A/N: This is heavily centered around the effects of PTSD. If that sort of thing is a trigger, I hope you take your time reading this or do not read at all. Please put your own health first.

Chapter 31: The War's Still in Me

August 16, 1795

"Do you still love me?" He asked as she set the apple back into the stand. Walking to the clerk, she set her basket upon the table and began unloading the items. Her green eyes flickered to his dark ones. Paying quickly, she exited the shop and made her way up to the Hamilton home.

"Yes," she said at last and he nodded to himself. "I will always love you." A tired expression settled upon their faces. A couple, fresh-faced and sweet, kiss on the park as she walked through the garden park. Lafayette eyed them, she knew, just as she watched a man present a woman with a bouquet of flowers.

"Will you share our bed tonight?" he asked.

"I think more time in my old room will do us both good." Her voice was hoarse from screaming. So was his. She wondered if the children heard their late night shout matches, ones not aimed at each other, but at memories that played behind closed eyes and paused for the morning. He sighed and she knew he would sleep in John's old room.

"I'm trying to help you."

"There's nothing that can be helped. As you said, that time in our life is over." She didn't know what the hell she was supposed to do. He tugged at the stray thread on his sleeve. Allowing herself to breathe, she asked, "Has Washington written to you?"

"No. Has he to you?"

"Probably too scared to." His snort of amusement caused her lips to twitch before settling back into her stoic demeanor. "I was planning to visit him in a week's time. I was speaking to Thomas about arranging a trip." Lafayette's brow scrunched up in confusion and she turned to watch the confusion cross his face.

"Strange, he spoke to me of the same trip." Clenching her jaw, Genevieve rolled her eyes. "If you do not want me to go-"

"No. No, you go. I will watch after the children." Forcing a slight smile, she focused her eyes back on the road before her. "Enjoy your time with our President."

"I am sure I will do the exact opposite."

"You will forgive him, I know it." Her tone is clipped and his gaze fell to the dirt. She knew him too well. "Do not forgive him on my behalf." His lips in a thin line, he responded.

"I would not dare dream of it."

August 25, 1795

"Lafayette, welcome-"

"Spare your pleasantries, George." Lafayette knew in another world, Genevieve would have been in this room with him. Perhaps in this other world, the United States would have lended aid instead of leaving them stranded, and him on the brink of a destroyed marriage. "I just need a place to stay, away from all of this." George Washington set the papers in his hands down and frowned, standing up.

"Away from your wife? You two were attached at the hip." He thought himself funny but Lafayette was not in a gaming mood. He tugged his coat tighter around himself and stared down the man.

"We're estranged."

"Really?" Washington made a sound between guilt and surprise. Lafayette wanted to retract the statement right away.

"Love cannot overcome all barriers, it seems." His hands rolled into fists. "Do you have a place to stay, or no?"

"Of course."

.

"Where's Papa gone?" Virginie asked as Genevieve tucked her into bed. The brunette smiled down at her daughter and booped her nose.

"On a trip."

"When will he be back?"

"Soon," she lied.

September 4, 1795

"You talk to her." Eliza turned upon hearing Peggy whisper those words into her ear. "She's lonely."

"Did it make any difference when Lafayette was here?" the woman asked, turning away from the sight of Genevieve staring out the window in the drawing room. Virginie was practicing piano with little James. "Where's Philip?"

"Out with the twins and Alexander. He wanted to take Emmeline away from this. It's sweet."

"So they know what's wrong."

"They have for a long time." Peggy sighed, the hollow feeling in her chest growing when Genevieve was pulled from wherever her mind was to pay attention to her daughter. "They're perceptive children - where do you think they get that from?" The tears that sprung into her eyes was unexpected and Eliza walked down the hall, clutching the necklace around her neck. Peggy watched her sister go before turning back to Genevieve. She was speaking to her daughter who returned back to the piano, playing merrily. There was a ghostly smile upon her face but nothing more.

The playing wasn't playing - it resembled more like an incessant banging of the keys and Peggy winced, entering the room and sitting on a chaise nearby. Genevieve turned to smile at her but didn't offer any greeting as a shrill something that should've been a chord resonated throughout the room.

"Very good, darling," Genevieve gushed, applauding. Dark circles nearly swallowed out her eyes and Peggy reached for her just as she stood up abruptly. "Mama needs to go take a nap. Keep practicing and tell Aunt Peggy if you're hungry, alright?" Virginie deflated a bit but kept a smile on her face.

"Okay, Mama. I promise."

"Thank you. Peggy, can you…"

"Of course." The strength in Virginie's eyes made Peggy want to wrap their whole family in a hug. To think they came back to America only to be divided even more. Virginie was trying too hard to help her own mother with something she couldn't understand.

.

"Is he alright?" Martha asked a question George didn't know the answer to. As he watched the French man on their spare bed stare at the wall, he felt the weight of guilt on his mind and his shoulders. He helped cause this.

"I don't know." He rubbed his temple, preparing himself to go in. "Prepare for dinner - I'll try and talk to him." His wife's lips pressed into a thin line as if she doubted him - and to be frank, George doubted himself - but she turned towards the kitchen as the President entered the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he placed a hand on Lafayette's arm. Immediately, a hand wrapped around his wrist and had him pinned against the bed, knife pressed against his neck. "Calm down, son. I don't think the world will take kindly to murdering the first President of our new country."

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, teeth bared in a growl.

"Lafayette, you're in America. You're not there anymore." The knife didn't move but his muscles tensed as George put his hands beside his head, showing he wasn't an enemy. He waited, watching as Lafayette blinked, eyes wet with tears as he let go of the knife, inhaling shakily. George gently pushed him off, and took the knife. Lafayette took a big gulp of air as if he'd been suffocated for so long and George sat up beside him, patting his back.

"I apologize." His voice is thick with tears as Lafayette wiped at his eyes. "I didn't realize what I was doing and… I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. Son, are you sure you don't want to see your wife?"

"She doesn't want to see me," he gritted out.

"That's not what I asked."

.

George got Lafayette to write a letter. When the President wasn't looking, Lafayette tore it to pieces.

October 26, 1795

It took around a month before Lafayette could garner the courage to get out of bed. There was something soothing about the responsibility-free environment of the Washington household. Mrs. Washington cooked, the children were cared for, and he could do whatever he wanted. So he read, took walks, slept. When he tried to pick up a fencing sword, his hand shook. When he thought of his wife, the warmth that once inhabited his chest was cold. Over time, the fire would return until it burned him up as it once did, decades ago. George said that he was out now, whenever he bawled his eyes out over the war he couldn't save his country from.

There was a semblance of hope in his eyes as he began to pack his bags. And then it came crashing down upon him - the thought of returning to a city with prying eyes, his children, his wife. There were loud noises in that city, with too many people asking if he was okay. Here, he was secluded and everyone already knew he wasn't. In that city, his wife was there with the same haunted look in his eyes and she sapped his energy because it was always he who was optimistic and he thought she needed him. But even optimists lose their hope and it turned out that it was he who needed her.

When George came by to tell him that his carriage was ready, he instead found Lafayette's room strewn with clothes thrown everywhere and the man himself on his bed, staring at nothing. All progress made was lost.

It took around a month before Genevieve had to be seen by a doctor for insomnia. There was something stressing about having to take care of three children alone. It wasn't like she wasn't used to it but now that she was out of this war, she thought there could be some happily ever afters for some parts of her. She cooked, listened to Virginie's impromptu piano recitals and always made sure to listen to Emmeline about her boy problems, and Georges when he gushed on and on about some girl named Theodosia. In the back of her mind, she realized that Theodosia was a name of her past.

The fire she once had for her husband extinguished and some cold part of her wanted him to stay gone because when she looked at him, she saw the parts of her lost. But every other inch of her wanted him back. Her body needed him like how lungs needed air, her heart wanting him like how flowers wanted the sun. But her mind was too tired, as if all these years on high alert have shaved off every bit of sanity she had left. She wandered around the home like a ghost. She cried like a banshee. She hated herself. She hated this. Eliza told her that she was out of the war as if it would help her.

"But the war's still in me."

The doctor told her to remove herself from stressing environments. Genevieve didn't know how to tell him that to remove herself from a stressing environment was to remove herself from her children. She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't bare to part with them again when her father died and her siblings lived cities away. How could she look into the eyes of a doctor who knew nothing, and tell him that to leave her children was to leave the best parts of her husband behind?

December 25, 1795

Eliza told the children not to bother Genevieve who was still asleep after a whole twenty four hours of lying in bed. The twins told their siblings in all but blood that their mother needed rest. Virginie, only five, began to cry upon not being allowed to see her but Emmeline had to firmly tell her younger sister that only the adults were allowed in.

"It's Christmas!"

"And Christmas is a time for family. Virginie, you have to understand that Mama isn't feeling well, okay? Go play with James and Magda, we'll keep watch over her." The small child pouted, running away and Georges sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His nose was red and runny, his eyes rimmed red. He looked at his twin sister and inhaled a shuddering breath before puffing out his chest and placing the facade of strength before him like a shield.

.

The doctor left the room, joining the adults in the drawing room. Hercules closed the door after him.

"Go get some rest, alright?" he addressed the twins who had sat by their mother's door for the better half of the morning, "Eat, do something fun. You can't watch your mother every minute."

"Yes, Uncle Hercules." Georges wiped at his face as Emmeline responded. The two looked much smaller than they were. Hercules crouched down, opening his arms and the two walked into his hug before pulling away all too soon. The tailor watched them go, worry etched all over his face as he descended the stairs and entered the drawing room. He knew they would not heed his orders. They were too perceptive for their own good. Leaning against the archway, he saw the doctor adjust his spectacles.

"It's a sort of post-traumatic stress." John Laurens leaned back in the chair as the doctor spoke. Peggy grasped his hand while Alexander came into the room, a tray of tea in his hands. "The war still lives within her and her mind cannot seem to move past the fact that she is no longer in that environment. She is unable to adjust, and, therefore, is in a constant state of stress."

"So, now what?" The desperate inflection of Alexander's voice made them all direct their intense focus on the doctor. He cleared his throat.

"Her body is in a constant state of thinking that it'll be attacked. It's eating her up inside and her systems are struggling to keep up. I believe that right now, she is in a coma-like state to prevent herself from shutting down completely. She is awake, but her mind is not truly there."

"What can we do?"

"You need to remove the stressors - things that have caused her or have amplified stress. You must be attentive to taking care of her. There will be certain lapses where she'll be lucid and she'll need to know what is going on. Do not sugarcoat it, but do not whack her with it like your words are a pan. When she awakes, she'll probably be disoriented. That is when you call me. I will personally take over in helping her with a behavioral therapy."

"And she'll be cured?" Eliza asked. The doctor chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head.

"Mrs. Hamilton, there is no cure for post-traumatic stress disorder. At best, she will live her life free as long as she avoids triggers. At worst, she will die an early death."

.

"What are you thinking of right now, Lafayette?" The French man stared at the doctor at the end of the bed from where he was leaning against the headboard, bundled up in blankets. His eyes were red, nose runny, and his throat felt bruised, yet he still found the will to answer.

"I don't think. They just attack me."

"Who is 'they'?"

"My thoughts."

"What do they tell you?"

They are a mess. A web of tangents that attack me all at once with different kinds of poison. I will pick the best for you, Doctor. "They tell me that Genevieve hates me. That my children detest me for leaving them for so long. They call me a bad husband." Lafayette cleared his throat, trying to stay manly although there was no point. "They name me a terrible father."

"Those are negative thoughts, Lafayette. You need to know that they're not what's true." The doctor wrote something down as Lafayette turned to look out the window. "Tell me why these thoughts hurt you."

"It's obvious, is it not? No man wants to be a bad father or an absent husband." The softness of the pillows made his insides coil. He didn't want to live this life of plush comfort. He needed something harder, something sharp and natural and fresh and cold.

"But it hurts you more than you wish to admit."

"I had a choice." He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "I didn't have to go back to France."

"You did. The King ordered for your return."

"But I didn't." His fists clenched as a suffocating feeling settled on his chest, making oxygen tight. "I didn't have to drag my family into it."

"You couldn't have known-"

"But I should have! I should have. They are everything to me and I let them down." He was sick of this feeling but lacked the energy to move. The feeling that he wasn't good enough weighed down on him and he felt without Genevieve's eyes on him, that he didn't have to be strong for her anymore. Shoulders falling, he felt everything tilt as his sobs wracked his body. "I should've been better."

"No one can be 'better' for a future they didn't know was going to happen." The doctor sighed in sympathy but the sound of it made Lafayette want to throw up. "Lafayette, you must be able to reason with these thoughts. That is the key to recovery."

"How do you know?"

"I've worked with many veterans before. You are no different." Standing up, the doctor slipped his little book into his bag. "I'll be back the day after tomorrow. For now, I recommend that you gather your strength to get out of bed regularly. I think that that is a good start on your road to recovery."