Categories > Theatre > Hamilton

Merci, Mes Amis

by BurntGayPotato 1 review

Lafayette had not expected a normal or uneventful day at all, what with the underlying threat of the British and the Colonies going to war. However, he also didn't expect to be kidnapped by three B...

Category: Hamilton - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Humor - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2020-04-04 - 2120 words - Complete

Lafayette had not expected a normal or uneventful day at all, what with the underlying threat of the British and the Colonies going to war. However, he also didn't expect to be kidnapped by three British men while walking to the local tea shop to meet his copains for lunch.

He was walking down the streets, about a block away from the tea shop, when he felt a pair of hands grab him around his waist. He tensed up, preparing to swing fists if need be. Yet, before he could even position himself into the proper position to kick whoever the hell had just grabbed him in the knee, another set of hands covered his mouth and nose with a cloth.

He knew what was happening, he was being taken hostage. He knew not to breath in, but rather to go limp and pretend to sleep until they took away the cloth so he could breathe safely.

But a third person walked into his field of vision, and kicked him in the stomach.
He felt all of the air escape from his lungs involuntarily.

His vision started to blur as he felt his lungs burn with the need to breathe in. He knew that if he breathed in, he’d black out. But if he didn't breathe, he’d still black out.
Stubborn as ever, Laf refused to breathe in the fumes of the chloroform soaked cloth, and before he knew what was happening, everything went black.


Laf woke up with a sore wrists and ankles. It didn't take long for him to figure out why, as his ankles and wrists were bound tightly to a chair with a thin rope. The rope chafed away at his skin if he struggled, so he opted to stay still.

The french man took a deep breath and tried to remember what his mѐre had told him to do when he was a boy if he ever found himself kidnapped.

Stay calm, consider your surroundings, stay alert, know as much as you can, and never let them touch you if you can help it.

Well, clearly they'd already touched Laf quite a bit, but the stay calm part he could do. He tried his best to take in his surroundings, but he couldn't do that very well as the room he was in was very dark spare for a small candle in the corner. It was nearly burned out though, and if there were any oil lamps in the room they were not lit.

Despite the instruction to stay alert, Laf couldn't help but drift back off. The room was warm and dark, which in turn made him unbearably tired. Plus, he had very little energy since he hadn't eaten in more than a few hours. Probably five hours? He wasn't sure what time he left, he had forgotten his watch at home.

So there he was, tied to a chair, scared out of his fucking pants, somehow managing to accidentally fall asleep.

Dieu, this reminded him of his piano lessons.


John squirmed impatiently, Hercules fidgeted with the threads of his shirt, mindlessly unthreading them (again) and Alex was ranting to no one in particular about whatever was currently pissing him off the most.

Needless to say, the trio was attracting quite a bit of attention.

“He’s just late,” Herc said, more trying to reassure himself than John and Alex. “He’s pretty much always late.”

“-And on top of that he thinks it’s fucking funny to go and destroy her favorite teacup!-” Alex shouted. John shook his head.

“Herc, he should've been here forty-two minutes ago.” he spoke over Alex’s Random Rant of the Minute™

“-However it is not a written rule anywhere that a pawn should be able to take out the queen automatically if a bishop is on square B3, so I told him-”

“Sorry, make that forty-three minutes.”

Hercules sighed heavily as the cuff of his sleeve fell apart completely, and he pulled out a pocket-size sewing kit that he carried on him for these situations to mend it.

“Yeah, but he always forgets his pocket watch at home!” Herc argued.

“Laf always forgets to eat breakfast too, so if anything his hunger should be reminding him it’s time to meet up!” John insisted, anxiety threatening to take hold. He couldn't help but worry like crazy about his friend’s well-being. He did it all the time. And even if he wouldn't yet admit it, John could tell that Herc was worried about their favorite fighting french-man.

“-It's just so frustrating how one can go about their day normally, and then get screwed over for not paying a shitload more than necessary for some goddamn tea!” . Alex exclaimed, finally done with his long-winded rant about whatever.

“Where the hell is Laffayette?!” the short boy huffed. “We’ve been waiting forever!” Hercules sighed at Alex and shook his head.

“I dunno, pal. I think we should probably check up on him at his house.” the tailor stood up, pausing to glance around the shop one more time in case he found the tardy French man at another seat before walking outside with his friends.

“Huh, that’s weird,” John muttered, after they had been walking for about a minute. “You guys see that?” he pointed to a white lump in the middle of the sidewalk. They approached it carefully. It was not often someone left perfectly good cloth on the ground. With all the threats of war, it had started to become expensive.

“It looks like that stuff you used to use on those specialty handkerchiefs, Herc.” Alex noted as they reached the lump of cloth. Hercules furrowed his brow and gingerly picked the cloth up.

“You’re right,” he said, “I’m actually kind of impressed that you remembered that.” John grabbed the cloth from his friend’s grip and wrinkled his nose.

“Damn, that smells like the stuff my dad used to have around the shop to keep away thieves. He’d always dip his hand in the stuff and-” Alex cut him off, stealing the cloth to examine.

“Chloroform?” he asked, carefully sniffing the cloth.

“Yeah, that's what it was.”

“Well then Lafayette has clearly been kidnapped.”

“Oh my god,” Herc smacked his forehead. “We are so dumb. We’ve gotta hurry up and find Laf!” the trio started to run down the street, before John skidded to a stop.

“Hold on, where are we going?” the curly haired soldier inquired.

“Oh, good point.” Herc rubbed the back of his neck. “Umm.”

“Well wherever it is, we’ll be safe!” Alex delared, pulling his gun out of absolutely nowhere.

“Why the hell did you bring your gun to the tea shop, Alex?!” John screeched, jumping back at least a foot. Alexander shrugged.

“Hey, you never know.”

Hercules snapped his fingers suddenly and grinned wildly. “I know where that cloth is made! We’ll look there first!” he turned and started to run again, not waiting for everyone to catch up.

“Wait!” John panted, trying to keep up with Hercules’s huge strides - damn his tall ass. “What if he isn't there?”

“Then we’ll have to find another solution!” he yelled over his shoulder.


“For the last time,” the first man growled. “Where the hell is Washington?!” he slapped Lafayette across the face. His cheek burned, but it was nothing compared to his aching wrists. They had cut, punched, and nearly burned him for information.
But he wasn't budging.

“I wish I was lucky enough to know Monsieur Washington that well!” he laughed. Another slap to his face. The French man felt his nose begin to bleed.

“Don't you lie to us, marquis de stupide!” the second man shouted, pressing his knife to one of his already cut covered arms.

“Ah, si tu n'étais pas aussi putain de stupide, tu saurais que je ne mens pas.” Laf said, unable to resist insulting the men. The third - clearly there for translation purposes - howled in rage and motioned for the second to cut into his arm again.

Laf inhaled sharply as the knife cut through his skin deep enough to bleed.

Tu veux rѐpѐter ça, salope?” the third man hissed in Laffayette’s ear.

Je serais ravi.” Laf replied, unwilling to let these men win.

“Stab him,” the third man yelled, his accent thicker than Laf’s. “If he’s not going to budge, he can die.”

A rough hand clamped over Laf’s mouth to prevent him from screaming. He tried to bite it, but he couldn't get the angle right. He could hear blood pounding in his ears. The last thing he thought was: damn it, before one of the men clocked him in the head, hard enough to cause his vision to blur.

And then one by one, three men knocked down the door and ran in.


Hercules kicked the door open, not bothering with the handle since he was almost certain it was locked. He had found Laffayette’s pocket watch right outside the door, so he knew he would be in here. Alexander ran in behind him, followed by John, who was gasping for breath from the run.

“Put down the knife!” Hercules screamed. The man holding the knife was shocked enough to not slit Laf’s throat right then and there, but was not so easily swayed by Herc’s request.

“Why the hell should I?” he taunted.

John was about to reply in a sane manner, when Alex pulled out his gun.

“Because your knife is no match for my gun! Now step away from him before I blow your goddamn brains out!” he screamed. The men stepped back in surprise (as did John and Herc) at the sudden weapon.

“What the-” the first man gasped.

Merde! Courir!” the french speaking man screeched. The other two knew enough to follow him when he ran out the back door. Alex grinned triumphantly.

“Ha!” he declared. “It wasn't even loaded!”


Laf’s head throbbed. What on earth was happening? This couldn’t be real, right? He was almost certain that his friends had just stormed in, and then Alex pulled out a goddamn gun and caused his forgein kidnappers to flee.

No, he had to be dead. Or he was floating on the edge of life after his attackers had stabbed him, and now he was hallucinating.

But no, Alex just screamed about the gun not actually being loaded.

And now Hercules was picking him up and saying something to John, and whispering to him that it’d be okay. Was he really whispering, or was the buzzing sound in Laf’s head just getting to him.

Or maybe he was dead, because he felt himself drifting away from consciousness.


Lumiѐres. Bright. Pain. Uuuuggggghhh. Laffayette thought as he struggled to open his eyes and lift his head off of the pillow where it rested.

Wait, pillow?

“Oh ho!” A voice chuckled. “Looks like our little survivor has awoken at last!”

“Shut up, Hercules, he’s only been asleep for an hour.” said a second.

“Yeah, but that hour has been really long!” a third whined.

Oh, Laf knew these voices. They could only belong to three people.

God, John! You are so moronic!” Alexander groaned.

“What the hell does that even mean?!” John screeched.

“Will you both be quiet?!” Herc yelled. “Laffayette just woke up, he probably has a headache!!”

Laf chuckled weakly.

“Ah, good to hear you three bickering, mes amis.”

The three immediately stopped yelling to look at him with surprise.

“Hah,” John laughed, breaking the silence. “There’s the Laf we know and love!”

Alex snorted. “John, he’s been here the whole time.” the short boy grinned down at his friend on the bed. “Comment tu te sens, Lafayette?”

“Ah, Je vais bien aprѐs un peu de repos.” the French man replied, waving his hand. Hercules walked over to the bedside and plopped down on the floor. He gingerly checked Laf’s arms - which the latter hadn't even realized were now bandaged - and withdrew quickly at the hiss of breath from Laf.

“Sorry, mon ami, just a bit sore, you know?” Herc nodded sympathetically.

“I know, they just need changing.” Lafayette sighed.

“Alright,” he nodded. Hercules got to work, trying to be careful so he didn't hurt his sore friend. Slowly, during the process Alex and John came to sit by Herc. After the bandaging process was all over, the group sat in silence while Laf tried to tame his headache enough to speak.

Merci, mes amis.” he finally said.

“Any time, Laf.”
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