Fearless // Lafayette x Reader

20. She Sets Sail

Bright and early the next morning, the two of them set out for the harbor.

"If they catch me coming back, I'll tell them I was out on an early mornin' fishin' trip an' got delayed a bit," the old man told her as he unwound the little sailboat's rope from the dock.

She nodded, teeth chattering as they stood by the freezing water. She'd sniffed more than a few times in the past fifteen minutes and her throat hurt even worse now - she suspected the tickle last night had been the start of a cold. Which the chilly weather was not helping.

When she boarded the boat, she thought she heard a rustle in the trees beside the harbor. She glanced over. Nothing. Sanders didn't seemed to have heard anything either, and she concluded it was simply paranoia.

As they set off across the murky water, she pulled her brown woolen coat tighter around herself and stared across the blank, dark horizon.

~~~

They docked in Paris close to evening. There had been little chatter between the two of them, but it was clear he would not accept any payment from her.

"You're one of us," Sanders had told her gruffly, patting her shoulder. "And don't you ever forget it."

She saluted, smiling slightly. "Yes, sir."

He flashed her a shy smile - the first real one she'd ever seen from him, showing teeth - before unwinding the rope from the port and setting sail towards England again.

Jack. Sanders. Another friend, staying in a place to which she could not return. How many more people would she have to lose before this war ended?

She watched his boat until it disappeared into the dark clouds dotting the horizon. She hoped he would stay safe. She didn't know how she could forgive herself if something happened to him on her behalf.

~~~

"Excuse me. Do you know where I would find the Lafayette residence?"

It was probably the fifteenth time she'd asked somebody this since she'd left the boat, and she was no closer to finding Laf than before. Either people didn't have time to answer her question, or didn't want to, or said they didn't know.

The woman peered over her spectacles at (Y/N). She looked vaguely familiar but the girl couldn't quite place it.

"There are several Lafayette families in France," she said. "Which exactly are you looking for?"

She gulped. Laf hadn't actually told her his full name yet, and even if she said "marquis de Lafayette" this woman might not know his title. What if she was an old friend that had direct contacts to him, but only if (Y/N) got it right? Was this a test? What if -

"Madame, I believe Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette is who she's looking for."

Slowly, the girl turned around, a grin widening on her face. Because she knew that voice like the back of her hand.

And there he was.

He wasn't in the blue coat she was so used to, but his hair was still in that beautiful, poufy ponytail that she loved so much and his dark eyes were still as bright and shining as always. She leapt into his arms without thinking about it, reveling in the physical contact that she'd lacked for so long.

He buried his face into her shoulder and she mimicked the action, breathing that sweet lavender and vanilla scent she'd missed more than she realized.