What Is A Legacy?

Chapter Thirteen

 ~TW: descriptions of violence, drugging, and some angst. Scroll past if you feel like you need to, or are sensitive to said topics. :)

A week later, Thomas stood in front of the Ambassador, arms crossed. It was early in the morning, so early it was like it was still night time. It was about four in the morning, the earliest they'd ever had to be at the estate. Thomas was still blinking sleep away from his eyes, and Lafayette was nearly half-asleep against the wall.

Leon, however, was as chipper as ever, shuffling the papers on his desk with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm. The General stood close to him, the two men conferring in whispered French, voices so low Thomas couldn't even hear them. He side-eyed Lafayette, who just shrugged. Clearly, he was just as out of the loop as Thomas was.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of the two talking, Leon straightened and faced them. Thomas didn't move, and Lafayette stepped away from the wall to come closer. But he didn't get very far, as Josue took him by the arm.

"What are you doing?" Lafayette asked, trying to pull his arm out of the General's grasp. But the man had a tight hold on him and his efforts were futile. Lafayette turned his cold gaze on the ambassador. "Leon?"

"Your services are not required anymore, monsieur Lafayette," Leon replied, and waved his hand in dismissal.

Lafayette fought against the General's hold again, and Thomas stepped closer. "Let go of him," he warned.

"Or what?" Leon said, stepping around his desk. "You have no jurisdiction to take control here, Jefferson. I would advise you to not do anything you'll regret."

"Let go of my friend, and I'll cooperate," Thomas replied.

"I'm afraid you're not in a position to compromise anymore. With France, or with me," the ambassador said. "Don't worry, we're not going to hurt him. We simply don't need him anymore."

"It's fine, Thomas," Lafayette said. "I'll see you after the meeting, oui?"

Thomas nodded only once, and clenched his hands into fists as he watched Josue escort Lafayette out. "What did you mean by my not being in a position to compromise anymore?" he asked, his voice low.

Leon shrugged and stepped in front of him. He was eerily calm. "Your precious Président has now forced my hand." He gave a small smile, but it was void of any humor. "I'm afraid we don't need your services anymore, but it appears we can not simply let you go."

"What do you mean?" Thomas was very confused.

"Well, we certainly can't send you back to Amérique, not after what we've been through in the past, what, three months? You are now an enemy to France, and war does not spare enemies."

"We are not at war with you, Leon," Thomas started. "Your only enemy here is your pride."

"Really?" The man reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a plain white handkerchief. Thomas smelled something sweet. "Then, do tell, why Washington has left us to burn at the hands of our king?"

"What does that even mean?" Thomas growled. He was somewhat convinced that the man was going insane, and eyed the handkerchief uneasily. It smelled unnatural, almost like chemicals had been spilled on it.

Then the door opened, and he looked up to see Josue walking in. He wished he hadn't. Leon took advantage of his distraction to knock him to the ground, and a cloth-covered hand clapped over his mouth and nose. The sweet smell was now stronger, and knowing whatever the cloth was soaked with spelled nothing but trouble, his fight-or-flight kicked in. Josue had pinned him to the floor, but he had barely gotten a good hold on him before Thomas kicked him square in the jaw. Temporarily free, he pushed Leon off of him, and like the idiot he was, took off towards the doors.

Thomas's hands closed around the handle and he pulled on them violently, but the bolt in the door slammed back against the lock and didn't budge. Shit.

Josue grabbed Thomas before he could spin around and slammed him into the door, barely giving him a moment to recover before throwing him to the floor. Thomas' head struck the wood and stars exploded across his vision, bright and painful. Something wet and warm dripped down his cheek when he sat up, or at least tried to.

Everything hurt.

Leon leapt on him, pinning him down by the throat and pressing the handkerchief on his nose again. "Leon," Thomas managed to choke out. "Don't....do this."

"Amérique has forced my hand," Leon spat. "I have no other choice. If you won't give us aid willingly, I will make you. Holding Amérique's ambassador is sure to convince them, non?"

Josue murmured an agreement, but Thomas barely heard him. His vision was slowly fading in and out, but he tried to fight against it as best as he could. He had to. He didn't know what would happen to him if he gave in.

But he was sorely outnumbered and overpowered, and after what seemed like hours, his vision went dark.

He roused only once, and that was where, through the haze, he found himself lying on the floor of a carriage. His hands and feet were tied, and his body felt heavy, like his bones were made of lead. His only thought was that he had to get out, get away from here.

But he didn't see Josue until it was too late, until the general pushed him back onto the floor. Thomas was too disoriented to put up much of a fight, but he struggled against Josue's hand as it clamped the handkerchief over his nose again. He could only manage a curse and a glare at the man before the darkness took him again.

His last thought was of Virginia. Philip. Eliza.

And how he failed Washington.

Then voices roused him again, but it wasn't Leon or Josue. Thomas felt the cold bite his nose and cheeks, and was convinced he had been left in the woods, or back in his small house. But in the back of his mind, he knew that he was wrong.

His head hurt horribly, and he felt dizzy, but he opened his eyes to find himself in a small room. Slats of moonlight shone down on damp cobblestones, and the surface underneath him was cold and hard.

His vision focused on bars running from the ceiling to the floor. There were no walls to allow some form of privacy, with the exception of the one between them and the outside world. When Thomas would look out the small window in the cement wall behind him, he'd see the city buildings and streets. But now, he was too weak to even lift his head.

Then with a jolt, he realized where he was.

The Bastille prison.

In the very heart of Paris.