A/N: Unedited.

Chapter 29: Heart Against Mind

July 27, 1794

Genevieve regarded the plate of food that was shoved into her cell. Just the day before she had surrendered to a platoon of gendarmes and now, in her prison cell, she wondered if this is how Lafayette had been feeling for years. Her dress was soiled, soaking in every bit of wet dust and dirt.

For once, her mind seemed to be at rest. It seemed to have been eons ago when her greatest fear was losing Lafayette to war. She never thought she could withstand such torture - to lose everything she ever held dear. A few fraying grey hairs fell across her eyes and she brushed them back, another hand rubbing the soles of her feet. Her heels had been discarded the first hour.

But, although her mind was at rest, her heart felt hollow. What crimes had she committed? Enlisting an assassin, seducing a mind for Danton's secrets - and for what? In the end, it all felt hopeless. Lying against the wall where bars let light stream in above, she traced patterns in the dust. She wrote her husband's name, then her children's, each carefully and as clearly as she could.

Lafayette. Emmeline. Georges. Virginie.

Then she thought of every man and woman. Of her father, her sister, her brother. The Schuylers, Ollie back in the inn and his daughter Theresa, Hercules. Of John, little Magda, Peggy's son she still didn't know the name of. Alexander, and Washington, men she had yet to forgive, and Thomas Jefferson, who had risked everything for them.

Danton, who had left a family behind, Camille who loved his wife, Jean-Paul Marat who had been confined to a piteous medicinal bath but still fought for a free France, Robespierre who had a brother incarcerated along with him. All humans who loved, not at all monsters to some. She thought for the first time in a long time of Harcourt, who had his own problems. But in the end, wasn't he human? Sick, yes. Twisted, yes, but still human.

Maybe I'm as bad as them. She mused, enervated. I've sacrificed enough, haven't I?

"There has to be some other way, madame," a voice whispered thinly through the bars and she looked up, seeing Gerard's lined face. She made no move to get up, only stared at him with dull eyes.

"It's over, Gerard," she says slowly as if it'll help him understand, "Give him and the children my regards."

"No, Gen-"

"What else can I do?" Her gaze falls to the names she had traced in the grime. A eery smile fell upon lips when Gerard stared at his lady. She looked small, skin pale as her face peered between bars.

"I'll think of something."

"Gerard-"

"No. I will not lose you, too." And with that, the butler backed away from the bars and Genevieve was left alone with her demons.

July 28, 1794

Robespierre's jaw was bandaged, blood seeping through the cloth. Through short, painful sentences, he explained to her a soldier had shot him through the thin walls of the prison cell. Of course, he had been locked up next to her. He confessed if they had been under different circumstances, if they were in a different world, perhaps they would've been in love. She tells him plainly that she'd never stopped loving her husband.

"That was one of the circumstances, madame. I knew you loved him yet, somehow, I fooled myself into thinking differently. Perhaps it was because I had finally met my equal."

"You only knew a hoax," she commented, "For such a perceptive man, consider me disappointed. I had thought you would've realized that." She knew he was only being honest now because of his impending death. Better to die honest than to live a liar. She played with the edge of her skirts as he inhaled and exhaled, breathing labored. His voice was tight with pain but he spoke anyways.

"The revolution was in our way."

"Robespierre-"

"As were our countries." To her surprise, she laughed.

"I would've never loved you."

"I did say 'had we been in a different world', or did I forget to mention that?" He asked dryly and she banged the prison cell wall they share bluntly with a closed fist.

"Still. If Lafayette exists in this other world, there will never be a day where I wouldn't love him. And even if he didn't, I would never love someone like you. Even if the universe pushes us every way together, it would never be. I will always be searching for someone like him and nothing less."

"Your loyalty is admirable. He's a very lucky man." That made her raise her eyebrows. There was a long bout of silence where they just leaned against the same wall on opposite sides. "I'm curious - do you hate me, marquise?"

"In political games, feelings cannot be involved; they cannot affect tactical decisions," said Genevieve.

"And your turns were well-played." He allowed her to brush it off. He was resigned to his fate, and perhaps regretful of what he had done to come to this point. There was no hostility in his tone, just cold, deep, woe. "It was a pleasure to have you play my game, Genevieve."

"I wish I was never a player, Maximilien. I'm sorry."

"Why?" She didn't have an answer. Instead, she said:

"In another world, perhaps we could've been friends." Because she wasn't really sure if she knew the difference between hate and hurt anymore.

The evening was unexpectedly cool and Genevieve could see the fear in his eyes. She stood at the end of the line and he stood at the front of the line, she doesn't think she needs to know what he's thinking for once. Her dress, spoilt, was withering but the fabric held its own against the chill. Their last conversation played in her head when he chanced a final glance back. He's disheveled, clothes ragged. He asked the question silently once more with his eyes.

Do you hate me, marquise?

She looked away. Why did it matter to him so much anyways?

When he's escorted up onto the stage, a huge uproar from the crowd deafens her ears. To think they were cheering his name only years ago. She thought bitterly. The guard holding onto the cuffs around her wrists and ankles had a hand along the chains.

"Madame la marquise," he hissed in her ear and she ignored him bluntly. She hadn't even bothered to look into his face - there was no point in familiarizing herself with her death. "Madame, look at me."

"Leave me alone," she murmured under her breath as the guillotine slid with a high-pitched sling and ended in a thunk. Unlike as expected, no weight lifted off her shoulders. Instead, it settled heavier and her legs turned to lead. She was forced forward by the gendarme but her knees felt weak.

"Genevieve," the guard continued to probe at her until she finally turned her head sharply up at him, eyes narrowing as she stared into the face of Louis-Philippe. Her breath caught and she whipped around, backing away. When she bumped into the man in front of her and was shoved back, she hated herself for being caught by the soldier.

"You. You're… here?"

"And I thought you'd be more eager to see a friend." He pulled her close and held the chains in his hands. Lowering his lips by her ear, he whispered without making it seem inconspicuous, "Imagine my surprise when Rochambeau contacts me out of nowhere. And so soon, just out of prison."

"What of it?"

"My surprise that not only did the Lafayette butler had contacted him, but that his release was issued under the orders of the madame la marquise. A wife of a supposed traitor to France." The letter she had written just a month before, of course, asking for the release of her old commanding officer. Robespierre had approved it after she had convinced him that he was no threat. "Am I right to believe that you are still on our side?"

"And what side is that, Louis? It's been years - much has changed."

"Do you believe in Robespierre? Or what was of him?" It was a simple question that she knew the answer of. Her silence was his answer. "Then I have a plan to get you out of here. But I need you to trust me." She took a deep breath and offered one open palm behind her back which he took with one of his own gloved hands.

"I trust you."

"Good." They moved ahead until they were at the stairs. The crowd hadn't ceased their screaming, their hunger never being fulfilled for death.

"If I die, it's your fault," she breathed as she was urged up the stairs. When the crowd caught sight of her, it was almost as if they became frenzied. Their faces were morphed with rage, some people even trying to climb up the stage as she saw the russet stains on the executioner. One man had just lost their head when someone grabbed the edge of her skirts. Yelping, she jumped away towards Louis. He brought a boot down on the offending hand and the citizen became lost in the sea once more.

"Genevieve Alcott, madame la marquise." Any charges, any words the judge would've said was drowned out by the crowd. Louis let go and she walked on unsteady legs towards the guillotine. Glancing over her shoulder, she wondered if Louis was just giving her false hope.

When she was forced to her knees, she finally let the reality of it all hit her. She was going to die. So she let herself listen to whatever the crowd was saying, tried to decipher the mess of words until finally it all synchronized and her heart stopped.

"Vive la France libre! Vive la marquise de Lafayette! Vive la femme qui a tué Jean-Paul Marat!"* She didn't understand. They didn't know - how could they know? The chanting overwhelmed the judge who looked shocked at the support as the crowd began to struggle against the line of guards. There was a gunshot, screams and she's tugged to her feet as one of the citizens reach the stage and tackle the judge. Louis knocked out the man who controlled the guillotine and pulled her up. She tugged up her skirts, and he crouched down, unlocking the chains before doing the same with her wrists.

"Come."

"Is this your plan? Rely on the public favour?" She demanded as they jumped off the stage, disappearing in the ocean of men and women who were running. There were corpses, bleeding from fresh wounds but they were far and few in between. Running down the streets, the wind caught her hair as they left the crowd behind them.

"No. It was to spread copies of your cheques to the Corday family, for the portrait, for everything. It was to spread testimonies from Danton's wife of what you did to ensure his death. It was Rochambeau's word in the public newspapers that you didn't receive in prison. I'm not stupid, Genevieve."

"You were a decade ago," she shot back and he sent her a look. They arrived at a bakery where a horse awaited her. Gerard was holding the reins with an anxious expression written across his face. When he saw her, the expression vanishes and she ran into his embrace.

"You're safe! That means the plan worked!"

"It did. You're brilliant." She nearly crushed his bones when Louis cleared his throat.

"We have a tight schedule, madame." He shoved something urgently between her hands just as Gerard secured a cloak around her. The very same cloak she had used to disguise herself when she smuggled her children out of France. "Take it. It's money that will last you until the Austrian border. And this," he continued as she tucked the item into her cloak, "is a letter to the Austrian king. It'll explain who you are, why, and what to do with you."

"Louis-"

"Hush, you stupid woman. Now, get on that horse and ride." Genevieve, overwhelmed, could not do anything but to hug the soldier in front of her. Mounting the horse, she couldn't help but miss her old steed back in America. She hadn't thought of dear Châtain in years.

"This saddlepack is filled with food, clothes, a gun and his dagger." Gerard laid a hand on her thigh as she grappled the reins. "The Austrian government will pass you over to the American consul in Hamburg. There, you will find a property near there that belongs to me." He extended a map towards her which she unraveled, deciphering as much as she can from a quick glance before folding it and shoving it somewhere in her bag.

"We will meet again," she promised Louis. For a moment, she regarded the soldier she had met over a decade ago. He was older now, wiser, but he still watched her the same, "Don't get into too much trouble."

"I'll try, Genevieve." His smile was bright in such a dark world and she ached to hug him - Gerard, too - again but time was of the essence. "Now, go."

August 5, 1794

Lafayette didn't open his eyes when there was the distinct clanging of keys. After all, the longer he kept his eyes closed, the longer he could imagine himself anywhere but here. He thought maybe it to be the Austrian general whose name he didn't bother learning. His visits were rare and sparse and violent.

It was not time for a meal, he knew that much by the light that shone on his eyelids. But who was he to know? He barely knew what year it was, what day, what month, where he even was. His voice disappeared from lack of use. There was no one to talk to, and his eyes had well adjusted to the shadows of the room by now - if that wasn't worrisome enough, he couldn't remember the last time he couldn't count the dips between his ribs. This was his life now and every day he sent the same useless prayer - God, don't let me die here.

"Let go of me! I can walk by myself!" A new voice, clean and untouched, yet rough. Feminine.

"Look," a guard said in weak French, His harsh accent grated on Lafayette's ears as he continued to keep his eyes closed, "There he is, though nothing more than a pathetic scrap of flesh at this point."

"The rogue general of France doesn't look like much anymore," the guard who always stood by his door informed, "It was the General's orders."

"I was promised that he was alive." The cell door opened.

"He is." A rough kick to his side and he curled into a ball, groaning in pain. "See, madame, full of life."

"I want new clothes for him and better lodgings. I'm sure that, at least, can be rearranged." That interested him. Opening his eyes, he could see the blurry shapes of a woman in a white blouse and riding pants as well as high leather riding boots.

"We don't take orders from you."

"But the King allowed me to order you around as much as I wish. Now go, and let me see him." The guard before him left the cell just as the woman entered. Lafayette pushed himself up, trying to understand why and how. When the door closed with a rattling that echoed in his bones, he finally allowed himself to meet her gaze.

"Genevieve?"

Her face appeared before his eyes. Many times he had wondered when he would be safe again, many times he had wondered when he would see her , all his prayers had been answered.

"Lafayette, my love," her voice pulsed with longing as they embraced tightly. For years it has been since his body has thrummed in response to another human. He wept, oh, he wept. Her own arms were strong around him as she knelt into his body. He buried his face in her neck, in her riding blouse as she rubbed a hand up and down his back.

"How are you here?" He wondered aloud, dazed and not quite sure if this was still a dream. But then he searched her green eyes and saw that this was his new reality. "Are you trapped-"

"No. No," she smelled of fresh wind and his lungs inhaled fully for the first time. He felt awake, and his eyes burned with tears as she cupped his face. "We're leaving." He could barely comprehend anything, nor could he say anything that wasn't gibberish so he kept quiet as she fussed over him. She inspected the gauntness of his cheeks, touched his waist and measured his wrists.

"I do not understand."

"I'll explain everything. I will," she promised, "but just allow us time to find somewhere safe so you can heal before we continue." He nodded, head resting on her collarbones. The tears cause his throat to close up and he hiccoughed, squeezing her tight. There was no moment where two were closer than they were now. Though he ached for her lips against his, he knew there were other things to worry about.

So instead, he allowed her to pet his hair, to hug him tight, to let her fool him into thinking that they were safe. And he wondered if her heart was as light as his when she wore the ring he had given her at last.

August 10, 1794

"I have no idea how that worked."

"A strongly worded letter will bring one's self many places." Gerard smiled and Genevieve let out a breath, glancing at the door that hid her sleeping husband. "How is he?"

"Fine after I got some food in him. He's not injured badly - a few bruises, but," her voice shakes as she sits down on the couch, "I'm just glad."

"Now, all we need to do is recover the children."

"Or we can go to them." She yawned and stood, heading for the bedroom. "Goodnight, Gerard. We shall speak more in the morning."

"Of course, madame." Opening the door, she slipped in and shed her clothes in exchange for a loose shirt. She slipped into the bed beside her husband and was surprised to see him still awake.

"How?" he asked and she wriggled closer towards him, settling in his embrace. For so long she had wished for this moment and her heart lightened. He smelled of soap and linen, and she finally pressed a long awaited kiss against his lips. It was searing hot, cracked, dry lips against soft ones as his hands roamed her body and hers traveled the expanse of his back. The kiss was one that woke the Sleeping Beauty, that broke spells, awoke a lover's heart, brought a dawn to a new day. One that left him starving for more.

"I presented myself before the King as a proxy for the French Republic. I agreed to the terms and we were to be turned over to the American consul of Hamburg, where we are now."

"It sounds so simple, when put like that," he laughed bitterly and her smile faded. If only he knew. She turned away and closed her eyes.

"If only it were so. Goodnight, Lafayette." She thought he would reach out for her, but perhaps he was just as exhausted as she was. She heard him shuffling, rolling over to face away from her as well, but didn't hear a reply. It was so unlike him and a pang collided with her chest, keeping her awake. What did they do to you, my dearest?

The same thought echoed in his mind as the two stayed awake throughout the whole night.

September 26, 1794

Georges couldn't remember a day where he was quite so excited. Carrying Virginie around on his back, he paced the length of the harbour while Emmeline chatted cheerily with Aunt Ettie and Uncle Bennett.

We're finally going to see Mama! He had been holding onto this moment for so long, it was as if every dream had been made a reality. He had even allowed Aunt Eliza to style his hair just the way she wanted to.

"Stop pacing, Georges," Emmeline called out, "you're making me dizzy."

"If you faint, Philip will catch you," he retorted as Virginie's arms tightened around his neck. The blush on his sister's cheeks made him smirk victoriously as Uncle Alex crossed his arms, sitting beside his wife. Eliza gave him a glare and stood, going to stand by Aaron Burr. Georges thought that was a bit peculiar but gave it no mind as Aunt Peggy came by and swiped Virginie up from him.

"You'll tucker yourself out if you continue like this."

"No, I won't." She gave him the same glare Eliza gave Alexander and he pouted, retreating back to where the others sat. Magda and James** were playing some stupid hand game next to him but Georges only wished Mr. Jefferson were here. He said he would be here. Is he late again?

There was a ship just docking and he began to jump in his seat when someone beside him giggled. Surprised, he glanced at this girl who wore a pale pink dress and a ribbon in her hair to tie back her curls.

"Hello," he mumbled and she waved, wiggling her fingers.

"Theodosia, come here." The girl rolled her eyes, and hopped off but Georges couldn't help but leave his jaw hanging.

"Close your mouth before the flies crawl in," Hercules muttered, patting him on the back as Georges managed to snap out of his daze. "They're disembarking now." He stood, trying to peer over the numerous heads as, at last and fashionably late, Thomas Jefferson appeared in the throng. His vibrant tailcoat was easy to spot as he lead two figures through the crowd.

Georges' heart leapt to his throat when he caught a flash of green eyes and the signature bun he wore his own hair in. Sprinting forward, he let out a joyous scream. The usually stoic child felt like he was just four or five again as one of the figures crouched down. He crashed into his father just as Emmeline knocked their mother off her feet.

"Maman, Papa!" He sobbed, clutching onto his cloak as if he didn't, he'd disappear. "Je t'aime, Papa. Don't leave again." His gibberish of French and English was barely decipherable as his father hugged him tight. He smelled of salt and sea, like a stranger, but when Georges pulled back and Lafayette brushed away the tears with his thumbs and cupped his face, he knew it was truly him.

"Maman," Emmeline was in a similar state as Genevieve ran her hands through her daughter's hair. Lafayette picked up his son as if he were just a child, though he was already twelve, and spun him around.

"You've gotten so big and strong, mon ange." Genevieve got up again and Emmeline latched onto her leg as they made their way back to the group. Her arms opened up and Ettie was already there along with Bennett, hugging the dear life out of her. Eliza and Peggy piled on/

Hercules and John embraced Lafayette similarly before the two French citizens turned to the Secretary of State.

"Thank you, Thomas," Genevieve whispered, kissing him on the cheek before hugging him. Tears streamed down her face as she let out an ugly, breathless laugh. Lafayette beamed at his old friend and they shook firmly.

"Aren't you forgetting one member?" John asked at last and turned to Virginie who wore a green dress to mirror her eyes. She had the dark hair of her father and when Genevieve inhaled sharply, she stood and approached her mother.

"Maman?"

"C'est moi," she whispered and Virginie lunged into her just as Genevieve crouched. Holding her littlest girl in her arms, Genevieve couldn't help but feel displaced. All this love while France witnessed such bloodshed - she'd never be free from that. She lost her children growing up, she lost years without her sister, father, brother.

"Emmeline and Georges told me all about you," she announced proudly in fluent French, "and I love you!"

"I love you too, ma chérie." Burrowing her face in her daughter's hair, Genevieve picked her up while holding her tight. Maybe this displacement could feel good, with time. She raked her tear-filled gaze across her friends and family, and thought maybe.

But her heart said no. Even when Lafayette pressed a kiss to her temple, she couldn't help but feel that this wasn't right.

A/N: Where I reference every possible character ever and even bring back Louis-Philippe, a real OG player, and change history because originally, Lafayette didn't escape prison until around 1797. Weird, I strangely like Robespierre after this.

This isn't the end - we still have some bittersweet chapters to go through.

REVIEWS:

BriCat03: I have dramatic tendencies. Thanks for reviewing!

Kitty of 2 kingdoms: Yep, and although they're in America now, it ain't over yet.

Dulharpa: I think Eliza is more than annoyed. I want to include the children more now that they're all reunited.

baileybubbles: I corrected it as soon as you reviewed so thank you for correcting me! Also, imagine Spanish Lafayette. Oh my... not a great image. Thanks for the review!

* "Vive la France libre! Vive la marquise de Lafayette! Vive la femme qui a tué Jean-Paul Marat!" Long live free France! Long live the marquise de Lafayette. Long live the woman who killed Jean-Paul Marat.

** Magda and James… James is Peggy and John's son, Magda their daughter.