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Enjolras woke with a start.
He blinked into the dim light that was just beginning to filter through the blinds and tried to figure out what, exactly, had woken him from what had previously been a deep and enjoyable sleep.
Then he heard it again.
An unmistakable sound of plastic pieces not quite fitting together properly, followed by a low and familiar voice.
Though Enjolras couldn’t quite hear what the voice was saying, he’d bet the entire sum in his trust fund that it was a string of colorful curses.
He rolled over to verify that the spot next to him in bed was vacant, not that he needed to. Were Grantaire in bed with him, he either would’ve been snoring like a freight train or, if awake, trying to convince Enjolras to go for an early morning quickie before Libby woke up wanting to open presents.
Seeing only the rumpled covers next to him rather than his husband, Enjolras heaved a sigh, cast a baleful look at the ungodly early time on the clock, and sat up, running a hand through his tangled blond curls before finally standing up.
He swore when his feet touched the cold floor and he shuffled around for a moment until he found his slippers on Grantaire’s side of the bed. “What the hell,” he growled sourly, before remembering what exactly had led him to abandon his slippers on Grantaire’s side of the bed only a few hours previously, really.
It had a lot to do with Grantaire making lewd jokes about licking Enjolras’s candy cane, and then doing so.
So it was with something like a smug smile that he reclaimed his slippers before making his way downstairs, being sure to sneak past Libby’s bedroom door for fear of waking her up.
Not that he supposed it mattered, given the racket coming from downstairs, and his smile disappeared as he peered disapprovingly around the bannister. “Really?” he said, in lieu of a morning greeting.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Grantaire said from where he was perched on the couch, sounding as tired and grumpy as Enjolras felt, though he quickly forced a smile and held up a mug. “Coffee?”
Enjolras let out a pleading noise and crossed over to him to grab the mug. “Marry me?” he asked around desperate sips of coffee.
Grantaire chuckled and pulled Enjolras onto his lap to kiss him. “Already did,” he said, a little smugly.
Enjolras laughed lightly before scolding without any real heat, “You’re going to wake Libby.”
“No we’re not,” Grantaire said dismissively. “She’s a kid, she sleeps through anything.”
“She’s five, not deaf,” Enjolras said, before realizing what else Grantaire had said. “Wait, we?”
“Oh, yeah, I had Feuilly come over to help.”
For the first time, Enjolras noticed Feuilly sitting on the ground, surrounded by violently pink plastic pieces, half of which had been assembled into what appeared to be the bottom half of what Enjolras could only assume was a dollhouse. Feuilly gave a small wave before going back to digging through the pieces, and Enjolras glanced sideways at Grantaire. “I thought we had agreed that Libby was getting something gender neutral for Christmas this year.”
“We did, but Libby didn’t want something gender neutral for Christmas,” Grantaire said, kissing Enjolras’s cheek and smirking when Enjolras winced at the scratch of Grantaire’s five o’clock shadow. “So it was either the Barbara Millicent Roberts Dream House or a pony.”
“Good call,” Enjolras said before turning back to Feuilly. “Didn’t you have to work until midnight?”
Feuilly nodded and stifled a yawn. “Yeah but I slept all day yesterday, and besides, I figured since I’m supposed to be here in a couple of hours anyway, I might as well come by and lend Grantaire a hand.”
Enjolras’s eyes narrowed and he looked back at Grantaire, who suddenly seemed to be regretting pulling Enjolras into his lap. “A couple of hours?” Enjolras repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice. “I thought everyone was coming over for Christmas dinner at 2.”
Grantaire cleared his throat. “Right, about that,” he started, and Enjolras let out a noise that might charitably be considered a growl.
“Looks like we need more coffee,” Feuilly muttered before making a hasty escape into the kitchen.
Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who gave him a weak smile. “I have a plan,” he assured him.
“Do tell,” Enjolras said sourly.
“Look, we need Libby to take a nap before dinner or you know she’s gonna be crabby,” Grantaire said earnestly. “But you know that with everyone coming over, she’s going to resist taking said nap. So I figured if everyone came over to watch her open her gifts from Santa, she’ll get all of her excitement out of her system, and couple that with a sugar crash and boom, sleeping child just in time for us to get dinner ready.”
Enjolras pursed his lips slightly. “I hate to admit it,” he hedged, “but that just might work.”
“I know,” Grantaire said smugly, kissing Enjolras once more. “And while she’s taking that nap, I can also give you your present from Santa.”
“With all our friends here?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.
Grantaire just smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, a small, high-pitched voice called from upstairs, “Dad! Daddy!”
“I’ll deal with that,” Enjolras told Grantaire, kissing him once more before standing and nodding his head toward the half-assembled dollhouse. “You deal with that.”
“And I’ll get the cinnamon rolls in the oven,” Feuilly called from the kitchen.
“Thank you, Feuilly!” Enjolras and Grantaire called back in unison before Enjolras went upstairs to handle the newly-woken spawn, feeling like he had definitely not had enough coffee yet to deal with this.
By the time Enjolras got Libby to stop bouncing around her bedroom, change out of her jammies into the cute Christmas outfit he had picked out, brushed her teeth and gotten her hair sorted into two somewhat neat pigtails, everyone had clearly arrived, if the hubbub coming from downstairs was any indication.
Enjolras knelt down in front of her, smiling softly as she beamed at him, eyes wide in excitement. “Ready to see what Santa brought you, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Dad, you said that Santa was a symbol of corporate greed and that the true spirit of Christmas isn’t found in material things,” Libby parrotted, sounding so much like him that Enjolras thought his heart might burst with pride.
“I did say that,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But I also said that sometimes, giving gifts can be a nice way to show how much you care about someone. So Santa gives you gifts to show how much he cares about you.”
He stood, ready to head downstairs, but Libby grabbed his hand, tugging on his shirt sleeve. “Dad,” she whispered conspiratorially, “Santa’s not real.”
Enjolras felt almost as proud at that as the corporate greed. “No, he’s not,” he agreed. “But your daddy believes in Santa Claus, so what do you say you and I humor him. Ok?”
Libby considered that for a moment before nodding. “Ok,” she said simply, grabbing Enjolras’s hand and tugging him down the stairs. “Daddy!” she squealed, running into Grantaire’s arms. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, baby!” Grantaire said, picking her up and spinning her around as she giggled. “Look at everything Santa brought you!”
“What are we, chopped liver?” Courfeyrac asked from he was squished in between Combeferre and Bahorel on the sofa.
“Yeah, Père Noël’s not the only one who brought gifts,” Jehan added with a sage nod, his oversized Christmas sweater bedecked with all sorts of baubles hanging down to his knees.
Libby giggled as Bossuet grabbed her from Grantaire and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “See that one there?” he said in a stage whisper, pointing at one of the larger presents. “That’s from me and Uncle Joly, and you should open it first, ok?”
“I think we should allow her the self-determination to decide for herself which present she wants to open first,” Combeferre said mildly. “Especially if she happens to choose the big green one right there in the front.”
“Yours, I assume?” Joly asked with narrowed eyes.
Combeferre just smirked in response.
Bossuet ignored them, telling Libby, “Fine, self-determination and all that jazz, just self-determine your way to the present from me and Joly first, ok?”
He set Libby down and she tackled the pile of presents with gusto while Enjolras made his way down the stairs, joining Grantaire and slipping an arm around his waist. “We’re raising a good kid,” he said in an undertone, turning to kiss Grantaire’s temple.
“Yeah we are,” Grantaire sighed, leaning his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “No thanks to you.”
Enjolras just laughed.
It didn’t take long for Libby to get to the biggest gift only half-hidden by the other presents, and she let out a shriek when she saw it. “A dollhouse!” she screamed, tugging it forward and Enjolras frowned slightly, because it didn’t much more assembled than it had been an hour ago.
“I thought you were gonna deal with that,” he muttered to Grantaire.
Libby looked up at Grantaire, her eyes wide. “Daddy, is my dollhouse supposed to be missing a roof?”
Grantaire cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course it is,” he said with forced cheer. “It’s, um, symbolic. Of, uh...of FEMA pulling out of Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria without fixing, y’know, anything.”
Enjolras jabbed him in the stomach and Grantaire winced. Libby switched her gaze to Enjolras. “Is Daddy serious?” she asked.
“No, sweetheart, Daddy’s being an asshole,” Enjolras told her.
Libby giggled. “Dad,” she said, “you can’t say that! Asshole’s a bad word!”
“Liberty Sofia Enjolras-Grantaire, if asshole’s a bad word, why the hell are you saying it?” Grantaire admonished, though he couldn’t quite stop his laugh. “Besides, now your father’s on the naughty list.” He covertly pinched Enjolras’s ass, smirking as Enjolras went beet red. “And Santa’ll have to punish him later.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Enjolras muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Libby turned back to her presents.
“God, I hope so,” Grantaire whispered back.
All in all, Libby plowed through her presents fairly quickly, and Bahorel and Jehan were brave enough to volunteer to feed her breakfast. “Want anything, Feuilly?” Bahorel asked, holding Libby on his hip.
The only response from Feuilly was a snore as he sat tucked into the corner of the couch, his head lolling back against the cushions.
“We’ll save him something,” Jehan whispered to Enjolras, who nodded and stifled a yawn.
“Come on,” he told Grantaire. “Time to clean up.”
Grantaire yawned as well and slumped down into Bahorel’s vacated seat, leaning his head against Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Clean up yourself,” he muttered. “I was up at 3 this morning putting the FEMA disaster mansion together.”
“And I was up not too long after that from the sound of you putting the FEMA disaster mansion together,” Enjolras shot back, picking up ripped wrapping paper from the floor and looking around for a garbage bag. “Not to mention if we had gone to bed when I wanted to—”
“As if you didn’t enjoy the reason we put off going to bed as much as I did,” Grantaire said through a yawn, reaching out for Enjolras. “C’mere. That can wait.”
“Grantaire,” Enjolras protested weakly, even as he let Grantaire pull him onto his lap. “We need to clean and eat breakfast and get Libby down for a nap…”
He trailed off as Grantaire kissed his cheek. “Later,” he murmured, holding Enjolras against his chest. “We just need a five minute power nap, that’s all.”
Despite himself, Enjolras felt his eyelids flutter closed. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice muffled against Grantaire’s chest. “Five minutes.”
Grantaire just let out a snore in response.
Twenty minutes later, Libby tore back into the living room, fully fed and now hopped up on sugar. She stopped in her tracks when she saw her fathers and uncles all asleep, Joly and Bossuet curled up on the loveseat, Feuilly, Grantaire, Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac all sandwiched together on the couch.
Libby hesitated, then grabbed the afghan from where it was draped over the arm of the sofa and carried it over to spread it clumsily over Enjolras and Grantaire. “G’night Daddy. G’night Dad,” she whispered. “Merry Christmas.”
Then she went to play with her half-built dollhouse, giving her dads and uncles the best Christmas gift she could, even if she didn’t know it: peace and quiet, and for one whole hour, a little slice of goodwill toward men.