Other than the pain I'm in, the waiting is the worst part of this experience, Maximilien thought to himself. He'd been sitting alone in the dark for what seemed like days, with only his shattered jaw and broken memories as companions. Although, he told himself, that's better than being with others in the sun on my way to the guillotine.

Days ago he never would have imagined this. At the time he was on top of the world, leading the people of France to victory against their oppressors and assisting the Committee of Public Safety with their work. Now the people of France had him locked away, awaiting the same death so many of them once had.

They will be cheering, Maximilien predicted, holding his broken head in his hands. It'll be the same as when the king was executed. They'll cheer and smile and wave their tricolored flags in every direction. Some little child will ask what's going on and his parents will tell him that it's the end of a dictatorship. He'll have no idea what's really happening, but he'll smile and nod and run through the legs of the crowd with his little friends, trying to get a glimpse of what's going on. He'll play with the other children and cover his ears at the sound of a head falling into the basket, but still will cheer with the others because his parents are so why shouldn't he!

Saint-Just and I will be last. I'm sure of it. The 'evil' leaders being forced to see what exactly they'd caused. Agustin will obviously be near the front. They'll want to make me watch him die of course. It will be the same way they had to watch their brothers, sisters, parents, and children die, but for a less noble cause. As much as it pains me, I almost wish he had died, leaping out of that window.

The thought of Augustin made him shudder. It was almost impossible to think of his brother without remembering the horrific events from the previous night. Stupid Augustin, Maximilien thought. He'd never known when he'd said too much, drank too much wine, or had joked about something too serious. He always went to an extreme. Yesterday it just happened to be jumping out of a window.

"They have the building surrounded, Citoyen Robespierre," Saint-Just had said, entering the tension filled room. Maximilien looked up from where he sat, lost in frightening thoughts. "There is almost no chance of escape. They could begin breaking in at any moment." For the first time in many years, Maximilien had felt true fear. Trying to maintain his reputation in front of the few that still supported him, he took a deep breath and attempted to remain calm.

"Are you sure," he had asked, a note of panic evident in his voice despite his efforts to remain calm. Saint-Just had nodded. Of course, he was sure, Maximilien had thought. He's just looked out the window. Unsurprisingly my nerves are getting a hold of me. "Then we need to be ready just in case they make their way up to us." He'd picked his pistol up from the top of his desk and loaded it.

"They've broken in," one of the armed men had shouted as he threw the door open. "We can only hold them off for so long." Gunshots and loud screams had rung out from the lower floors inciting panic in the men above.

"We're going to die," one of the younger men had moaned from the corner. "They're going to kill us all!" Maximilien had wanted to say something reassuring; to tell them that everything would be fine, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was nothing he could do to save the situation.

The gunshots and sounds of fighting were right outside the door when Maximilien felt his knees give out. His heart raced more than it ever had. Faster, faster, faster. Every beat possibly his last.

"I don't know about the rest of you," Augustin had said, looking around at the others. "But-" He had been cut off by a loud crash that had resounded from outside in the hallway. Several of the other men had also drawn their various weapons. Maximilien had swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, picking himself up off the ground. After several minutes of intense fighting outside the door, the armed soldiers had forced their way into the room. Chaos ensued.

"Citoyen Robespierre," someone had called. "Run!" Maximilien had laughed bitterly. He was stuck in there just as much as the rest of them.

"Maxime," Augustin had shouted across the room, barely audible. "I'm not letting them take me alive. I want you to know that-" The rest of what he had been saying was drowned out. It had seemed to satisfy him, however, and with one last sad smile to his brother and a cry of, "Vive la Révolution! Vive la Maximilien Robespierre," he dived headfirst out of the window.

Maximilien wasn't sure how long after Augustin had jumped he had done it, but he remembered through all the chaos putting the gun to his head and telling himself that they wouldn't have the satisfaction of getting to him alive. Nothing he had done during the revolution was anything but necessary. If they couldn't see it, then perhaps they didn't deserve it. For one dark moment, a millisecond really, he'd weighed his options.

He shuddered. Perhaps if he hadn't done it he would have made them see reason. Maybe he could have made another speech. That had been the very thing to get them into this mess. He shifted awkwardly, absentmindedly putting one hand gingerly on his wounded jaw. Everything hurt. His back was sore from sitting on the hard stone ground for so long. His jaw was a terrible splitting pain that made it hard to stay conscious. His head pounded both from not wearing his glasses and his shattered jaw.

The first time Maximilien had fired a gun had been a little more than a year before, an affair with quiet instruction and light touches from Saint-Just. He'd felt obligated to teach me so I could keep myself safe. A man like me is never safe, especially from himself. All Antoine wanted was to protect me like a good friend, Maximilien thought to himself. And just like Camille, I betrayed him too.

"Maxime," Saint-Just panted, running up to him and his Augustin from behind with his footsteps echoing in the nearly empty hallway. "Maxime wait up!" Maximilien stopped, his face lighting up at the sound of his friend. Augustin laughed, nudging his brother who blushed and hit him playfully on the arm.

"Antoine! You're back early! How was your trip? You look, ah, well." Saint-Just, Maximilien noticed, was tired and mud-spattered but grinning wider than he'd ever seen.

"The army is in little position to fight. However, morale is high and numbers are low but rising! Soon they'll be ready to bring glory to the République!" Saint-Just fell in step with them and continued. "Although Maxime, I was thinking about you for most of the trip." Augustin stifled a laugh and leaned over to his brother's ear.

"I'll leave you and your beau to it then," he whispered with a mischievous grin as Maximilien glared at him. "At least nothing but rumors can come of it." He straightened and nodded to Saint-Just. "It was nice seeing you again Antoine. I'll leave you with my brother. I have elsewhere to be."

"Au revoir Augustin," Saint-Just said either ignoring or not having heard the jests. "Anyway, back to what I was saying Maxime. I was thinking of you, and how unsafe it is here in Paris. The people are restless and it's making them dangerous. You're too important to both me and the revolution to have anything happen to you." Maximilien shook his head and turned to his friend.

"Non. To you perhaps, but not the revolution. There are other men with other talents useful for the good of France. You flatter me too much Antoine." Saint-Just laughed softly, a peaceful smile directed at Maximilien resting on his lips.

"You don't give yourself enough credit Maxime. You're the most powerful man in France. You've practically led the revolution!" The two men walked in silence for a moment, enjoying each other's company, before Saint-Just spoke again. "Maximilien? Do you know how to properly shoot?" Maximilien stopped, slightly surprised. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a shake of his head. There had been no point denying it. Saint-Just had already known his answer. "Well it's time someone shows you then. Come on!"

Hours later, Maximilien had found himself leaving Saint-Just's home with a unknotted cravat, a rumpled waistcoat, a smile on his face and an ill fated, yet hauntingly beautiful, pistol in his hand.

As soon as he had pulled the trigger, Maximilien had known he'd made a mistake. Instead of killing him instantly, someone had shoved past in an attempt to escape and caused the gun to shift lower. The bullet had embedded itself in his jaw. He had screamed animalistically as it shattered the bone, the pain overwhelming him and moving the broken fragments into agonizing positions. Black spots danced in front of him for a few seconds before the screams and gunshots and the blood-soaked room faded to blackness.

Maximilien closed his eyes. Unfortunately, Augustin was still alive. He was still alive and because of his stubbornness and unwavering support, he too was going to meet his end at the guillotine. Internally Maximilien cursed his stupid younger brother with too much loyalty and not enough self-preservation. He cursed the nobility and their contempt for the civilians and he cursed their supporters, the ones who had them imprisoned here and now. As terrible as it sounded, even to himself, he wished Augustin had died when he'd jumped. At least if he were dead he wouldn't have to suffer through the insults of the traitorous Parisians, he thought his hand curling into a fist at the thought.

Yet even innocent Augustin in his surely half living state did not have the worst fate. Antoine had it worse. He, as far as Maximilien knew, was as healthy as any other twenty six year old man. He couldn't pray for the sweet release of unconsciousness to spare himself from his own thoughts.

Maximilien shuddered involuntarily. I need to stop, he told himself firmly. I need to stop thinking about it. But while his voice combined with a few other men could persuade the people of Paris, and all of France, to execute their king and kill their friends, it couldn't persuade him to ignore the inevitable. His impending death and the deaths of those he loved most.