WARNINGS: Depression, PTSD

January 25, 1796

A month of nothingness spurred Thomas Jefferson into action. He kicked down the door of the Hamilton house and stormed up the stairs, disregarding any looks the children gave him or how Mulligan seemed to shoot him a look of concern.

Hamilton was still at the office so he took this chance to do what was right.

"Mr. Jefferson?" Eliza Hamilton caught his attention, just exiting the room that was his destination.

"I'm taking her out of here. She's not getting better." Thomas barged into the room, Eliza stepping out of the way. Genevieve looked up, green eyes hazy. It was almost as if she were stuck in a daze. Her hair was ashen, twisted up to a knot to keep it free from her face, and she looked freshly cleaned. Eliza's doing. At least they were taking care of her in the ways the could. Thomas opened her closet, taking out the bags that were underneath the hanging dresses. Tossing them onto the end of the bed, he ripped the bags open and began shoving different kinds of clothes in - dresses, corsets, shifts, everything he could get his hands on.

"Mr. Jefferson, the doctor-"

"The doctor said a non-stressful environment, right? I'm moving her to Monticello."

"You can't. Her children are here! The last thing she wants is for them to be separated." Eliza placed a hand on the man's arm. That caused some pause and his dark eyes darted to meet hers. She was taken aback by the ferocity that lied within them.

"Mrs. Hamilton, with all due respect, there is no healing in this home," he said bitingly. "I'm taking the children with me and will be hiring private tutors for them. You don't need to worry." Snapping the first bag closed, he glanced at his friend who still laid mentally dormant on the bed.

"Thomas-"

"If you could ask the children to prepare to leave, then we'll be on our way by evening." He nodded to Eliza who could only stare. "Mrs. Hamilton, do I need to do everything by myself?"

"You need to think this through."

"I have," he cut her off, throwing an icy look over his shoulder. "I have waited patiently to see if she'd get better. It has been weeks and there is no signs that she is going to get better. Hamilton's incompetence has led him to inaction. I am not one to do the same."

"Thomas?" A hoarse voice interrupted his tirade. There was something scratchy to Genevieve's voice but Thomas immediately relaxed at the warm timbre it held. "What are you doing here?"

"Come on, Genny. You're gonna come visit me in the countryside." Thomas forced a smile as Genevieve sat up, blinking at him as if she'd never seen him before. Perhaps she hadn't seen anyone in a long time. "Would you like that?"

"I live here," she said.

"Just a small visit. There are fig trees and horses—" Thomas' smile was genuine when Genevieve's green eyes lit up— "Would you like that? Emmeline and Georges need to learn how to ride a horse."

"And Virginie," Genevieve rasped and Thomas let out a relieved chuckle. He wanted to cry but he didn't want to forsake his pride in front of his opponent's wife. "Virginie will want to learn."

"Virginie, too," he agreed and she gazed at him in surprise when a tear slid down his cheek.

"Why are you crying, Thomas? Have I been gone long?"

"Far longer than you ever should've been, Genny," he said and her smile flickered. "But you're back. That's what matters."

February 27, 1795

"Better now?" Genevieve asked as she helped her daughter sit on the saddle. After weeks of watching Emmeline and Georges prance around on their own horses, Virginie had badgered their mother until she gave in. Seated on an old, tempered mare, Virginie nodded. It was much higher than she'd imagined. "Good, now hold the reins. I'll be here if you fall."

"When's Papa going to come see us? I miss him," Virginie said. Genevieve's smile flickered and she stroked her daughter's thigh absently. Kissing her tiny hand, the brunette turned to look up at her daughter. Ahead, Emmeline and Georges raced each other over the hills near Monticello. "Are you mad at him?"

"No, of course not," assured Genevieve. The mare started off at a slow walk and she made sure her daughter was stable as she lead the horse around. Thomas was off watching her other children and all Genevieve wanted to do was look at her youngest. She was the one who looked most like him. Despite what everyone ever said about Georges, Virginie had his face and hair and mannerisms more than Georges ever would. When she looked into her children's faces, she saw herself and her brother and sister and her father, and she could see her husband too. But when she looked at Virginie, Lafayette was all she saw.

"Then, how come he doesn't stay with us anymore?"

"We were sick," Genevieve began, unknowing how to explain war to a five-year-old. She'd be turning six nearing the end of the year. She could remember the night she smuggled them out of France like yesterday. "He needed to get help. I needed to get help."

"But you're better now, right?" Virginie pressed, leaning forward on her saddle. Stopping, Genevieve waited until she sat back up. Then, she lead the mare around again. "Papa can come home, right?"

"Papa is staying with his friend. I can't ask him to come home. He won't listen."

Thomas and her two eldest came, rounding the hill and Emmeline immediately took to Virginie on a saddle, eyes sparkling. You have his eyes, Genevieve mourned the loss of his eyes. Sometimes, she couldn't even remember what he looked like. He had a scar underneath his eye, she remembered as Georges stopped, watching Emmeline and Virginie ride around the grounds. You have his spirit. Georges had the hug of his father. When she tucked her children at night, Georges hugged her goodnight. It made her heart hollow and ache.

"You should follow them, sweetling. Make sure they don't get in trouble," Genevieve told Georges who flashed a smile before trotting after them. Turning back to where her own horse was, she pushed herself up into the saddle. The feeling of leather was so familiar, back when times were simpler. Châtain nickered and Genevieve stroke her old mount's mane. It'd been far too long since they rode together. Just another reminder of the man she loved.

"You look remarkably better, Genny," Thomas remarked. Châtain stepped in place, pawing the ground as she picked up the reins. The man briefly touched her knuckles before gazing off to where he could see her children helping their youngest sibling ride. "Do you like it here, in Monticello?"

"I do. It's… quiet. Peaceful. I never meant to impose on you," she added quietly and Thomas shook his head.

"I'm never here anyhow. Always in the capital with meetings and other boring matters." He lifted his chin, feeling the breeze curl against his neck. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. My home is yours."

Genevieve smiled, sad but full, and then she turned to her friend and said, "I need to write a letter."

March 3,1795

"Lafayette, a letter for you."

Turning away from the window, Lafayette smiled at Martha and took the letter. The paper was crisp and he could see where the nib dug into it.

"Who is it from?"

"You'll want to read for yourself."

Unfolding it, he heard the door click close just as the breath was stolen from his body. Written completely in French, Lafayette couldn't help but smile at the minor grammatical errors. After all, his wife learnt spoken French, and did not often have the chance to write. His heart thudded in his chest and he felt numb as his eyes raked over the paper. It smelt like wind and winter, just as his love did.

Lafayette, my husband, my love,

It's been so long. The children miss you. They've learnt how to ride horses, though Virginie insists on riding on her own. Emmeline has stitched her first dress. She wore it to her first party a week ago at Monticello. It is where we stay now. Georges had a short-lived victory over his sparring tutor. Thomas employed the best for our children.

I wish you are here to see it. And you should be. I miss you. I will always love you. Come to Monticello.

Come home to our children.

I promise, we can fix this. Perhaps, one day, we will be able to look into one another's eyes without seeing war. Until then, I wish for you.

You don't have to come. I've treated you horribly these past few months, but know that Monticello is where I stay now.

Yours forever,

Genevieve

Lafayette packed his bags and wrote his response to Thomas Jefferson, praying to whatever God could hear that he'd receive it before Lafayette arrived unannounced.

March 12, 1795

Lafayette knocked on the door, palms sweaty and he had the most bittersweet smile on his face. He remembered the first day he met his wife. He had prayed that his hand wasn't so sweaty she'd be disgusted. How long ago that was.

The door opened and he was met with the scruffy face of Virginie.

"Papa!" Her shriek did not go unnoticed by anyone of any sort inside the house and a smattering of footsteps followed. Dropping his bag, he caught his daughter as she jumped into his arms as Emmeline barrelled into him out of nowhere, followed by Georges. All of them were in a state of dirt or wet and he grimaced and smiled when his hand carded through Emmeline's wet locks.

"Papa, you're back!" Emmeline held onto him tightest — Daddy's Little Girl — and Lafayette bent over to kiss her head just as new hands found their way onto his shoulders. When he looked up, he met the green eyes of his wife. They were clear as crystal, and wet with unshed tears.

He hadn't even realized he was crying until she hugged him so tight around the neck. With his free hand, he clutched onto the shirt off her back. Sobbing into her shoulder, he buried his face into her as she whispered words he didn't bother to hear. Her warmth was so familiar that their children had long parted when Lafayette could finally form words in her hold. Emmeline and Georges smiled to each other, then took Virginie back inside.

As he stood on the veranda, he could feel his heart causing the earthquake in his bones as he cupped his wife's face. She sniffed, sobbing whilst she laughed and embraced him again. Words could not define this moment for them.

"Are you going to stay?" she asked at last, voice thick and he pulled back, forehead against hers. She looked younger, well-rested, and healthy. She looked alive.

Lafayette exhaled in relief, then nodded. "I will, if you will allow me."

"It's good here," she whispered, arms looped around his neck still. She shook in his grasp, still sobbing a bit but her smile was as beautiful as the spring flowers and he wanted to kiss her. He felt young again. "We should stay."

"We will," he promised. Her hand slid to his face, cupping his cheek as her eyes searched him for something. "What is it?" he murmured and she let out a silly chuckle.

"I'd forgotten what you looked like, and now, when I see you here, I wonder how that could have happened," she whispered. His fingers trailed her jaw and her chin, the cheekbones, the arch of her neck. Everything about her was so real — so detached from the woman he knew. Time away did them well. The country was good. This was the life they always deserved and now, it was here. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He gently held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and his eyes flickered from her gaze to her lips. "May I kiss you, my love?"

"Always."

July 18, 1796

Healing was so slow. It always was. One did not simply wake up one day, deciding they were whole and well again. No, Lafayette knew. It was walking into castle ruins and having the courage to pick up the first brick, to put out the fire, to take out all the slag and burnt carnage. It was understanding that it would never be as it was before, but learning that you can build something stronger.

Lafayette knew healing was slow, but it got easier to wake up in the morning when his wife was there to greet him. He never understood how he had spent so long away, out of her arms, but he knew it was needed.

"Good morning," mumbled a drowsy Genevieve. They'd just taken to morning talks again after years of separation. His first nights at Monticello was in a room across the hall from hers, until they'd decided that maybe they could try again. Lafayette now relished every moment he had with her. He should be grateful there was another chance for them. Running a knuckle down her back, Lafayette turned to look at his wife.

"Bonjour."

Wrinkling her nose, she turned away from the sunlight as she lay there on her stomach, wreathed in sheets and blankets. Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her neck before tossing the covers over her, heading to get dressed.

"Lafayette?"

"Hm?"

"When do you think we'll be able to go back to the city?" They had gotten comfortable in the farming hills of Monticello, but it was a long way from home. Lafayette didn't say anything, merely tied up his shirt and pulled up his pants. "You don't think we should?"

"I thought you hated Washington."

"But I miss my sisters. And my brother." Genevieve turned and sat up, crossing her legs. "Don't you think the children ought to see something other than rolling hills?" Lafayette sighed, knowing his wife had a point. The private tutors could teach them all they wanted, but real life would be a better teacher.

Crawling back onto the bed, he looked up at his wife from where he propped himself up on his elbows. Dark circles were under her eyes, but they were better from last week. It was a bad month for them, he supposed, but they took it as it came. Bad weeks usually meant late night tea and early mornings on the roof. Lafayette didn't mind all that much, with her and the children.

"Are you sure you want to now?"

"Especially now." Her lips pressed together in a way that made him know that there was no changing her mind and he smiled, kissing her hand.

"Then, we'll go."

"I must start writing them!" Genevieve moved to get out of bed but Lafayette caught her wrist. "What?" Sitting there, the brunette ran her hand through his messy hair as he leaned forward to peck the tiny bump on her stomach. "Laf." Her voice was fond.

"Ma petite étoile," Lafayette whispered, "did you hear? We will be traveling soon."

"Oh, Bennett and Ettie don't even know yet."

"Despite their numerous letters that we've failed to respond to," he retorted, getting up again. "I am surprised your sister hasn't come down herself."

"She's working on her newest book. The inspiration will leave her," Genevieve said with a shrug just as their door was nearly banged in. Sharing amused glances, Lafayette and Genevieve both got up — Genevieve to get dressed, Lafayette to open the door.

"Time for breakfast!" announced Virginie, taking hold of her father's hand as Genevieve slipped on a shirt. Combing her fingers through her hair, she sighed at the useless tangle it was and let her youngest daughter drag her and her husband to the dining room where Emmeline and Georges awaited.

A/N: I haven't given up. More to come.