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cracking marble
act two, winter
chapter twelve, joyeux noël

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( decembre , 1831 )

THE SNOW DID NOT once let up in the following week, Mathilde found herself struggling to remember what Paris had looked like before the downpour.

Amélie, however, embraced the sudden change in surroundings in a way only she could; she adored it. Not a day would go by that she wouldn't be running in the streets trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue or ambush Courfeyrac with a snowball fight. And of course she was entirely too thrilled at the prospect of her first white Christmas. Her sister told her not to get her hopes up, as any guardian would, but as Christmas Eve arrived with another flurry of snowy magic, it was difficult to deny that Christmas of 1831 would be white.

The small brunette clung onto her eldest sister's hand with her cold one, her body wrapt up tightly in a winter coat - insisted by Joly, who swore she would catch hypothermia if she didn't. Small specks of snow caught in her dark hair which was tied back in a plait that seemed much messier than when it had been done that morning.

In tandem, the two sisters wandered along the streets. The hour must have been approaching nine o'clock by the looks of the sky littered with bright stars shining down at them. The pair stopped every now and then on our journey to greet those less fortunate and bestow seasons greetings and loaf of bread - from the basket in Mathilde's left hand - upon them.

They hadn't walked far from the Musain, a mere ten minutes or so. Their destination was the old cathedral in the centre of Paris, locally known as the Halls, due its long winding stone corridors. Mathilde and Amélie had ventured out that Christmas Eve to visit the newest member of Les Amis de l'ABC, Julien Laurent.

Julien was a kind hearted man with a good conscience. On more than one occasion he had accompanied the pair out on errands to feed the less fortunate and speak with them. There was something about him that Mathilde couldn't quite pinpoint. His smile maybe? Or his eyes? No. But whatever it was, it made one trust him. The way he spoke, it was though everyone who crossed his path was important to him - he valued every person the same. Old, young, rich, poor, healthy or ill - a man of God through and through. It was no surprise he was training to be a pastor at the Halls.

Turning the street corner, the Halls came into view. The large gothic building was a beacon of light, glowing in the middle of the quarter as voices rang from within, chorusing Christmas carols in anticipation of the following day. To any onlooker it would seem perfectly humble but in that quarter, the blonde found her gaze wasn't drawn to the cathedral that lit up its surroundings - instead it was drawn to a hunched figure sat on the steps, wrapped in a thin shawl surrounded pigeons.

"Amélie, who is that?" Mathilde asked in a hushed tone as they began approaching the woman who was affectionately petting the birds around her.

"The bird woman." Her sister replied with a small smile, "She's always there."

Stepping closer, the light from the Halls lit up the features of bird woman. Her hair was as grey as stone partly covered with her shawl, her skin was sunken and gaunt, yet her eyes still shined bright blue baring years of experience and wisdom with a gentle smile that creased her features and conveyed all the kindness of in the world.

"At the end of each day, on the steps of the Halls." Amélie hummed as the pair came closer to the woman. "The little old bird woman comes. In her own special to the people she calls:"

"Come buy my bags full of crumbs." The lady beckoned, showing them a small sack in her hand, no doubt containing crumbs of bread.

"Joyeux Noël, Madame." Amélie smiled, speaking in a quiet voice as she took a seat by the woman, causing a few pigeons to flap their wings in protest.

Mathilde mirrored the actions of my sister and sunk onto a step beside the fragile woman, pulling the bread basket onto her lap, having to shoo some birds away as she did so.

"Have some bread; it's our present to you."

"No, no. Feed the birds instead." The lady chuckled, in a hoarse voice; gesturing around them, where more and more birds were gathering, "I need not the bread." She insisted, as she stroked a bird residing on her knee.

"But it's Christmas Eve." Amélie said in a small voice as she looked up at the woman, "Madame, are you not hungry?"

"Don't you worry about me, Mademoiselle." The lady replied, in the same chuckle as she took Amélie's hand in her own frail one."Their little ones are far worse off than I."

"Nourrir les oiseaux," The lady continued, looking down at the small birds nesting aginst the three of them for warmth in the harsh winter night. "It's only a centime a bag, Mademoiselle."

She spared a smile at the blonde woman beside her before grasping her hand as well.

"Come feed the little birds, show them you care. And you'll be glad if you do." She smiled as she serenaded the pair,"Their young ones are hungry, their nests are so bare. All it takes is a centime from you."

"Feed the birds, a centime a bag." Mathilde sang quietly, putting the basket forward for the birds to eat. "Centime, centime, a centime a bag."

Reaching forward slowly, the blonde caressed the head of a small bird to her right, her soft melody leaving her lips as she did so.

"Feed the birds, that's what she cries while overhead, her birds fill the skies."

The snow continued to whirl down to blanket the city in a gentle swarm of white. Despite their movement, the quarter seemed quite still and silent, the carolling form within the Halls had ceased and suddenly a booming creak echoed into the quarter causing many of the birds to scatter and the bourgeois exited from the Christmas Eve service.

"All around the cathedral the saints and apostles," Mathilde found herself singing bitterly, as they emerged oblivious to the suffering in the city,

With a glare, the young woman rose to my feet attempting to catch some of their attentions.

"Look down as she sells her wares!"

A bourgeois man and his wife brushed past her shoulder, with looks of distaste as they kicked the birds out of their path. Mathilde clenched my jaw with a frustrated sigh at their oblivion.

"Although you can't see it, you know they are smiling, each time someone shows that he cares."

Sinking back down to her feet, as more people descended the steps without sparing a single glance at their party, the bird woman stroked the blonde's arm compassionately. Mathilde's gaze then slowly drifted towards a young bourgeois woman, easily of a similar age to her, who was in conversation with Amélie on the bird woman's other side.

The bourgeois lady handed Amélie a coin before sparing her older sister a brief sympathetic glance and running down the steps to the man and woman who had barged past the blonde minutes previously, who looked very disgraced by her interaction with them.

"Though her words are simple and few." Mathilde hummed, tearing the bread in the basket and throwing it for the birds, "Listen, listen, she's calling to you." She sighed, as she scattered more crumbs and the number of people exiting the Halls decreased. "Feed the birds, a centime a bag."

"Centime, centime," The bird lady joined the song in a soft harmony, "A centime a bag."

Not until that moment did it occur to the blonde that they still had to visit Laurent in the Halls, the look in her eyes must have give away her intention as the bird woman let go of both of them and with a kind smile.

"Merry Christmas, mes chéries."

"Merry Christmas." The blonde mustered a small smile, retrieving her basket and rising to her feet.

Amélie rushed to her sister's side, taking her hand in hers as she spared the woman a small wave and the duo progresses up the steps and through the hard oak doors of the Halls.

Their footsteps echoed in the stone corridors that held as much warmth as outside did. Walking slightly cautiously, due to their unfamiliarity with the building, they peaked through a door that was slightly ajar.

The room behind it was a large chamber littered with rows of seats for parishioners and for choirs, accompanied by stained glass windows and religious paintings on the high ceiling in imitation of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. Candles encompassed the room giving it an almost heavenly glow, as a tall man paced the circumference of the chamber extinguishing the flames with a candle snuffer.

"Bonsoir, Julien." The blonde called, with a small chuckle as she and Amélie entered the chamber and ambled over to their friend.

The young man turned at the mention of his name, and, upon recognising the voice that had called it, his features broke out into a smile.

"Mathilde! Amélie! What a pleasant surprise."

Amélie ran over to him with an excited smile as he bent down to her level,

"Have you got taller?" He asked her with a small smile, "And to think I only saw you a few days ago!"

The young girl giggled at his assumptions just as Mathilde arrived next to them, with a small smile of her own.

"How are you both?" Laurent asked, sparing a quick glance up at the young woman before looking back at Amélie.

"Very well, M'sieur Laurent." She grinned at the man before her, holding her head up high.

"I'm glad to hear it." The brown haired man replied, with a chuckle, as he rose back to his full height. "What can I do for you?"

"Madame Houcheloupe sent us." The blonde explained, setting her basket down on one of the nearest seats, "She wonders whether you'll be making an appearance at dinner tomorrow?"

"Well, I have service in the morning." The man replied, pursing his lips and he became wrapt in thought, "But yes, I shall do my best to make an appearance."

"Wonderful!" Mathilde smiled, before adding in a smaller voice, "We'll need someone to say grace and under no circumstances will I let that be Grantaire."

"Yes, I imagine that would be quite amusing." Julien agreed, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as he chuckled.

"We'll look forward to seeing you." The blonde nodded, retrieving her basket once more and reaching for Amélie's hand.

"And I, you, mademoiselles." He replied, bowing his head slightly. "Oh, before you go, would you do me a favour?"

The pair stopped in their tracks, turning back and resuming their previous stance opposite him.

"Of course, how may we help?"

The man did not reply with words but simply withdrew a small folded piece of parchment from one of his inside jacket pockets and pressed it into Mathilde's palm.

"What is this? If you don't mind me enquiring?" She asked, with furrowed brows, looking over the folded parchment now in her possession.

"It's an update on the ministers." Julien replied, his voice hushed.

After joining the society, it didn't take long for Julien to disclose his profession, which immediately interested Enjolras. Whenever Julien preached his sermons, he would also include subtle points about poverty and what the people could do to help, yet not in such a direct way that ministers and parishioners wouldn't see his true political intention.

"They haven't grown suspicious as of yet but I fear they may do soon." He continued, looking behind him trepidatiously. "Père Stephan expressed some interest in the sermon I gave this evening, he said it was unusual. So I'm going to play it a little safer for the months to come."

"Well, that's fair enough." Mathilde agreed, running her fingers across the dry parchment.

"Could you pass it on to Enjolras?" Laurent asked suddenly, raising his eyebrows in query.

The small smile on her lips faltered slightly.

"Oh."

"I know you don't like him very much." Julien sighed, giving her a sympathetic smile.

"No, no. It's not that-" She stifled, in a less than convincing chuckle, "You're mistaken, I-I do like Enjolras."

"Well, you've got a really funny way of showing it."

"Amélie!"

The scolding left the blonde's lips as she turned to look on her younger sister, who did nothing than smirk back at her.

"Enjolras and I don't always see eye to eye," She elaborated to Laurent, who looked very unconvinced by the excuse. "I find it easier to avoid conversation with him and spare myself the frustration."

Amélie gave a soft huff.

"It's not always been like that." She disagreed, with a vigorous shake of her head, "Last week, you two were really good friends, I don't understand-"

"You're too young to understand this, Amélie." The young woman cut her off, as she swept some stray strands of hair from her face, no longer wishing to partake in a discussion centralising itself around the last person in the world she wanted to concern herself with.

An awkward silence fell over the three, no doubt triggered by the harshness of the blonde woman. Julien gave a light cough to clear his throat before breaking it.

"It's none of my business, of course." He started, excusing himself politely, "But he speaks very fondly of you, Mathilde, and I can tell he misses your company."

Mathilde knew that the pastor spoke the truth.

She had caught Enjolras many times, over that last week, sparing her longing glances across the meeting rooms or clenching his jaw when she would be in conversation with one of the other boys. Her attitude was to simply look away and let it be. But she couldn't deny, despite how much she disliked herself for it, she missed his company too.

"We should be going now." The blonde heard herself say, eager to escape Laurent's confrontation. "Amélie can pass on the message for you, I'm sure. But Madame will be wondering where we've got to."

Taking Amélie's hand in her own, she pressed the parchment into her other open hand, then promptly seized the bread basket and bid Julien goodbye.

"We'll see you tomorrow." She said, with a forced smile, despite her fondness of the man.

"Au revoir, M'sieur!" Amélie called, as they approached the exit once more.

"Au revoir, mes amis!" Laurent replied with a soft chuckle, as he turned back around and continued his duty, extinguishing the candles.

Walking slightly faster than she was fully aware of, she and Amélie were reimmersed into the cold night once again, slipping out ofthe hard oak doors of Halls and back into the freezing air.

Mathilde's gaze surveyed the quarter, my heart falling upon seeing that the bird woman was gone along with her birds and her bread, leaving no trace that she'd ever been sat there at all. All she could hope was that the older lady had found somewhere to shelter for the night.

Neither of the sisters said a word until they had walked for a good few minutes in silence, Amélie was the first to speak up, although she seemed rather hesitant.

"He's right, you know." She said in a small voice, but against the stillness of the streets it seemed as though she'd yelled the statement.

"Who's right?" The blonde asked, with a small sigh, looking down fondly at the young girl.

"Laurent." She implored, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"How so?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow slightly as she removed her gaze from the girl and fixed it on the street ahead.

"M'sieur Enjolras does miss you." Amélie said, squeezing her sister's hand gently, "I can tell ... he's sad."

Mathilde pondered for a second, knowing she was right.

"And how do you know that?" She retorted, looking down at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Little people know lots of things." She replied, mirroring the expression, catching her sister slightly off guard. "No one should be sad at Christmas, Mathilde."

"Well, he's not alone." Mathilde let out a slow sigh. "I, too, could be in happier spirits."

"Well, why can't you?"

They turned the corner back into the centre of Paris, increasing their walking pace as they quickly became familiar with their surroundings.

"It's not that simple, Amélie." Mathilde chuckled, slightly derisive at the young girl's naïvety.

"Sure it is." She argued, furrowing her eyebrows as her small face morphed into a small pout, "You just have to find something to be happy about."

"I thought I had found it."

"What did you say?"

In response, Mathilde straightened up and squared her shoulders, adjusting her posture as she attempted to dismiss her sister's attentions from her involuntary statement.

"Nothing, chérie."

Snow was beginning to fall a little heavier now, surely promising a white Christmas for Amélie the next morning.

"Come on, Madame will be expecting us." The blonde ushered the small child along the dark, winding street.

***

"COMBEFERRE! Combeferre!"

Amélie's voice rang out in the stairwell, as she clambered messily up each step.

"It's Christmas, Combeferre!" She called, her excitement outweighing her rationality, as she failed to heed the fact that her older brother simply wouldn't hear her.

"Shush! Amélie, it's very early." Mathilde scolded the girl amongst a chuckle as she followed her quickly up the steps, "You'll wake all of Paris!"

"They should be awake, anyway!" She cried in glee, her breathing slightly laboured as she reached the landing of the apartment, "It's Christmas!"

The girl spun on her heel and immediately began pounding upon the apartment door, giggling at she did so. After a few moments had passed - in which time Amélie's knocking only increased in volume - footsteps could be heard from the other side of the door, and not a second late did it swing open.

"Enjolras!"

None other than the marble man had opened the door. His hand was somewhere tangled in his hair which was slightly more unkempt than Mathilde had seen it before, and dark circles loomed under his stoic blue eyes. Those eyes met Mathilde's as he looked out into the landing - the girl noticed him tense after recognising her presence. He took in a sharp breath and straightened his posture, his eyes boring into hers as though they were looking for an answer to a burning question.

With a clenched jaw, the bruised marble figure in front of us finally greeted the pair. He gave a soft cough, dropping his hand to his side and clearing his throat.

"Uh, good morning, Mathilde."

His voice was quieter than she'd ever heard him speak, and his eyes immediately darted to Amélie once the words had left his mouth.

A strained smile replaced his stoic expression as he looked down at the younger girl, stepping backwards and allowing her to enter the apartment.

"Bonjour Amélie." He said, his voice changed from his tone moments previously; Mathilde's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as their exchange continued.

"Merry Christmas, M'sieur." Amélie smiled up at Enjolras as she stepped through the threshold, however it didn't take a moment for her fixation to change and her voice to shout, "Combeferre!"

Enjolras, looking reluctant, transferred his gaze back to the blonde, who stepped up the final step of the stairwell, her hands falling to my sides now that she was on the same level of him. His cool gaze surveyed her from head to toe, pretending not to notice, the girl made to interrupt the silence brewing between them, but before a word could leave her lips, Amélie made her return and cut her off.

"This is for you from Monsieur Laurent." The little girl addressed the marble man, as she produced the piece of parchment - that Mathilde bestowed upon her the night before - and placed it into Enjolras' clenched hand that soon relaxed at her touch.

"Oh, thank you." Enjolras coughed, taking the parchment in hand and giving a small smile of gratitude at the child before tucking it away in his pockets as she scampered off into the apartment.

He looked back at Mathilde; she couldn't help but analyse his appearance once more. The circles under his eyes were the darkest she'd ever seen them, signalling his lack of sleep that she was far too familiar with. Looking just above the circles, his eyes themselves looked slightly irritated as though they'd been strained or open for too long as the blue of his irises shone out in contrast. The area around his mouth and chin appeared unshaven, and showed evident signs of stumble, as he rubbed his hand across it nonchalantly.

The blonde was surprised to see his red jacket not in its usual place upon his shoulders, instead it was nowhere in sight. A dark blue jacket hung across his shoulders making for a chance, as a loose cravat hung around his neck yet to be tied.

"Hello." She heard herself say, folding her arms across her chest, as she gave the man before her a slight smile.

At the sound of my voice, his demeanour calmed a little but nevertheless he still responded in the smaller voice he greeted me in, nodding his head slightly.

"Hello."

His hands clasped behind his back as Mathilde averted her gaze from his, hoping desperately for someone to save the both of them from facing this scenario.

She cleared her throat, as she straightened her posture turning back to face him, using all she had in her to keep the conversation flowing.

"Um, will you be joining us for lunch?" She asked, with a faint smile, nervously tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Madame said that she was planning on cooking-"

"Yes," The marble man replied, with a nod of his head, "Yes, I'll be there."

"Oh, good. Good." She repeated, unsure of what else to say. "That's - um - good news."

And back came the silence, crawling back into the hallway in invisible stealth, having not long been gone.

"How is - um - living with Madame?"

Mathilde's gaze found those cold blue eyes of his to see them narrow in query.

He'd been the first person to ask how hers and Amélie's new living arrangement were fairing; not a single negative word filled her thoughts.

Shortly after the incident with Enjolras the previous week, Madame Houcheloupe had approached Mathilde and asked if Amélie and her wanted the rooms in her townhouse. With the status of her and Enjolras' relationship up in the air, the offer seemed too opportune to refuse and, on a practical note, left more room for Enjolras and Combeferre to occupy the apartment.

As soon as he queried, Mathilde couldn't fight off the warm smile spreading itself across her features at the thoughts entering her mind.

"She is more than accommodating it's quite lovely." She told the revolutionary, fondly, with a content sigh. "Amélie's found a new motherly figure in her, I believe."

The cool sapphire pools he had for eyes didn't once leave her soft hazel ones when she spoke. However when her speaking ceased, he took a moment to compute it, part of her wondered whether he'd been listening at all.

"Good," He nodded, clearing his throat, "That's - um - good."

Sparing him a soft smile, Mathilde's eyes drifted off elsewhere, craning her neck a little in attempt to see just what Amélie and Combeferre were doing that was taking so long.

Enjolras' eyes widened at the recognition of his lack of awareness in not inviting the girl into the apartment. He immediately jumped out of the threshold, stepping backwards.

"Sorry, did you want to-?" He asked, freeing up one of his hands to gesture indoors.

"Oh, yes!" She replied, eagerly; ecstatic at the potential prospect of leaving this exchange behind them "Thank you.".

With another small smile, Mathilde slipped through the door into the apartment, taking in the change of surroundings as she heard the lock of the door click in place as Enjolras shut the front door.

The apartment hadn't changed a bit, and yet seemed slightly more put together - no doubt, due to Ferre's efforts - it was simply an organised mess.

"It appears we haven't spoken in quite a while." Enjolras' voice cut the silence like a knife, as Mathilde turned back to face him.

The blonde gave him a strained smile, as she anticipated the end of the exchange that would hopefully soon be interrupted by an overexcited Amélie or a jolly Ferre; but, alas, she had no such luck.

"No, we haven't." She agreed with the marble man, whose eyes did not leave her. "Well, not since-"

"Since I kissed you?"

Her breathing hitched in her throat at his hold interruption, as she stifled a quiet gasp. Her body froze, quite unsure how to move forward from this point. His expression remained unchanged, as he surveyed her reactions and she tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear, anxiously.

"Ah! Merry Christmas, chérie!" A jolly voice cried from the young woman's left, she let out a chuckle made up of a mixture of amusement and anxiety, as her older brother entered the room, tying his cravat in place.

"Joyeux Noël, 'Ferre." She smiled, as he greeted her with a kiss on either cheek before she looked him over, slightly impressed with his efforts. "You look smart."

"Well, it is Christmas." Ferre chuckled, a warm smile tugging at his lips, as Amélie galloped in from the bedroom and latched onto Combeferre's hand.

"Yes, I suppose." Mathilde conceded, sparing a quick glance at the man who was waiting by the door. "We really should be going, Madame will need our help and I promised on our behalf."

Enjolras opened up the door to the apartment, causing Ferre to grin and nod in its direction.

"As you say."

***

THE DAY PRESSED ON WITH the smells of cooked goose filling the downstairs of the Musain. The snow continued to fall daintily as the late afternoon approached and everyone had huddled inside the Musain for warmth. Oil lamps were burning on the walls, various festive ornaments hung around the room and all the tables had been aligned and draped in a tablecloth ready to seat the seventeen of us who had promised to attend.

Madame Houcheloupe was busy in the kitchen and made an appearance every now and then to greet newcomers as they escaped the cold, meeting them with a fond smile and open arms.

Éponine and Gavroche had made the effort look smarter, both had scrubbing their faces free of dirt and combing their hair, wearing their nicest attire for the special day. Éponine was sat on the floor with Amélie - whose Christmas cheer had yet to let up - who was, by the looks of it, teaching her how to braid her hair.

Gavroche was perched on a high stool on the bar, next to Grantaire. He, too, had made the effort to look smart, wearing a moss coloured waistcoats with his white shirt tucked in his brown trousers. However, he was not to be found without his crucial accessory - a bottle of wine that sat on the bar top, with Grantaire's left hand resting on it protectively as he listened intently at Gavroche's excited rambling.

Musichetta, aided by Jehan and Marius, was beginning to lay the table with place settings, crockery and cutlery. She wore a simple pale blue dress, with her dark hair fastened into a complex style at the back of her head, Jehan wore a navy waistcoat and fluttered around the table placing down plates like an overexcited butterfly. Marius had chosen a waistcoat with overlapping stripes of green and brown with a slight embellishment of gold at the hem of the piece of clothing.

Combeferre, Feuilly, Bahorel and Enjolras had been delegated the job of bringing various hot plates ladened with food to the table, exchanging in small talk as they did so.

Courfeyrac, Joly and Lesgles stood by the open window near the door as the doctor took puffs from the pipe in his hand and smiled along with the conversation between himself, the centre and the unlucky man.

The food upon the table had not been out long and was still steaming profusely when Madame emerged from the kitchen behind the bar, holding a large plate displaying a well cooked and seasoned roast goose.

"This is astonishing, Madame." Courfeyrac chuckled as he and his group sauntered over from the window, Joly putting out his pipe as they did so.

"Oh, you are too kind, Courfeyrac." Madame blushed, as she wafting away his conpliment, drawing out a chair at which to sit upon.

Everyone took their seats, excitedly as a slight buzz of chatter filled the room. Mathilde slipped into a seat with Jehan on her left and Courfeyrac on her right, with none other than the marble man opposite her. The seat at the head of the table was saved for Laurent who was yet to show, however just as the thought entered her head, she was contradicted.

The bell over the door of the Musain gave a small ringing sound as a figure wrapped in a coat entered through the door, as a cold breeze swept into the room, causing the oil lamps to flicker.

"Laurent, my man!" Courf cried, happily as the pastor entered the room, taking off his hat with a broad smile and shaking the snow off it as the room filled with the sounds of greetings.

"Not too late am I?" He asked, as he shook off his coat and turned around briefly to hang it and his hat upon the stand near the window.

"Of course not," Madame chuckled rising from her seat - which was adjacent to the pastor's vacant one - to greet him. "We were beginning to worry you wouldn't make it!"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world." He smiled, bestowing a light kiss upon her hand, as he slipped into the empty chair at the table.

A soft comfortably silence fell over the table, as we all waited for someone to speak up, luckily Jehan read the hint quite well.

"Shall we say grace?" The poet prompted, looking around with a raised eyebrow.

Sounds of assent and agreed filled the room as he voiced everyone's thoughts, everyone's gaze drifting to the end of the table to a certain pastor.

"Laurent, take it away!" Courfeyrac chuckled, sitting up straight in his seat with a melodramatic drum roll upon the tabletop.

"Of course." The pastor smiled, rising from his seat once as everyone around the table all linked hands to join in prayer. "Well, I must start with wishing you all a very happy Christmas."

More noises of assent were heard from around the tables as we all exchanged fond smiles with each other.

"After all Christmas is a time for celebration, for family and friends," Laurent explained, looking around at the group of us, "For forgiveness and most importantly, for love.

"Thank you lord for bringing all of us together today, for the food on our table and for the company we're keeping and the love we share." He summarised, succinctly, before adding, "For the family we've chosen."

Jehan gave my hand a comforting squeeze that Mathilde returned compassionately, as all gazes flew back to Laurent who gave a small nod and finished the prayer.

"Amen."

"Amen!" The group repeated, as the pastor sank back into his seat and the comfortable silence fell back over our table.

However, this silence didn't last long as it was soon interrupted by the singing voice of Gavroche.

"Life is full of sweet surprises;" The boy sang from across the table, looking around at all the grownups, "Everyday's a gift."

"The sun comes up;" Amélie continued, sparing a look at Jehan from her seat, "and I can feel it lift my spirit."

"Fills me up with laughter," sang the poet, squeezing Mathilde'z hand as his gaze drifted further up the table, "fills me up with song."

"I look into the eyes of love," Marius smiles from Laurent's other side, looking fondly at the pastor, giving him a pat on the shoulder, "and know that I belong."

"Bless us all," Laurent cemented, looking around at the group, "who gather here."

"The loving family I hold dear." Combeferre chimed on, from opposite Jehan, placing an arm around Amélie who was on his right.

"No place on earth," Joly and Musichetta harmonised from Jehan's left, "compares with home."

"And every path will bring me back from where I roam." Madame and Grantaire sang together on the left of the happy couple at the far end of the table near Laurent.

"Bless us all," Lesgles and Feuilly continued the song, who were seated on Enjolras' left, "with playful years."

"With noisy games and joyful tears." Bahorel added, looking cheekily at the two children on his left, from where his seat was, next to Marius.

"We reach for you and we stand tall." Courfeyrac and Éponine harmonised from Mathilde's right.

"And in our prayers and dreams," The blonde continued the song, her eyes falling on each individual at that table with deepest compassion. "We ask you bless us all."

"We reach for you and we stand tall." Enjolras repeated the lyric, his eyes not so subtly lingering on the blonde opposite him.

"And in our prayers and dreams" Laurent sang slowly, "We ask you bless us all." He finalised, as his raised his glass of wine in the air, prompted everyone else to do the same except the children who instead just raised their hands.

"To family." said the pastor, with a kind smile.

"To family!" The whole of room agreed, grinning from ear to ear as they all clinked glasses and began to dig in to the feast that lay before them.

***

"WE SHOULD PLAY A GAME at Christmas, shouldn't we?"

Courfeyrac's voice cut across the mild conversation filing the warm meeting room, after dinner, Madame had insisted that they go on upstairs and entertain themselves.

"Oh, how about the game where we take it in turns to say what we're thankful for?" Jehan grinned from his seat on the floor where he sat crossed legged next to Éponine and Amélie.

"That's the most boring game I've ever heard." Grantaire complained, with a groan as he leant on Mathilde who happened to be seated next to him in the crowded room.

"Quiet, Grantaire!" The blonde silenced him, pushing him off her in response to his comment, she took a breath in before smiling down at the poet, "That sounds lovely, Jehan."

"Shall I start then?" He asked, raising an eyebrows as he looked around the room to meet no objection.

Despite his eagerness in suggesting the game, when faced with the reality of taking his turn, Jehan took a few to collate his thoughts.

"Well, I'm grateful for the little things." The poet said finally. "All the things that we all do that go unnoticed and yet somehow make up our entire person." He nodded ahead of him where Courf was sat next to Enjolras, intently listening, "How Courfeyrac will always change the way he is sat at least five times during one meeting," the room filled with a gentle hum of laughter as Jehan voiced the truth, "or how Marius can't last the duration of one without muttering Napeleon."

The Pontmercy boy flushed a deep shade of red as the room continued to laugh as Jehan pointed out everyone's nuances that only he would notice.

"The way Mathilde hums sweet melodies to herself when she thinks no one can hear her," He spared a glance up at the blonde only to be greeted with a fond smile, as Grantaire leant on her once more except this time he was faced with no rejection, "Or how Joly monitors everyone alcohol intake without them noticing just to make sure they don't get liver disease." Jehan chuckled, raising his glass to the doctor, who merely shrugged at the group from his seat next to Chetta.

"I'm thankful for the people around me," The poet cemented with a certain nod, "that I'm blessed enough to call my friends."

A content silence filled the room as everyone's gazes drifting over one another; grateful for each other for more than the reasons Jehan had listed.

"That was beautiful, Jehan." Mathilde complimented the revolutionary on the floor, stroking his shoulder from her seat.

"What are you grateful for, Mathilde?" He asked in response, not a moment later.

The blonde furrowed her eyebrows as she struggled to think, allowing her gaze to wander as the cogs in her head started turning. And of course, as she'd predicted internally, her gaze was drawn to one in particular and from that she knew what she was grateful for.

"I'm grateful for our organisation," She said confidently, "for the considerate minds behind it that will do anything to strive for a better France; for a better place to call home." A murmur of agreement circled around the small meeting room. "Truly, I'm grateful for you all." She sighed with a small smile, "Who, without a shadow of a doubt, I can call my family."

Expecting the room to be immersed in another burst of silence that she was beginning to find familiar, Mathilde jumped in surprise at a noise from her right.

"I, myself," Grantaire started, straightening up a little as he cleared his throat, "am grateful for the endless supply of wine I receive."

"Is that all?" Mathilde chuckled, folding her arms.

"Pretty much." He retorted, with a shrug, "But then again, I suppose the company could be worse." He added sparing a wink at the room.

"I'm grateful that everyone appears to be in good health." Joly put in as the game kicked off and they moved from person to person in an anti-clockwise direction.

"Well, you would be." Bahorel commented amidst a chuckle from next to Feuilly as Musichetta took Joly's hand in hers, compassionately.

"I'm thankful for love." She said, brightly, over Bahorel's heckling, "That anyone and everyone can be loved and love another with all their being."

"I know what I'm thankful for." Courfeyrac called from his seat, sparing a knowing look at Jehan, before his tone was enveloped in a soft melody. "I'm thankful for the music."

The room was suddenly enveloped in a loud laughter and applause at Courfeyrac singing, spurring on the centre to continue his song.

"The songs were singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing." Courf continued, his voice ringing out soundly in the room. "Who could live without it? I ask in all honesty. What would life be?"

Mathilde couldn't help but chuckle as the man voice's only increased in volume, much to the mild amusement of the marble man beside him.

"Without a song or a dance, what are we?" He sang, rising from his seat. "So I say, thank you for the music for giving it to me."

The room erupted in applause, as Courfeyrac sank into a deep bow, however before the revelry could subside the soft melody of a flute entered their midst.

Looking to her left, Mathilde's smile only widened to see Jehan playing a soft interlude as Amélie squealed in glee and scrambled to her feet, seizing Courfeyrac's hands in her own as she continued his song.

"Papa said I was a dancer before I could walk." The young girl sang accompanied by Jehan's playing. "He said I began to sing long before I could talk."

"And I've often wondered, how did it all start?" Musichetta's soft voice took over the song, as she looped her arm through her fiancé's. "Who found out that nothing could capture a heart, like a melody can? Well, whoever it was I'm a fan!"

Another round of applause enveloped the room before the group all came together in a harmonised chorus.

"So I say thank you for the music the songs we're singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing." Mathilde only smiled as she listened to the melodic voices of her friends. "Who could live without it? I ask in all honesty. What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music for giving it to me."

A small nudge in her arm caught her attention as the chorus lulled, Grantaire arched a brow at the blonde girl, inviting her to take on a verse.

Mathilde let out a small sigh, her smile still on her lips as she opted for a slightly slower melody.

"I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair." She smiled, her voice gaining in strength as she sang. "I want to sing it out to everybody; what a joy, what a life, what a chance!"

A loud whoop from Courfeyrac invited another small interlude of applause before they descended into one final chorus.

"Thank you for the music the songs we're singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing."

Mathilde threw her arms around the shoulders of Grantaire, who lifted his glass in toast as their melodic voices rang out on that Christmas evening.

"Who could live without it? I ask in all honesty. What would life be?" Les Amis de l'ABC sang together. "Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music for giving it to me."

Mathilde allowed her gaze to stray back to the figure of the marble man as Jehan played a small interlude, his own gaze inevitably meeting hers bearing a soft look and an emotion she couldn't quite place.

She tore her gaze from his as Jehan set down his flute and Courfeyrac concluded his song, his tenor voice proudly soaring through the room.

"So I say thank you for the music for giving it to me."

The room erupted into a collective applause once more - most of the attention going towards the centre and poet who had accompanied his song so beautifully. The sounds of cheering, laughter and their applause was so wild that they missed the sound of someone ascending the stairs from the cafe below.

"And just what is going on up here?" Madame smiled, tiredly, as she looked upon the happy faces in the meeting room, her own face flushed from her workload.

"What are you thankful for, Madame?" Gavroche asked, rocking back and forth on the floor next to his older sister.

"I'm thankful for everyone pitching in and helping me give out the leftover food to those on the streets." Madame hinted, not so subtly, with a cheeky smirk.

"Good idea." Courfeyrac nodded at the older woman as he rose to his feet and made his way over to the staircase that Madame was already descending. "Come on everybody."

Bit by bit, the meeting room emptied until it remained as just Mathilde with her brother and sister, all of them pulling on their respective coats in order to venture out.

"What are you grateful for, Combeferre?" Amélie asked her older brother as he helped her fasten her coat tightly around herself.

"Well, that's the question isn't it?" He retorted with another question causing her to giggle, "What makes the battle worth the fighting?" He questioned, straightening up from his bent down position before Amélie. "What makes the mountain worth the climb?" He rephrased the question, "What makes the questions worth the asking? The reason worth the rhyme?"

Combeferre spared her other sister a kind smile as he threw an arm across her shoulders and hugged her close with Amélie hugging their waists.

"To me the answer's clear;" Combeferre hummed to the two of them, "it's having someone near; someone dear." He pulled out of the hug, standing in front of them. "Someone to care for; to be there for. I have you two!"

He patted them both on the head, receiving groans of objections from the two. Before seizing their hands merrily and twirling them around, nothing but the sound of laughter filling the air.

"Someone to do for; muddle through for. I have you two!" He spun them both into him, as he swayed on the spot. "Someone to smile once in awhile with; whenever you're lonesome. I've a happy lot, considering what I've got."

The man then let them go, and beckoned them to follow him out of the room and down the stairs which he descended with childish playfulness.

"But, I couldn't do more than you do for your poor brother." Combeferre sang loudly as they reached the lower floor of the Musain, only to find it scarce of people as everyone had already ventured out into the street. "Things go asunder and I wonder why you bother."

He took a step forward as Mathilde and Amélie copied him in canon, sincere chuckles leaving them as they did.

"Could be," Ferre sang with a small smirk.

"Could be." His sisters repeated with broad smiles, looking admiringly upon their older brother.

"We three," Combeferre stopped wrapping his arms around them again.

"We three." They copied like before, their grins yet to fade.

"Get along so famously," The three of them sang together, as the bell over the door rang signifying their exit into the cold Parisian streets.

"'Cause we two have you," The two girls sang as they hugged their brother close.

"And I have you two too." Combeferre finalised, having finally revealed what he was grateful for that Christmas, giving them both a gentle squeeze around the shoulders before letting them go.

Hugging her coat closer to her to fight off the intrusive cold, Mathilde watched as Combeferre took Amélie's hand in his and led her off down the street after the others to give out leftovers.

"Mathilde."

A stoic voice startled her as she made her way in their direction, walking slowly.

"Good evening, Enjolras." She replied, her gaze stubbornly fixed forward, down the street of the Musain, as the revolutionary fell into step with her.

In sync, they took step after step in stride, an uncomfortable silence clinging to them and refusing to budge. Losing out to temptation, Mathilde spared the revolutionary a glance, he'd scrubbed up well for Christmas Day and as much as it hurt her pride to say so - he looked breathtakingly handsome. Shaking her head free of those thoughts, the blonde let out a withheld sigh when Enjolras broke the silence.

"I've been meaning to ask how you have been, lately?" The marble man clasped his hands behind his back, his brows furrowing in curiosity.

"You see me everyday, M'sieur." Mathilde retorted with a small shrug, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm no different to how I normally am."

"Really?" Enjolras scoffed, eyes widening, "Because I don't recall us engaging in conversation once in the last week until this morning."

"Enjolras, please." The blonde exhaled, tiredly, stopping in her tracks as she turned to face him with a clenched jaw, "You know why I asked you to leave me be."

"But I don't know, Mathilde." Enjolras contradicted her, guilt swimming in the pools of blue in his eyes.

"Well, you should." She replied in a small voice, as she began to walk again, however it took the marble man less than a second to catch her.

"I don't understand." He said, pulling her back to face him, his hand lingering upon her forearm.

"What don't you understand?" Mathilde snapped, irritatedly, her patience waring thin with the man before her.

"How suddenly our relationship changed." He mustered, his tone low, eyes wide in disbelief. "For Christ's sake, I kissed you and now you can't even look me in the eye."

"But you regret your actions? You said so yourself." The blonde retorted, nostrils flaring, "You wished you hadn't kissed me?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you still don't understand why that upset me?" Mathilde said, a derisive chuckle escaping her lips as she gave a sniff.

Enjolras' expression, all of a sudden, morphed from one of utter confusion and frustration to one of glass shattering realisation and guilt.

"I was living in the hope that you would kiss me for days, if not weeks, before that night." The blonde continued in a small voice, as his lips twitched slightly but emitted no sound. "My thoughts were so wrapt with you - and nothing but you!"

Her mind was cast back to the weeks before the incident, when she and Enjolras were perfectly complete in one another's company.

"You weren't the marble man when we were together, you were someone else." Mathilde sighed, shakily, pressing her lips together in attempt to contain herself. "Someone I came to know as Enjolras, himself."

The man before her looked crestfallen, but no words left his mouth, as the blonde girl felt her eyes begin to water suddenly in the cold night air.

"And from the way you acted, the way you teased, I kidded myself into believing that you could possibly return my affections." She continued, a hopeless smile on her lips. "And then - and then you kiss me. It's as though every single dream, every hope of mine has been brought into reality."

Mathilde pressed her eyes shut, feeling a single tear run down her cheek as she gave another sniff in attempt to compose herself.

"But then the marble man returns." She began again, her voice thick, "And he has the audacity to pardon himself as though he has acted completely out of turn when, for first time in all the time I've known him, he has actually acted on his emotions!"

The situation was pretty ironic, it was almost funny. A chuckle left her lips, however it lacked the sincerity and humour it required to be genuine. The blonde brought her watery eyes up to meet his ocean-blue ones, sympathy laced through them.

"Do you know why he pardons himself, Enjolras?" She asked, rhetorically, taking a daring step toward the marble man, "Because he is scared - he is scared of commitment and love and losing him to something that is not a revolution!"

Enjolras still seemed too awestruck by the blonde's sudden outburst to respond to anything that she had said, although his eyes never once left hers even to blink.

"There's an irony there, isn't there?" Mathilde sniffed, her voice dropping to a quieter volume, "To gunfire and barricades he doesn't bat an eyelid but a brief encounter with romance and he runs for the hills?"

Two more tears ran down her cheeks, as she fiercely wiped them away with haste.

"So, he puts up a façade, he tries to think nothing of it, he tries to ignore the fact that it happened because cracking is what he fears most." She continued, her jaw clenched as her voice shook, "He doesn't want anyone to see through him and see that he's scared and he knows that if he opens himself up to love he'll be vulnerable.

"And whether he's too afraid to admit or not, he's knows that I've cracked him and so do I." She confronted the man before her, only to receive a shocked expression in response.

Enjolras took a moment to revive from his shock, as the blonde girl stood before breathing heavily in attempt to calm herself. He pressed his lips tightly together, his gaze washing over her like a tidal wave.

"Enjolras," His name left her lips with warmth. "A life dictated by fear is hardly a life, is it?"

Hugging her coat closer to her once more, and wiping the last stray tears from her cheeks, Mathilde poised myself and held her head higher on my shoulders.

"So unless you've anything add," She spoke, her voice still a little shaky despite her best efforts, "I would much prefer if you were to respect my wishes and leave me be because, honestly, you've already humiliated me enough."

And on that note, with a clenched jaw and tear stained cheeks, Mathilde spun on her heel and took off down the street after the rest of the group, desperate to escape the company of the one who caused her most embarrassment.

Leaving a revolutionary, dressed in a burgundy overcoat, at a loss for words as he stared longingly after the figure racing down the streets, in the cold Parisian night.

***

LET US IMPART WHAT we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

The words of Shakespeare blurred in MathildeMs head, as she studied the text, curled up on a chair in the corner of the meeting room.

The third day of January had proven to be colder than any day in December. Despite the lack of snowfall, a stubborn frost stuck to every leaf and window, casting a chill across the freezing city.

Letting out a withheld sigh, the blonde gazed at the empty room around her. All the windows had been closed to conserve warmth and oil lamps were burning furiously in their stands.

The hour was approaching half past eleven and she was alone on the meeting room at the Café Musain. Those circumstances hardly seem right.

In reality, the rest of the group had left for a rally that morning and were soon to return back to the Café to assess it. The question was; why wasn't she with them?

Well, Mathilde had made the mistake of assisting Madame in resetting the Café for the new year that morning, and apparently that wasn't a good enough reasons to stall the school boys - they took off without a second thought.

So, presently, she resided upstairs in the warmth of the meeting room with only Shakespeare to accompany her as she awaited for their reason - partly to ask about the rally, and partly to remind them of their manners.

The tranquil silence of the meeting room, where she sat, was suddenly interrupted by the frantic booming sound of someone running up the stairs.

Panting heavily, Jehan burst through the door of the meeting room with careless volume, as Mathilde rose calmly to greet him, her jaw clenched in minor frustration.

"Ah, you're back!" She cried in mock delight, startling the poet who seemed too alarmed to have noticed her presence. "You certainly took your time!"

Jehan muttered a word, instead his panting was the only noise that left his mouth as his eyes darted quickly around the room. He was most likely not listening to a word the blonde girl said.

"I'm slightly insulted you left without me!" Mathilde voiced her feelings to the poet, frustratedly, folding her arms and setting her book down on her chair.

Taking a second to take in his demeanour, the blonde found her brows furrowing and voice softening.

"Jehan, why are you so frantic?"

The poet before her was as pale as a ghost, a cold sweat of nerves glistened across his forehead, his auburn hair sticking to it beneath his cap. His hands were shaking, viciously and his panting had yet to let up.

Jehan suddenly started, he hectically made his way to the large table at the other side of the room, and began pulling it with all his might.

"Hey!" Mathilde cried in objection, worried for her friend who seemed hardly in good health, grabbing him by his shoulder. "What's the matter?!"

"Clear the table, Mathilde!" He cried back, as he dragged the table into the centre of the room, and began carelessly throwing things off it.

"What has happened, Jehan!?" She asked again, her voice raising as she followed his instruction, anxiously.

"Your brother-" He began, taking in a large breath, with immense effort, "Your brother and Courfeyrac are with him and are on the way now."

The blonde looked anxiously at the man before her, evidently in the midst of some sort of emotional breakdown.

"Gavroche has gone to get Joly." He went on, as they continued to unload piles of paper from the table, watching as they scattered all over the floor. "We need to make sure everything is ready, if he stands a chance of survival."

"Who stands a chance of survival, Jehan?!" Mathilde cried, his own panic fuelling hers, as she took an empty bottle of wine into my hands, "What happened?! What happened at the rally?!"

"It's Enjolras!" The blonde's head whipped around at that the mention of his name, "He was shot at the rally, Mathilde!"

The sound of glass smashing answered Jehan's exclamation; the wine bottle had fallen from her grasp.

Everything stood still; time froze; and her heart stopped.

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