"Maxime," she'd said laughing and pulling the book from his hand. "Come outside! You can't hide away and read forever!"

"Yes, I most certainly can Gabrielle," he'd said hotly, snatching it back and reopening it to page 394. "And besides it's cold outside. I'd rather read in front of the fire where it's nice and warm!" She'd stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout. Maximilien tried to ignore her but finally couldn't help himself. He laughed and stuck out his tongue.

"Besides, you spend too much time reading such boring things. Who cares about," Gabrielle paused to think. "Rousseau. Yes! Who cares about him anyway?"

"Personally I find his ideas quite interesting." Once again Gabrielle reached for Maximilien's book. This time he noticed her hand and carefully moved the book out of her reach.

"S'il te plaît, Maxime. Jacques even has a new sled. You can't tell me you don't want to try it out. I know all the other boys back at your fancy school would. And I'm sure your grandparents won't mind. They like me." She fluttered her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

"Fine," Maximilien said, trying and failing to sound annoyed at his oldest friend. "I'll go put on something warm. Just don't let anyone see you this time." He grinned and adopted the self-important tone Gabrielle's father often used around those he deemed inferior. "It's not proper for a girl to go sledding, especially at ten years old." Gabrielle laughed again.

"For as serious as you usually are, you can be pretty funny Maxime! Jacques and I will meet you at the hill in ten minutes!" He'd nodded eagerly and watched as Gabrielle walked through the door to rejoin her brother who was waiting outside. Maximilien smiled to himself, looking fondly at the fading forms belonging to two of his best friends. Gabrielle and Jacques could be patient for another minute or two. Carefully he opened his book again and resumed reading.

Maximilien Robespierre awoke for the third time in several hours to the searing pain coming from his shattered jaw. He took a deep shuddering breath to calm his nerves and leaned his head against the cold stone wall behind him. From inside the cell, you couldn't even tell that it was Thermidor. He shivered, although not from the cold.

The memory of Gabrielle and their shared childhood had been rather unexpected. He hadn't seen her other than in passing since the unfortunate execution of her brother. When was that, he asked himself running one hand through his blood-clotted hair and brushing a chestnut lock from his eyes. A year ago? He sighed, the simple act sending a shooting pain through his shattered jaw. It was almost impossible to tell. The stress of leading the Révolution had turned days into what felt like years.

The day had been hot, so it had to have been at least late spring. His cravat had been soaked with sweat and the heat added to the tension had made the whole affair worse than it needed to be. And of course, Gabrielle had overreacted. She'd acted as though they were executing her brother on a mere whim. And bright though she was, she had thought something as senseless as a childhood spent together would keep him from executing a dangerous counter-revolutionary, loyal only to the monarchy.

"Let him go! Please let him go Maxime," Gabrielle had sobbed into his shoulder. Still, Maximilien had stayed firm, wrapping his arms awkwardly around his friend's shaking body and praying that no one would see them in the unfortunate position.

"Je suis désolé. I really am sorry but we cannot do that." He took a deep breath. He'd known this would happen. Gabrielle would try to save Jacques. She'd always been a strong-willed girl and Jacques had always been her favorite sibling. And of course, she wouldn't understand why it had to be done. In her mind his closeness to her and Jacques as children should have overruled his loyalty to the revolution." He is a monarchist and a dangerous man. He was raving about how the people were safer under the king's rule! We cannot allow-"

"You can allow whatever you want Maxime and you know it! They trust you! All of them do. You have them wrapped around your little finger! They'll do whatever you want them to! Let Jacques go! You know he meant nothing by what he said! He's always been rash, even when we were children playing in the streets of Arras. Please." Tears forming in her eyes, she took his hands in hers. "Do it for me Maxime." 

Maximilien answered with a slight shake of his head and had dropped her hands.

"Gabrielle, listen. If Jacques were part of our cause, if he were dedicating his life to France the way we are then-" She cut him off with a ruthless glare, her flashing eyes piercing him like icy blue spears.

"If he were a part of your cause," Gabrielle had said mockingly. "If he were a part of your precious Jacobin club or your Paris Commune, then you would let him live!" Her voice rose higher and higher with every syllable until she was shouting. "He's one of your closest childhood friends! Is that not as important as your politics? How could you not let him live? And if not for him, why not for me?"

"He supported the monarchy! That makes him an enemy of the revolution," Maximilien shouted back with equal force. He fleetingly thought of the DuPlays, the family he rented his room from, who were eating supper in the room below. They had always praised his quiet habits, but now could probably hear the shouting match above them. For once he abandoned all thought of reputation and fonts his rant. "I'm doing what's best for the country. We're not just killing him for no reason! It's for the revolution! Why can't you see that? Everything's for the revolution! It's the only way we'll be free of tyranny!" He'd paused and taken a much-needed breath. "If it were best for the revolution," he said, more quietly now. "If it were best for the people and the revolution I would sacrifice myself. You know I-"

"Ah yes," she'd yelled triumphantly cutting him off. "There! You've gone and said it yourself! Everything's for the revolution! You don't care about anything else! I hate you and I hate your stupid revolution," Gabrielle screamed. She lunged forward. Startled by her sudden movement, Maximilien couldn't process what was happening until he felt her hand hard and red hot against his cheek. He staggered backward, one hand pressed against the stinging side of his face. "I hate you, Maximilien Robespierre! I hate you and your Jacobins and the whole Commune! I hope you all rot in hell! And to think that we used to be friends. At one point," she'd breathed, her eyes still filled with contempt, tears and now a twinge of regret. "At one point I wished we'd been more than friends. Although you were always too preoccupied with your law office and later the revolution to court anyone properly." It had taken Maximilien a moment to realize what she'd meant. Suddenly it clicked, and he opened his mouth, desperate to say something to save the situation.

"Don't you understand," he asked, frantically trying to grab her wrist and make her stay or see reason, or anything really. "I'm not doing this for me. It's for the good of the people! It's for the good of France!" It had been too late. Gabrielle had already stormed out the door. He'd heard her apologizing to the Duplays for the noise and thanking them for allowing her to visit. After watching her fading form from the window he'd cursed and aggressively pulled the quill from his ink-pot, signing his name on the death warrant and repeating over and over again that he was in the right.

The next day he hadn't attended the daily executions at La Place De La Révolution.

Could there have been some truth in what Gabrielle had said, he asked himself, his green eyes half-closed. Was the revolution really the only thing he had cared about? Was executing one of his best friends from childhood really for the benefit of France? After all, not only Jacques had died because of the revolution. Danton and Desmoulins who had also been among his closest friends, and fellow revolutionaries for a time, had died as well.

But something justified it, a stronger voice in his mind said. They wanted to end the revolution prematurely before it had even reached its full potential. They were for it at first, yes, but they turned against you and the revolution.

He thought of Camille, the boy he had helped with his stuttering when they were in school who grew into the young man who had believed in him and the revolution so much, and finally the father who had made him the godfather of his only child. He thought of Danton, who had been his friend, a father to three children, and an extraordinary revolutionary until his disapproval of the Terror.

Maximilien laughed bitterly at the thought of his dead friends, only to grimace in pain and choke on the blood that was pouring in from his shattered jaw, the metallic taste filling his mouth. The blood of Danton chokes you, his enemies called to him once. Now it was his own blood that he choked on.

A tear slid down his cheek and into the filthy bandage that held his jaw in place. It had been years since he'd allowed himself to cry. He had needed to maintain his reputation and powerful revolutionary leaders did not cry. Now it didn't matter. He was no longer "L'incorruptible", the most feared and respected man in all of France. He no longer held power. Instead, they view him as a tyrant; an enemy of the state. An enemy of the very government he helped create.

A sob left Maximilien's lips. It all was too much. Once again, the pain became unbearable and he fell back into unconsciousness.