Sorry for the long wait! I wanted to hold off because I probably won't be able to post for the next week or so due to my family being on holiday. I'll have my laptop along this time, (provided it gets through security!) so I might be able to check reviews, but I probably won't be posting.

And I apologize for the Christmas chapter (25, oddly enough…) but I did write it over Christmas!

And I think I'm okay on the time frame for the Christmas carols (that is, they were all written by 1820-ish), because I went through the hymnal at church checking dates and stuff. See? I do my research!

And major news! My parents are all about giving gifts on Valentines, because I have no 'significant other,' so they gave me one of those Department 56 lighted model things you see in stores around Christmas…and it's of Notre Dame. Was very happy!

That being said, thanks for the continued reviews and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I need to think of a new way to say this…and it still isn't mine.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Is there any way to get him to shut up?" Bossuet groaned.

"Not once he starts," Combeferre was paging through a philosophy book. "Best just to ignore him and he'll stop."

"It would be easier to ignore him if he were on tune," Bossuet moaned. "Honestly! It's 'Joy to the World!' Can he…" Bossuet listened for a moment. "He doesn't even know the words!"

"François," Combeferre sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What?" Courfeyrac blinked.

"Your singing is annoying Bossuet," Combeferre continued.

"This should affect me why?"

"You know, François; you like singing Christmas carols so much…you should come with me to Mass tomorrow night," Jehan suggested.

"Mass? That would involve going to church," he scoffed. "And listening to preaching about my horribly dissolute life."

"But it's Christmas Eve!" Jehan protested. "The only sermon is on the Nativity story; there's a lot of singing, and…" he took a breath. "…it's at midnight."

"Midnight?" Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps…oh, why not? As long as we all go…we can make a night of it!" he looked encouraged.

"Sébastien?" Jehan turned to the fan-maker, who was looking fairly unsure of himself. "What is it?"

"I…how can I go in good faith? I have no money to spare for alms," he looked ashamed.

"And that would stop you from going to church?" Jehan shook his head.

"I feel bad," Feuilly shrugged. "I don't…"

"You're coming if I am," Courfeyrac informed him. "Or are you just embarrassed about your singing voice?" he jibed.

"I can sing better than you. At least I know what 'pitch' is," Feuilly retorted. "Where are we headed, Jehan?"

"There's only one place I would wish to go to for Christmas Eve Mass," Jehan had a dreamy look in his eyes. "Notré Dame."

"Notré Dame?" Courfeyrac looked sceptical.

"It's such an example of classic Gothic architecture, plus the history of…"

"Don't tell me you believe those old tales about the fabled bell-ringer!"

"They're not fables!" Jehan looked aghast. "You'll see! We'll ask around…"

"Stories; that's all they are," Courfeyrac waved a hand. "But you're right; it pays seeing at least once."

"So, you'll come, then?" Jehan asked, looking hopeful.

"If Feuilly will," Courfeyrac pointed out.

"Don't put this on me!" Feuilly protested.

"Fine, then. Pierre, is your lovely mistress going to be joining us?" Courfeyrac turned to Joly. "From what I hear, she's dying to see me again," he winked.

"Afraid not, François," Joly shrugged, looking anything but apologetic. "You see, she has returned to Toulon to visit her family, so she will not be around for a couple of weeks."

"Pity. Sorry, Feuilly," he sighed. "It's on you."

"Well, I…alright. This once," Feuilly gave in. "How can I say no?"

"You can't," Courfeyrac replied. "Think Apollo will go for it?"

"If the rest of us do," Bossuet said. "And if he says no to you, get André to ask him."

"Why has nobody invited me?" This from Grantaire, who was seated in the corner looking morose.

"If you manage to stay sober, you can come along. I may not have a pristine record, but even I would not dare stoop as low as to be inebriated in a church," Courfeyrac proclaimed.

"Strong words," Grantaire stared at the table for a few moments. "Do you suppose that, if I were to come to Mass sober, as you suggest, that Apollo…might…think more of me?" he looked moderately hopeful.

"He may indeed," Courfeyrac nodded sagely. "However, the only way to know for sure is to try it and see."

"I just might." This almost seemed to be part of some internal monologue Grantaire was having with himself. "I just might."

000

"Mass?" Enjolras asked, looking thoughtful.

"Oh, come on, Apollo! Have some Christmas spirit!" Courfeyrac said, flailing his arms emphatically. "Besides, Grantaire might show up sober…if he shows up any other way, I will personally see to it that he does not enter the church," he stated.

"I had no idea you would take such a strong stance over something pertaining to religion," Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"I may not be devoutly religious, but I would still prefer to end up in Heaven," Courfeyrac retorted.

"Well, I suppose that is admirable. And seeing Grantaire sober would be a sight not to be missed…well, what harm could it do?" Enjolras gave a shrug.

"Good," Courfeyrac looked happy. "See you tomorrow night, then!"

"I have to warn you," Combeferre spoke to Enjolras after Courfeyrac had gone. "He's going to sing loud, and he's going to sing badly."

"Well, fortunately, I do not think we can get thrown out of the church for merely being unable to sing," Enjolras pointed out. "Although I do not wish to be standing next to him at the service," he added with a grimace.

"I'm more or less used to it, unfortunately," Combeferre sighed. "His voice was not any better as a child. He's always loved the old carols, though…even if he doesn't know the words.

Enjolras shook his head and went to the window, staring out at the lightly falling snow; illuminated by the street lamps and reflecting gently off of the river; the setting completely a vision of peace.

000

"Ah," Jehan sighed, breathing in the crisp night air. "That was lovely."

"What? The service, or the church?" Bahorel teased. "You were too busy sight-seeing to even listen to the priest."

"I think François liked it," Feuilly mentioned. "He hasn't said a single word since we got out."

"François?" Combeferre tapped the other man on the shoulder. "Are you in there?"

"I think I may have to do that every year," Courfeyrac blinked. "That…I actually enjoyed that."

"Will wonders never cease? François Courfeyrac enjoyed going to church," Bossuet looked amazed.

"It was quite surprising to me, as well," Courfeyrac admitted. "I guess it was…I never thought I would like going to church."

"I told you you'd like it!" Jehan was beaming. "I told you!"

"Alright," Courfeyrac glowered at the poet. "But I didn't see any hunchbacked bell-ringer."

"Fair enough," Jehan shrugged. "We can make that a project for next year. I assume you'll want to come back next year?"

"Next year…" Enjolras stopped, glancing at the river. "Who knows if there shall be a next year? When the time comes; when the people rise up, who knows what changes it will bring? Who knows if we shall even come out of it unscathed?" he mused, his hair gleaming golden under the thin moonlight and street-lamps, and his sapphire eyes reflecting the dark-blue depths of the Seine.

"Come on, Apollo. Can we not talk about this on Christmas?" Grantaire was rather ill-humoured; presumably a side-effect of his rare sobriety.

"We know it could happen any day," Feuilly cleared his throat, his eyes resting on the dark façade of the cathedral across the river. "We do; but what use is there in dwelling on it? It will come when it comes; no use getting anxious over it before it does," he added, smiling wistfully.

"He's right, Apollo. It's not like we can control it…and besides, it's Christmas!" Courfeyrac grinned. "Peace on earth and all that!"

"If there's one day of the year when you can forget about all of your worries, why not make it Christmas?" Jehan added, stepping to the stone wall that overlooked the river. He hopped up onto it and pulled his flute out of his coat, quietly beginning to play 'Silent Night;' the low notes hanging softly in the night air.

Enjolras heaved a sigh as he glanced sideways at the poet; looking reflective as he leant back against the low wall. "Peace on earth, you say?" he mused softly. "But then, is that not what we are fighting for? Peace?"

"Apollo, don't," Combeferre broke in. Enjolras turned, and he raised an eyebrow as he beheld the rest of the Amis, who were regarding him with sombre expressions that held, it could be said, a hint of disappointment.

"What? What do you expect me to do? What if the revolution were to come tomorrow?" his eyes turned icy.

"So it comes tomorrow," Feuilly shrugged. "We'll face it then. But right now, don't you think…even for one night…" he paused.

There was silence for a few moments; the only noise came from one of the few carriages still running at that late hour, and even the sound of the horse's hooves was muffled by the fresh snow lining the road.

"I can't," Enjolras sighed. "I would like to, of course, but my conscience will not allow it of me. After all, Christmas is also supposed to be a time to spend with family, and my family barely wishes to speak to me."

"You're not the only one," Bossuet pointed out. "At least your parents are alive. What about Feuilly and myself? We don't even have families to go home to."

"I realize that, but…"

"And what are we?" Courfeyrac crossed his arms. "Do we mean nothing to you? I had thought that was the whole point of our group: so we could form a brotherhood."

"He's right, Apollo," Combeferre smiled. "Relatives or not, we are brothers. All of us."

"I…thank you," Enjolras shook his head. "But that doesn't stop me from…"

"Five minutes. Can you do five minutes?" Courfeyrac asked.

Enjolras glanced back at all of them, eventually shaking his head again ruefully and staring up at the sky; a few breaks in the light clouds showed bright stars shining through. He smiled, then, and turned around once more. "Alright. Five minutes."

Courfeyrac looked pleased with himself and, as he tried to conduct Jehan in an impromptu version of 'O Holy Night,' Enjolras tried to forget everything weighing on his mind.

If only for five minutes.