Author's Note: Apologies, my dears, for the big delay. I assure you, the story is going right ahead, no intention of stopping. But it's a rather busy time with work and exams. I'll do my best to post regularly :)

25th December

Christmas parties attended – 1 (instead of 0 as planned but am actually glad about this one)

Christmas presents bought – 3

Christmas presents received – 3

Reasons for Grantaire to continue giving me headaches – unclear

Far-too-easily-forgiving fan-makers – 1

Distressed poets – 1

Objects in my pockets that I don't want to look at – 1

Objects in my pockets that I should not want to look at – 1

Yesterday's dinner started rather pleasantly, especially since Courfeyrac dropped by after work to let us know that everything was going well. I was hugely relieved when he showed up for two major reasons – first, because he confirmed our plan was working and second, because his presence automatically eliminated the possibility of a dull or awkward evening.

Antoine is born to be the heart and soul of any party, which is probably why people are so willing to forgive the fact that he goes to way too many. In the course of the evening he managed to amuse us with tales of his trials as an aspiring fan-maker, discuss his new boss and co-workers with Feuilly and ask Jehan to compose him some verses about fans that he could recite to the two girls in the atelier. At this point Jehan, trying hard to keep a straight face, declared he was appalled at such a simplistic and literal use of poetry. Then all three of them latched into a debate of what exactly it meant for art to be approachable by the masses. Thus, I was spared the torture of trying to come up with things to talk about that were not in the sphere of politics. I was quite content to lean back in my chair, stare out the window and chuckle occasionally at the appropriate parts.

All was well until Fabrice suddenly stopped in the middle of a laugh and frowned.

"Wait, did anyone find out what happened to Grantaire?"

Jehan shrugged.

"I was here with you the whole time."

"I was a bit busy, obviously" Antoine said.

They all looked at me.

"No," I said, trying very hard not to sound defensive. "I haven't been to see him."

And I would much rather not go there again, thank you, I added mentally. Antoine waved his hand.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he's all right. I'll check on him on my way back home tonight just in case."

And suddenly I did feel worried. What if the damned winesack had chosen this particular day to have a real reason to not do something? What if he had had enough of a hangover to stumble and fall and hit his head and what if we had left him to bleed to death all day?

Puh! Not very likely. But still… I could have gone and seen him after I had parted with Courfeyrac that morning, even if only to berate him for letting us down again…

It is one thing to dislike a certain man and quite a different thing to be indirectly responsible for his untimely demise. I weighed the options in my head. But if I suddenly left now, I would give Courfeyrac a very strong reason to call me neurotic. (Honestly, nobody else seems to think that I am!) And, really, it was quite unlikely that anything bad had happened. Grantaire was a grown man and he had somehow survived thus far without anyone constantly watching him.

In the end, I decided to simply finish dinner and let Courfeyrac make the visit on our way back. To my own frustration, I ended up looking at the time every three minutes and fidgeting quite a bit, although no one seemed to notice. I left together with Jehan and Courfeyrac and we parted near the Musain. By the time I was climbing my own stairs, I was imagining all sorts of melodramatic scenarios with Grantaire being on his way to the fan atelier but getting run over by a fiacre or something like that.

Unfortunately… I mean, thankfully, this only lasted until I entered my apartment and saw the card which had been slipped under the door.

The same. Bloody. Insane. Embarrassing. Nonsensical. Christmas card as last year. To be completely honest, when I saw it, I did feel relief for all of five seconds before I started feeling simply peeved. So, the bastard was alive and well and drunk as all hell again. Should have known.

I resolved to stop devoting so much mental energy to thinking about Grantaire and to never again attempt to give him a task. Which did not mean I didn't go to bed angry and with a headache.

I woke up very early and, as I stared at the ceiling, trying to construct a plan for the day, I suddenly realized that I would, in fact, be spending Christmas with three other men that were not Justinien Combeferre and I had no idea whether I should buy them presents or what kind or how expensive. For a moment I thought longingly about solving problems like gun supplies and war strategies before getting up and trying to figure it out while I got dressed.

I decided that anything too expensive was out of the question as it was sure to embarrass Feuilly and neither Courfeyrac nor Prouvaire would care whether I gave them a gold watch or a paper bag. In the end, I bought Fabrice the nicest sketchbook I could find, Jehan a notebook bound in leather and Antoine a new cravat and hoped that this would do the trick.

I arrived at Feuilly's around noon with some lunch. He smiled a little too brightly at me when he opened the door, which immediately made me suspicious and prompted me to look past him into the room. My own smile froze. There, seated at the table was none other than Nicolas Grantaire, worthless drunkard, writer of ridiculous Christmas cards and a very bad friend indeed. How he had the nerve to even show his face to Feuilly was beyond me. He had the very, very small decency to at least look uncomfortable as he grinned at me.

"Hello, fearless leader."

I gathered all of my currently existing composure and managed not to boil over. I made a few steps into the room to allow Feuilly to close the door behind me.

"Grantaire, I assure you, it will be a very good idea for you to not talk to me for a while."

"Yeah, probably…"

Another grin. An 'ooops, I made you angry but, if I wait long enough, you will forget' kind of grin. I won't forget, I thought. You let me down again. All of us. Explain to me, Grantaire, please, I beg of you. Explain your behavior and, if it's a good explanation, I'll take it. Give me an excuse I could believe. Don't let me think that you would so carelessly and apparently without much remorse disregard things like responsibility and duty and friendship. Because if you have shared our wine and our conversations for weeks and weeks and you are still like that… How many more like you are out there? How many men that neither France nor their own friends can count on?

Of course, he just grinned again and got up.

"I was on my way out anyway."

I said nothing and pointedly directed my attention to placing the packages with the food and my rather unimaginative presents on the table while Fabrice said goodbye and closed the door. When we were alone again, he turned back to me and sighed at my expression.

"The devil isn't so black, Enjolras. He came to see how I was and to apologize. Both in words and… in the form of this."

He indicated a leather purse that was also sitting on the table. I raised my eyebrows and picked it up. It was reasonably heavy. I frowned.

"Grantaire. Came here and gave you money."

He shrugged.

"I didn't want to take it at first but he was quite convincing about it. Said that he would really feel awful if I didn't and that he thought he owed it to me so it was no charity. Well, at least that was the general meaning of what he said. His actual speech was accompanied by rolling on the floor and pretending to kiss my feet and contained phrases like 'I am dirt, I am slime' said in the most solemn and over-the-top remorseful tone of voice I have ever heard. It was really quite comical, I couldn't help laughing…"

"Can't you see he doesn't even take what he's done seriously? You should not have forgiven him so easily," I said. "And friendship is not to be bought."

"Of course not," Fabrice agreed. "But the desire to make amends is worth at least some credit."

"Make amends by giving you money?" I shook my head. "Too easy."

Feuilly smiled, sighed and shook his own head.

"Enjolras… It was not easy for him. Grantaire isn't rich. This is not a small amount of money here. It's actually a rather large sacrifice on his part. I know what bothers you. It's the practicality of the gesture. You would have preferred something more personal or symbolic. But the truth is that some of us need practicality. Would it have been better if he had knitted me a scarf? He decided money was the most useful thing he could give me right now and, although I admit I am not at all happy to accept it, I can't say he wasn't right. This way I can pay you and Jehan back. So Grantaire has essentially bought me some peace of mind, which, you will agree, is a wondrous and rare gift."

At the mention of payback so many objections tried to rush out of my mouth that they ended up cluttering at the doorway and the only thing that came out was:

"You'll take money from him but not from me?"

Fabrice sighed again.

"Enjolras, please, I know you don't understand but it's hard to explain. And maybe I'm just being silly but even so, please take the purse, split the money with Jehan however you see fit and don't be offended. You know perfectly well I don't mean this as an insult to you."

No, not an insult. Just a reminder that the rich boy will never be one of them. Not one of the working class, not one of the poor, not one of those fighting to keep every shred of dignity because they have little else. This hurt even more because although I could prove my genuine desire to help, if that was the issue, my status I could do nothing about. Even if I were to give up my whole allowance and move to live on the street, that would still not make me one of them because it would be a choice. A choice they never had the chance to make. And then I would just be a silly boy pretending to be what he's not.

I sighed in defeat and pocketed the purse, knowing full well that I would drop my share in a few beggars' hands as soon as possible or find some other way to get rid of the money. I wanted nothing to do with it.

"I suppose I should be happy he attempted any apology at all," I muttered.

Fabrice smiled at me and sat on the bed looking really tired. I winced secretly. Two days at home had done him some good but not too much. He still coughed a lot in between sentences and I could still not look at his wrists or his waist when he was only in a shirt and vest without wanting to forcefully shove meat into his mouth.

I had just unpacked the food with the intention of, yes, really shoving meat into his mouth, when there was a knock on the door. With Fabrice's permission, I went to open and there was Jehan, looking, from what I could tell, like he had been crying recently. I might have attributed it to something like the snow falling particularly beautifully outside except that he seemed genuinely upset.

"Is anything the matter?" I asked as he stepped in.

"No… Yes… Just… I only came to tell you both that I can't spend tonight with you and Antoine. I'm sorry, I have to leave right away. I'm really very sorry."

"Has anything bad happened? Can we help?" Fabrice asked getting up and coming over with a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"No…" Jehan looked hesitant for a moment. "I got a letter from home. They are quite upset I'm not there. I thought I could skip going this year, especially with you being sick and all…"

"Oh, please, you should not have stayed on my account!"

"No, I didn't really. I had already decided to stay. You just gave me an excuse not to feel guilty. But, um, they want me now and… I wish I could say no. Anyway, here are your presents." He dumped three small packages on he table. "And… I'm afraid I have to be off now."

We barely managed to persuade him to wait long enough to give him our own presents. While Fabrice was busy looking for his, I tried to pass Jehan the whole purse from Grantaire, which he, of course, refused and I could barely convince him to take even half of the money. But he also seemed to think Grantaire deserved forgiveness, even if giving us money was not exactly the most stylish way to ask for it.

"No, I'm telling you, Enjolras. He does care about us. He's just not very good at doing the right things at the right time. You know, it's possible sometimes for people to act as if they don't care but they really do and they are just bad at showing it… It's not that they don't love you, they just have different ideas about what you should be doing and… Adrien, don't be angry at Nicolas because he can't do what you want him to. It's Christmas and no one should be angry and that's why I have to go, although I really wish I didn't…"

He looked on the verge of tears again and I got the feeling that only a small part of this speech really had anything to do with Grantaire.

"Silly man, don't look so upset!" Fabrice berated him, finally turning away from the cupboard with a small package in his hand. "You should be spending Christmas with your family!"

"Yes. I was trying to do just that but, alas." Jehan muttered so quietly that I was sure I was not meant to hear it at all. I don't think he realized I did. Fabrice who was standing a bit farther seemed to miss it entirely. And I suddenly got the urge to hug and kiss our little poet. "I'll see you again in a few days," he promised with an attempt at a smile as he pocketed his gifts without opening them. "I will rob you of the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. I want to save them for later today. Do get better, Fabrice! I shall be devastated to hear any more coughing from you when I'm back."

"I'll try," Feuilly answered with a grin and saw him off at the door.

We went back to setting the table, moving the presents aside for when Courfeyrac arrived. And then we noticed Jehan had dropped something on the floor. A letter. It looked as if it had been crumbled into a ball and then smoothed over again. Fabrice picked it up and handed it to me.

"You take it. You'll probably see him first when he gets back."

Naturally, neither of us had any intention of reading it but I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. It would be a clue to what was going on with Jehan and I really wanted to know that. But private is private. I put it in my coat pocket and forgot about it for the moment. Especially after Courfeyrac arrived shortly after, being let out early from work for Christmas, and made sure we had a really merry celebration.

But now I'm back home and it's so late that it's early and I can't sleep.

What is going on with Jehan? Or am I being neurotic again?