a fight. An Alcott never went down without a fight. "I believe you need it."

"What I need is you off of me." The gag became loosen in her thrashing and the words came out bitter and bilious. Legs fully bent, she shifted her feet so they were planted securely on the ground. Thrusting the left side of her hip towards the sky, she off balanced and dislodged the man and immediately, his hand let go of her wrists to stabilise himself. Although a leg was still on the other side of her, he was free for attack. Pushing herself away with the combined force of her legs and arms, she kicked him right in the chest. With an 'oof', he nearly flew across the clearing as she scrambled up and let out a deep breath. Pulling her waistband higher up, she glowered at the man who moaned pathetically on the ground.

Her racing heart and upset stomach did not make for a good combo. Feeling the urge to heave whatever she ate earlier that morning, she stumbled to the side when the full force of his blows to the cheek and his actions really hit her. Ripping his jacket out of her mouth, she spat out blood that had flooded her mouth when she bit his hand and covered her lips with a hand.

Choking back tears, she dragged herself over to him where he was still recovering. He looked up at her, malice in his eyes and she kicked him in the gut.

Again.

And again.

God, it felt good.

Grabbing his wrists, she twisted them so that when he was on his back, it threatened to dislocate his shoulders. Straddling his back, she bent over made sure she was right next to his ear. "I guess these hands are at work, Harcourt." The brunette snarled, icy poison in her voice. "I hope I never see your face again. And I pray to God that not another woman will become your next prey. As always, brawn has a limitation" she straightened again and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling so he'd look straight at her, "but brains do not. Don't ever underestimate women again."

He made a growling sound and she got off of him, feeling blood pooling in her cheeks. Her right cheek ached but she ignored it as she watched him get up. Swinging a clenched fist into his face, she felt the pain race up and down her arm. Shaking out her hand, she looked on as he stumbled back. The contaminated feeling didn't go away.

She threw another punch.

And another.

And another.

He collapsed and she was about to beat the pulp out of him, storming over to him when arms wrapped around her. Screaming, she immediately began to thrash. It was just instinct by then. "Alcott," the tone of voice was familiar. Paternal. George Washington held onto her until she no longer struggled where he let go. "That excuse of a man doesn't even deserve the beat up you were going to give him. He deserves worse."

Immediately, sobs overtook her and she collapsed to her knees. George Washington barely spared Harcourt a few seconds to look before helping the female soldier up. They slowly limped together out of the clearing towards the main one. George's presence wasn't threatening, instead it radiated restrained anger, protection and familiarity.

Raising her head wretchedly, she noted the new people in the dell.

Rochambeau watched Aaron Burr and Louis-Philippe go toe-to-toe. Harcourt's friend blanched at the sight of her and she ducked her head again. Shame rose within her along with the nauseating pain in her stomach and head. Stumbling away from Washington and to a tree, she threw up.

The attention was immediately caught. She clutched her gut while the other held onto the tree for support. Closing her eyes, she felt the flashes of what just occurred play in her mind and it caused another bout. Acid escaped her lips again and warm hands pulled back her hair.

That only caused more pain. Jerking away, she saw George Washington's hands held up in a placating gesture and she hid herself behind the tree. Apologies written all over his face, he backed away.

You're disgusting. Used. Spoilt goods. Her mind kept throwing the words at her and she struggled to defend it. Washington looked at her face before flitting down to where her knuckles were on the tree. Red, skin cut from the force of the punches.

"Lafayette." He said the name quietly and she felt the hot, thick tears cloud her vision. George Washington sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Genevieve huddled near the base of the tree, unwilling for more people to see her. Bringing her knees to her chest, her shoulders shook as she cried into her knees.

Somewhere in her mind registered that the General left towards the clearing she came from after exchanging words with someone. Lifting her head, she saw Aaron Burr help Lafayette slip down beside her. He offered a kind smile and she ducked her head in a short nod.

"Alcott." He greeted softly, "Monsieur Lafayette, call for me when you want to leave." Burr murmured and Lafayette gave the Lieutenant Colonel a grim smile.

"I won't be leaving until she does." He tilted his head towards Genevieve. Burr nodded and left quietly as Lafayette gazed at the woman. Thumbs absently running over the lapels of her jacket still in his arms, he studied her profile. She seemed to have shifted away, eyes closed as tears didn't cease to trace her face. Occasionally, a hiccup or her shoulders would shake.

He could only guess what she was feeling.

So he didn't say anything, afraid she'd close off forever.

If she hadn't already.

Once her sobs subsided, he raised his head to look at her. Those brilliant verdant eyes were devoid of life and as dull as a spread knife. Her body was limp and he realised that her uniform was dishevelled in all the wrong places. Rage boiled in him, nearly blinding him when there were voices on the other side.

Turning to watch, he saw George and Rochambeau sharing dangerous looks over a man's back. Harcourt. He realised with nausea. I shouldn't have left her alone. God… No… Vengeance flooded his mind as the two generals escorted the man away.

Trying to get up, he forgot about his injuries completely and groaned, fire dancing up his side. A hand wrapped around his arm, helping him to gently ease him back onto the ground. His dark eyes met her green ones and she didn't smile or give any indication that she had helped him. Withdrawing, she sat even farther away and he made no move to go towards her.

Any question he asked would've been insensitive.

So they just sat there until the sun began to set and a chill swept through the forest. A messenger appeared and Lafayette nodded. He heard barely that they weren't leaving today due to unforeseen circumstances. Because of what Harcourt did. The marquis thought as the messenger left numbly. It was as if anything he heard when in through one ear and out the other. Dusk began to shroud the forest. When she could barely contain her shivers, he extended the jacket towards her.

"Gen, ma chérie, please." When she didn't move, he shuffled closer. "Genevieve."

Every fibre in Genevieve's being wanted to trust him. Trust his words and his smile and touch. But she felt so utterly broken that if she shifted, she'd break apart. Like glass, just as fragile. And there'd be too many pieces to completely fix her.

He kept his distance after she didn't respond and finally, she raised her head and looked into his eyes. The love in his eyes made her sick.

She didn't think someone could love her anymore.

"I'm sorry." She murmured softly, voice hoarse and broken. He looked at her, silently asking if he could move closer. Nodding hesitantly, she watched him like a hawk as he draped her jacket around her shoulders.

"You're not the one who should be sorry." He whispered, drawing back. "Gen, I will kill that man. I promise, he will pay for it." At his words, she remembered the feel of exhilaration every time she kicked him, punched him. It felt so good then. Now it just felt hollowing. Cold. Inhumane.

There was a deadly silence. Her thoughts swirled in her head, imitating that dark voice that had spoken to her. That promised that Lafayette didn't love her - that she was just being used. The one that told her not to scream as he tried to disrobe her. Rubbing at her red wrists, she could only imagine the marks underneath the clothes. Temporary mars on the skin that would long fade in time. Dark purple and green smudges that would fade in time and give no evidence that they were ever there. But it was permanently ingrained in her mind and it scarred her heart and made her pride ache. The way his hand flitted across her navel, pulling down her waistband.

It was white hot shame and broken trust.

She was brought out of her thoughts jarringly when Lafayette appeared beside her. His slight distance was respectful but it was clear he wanted to do something. The sun was slowly dipping beyond the horizon and she was sure John and Alexander were wondering where they were.

"Gen,"

"Yes?" She surprised herself by answering and he took it as a hopeful sign.

"Can I… touch you?" He asked uncertainly. For a moment, fear overwhelmed her senses and she wanted to bolt off. What if he did the same? The word, 'no' was on the tip of her tongue but instead, what came out strangely was…

"Yes." Perhaps their love had prevailed and allowed her to give consent she couldn't previously give. Or perhaps it was the trust in his molasses eyes as he nodded slightly. Tentatively wrapping an arm around her, Lafayette sidled up to her and held her. Leaning slightly into him, she stared dully at the ground as he sighed, rubbing her arm hesitantly. His cool breath fanned across her cheek, a telling sign he was watching her carefully. It was unlike the hot, rancid breath that had puffed against her cheek as Harcourt tried to undress her. Her knuckles stung when she straightened her fingers and she winced against Lafayette.

He noted the movement and offered his free hand. Placing her left hand in his right, she felt his thumb dance over the split skin.

Maybe it was a mixture of both. Love and trust, it felt like, went hand in hand.

"You need to get this seen to." He murmured. The brunette didn't respond, only drew her bleeding hand away from him. "You know I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know." Pulling his arm away, he made her face him. Out of habit, his left hand cupped her cheek and she flinched away. Distrust flooded her eyes and he felt guilt flash in his mind. Taking a deep breath, Genevieve steeled her nerves and got up. Pulling on her jacket, she buttoned it up to cover her dishevelled clothes and to save what little was left of her pride. Sticking out her uninjured hand, she tried to smile but it came out warped. "Take it. We need to head back to camp."

"Gen, you cannot pretend you're okay." She pulled him up and the dark-haired man winced, hand coming up to his waist while a fire burned in his leg. "Gen-"

"I'm not. But you need to go back to camp." He could almost imagine the conflicting thoughts. Genevieve wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him, another on his chest as she did earlier that day - back when it was simpler. If only one thing had gone differently... had he not insisted on leaving today, had she not given in to his requests. Had they both realised what today would bring, Lafayette was sure they would both have done something differently. "Lafayette, come on." Her breathing was erratic and if he could guess, her pulse was racing.

"You are scared of me." He realized and she didn't contradict him. Slowly, they made their way back to the camp. The silence was unnerving on both ends. Genevieve's loyalty to him kept her going but with every step, the panic inside her welled up, wanting to override every sane order her brain made. Trying to stomp it down, she ignored how sensitive she was to his every movement. His every twitch of a finger, every wince of pain. It was as if her nerves were hyper-reactive, sending signals to her brain faster than she could comprehend.

Lafayette knew that she was close to shutting down. As soon as they broke into the main camp, Alexander and John flew to their sides. The two best friends shouldered Lafayette's weight, leaving Genevieve free from the suffocating presence. "Are you alright?" Alexander questioned quietly.

"Does everyone know what happened to me?" She asked with bitter amusement and he winced.

"We guessed as soon as the bastard's ass was dragged in between Rochambeau and Washington." John explained. He tilted his head in the direction of the General's tent, "They went in, haven't come back out since." Following his action, she looked towards the quiet tent and her gaze swept across the camp. Eyes were on her; sympathetic, piteous, sad, guilty.

"Great." She growled and stormed towards their tent. Tears pricked at her eyes, their stares burning on her as heat rose in her face. Ducking her head so no one would see them, she jerked the tent flaps open and disappeared into the shelter. There was a quiet when no one in the camp spoke.

"Get back to your lives." Alexander growled, rage building up inside him. Limping, the trio of friends made their way to the hospital tent as soldiers broke out into chatter, rumours spreading like wildfire behind them. When they set their injured friend down on his bed, John sat next to him, a deep frown across his face. Alexander paced back and forth, the gears in his head turning before crouching down in front of them. He spoke to his friends quietly and urgently, "Lafayette, rest. I'll speak to her." The Frenchman looked ready to protest but instead gave a warning.

"She's scared, Alexander. Please, do not push her."

"She's Eliza's best friend. By extent, I'm her brother."

"I don't think that counts right now. In her mind, every man is the same." John murmured Nodding, Alexander sent the curly-haired man a glance before patting Lafayette on the shoulder. Standing up, he exited the tent and with as little attention as he could possible, swiped a clean cloth before leaving. Sneaking towards his own tent, he watched the soldiers drink and laugh, feeling like there was nothing funny of their situation.

Ducking into the shelter, he looked towards the bed Genevieve normally occupied. She was facing towards the center of the room, quiet as she continued to stare off into the distance. The blanket loose around her as if she just threw it over. Her limp hand fell off the bed and she was still wearing her boots. Not saying anything, he walked over to her. She still didn't acknowledge him.

"Genny?" Still no reply. Now that he was closer, Alexander could see the puffiness around her eyes as tears stained the cot underneath her cheek. In her eyes was a haunting emptiness as if part of her had been stolen. "Genevieve, hey." Again, unresponsive. Perching near her legs, he waited quietly until she drew in a sharp, deep breath. Blinking hard, she cleared her throat as if she hadn't been crying.

"Alexander?" She withdrew her legs, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest. Her shoulders were hunched and her head ducked. Alexander had never seen the woman look so small. Even in the dim candlelight, he could see the beginnings of the trademark dark purple bloom across her cheek. "What do you want?" The shakiness of her voice, so severe that he knew not even a firm hold could stop, spawned such sympathy inside him.

"What do you need?" Again, her eyes became insipid and she looked ten years older.

"My dead mother." Not taken aback at all, Alexander nodded. When he was silent, his thoughts spun like an intricate spider's web. "What's with the cloth?"

"For your knuckles, if you can let me." He held it up and she grimaced, extending her injured hand towards him. He tentatively took her hand, immediately feeling her flinch away. Pulling away, he held up his hands. She swallowed a knot in her throat, clenching her fists. Hissing when it stretched her split skin, Genevieve tried to give him her hand again. Glaring at her shaking limb, she sucked in a breath. Alexander cocked his head, lowering his hands. "Is this… how he-"

"No." She cut him off sharply. "No, stop. Don't… don't talk about it. Just do it." Looking away, she felt him take her wrist as he wrapped the cloth tightly around her knuckles. Staving off the want to flinch - to rip her hand away and scream 'get away from me' - she bore the pain easily. Withdrawing quickly, the brunette stretched her fingers experimentally before bringing her hand back to her chest. Alexander's dark eyes looked nearly black in the limited fire in the tent and she couldn't bear to look at him. They were too alike to Harcourt's black eyes as he sneered at her.

The silence between them stretched into minutes, not comfortable but not spartan either. It was the silence of Echo, yearning to speak yet unable to form her own words. Alexander eventually withdrew to the desk in their shelter, dipping the quill into the inkwell before beginning to write. The scratch of the quill was familiar, comforting and Genevieve watched him write furiously as she began to lose herself again.

The hollowing, vacuum feeling in her chest returned as she scrunched her eyes shut. Her nerves felt like they were receding from her limbs and everything was so, so cold. Numb. Ruined.

"Congress will hear about this," Alexander vowed but it seemed as if he were talking to himself. Like he was in his own palace of paragraphs. "I swear,"

Again, silence. This time, longer. Ten, maybe twenty minutes. Genevieve wasn't sure. Time wasn't the concept most forefront on her mind.

"Hamilton," light streamed into the tent and neither of the two occupants looked up. "Hamilton." Washington burned a stare into his right hand man's back yet still got no response.

"Alexander." At John's voice did he finally snap out of it. "The General's here."

"Sir," Alexander stood, saluting briefly. "Harcourt's going to be punished, right? He'll be tried, court-martialed, and punished. I'm writing to Congress - this cannot stand!" As always, his mind and mouth ran a mile a minute and Washington sighed.

"Slow down."

"You violate someone's rights. Sir, you cannot let this slide!" John sighed, eyes travelling from Alexander to Genevieve who was half-listening. "Who else can't we trust?" The freckled man's gaze worked its way back to Alexander, "What if this happens again? Washington, sir-"

"Alexander-"

"Washington, sir, if Harcourt is not punished, I will personally shoot him myself. Do you expect me to do nothing?"

"Hamilton-"

"Honestly, what kind of man does this kind of shit?"

Neither of the two close friends of Alexander could shut him up as he continued to rant on and on. Not until Genevieve raised her head, mouth pressed into a firm line did Alexander's head snap towards her.

"Alex, let the man speak." Nodding his head in thanks, Washington cleared his throat.

"Due to this circumstances," My circumstance, she clarified to herself. Even he looked uncomfortable broaching the subject, "and extensive discussion on the future - of yours and Harcourt's - the leaders of this army," in her head, she ticked off the heavies of their army. Washington himself, Rochambeau, Friedrich, Greene, Stirling, "have all agreed to offer a military discharge."

"What?" Her pride spoke first and she flinched at the brusque tone of her voice. "Sir,"

"You were assaulted." John said starkly, "By a man you're supposed to trust on the battlefield. Genny, this isn't an attack on your pride or place in the army." The frown softened on his face. "This is for you." Tracing the uneven lines of the cot, she shivered involuntarily. Genevieve felt herself nod as her green eyes slid close. "For both your mental health and physical health."

"Draft an official statement to Congress. Give them no reason or room to issue a subpoena to Ms. Alcott. Genevieve," the first time the General addressed her by name caught her attention. Despite the vacuum in her chest, she could feel the barest of flames rage at her insides. Her fear lessened around her friends - she trusted them, she knew she did now - but there was something that made her want to just run. Run back home, back to simpler times when her mother was still alive and her father still was twenty-nine.

But that's what they were offering, at least partially. A one-way trip back to Albany.

"Genevieve, go home. That's an order from your commander." Washington murmured and giving him a jerking nod, she scooted to the edge of the bed. Her legs felt weak and she was reluctant to stand but she forced herself to. Immediately, black dots spiraled in her vision and she stumbled to the desk. Hands floated around her, wanting to help but unsure.

"I'm fine." She muttered. Her face said she wasn't. Instead, she grabbed a spare sheet and a quill. Alexander surrendered the seat for her and she sat down in it as he walked towards Washington and John.

"Call if you need any of us."

There was no response as she began her letter.

.

Later that night when everyone was outside eating dinner, she unbuttoned her jacket and raised her chemise to see the dark bruises on her skin. Swallowing thickly, she crouched by the bucket they had near the entrance and threw up nothing. Hunger ached, nipping at her stomach but she ignored it, buttoning her jacket back on again and lying down on her bed.

She pretended to sleep when Alexander and John came back in. They were quiet with exhaustion and a warm meal but she could still feel their concerned glances on her as she struggled to keep her eyes closed and her breath even. Her bruised cheek pulsed against the pillow but she tried to ignore it as someone put out the light. Then did she open her eyes to darkness.

The darkness was suffocating yet liberating. Something to keep her company as her eyes refused to close. Staying absolutely still, she remained a silent effigy.

In the morning, she closed her eyes just before John and Alexander woke. John had gone out to the outhouse and to scrounge up breakfast while Alexander sat down to write.

When he finished, then was the time she decided to 'wake up'. While he folded back the blanket on his cot, when Alexander asked if she had slept last night - even at all, he insisted - she gave an ironic smile that gave all the answers - that he didn't see - but said anyway, "Yes." And when Alexander turned around, the smile was gone as Genevieve sat up and hid her face, hands clamped over the edge of the bed. Nausea and exhaustion hit her in waves as she stood, gripping onto the table for support. Her sealed envelope to her father and her father alone was lying where she had left it, by the capped inkwell.

Another letter was by hers, sealed with wax. Already, Genevieve knew it was what Alexander was writing earlier that morning. A letter to his beloved wife saying that they were to be expected in two week's time. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet. Genevieve highly doubted he talked to the General about even leaving so soon. But that was always Alexander: do first, think later.

"You hungry?" John asked, coming in and Genevieve didn't respond as Alexander took a slice of bread from his best friend. "Genny?"

"I need to do something." She decided aloud and they both inquired curiously. "Alexander, do you have more paper?" With an affirmative, she sat down as a new, crisp sheet was laid down in front of her. Perhaps it was the riptide of exhaustion hitting her over and over again but she was so sure that this was the right thing. And it'd only be a limited period - she knew that soon, she would be forced to wake up and open up her eyes to the world, to eat and sleep while Alexander wrote to Congress for Washington and John did whatever he did. Command troops, train, forage for more food. And when she woke up, she knew that these lingering feelings would be gone, replaced by fear, doubt and caprice. When she woke up, she'd remember every moment in aching detail and the love she held for him would be clouded over by a thick, heavy mist of terror that was difficult to fight through.

For now, that terror was fogged by the desire to regain energy - to sleep, eat, drink. To write this letter in case she didn't remember it in the future. "Go eat without me."

"Are you sure-"

"John, I'm fine." They didn't sound like words coming from her mouth. "Just leave." And so she made sure they were gone before she returned to writing.

Lafayette,

Perhaps it was fate for this to happen. Or maybe dumb luck. Or maybe, it was the universe's way of saying we don't belong together. Whatever it is, I don't care. Whatever it is, my loyalty towards you has still not been shattered. My trust in you is greater than for any man and it'll take more than what has transpired for me to desert you.

I will not stop caring for your well being. It's as simple as that. Or is it?

The emotion I feel for you cannot be confined to such a simple word as love. You're an irreplaceable friend, ally, brother-in-arms, and most of all, I believe you to be the one I wish to spend the rest of my life with. Lafayette, you are nothing short of magnificent. And I love you more than you could possibly understand.

Don't miss me in my absence. However long that may be. Even if you return, and my soul has not yet healed, know that in another life, in another time, the one I loved most was you.

Your dearest,

Genevieve Alcott

And she sealed it in an envelope with wax, scribbled his name on the back and kept it under her pillow. When the time came to leave, she'd give it to him but for now, she'd allow the darkness looming over her head to knock her out as she fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

A/N: Oh my, almost 9K Words. My longest chapter and a packed one as well. I hope you understand why this took so damn long to write. I don't take sexual assault lightly and I didn't want to understate the absolute horror the victim feels when it happens. I never do it unless it's necessary to the plot, and for this story, it is. I wanted to get this right yet I still feel like I didn't. Sexism was really shitty back then, folks.

I know, 'Genny is leaving Lafayette again!'. She's just going back home. They won't never meet again. I couldn't do that. Also, I'd like to say that one of Genny's most defining traits (if you haven't noticed) is her loyalty. Loyalty to her family and to Lafayette (as seen in this chapter) Unfortunately, it's also her hamatia. (The fear when she's helping Lafayette back to camp)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you're willing to wait for the next one which I'm starting as soon as I post this chapter.

Thank you to all the favorites and follows. Honestly, I'm so tired that I can't give you all shout outs. So here is my COMPLETE SHOUT OUT TO ALL WHO SUPPORT THIS STORY. There's so many of you and I hope you know that this story wouldn't be here with you all.

REVIEWS:

xxxFancy Lala: They are. I'm glad you decided to read this fic!

Ajnonymous: Ah! That's so sweet! Thank you so much!

Trinity Rebel: YAY! YOU REMEMBERED YOU PASSWORD! Yo, don't worry. I haven't gotten over any of their deaths and it was 200 years ago. Goddamn. I'm not sure about the deaths yet but just you wait... Anyway, I'm so happy that you love Genny as much as I do and thank you for returning to this fic!

AvidPotterHead: Oh, yes. I totally remember you :) I'm glad you checked this out.

PaintingMusic14: Here's the next chapter, if you read it!

Guest: Haha, that's unique. Thanks for telling me and I did change it to Margarita. Thank you for reading!

RiseUpWiseUp: I WANT THEM TO GET MARRIED AND HAVE KIDS TOO, MAN. I'M JUST NOT SURE IF IT'LL HAPPEN SINCE THE WORLD WAS - STILL IS - A CRAZY PLACE.

Kitty of 2 kingdoms: Thanks! I like making little references to the musical. And yeah, I was thinking about doing the French Revolution and marriage. Thanks for the ideas though!

BriCat03: Same with the screaming because OH MY GOD, NOW I'M IMAGINING TINY LAFAYETTES RUNNING AROUND AND I'M GLAD I CAN SPUR EMOTION WITH MY WRITING. I hope this didn't tug at your heartstrings... It probably did. Is it too late to say sorry?