The Price of Love

Chapter 15

Alex's PoV

A week later. A week later, I lean against a building, gasping for breath. I'm caked in sweat, blood, and gunpowder, but victorious. We've reclaimed the western part of Albany. I wipe the grime off my brow with an equally grimy hand and laugh. All the tension is released from me in the form of laughter, and damn does it feel good. Laugh until I collapse onto the ground, laugh until my lungs feel like dying, laugh until I almost pass out from lack of oxygen. I stand up shakily and lean against a wall, laughing weakly and gasping for air. When I get enough to stabilize myself, I gather up my men, still giggling. We're scattered throughout uptown Albany, but that's okay. I finally get my breathing under control and my laughter dies completely. The city is still reasonably okay, besides dozens of missed bullets peppering pretty much everything of course. Shit. I think. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. I haven't seen John in at least three days. He could be dead. No, he can't be dead. He just can't be. He's fine, he's fine, he's fine. Albany is big, he's probably just wandered into a different part. He's fine. I reassure myself. I take a quick swig from my water. I need to get cleaned up. My jacket has a few more burn marks and bullet holes in it, I'm covered in grime, my hair is matted into an unruly mess, and I smell like death. I walk through the streets, congratulating my men, offering words of comfort, and searching for John. And I find him after an hour. I run up to him and catch him in a strong hug, relieved beyond belief that he's alive. "Alex!" He cries, hugging me back.

"I thought you might have died I haven't seen you in days you worried the actual shit out of me next time you're not leaving my side are you okay tell me your okay great God you worried me I love you." I blurt out in one breath. I'm just glad you're alive. I don't think I can live without you." I whisper. He takes a moment to process what I said, a bit longer than I think is needed. But then I remember that I, like all other people who live in Manhattan, speak really fast. According to him and about half the French troops. So I give him an extra minute.

"I was worried about you too." He admits, letting go of me. He looks me up and down and chuckles. "Your only recognizable features at the moment are your eyes and your height." He remarks. "You need a good shower."

"I would say the same thing for you." I retort. "But I can't, as you weren't in a direct line of fire and risking your life for others every second because you're a moronic hot-head with no regard for personal safety, therefore getting caked in grime." I grin, sensing triumph.

"True." He admits. "But you really do need a shower. You're barely recognizable."

"I know." I shrug. "But there's more important things to take care of. I'll clean on after I make sure everyone is okay. I believe that Lafayette and his company are safe for now, I'll send another company to relieve them in a bit, once we're all cleaned off." I explain. He nods. We begin walking, and I switch topics. "So, how was your first battle?"

"Terrifying." He says, his face paling slightly. "You were scarier though. You were like a demon." I chuckle.

"I'm a demon on the battlefield, it's true." I laugh. "Hey guys, get yourselves cleaned up! That's an order! Tell the rest of the troops!" I call to a knot of French soldiers.

"Oui General!" They call back.

"Alright, good." I clap once, trying to center my thoughts. "Now what? We can't do anything until everyone's cleaned up. Hmm. Honestly, I'm a bit hungry right now. You?" He smiles at me.

"I'm hungry if you are." He says, happy that I'm finally going to eat something for the first time in almost three weeks. "What are you thinking?"

"A ration pack." I reply, pulling the tin out of my bag. He snatches it from my hands. "Heeey!" I protest. "Give it back!"