History Has Its Eyes On You ~ A Hamilton Fanfiction (Book 1, Act 1)

City Streets

(Y/N POV)

This was it.

The ship was docked and passengers instantly huddled over to the plank separating them from land. Families cried tears of joy witnessing their loved ones once more, desperate to reach for them. The sea rocked calmly, reflecting the tranquillity of this new world.

"So." Lafayette began, "England. You lived here before with your father, no?"
"Yes, that's correct." I lied. "Truthfully, he never spoke any word of Alexander. So being taken in by an uncle you had no recollection of was tough."
"It was fortunate he found you when he did, mon ami.

I recall clearly that day as he braved his way across the field. No one but he was willing. Not even I."
I sighed. "Was he the one who found me?"
He glanced back to me with a bold smile.
I raised my eyebrows. "You did?"
"Oui. That day, I was to lookout for intruders. To kill them. But then I saw you."
"...Then I owe you just as much gratitude as he."

"Allow me, Miss." Mr Morris offered his hand, helping me upon the plank. Throughout the journey, he was the one who tried his hardest to make our stay comfortable. And though it wasn't in the slightest, I was in debt to him. "Safe travels, Miss."

Lafayette struggled on with the luggage behind, although I'd suggested him a hand multiple times. I strangled my hood over my head as I spied over the city. Our work was beginning. Though I knew there would be nothing to observe here, I searched anyway.

We were embedded in the crowd. I wasn't at all surprised that no one would make way, distracted by all of the excitement. Squeezing my way through, my shoulder clashed with another. I tried to brush it off, but he was immediately complied to apologise. "I- I'm sor-" Suddenly, his face was contorted with misery. He stared me directly in the eyes, unable to choose his next decision.

"It's alright. We must all find our way around somehow." I excluded. Leaving him aside, we continued forth.

Strange boy.

Once we were separated from the docks, Lafayette pulled out a map. "A route from here will take us to the home."
Reminding myself of our trail to save John over a year ago, I crossed my arms. "Monsieur, don't you think I should be in charge of the map?"
"For one, Madmoiselle, I'll be almost criminalized for giving you charge. And I can find my own way."
"If you say so."

The streets were unexpectedly murkier than those in New York. It was practically layered in horse waste. Children dangerously sprinted across streets and in front of carriages. Some even made their way onto the back of the carriages, whether their intent was to steal or have fun.

It was nothing unusual for this day. The harsh reality was that most couldn't afford luxury and survived through pickpocketing. I was one of the fortunate. What made things even more revolting was that many young girls were forced into prostitution as a result. Every so often, you'd see these girls about the town, seducing men that appeared wealthy. There was nothing I could ever hate more than to be like them, so I was grateful for the opportunity I was provided.

We turned street after street with the tracing of Lafayette's finger. Strangely enough, I began to feel this sense of nostalgia... like I'd been here before. Abruptly, I stopped for a moment. I glared down an empty street.

It was... different. From what I remembered.

Well of course it was.

Allowing Lafayette to walk on, I scuttled partway down. I halted outside of the house three doors down, watching my past 13-year-old self slam that door after the hardships of the day. It was nothing alike the house I'd known, and had been completely rebuilt the 200 and so years later. But this was my home. This was where the 13-year-old would disappear in that dingy back bedroom.

"Madm- Madmoiselle!!" Lafayette hurdles beside me, waving his map about. He stared in the direction I was locked into. "...Are you alright?"
I swiftly stroked a tear away before it could leave my eyelids. "Yes, I'm fine." I choked. "Sorry, we should..."
"No, curiosity is not your fault, mon ami." he soothed.

What were the odds that this would ever happen? I just wished to knock on that door and experience it all again. Even if that wasn't the house, that was where I would once stand. This pavement would later hold the footsteps of a girl overcome by pain and grief. A sister recovering from trauma. A mother...

...Praying her children will come back.

Lafayette scanned over the house. "It would be a wonderful place to live." he admitted.
"Yes-" A tear accidentally forged its way out, thankfully on the side of my face that he couldn't see. "It would."
"Well, we'll have to hope our new home lives up to such high standards... which I have doubts."
I chuckled, turning away with him. "It can't be that bad."

~

It was that bad.

I wouldn't call it the aristocratic sort. It was moderately sized, with little furniture. And the furniture it did have was not so stable. Despite this, there was a bathroom, something I couldn't be more thankful for.

With three bedrooms, we chose the ones beside each other. Lafayette forced me into the largest room for "my comfort", whilst he took the other slightly smaller one. The view looked out upon the city, streams of pollution enshrouding it. Alas, a decent point to watch the sunset.

I unloaded my luggage, storing them in drawers and closets. Scavenging in one pocket, I was reminded of my paper and quill. After days of writing, finally Charles could respond. I just needed to provide him with the appropriate whereabouts.

I intended to use Lafayette's advice, but hadn't managed to achieve it. Every attempt seemed like an utter failure. Therefore, I left the flattering up to Charles. It would be unanticipated of a sudden change in my behaviour.

Nevertheless, I sat myself down on the shaky chair occupying the desk. With paper and quill in hand, I was ready to write. I grinned at the thought that I'd hear from him again, and though not his voice, his heart and honour shines through. I wanted to share this sunset with him, but could only imagine it.

I set my quill into the jar of ink upon the side.

My Dear Charles...