A/N: Vote on my poll on my profile for my next Hamilton project!

Chapter 24: Bastille

July 14, 1789

When she woke up, she knew something was wrong. Lafayette wasn't in bed, he wasn't with the children. He just... disappeared.

When she took her normal stroll through the neighbourhood, it was ominous, the whole aura. Everyone was angry, everyone was prepared for something she didn't know. Lafayette had been holding something from her since her admittance of meeting Robespierre. What was it?

Then, as if everyone was on the same agenda, they began the marching. The marching towards one destination everyone knew. As she followed the crowd, she saw women and men brandishing weapons made from household items - knives, torches, belts, pans - and items not so common like guns.

A crowd of citizens determined to storm the Bastille.

Her heart stopped beating.

Where is Lafayette? That one thought circled her mind as she tried her best not to race home - tried not to show worry to the public. As soon as she got in and threw off her shoes, she met Gerard's eyes in the kitchen where he was making her children a snack and stormed up the stairs. Running into her room, she searched for the one thing her husband always left behind for her when he left her alone.

Searching the drawers, she finally stopped at the one on the right side of his desk. Taking the gun, she made sure it was loaded. "Make sure the children are safe," she said laconically. Gerard paused, waiting outside as she closed the door for privacy. Adjusting her coat, she tied up her hair into a bun and checked her reflection in the mirror. She was fine, she just had to breath. Hiding the gun wasn't going to be easy - she needed her biggest coat. No... that wouldn't work.

But a change in identity would do better. Shrugging off her coat, she shed her dress and wiped off any makeup she had on before finding a set of her husband's clothes.

Binding her breasts with a shawl, she did again with another before gazing at herself in the mirror. It still wasn't enough. Clenching her fists, she tried to find something, anything, before her green eyes finally landed on a roll of bandages they always kept nearby in case one of them stumbled back bleeding. It was just a habit they kept since the days in the Continental Army.

Taking the roll, she bound her chest and found the bond stronger and more flexible to the shape of her body in case she needed to move. Slipping into his clothes easily, she felt no comfort wearing Lafayette's shirt normally gave her. Instead, it only brought more images him dying, alone in the angry streets. Tucking her bun into a hat, she looked in the mirror again and wiped away any makeup left on her face.

There was Oliver Smith.

Shrugging on Lafayette's smallest coat and hiding the gun in there, she opened the door and headed down the hallway. Gerard kept paced once he regained his bearings to seeing the woman's new apparel.

"And where are you going?" Gerard asked sharply.

"I'm making sure my husband is safe." She replied, heading down the stairs where the children were reading or drawing, whatever they were doing in the late morning. Emmeline and Georges hadn't even looked up, so invested they were. "Gerard, if something happens…"

"Nothing will." He shot back firmly and the manservant hugged Genevieve tightly. "If something happens, it will be that you two return home safely. Au revoir et bonne chance, madame."

"Thank you," drawing back, she tried to smile but it failed. "I'll see you soon," I hope.

In the brief minutes she was gone, chaos had multiplied by tenfold. Every single person was screaming a profanity as the crowds swept her closer towards the Bastille. People were screaming for negotiations to finish, for the guards to surrender the prison, for blood to spill. It was deafening and she could hear Camille Desmoulins rallying the people.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she wondered why she could see the man but then she realized he was mounted on a table as he pumped his pistol in the air. "Citizens, there is no time to lose; the dismissal of Necker* is the knell of a Saint Bartholomew for patriots! This very night all the Swiss and German battalions will leave the Champ de Mars to massacre us all; one resource is left; to take arms!"**

Scanning the crowd for her husband, she fingered the gun in her pocket. Lynched men were swaying, her deafened ears not hearing anything as she watched the bodies sway. Absolute horror filled her as she pulled her hat tighter around her head. No…

Trying to fight the crowd, she felt someone tackle into her and staring up at her offender, she found the face of Lafayette. Cupping his face, hands slipping on how sweaty his skin was, she finally found a firm grip and despite everything, smiled.

"It's happening," he breathed in a mixture of excitement and fear. Holding onto her, Lafayette watched the people push against the gates of the Bastille, "Our revolution is happening before our very eyes."

"Freedom, but at what cost?" She asked, pointing a hand towards the bodies of the dead guards. His hand gripped her shoulder hard and brought her closer. "What are we going to do?"

"Survive. History will remember this moment." He whispered before a new surge of citizens pushed them away. Holding onto his fingers, she tried to say something before being knocked back.

"Lafayette!" She screamed, trying to push against a wave of a hundred people. He sunk into the sea of people when there were gunshots. Head snapping to the Bastille, she realized that the guards were finally firing back. People started falling as smoke rose and she ducked her head.

Absently, she realized that she could still hear Camille Desmoulins screaming still as she fought her way to the edge of the crowd back towards her home. Nudging people out of the way, she bumped into women who snarled at her and men who pushed her back. Landing on her behind, she winced and pulled herself up, shoes pushing against the grit.

When she finally broke free from the mob somehow, it felt like an era had passed. Sweat covered her whole body and she pulled her shirt to fan herself. Ambling over to the shade of a building, she leaned against the building and slid down, eyes closing. It was something like the Battle of Monmouth. The sweatiness, the humidity and how suffocated she was feeling was familiar.

Wiping her forehead, she felt a knot in her throat. A war torn country, lynched guards and the citizens of France as one angry force. This will not end well. She knew it.

July 15, 1789

When the marquis de Lafayette was appointed commander-in-chief of the National Guard, it was said that the marquise was by his side every step of the way. Despite the public's conception that there was nothing but contained animosity, they watched the marquise smile tightly at her husband as he proclaimed the name and symbol.

Wearing a red, blue, and white cockade, the man announced to the National Assembly of his promises to protect France.

And a rumor was spun that when the ceremony was over, the Lafayettes exited the carriage outside their house. The marquis, legs shaky, looked extremely green as his wife pressed a kiss to his lips and lead him inside their home.

August 20, 1789

My dear friend,

I wish I had happier news - that Genevieve is pregnant again or that the revolution will be one that will be of peace, but I cannot. I'm sure you have heard - France is in financial and social ruins. The mobs attack the nobility and the nobility refuse to accept that the change is very much real. That if they do not abet, more blood will be spilled.

I did not come to this decision lightly, but please, Alexander, we need your help. I cannot even tell you of the terror and rage in the streets of Paris - it cannot be described. The people are angry, the fall of the Bastille signified everything.

Do you know how long the peace lasted after?

Not even two days passed by before hordes of men and women all around France began burning houses and razing crops of their aristocrats. Fear is causing every man, woman, and child to act irrational and mobs charging down the streets is not uncommon.

As Genevieve once called Paris, it is a wolf and it will devour its children if I cannot do anything about it. Alexander, I cannot begin to imagine the sway you have over Monsieur Washington, but I know that your word means much to him.

Please, I am not asking, I am begging. Look back on our friendship and remember that France can be your great ally once again - she only requires the aid you can supply. Without it, I do not know if France will survive. If we will survive.

I don't know what to do.

Yours,

Lafayette; July 20, 1789

September 12, 1789

Lafayette was stressed, that much was clear. The nobility thought of Lafayette not better than the radicals and the radicals thought he was just protecting the nobility. After the assassination of the mayor of Troyes, he was scrambling to make ends meets. His soldiers barely respected him enough to follow orders.

"Papa, are you alright?" Emmeline asked on one of the rare days he was home. It had been weeks since they had last seen him and they burst into tears when they saw their Papa walk through the door.

Their mother couldn't say the same. Genevieve was passed out in the drawing room, working herself to death writing letters and meeting with politicians left and right. That, on top of taking care of her two growing children had led to many sleepless nights when her husband wasn't home to force her to sleep.

Georges slipped his dishes into the sink and brought a stool closer to wash the plates. His son glanced at his father and sister, scrubbing the dishes with more force than what was needed. Lafayette sighed, moving around the food on his plate. It was something he had managed to scrounge up and didn't fill his stomach well but it had to do. Placing his fork down, he picked up his daughter and settled her on his lap.

"Oui, mais je suis fatigué." He said and she hugged his neck tightly. Georges let his plate slip into the soapy water and dried his hands, hopping off the stool. "Come here, Georges."

"Mama doesn't sleep when you aren't here." He whispered, climbing up and into his open arm. Hugging his children close, his eyes slipped shut as they just stayed in silence.

"I know," Lafayette finally murmured and his children pulled back in synchronization. They looked so alike, like their mother in the way they regarded him.

"She says she's fine." Emmeline whispered against his beard. It was time for a shave. Grimacing, he ran a hand through her hair. "What's happening?"

"Change, ma petite."

"I hate it," Georges grumbled and Lafayette chuckled despite the situation. "I want to go back to where we used to live. America." As do I, my son, he thought before pulling his children back.

"Go wash up and get ready for bed." Gerard entered the kitchen from the drawing room, smiling tiredly. "Gerard, can you…"

"Bien sûr." Waving an arm, the older man lead the children out of the kitchen as Lafayette sagged in his chair. His legs splayed and his head slouching, he tried to regain any ounce of strength to get up and into bed upstairs. After a few moments of quiet, he got up and entered the drawing room where his sleeping wife was.

The brunette was lounged on the couch and a blanket was laid atop of her. Realizing that was Gerard's doing, the marquis sat down on the floor near his wife's head and brushed hair away from her face. Pain nipped at his gut when he saw the dark circles around her eyes. Glancing around the room, he saw papers strewn across the table with the cold tea and ignored biscuits.

"Mon amour," he whispered against her knuckles, brushing his lips back and forth over the ridges of her hand, "je suis désolé." Her face didn't even twitch - the only sound to signify that she was alive was the rise and fall of her chest. His hand trailed along the scar that nearly broke them apart, yet made them so much stronger. Across the curves of his wife he loved so dearly.

Pulling back her blanket, he gently scooped her up into his arms. She tucked into him well and slowly, he carried her towards the staircase and up to their room. Slipping her into bed, he used a wet cloth to clean her face and to wipe away the ink smears on her hands before sliding into bed with her. Pulling her back to his chest, Lafayette was about to sleep when there was a shift.

"Lafayette?"

"Oui?" Opening his eyes, he saw two green eyes staring back at him like he'd grown a second head. Sleep still misted her eyes and he noted that she couldn't believe it was him. "It's me, Gen,"

"I'm not dreaming?" She asked hoarsely and he wondered for how many hours was she speaking without a break. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the tears. Turning in his arms, she planted her hands on his chest and spread them so they ran along his arms, "Oh, God, it is you." Genevieve's breath hitched as she sat up. Pushing himself up on one hand, he regarded her carefully until she launched herself into him. Wrapping one arm around her, he took in her scent and her presence, and she started crying.

"It's okay - I'm here." He whispered but she shook her head against him. "Gen?"

"I miss you. I miss you. I miss you." She repeated like a mantra and he flopped on the bed to wrap another arm around her as she kissed him desperately. "The children kept asking - I didn't know what to say. Danton came earlier before you came back,"

"What?" He hissed and her hands planted themselves on his cheeks as she pressed her forehead against his. "Did he hurt you?"

"He could never," she breathed, eyes shut tight. "He was looking for you and passed me a message." A nervous laugh escaped her, "Danton isn't the most human-looking man, is he?" Suddenly, he found himself laughing too as he kissed her again.

"No. More like… like…" he tried to find the right answer.

"A huge snarling bulldog?" She supplied and he nodded, cuddling her close to his chest. "Yes, I think that's an apt description." It was just the sounds of their breathing for a while as her eyes closed and her head slid to rest on his shoulder. "And the mobs?" Her tone was heavy, somber and he raked a hand through her hair gently. Unknotting a tangle, he repeated the motion to keep himself busy.

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" He asked weakly and she raised her head for a moment.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" challenged the other and he knew what she meant. How many times had he come home only to leave before she woke? How many times had his children asked their mother when Papa was coming home? How many times had she been… alone?

"Yes," and her head dropped back down. "I will, I promise."

Genevieve could hear the stress in his words, the just-able-to-be-controlled panic of his still-new position and the organization, politics and travelling it entailed. The way his soldiers didn't respect him as much as they should. She knew his worries as well as he knew her own. Laying a hand near his neck, arm across his chest, she tried to comfort him somehow.

"If you have to go-"

"No. For once, I want to stay with my family." When was the last time that happened, my dear wife? That I've slept in this bed with you safe in my arms? He added silently as her thumb stroked his warm skin. "With you."

"Aren't you romantic?" She whispered, drowsy.

"It is in my blood,"

"So I've heard," replied the other drily and he breathed a laugh. "Tomorrow, I have a meeting with Robespierre." His blood ran cold and suddenly he found he couldn't sleep. "I couldn't refuse, I'm sorry."

"What will the meeting be about?"

"I have no idea. Danton passed the message along but he left it ambiguous." His grip unconsciously tightened and Lafayette glanced at the general direction of where she kept the gun out of the corner of his eye.

"Be careful,"

"Je sais," she used her own French against his trademark phrase. Despite her effort to make him smile, it failed. "You too. Come home at the end of this, that's all I ask."

"Stay alive." He whispered and she nodded before they fell into the silence of each other's presence, knowing that despite the peace in the room, turmoil brewed in the streets and that tomorrow would be another day of war.

A/N: Hey, guys! This is the update and unfortunately, might be the last for a while. I'm definitely not abandoning this story - I just thought one week would be enough of a break but apparently not. Even though it's the summer, I still have school for the next two months until the new school year for credit so I have to study among other things. If I pile too much crap on myself, my mental status won't be too good and it'll reflect on my writing. I want to make it as good as possible for you guys - you deserve more than crappy writing so that's why.

I don't know how long - I'm thinking three weeks but it could be longer. I'm sorry. I'll just be listening to In The Heights and shiz like that. I'll try to update GTTR (my other Ham fic) this week and get another up next week so look out for that if you want.

REVIEWS:

Still Just Alex: I agree - let's put this behind us. Thank you for listing some sources - I'll try to read them if I have time but I can't guarantee I'll remember to apply them so I'll try. I think that's what's important, right? That you try. I'm glad it's over. Thank you. Oh, and the second link didn't post so if you want to repost that, you can. It's probably because FanFiction hates when people post links anywhere.

The1HamiltonFan: Thank you so much! You should definitely keep writing. That's how you improve.

Strawberry Cat: I hope your grandfather does/did well and that he gets better soon. Here's the next instalment.

TabbyCat: Thank you. I hope you keep reading.

stranger ways: ayy, I see what you did there. Lafayette children's innocence is being taken - not even joking. They're so precious I can't believe I'm doing this. Thank you for your review, as always!

* "Citizens, there is no time to lose; the dismissal of Necker..." Necker was the financial minister that got sacked and made everyone extremely angry.

** "Citizens, there is no time to lose; the dismissal of Necker is the knell of a Saint Bartholomew for patriots! This very night all the Swiss and German battalions will leave the Champ de Mars to massacre us all; one resource is left; to take arms!" An actual quote from him.