Merry Christmas everyone! This was my MM Secret Santa gift for Elise-May on Tumblr and I decided to share it here! I'd love to hear your thoughts; reviews are like Christmas presents. Enjoy!

December 1920

Voices soared on the night before Christmas as the congregation, and the small church sang Silent Night with a rarely matched spirit. The accompaniment of the piano could barely be heard beneath the singing of young and old.

Matthew found his hand in Mary's, and he allowed himself to close his eyes and simply focus on her voice. She was an excellent singer, much better than him, despite the fact that he was much more willing to sing than she. He quietly joined back in, his voice growing stronger and they were both two people in a congregation of a hundred, two small people with voices to contribute, not to stand out.

And yet they stood out to each other. Mary squeezed his hand and had to smile when he joined in, singing, hesitantly at first. When they reached the last verse, however, his voice stopped wavering and his words came out strong and clear.

As the song ended, she grinned at him. "You should sing more."

"I could say the same to you. Are you ready to go home?" He took her arm and looked back at Robert and Cora, who were walking ahead of them towards the car. "We can walk home, unless you'd rather not."

Mary grinned. "Anything to spend more time with you. Even though it is awfully cold."

"It's been colder on Christmas, and we'll be nice and warm when we get home," he said. "And if not, perhaps there are other ways to get warmed up."

She nudged his side. "Naughty boy."

"I was thinking of a bath, I don't know what you were thinking of," he said, defensively and not entirely seriously.

A classic Mary eye roll was performed at this statement, and he put his arm around her, their proximity keeping them warmer than any car could.

She was still awake. She and Matthew had made it home, and after a warm bath, Mary entered the room to see Matthew already fast asleep. She wasn't certain why he was so tired, but she resolved not to disturb him. She tried to be careful not to wake him usually, and so she had climbed in beside him, and her own attempt to sleep had failed.

She wasn't tired, and so she contented herself with watching him sleep. Whenever insomnia struck her, she observed his sleeping form. His eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly, his thick blond hair somehow already messed up. He looked almost like a child, and Mary loved to see this different side of him that few had ever seen.

He looked childlike, but she saw the tell tale shaking. His breathing grew heavier and he seemed to shiver intensely. And she knew that she had to wake him.

"Matthew," she whispered, right next to his ear. "Matthew, wake up."

He, in response, began to flail his arms about. She held one down so that she could get close to him, and she made her voice a little bit louder. "Matthew! You're here! Wake up!"

It took a couple more minutes of talking to him in order to wake him up. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked around quickly, still breathing heavily. She allowed him to settle down for a couple minutes before talking to him.

"I'm home," he said, and she wrapped her arms around him. She could feel a cold sweat on him but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Yes, of course you are. What happened?"

He blinked. "It was back in France... and this one German soldier... we played football together and then I took out my gun and..."

"Shh, shh. It's okay. May I ask why you were playing football together?" Mary held him tight, and he moved to sit up a little bit more.

He bit his lip. "Did I ever tell you about the Christmas Truce?"

"You have not." She looked at him expectantly. He rarely talked about the war, and if he did, he usually changed the subject as soon as possible. But now he was bringing it up himself.

He nodded grimly. "I suppose it could be called one of my better memories, though anything could hardly be called good..."

December 1914

It was Christmas Eve, and he was here, of all places. In France, in the trenches, away from his family. How was Mother faring? Did she even feel comfortable having Christmas with the other Crawleys? Of course she did. He couldn't worry about her, he reminded himself. It was better to simply worry about himself, because he knew Mother could take care of herself.

"Lieutenant Crawley?" A man behind him interrupted his thoughts, and held up a fob watch. "Merry Christmas, sir."

Matthew turned around and swallowed. Here he was, and how could this even be Christmas. "Thank you, Peters. And to you as well." He glanced up at the stars. "It's odd, isn't it? Being here? Where as if we were at home, we'd be gathered around the Christmas tree, singing carols and getting drunk."

"Who's to say we can't get drunk here?" the private asked, and he took a swig out of a flask.

Matthew raised an eyebrow and took out his own. The young private, who couldn't have been more than twenty, had enlisted right away and found that of all the people who had authority over him, he liked Lieutenant Crawley the most. He had tried to cultivate a friendship and Matthew hadn't resisted. "Well, to Christmas, I guess."

"That's not a very good toast, if I may say so, Lieutenant Crawley." The private smirked.

"I suppose not, but it's all I have. In any case, I suppose we could sing carols and drink until we can't see straight, but it won't do us much good. And good luck finding a Christmas tree out here." He looked around at the desolate landscape, still obviously ruined, even in the dark.

Peters sat down next to Matthew, and the two sat in silence. The silence was odd, the absence of guns and shells an abnormality. Of course, shooting and shelling wasn't nearly as heavy at night, but rarely was there absolute silence.

"Captain Crawley, do you hear that?"

Matthew looked up from his flask. "Hear what?"

"Listen," Peters said eagerly.

Music. A familiar tune. Matthew couldn't place it at first, as the singing was so distant and it almost felt like a dream. A couple moments though, and the song was obviously.

"They're singing Silent Night," he said quietly. "In their own language of course. Stille Nacht."

Peters nodded. "Do you know German?"

"A little bit. Not enough to know what they are singing. But I know it in English."

"Of course. Who doesn't?"

Matthew stood up. "Well, what do you say? Do we sing it with them?"

"With them?"

"It's Christmas. War can come another day. We can have peace for one night. One silent night," he said quietly. He took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly. "Sing with me, Peters?"

"Um..."

"That's an order from your Lieutenant."

Peters sighed. "Well, if you put it that way."

Matthew laughed and pulled Peters up from his seated position. He swallowed and his voice began, softly. "Silent night, holy night..."

They began to walk towards the others, Matthew's voice strong, Peters' more hesitant. "All is calm, all is bright, round yon virgin mother and child..." A couple confused looks were sent their way, but some caught on, and joined in. And as the verse ended, the voices singing "Sleep in heavenly peace," had grown. And the next verse began.

Matthew had to smile, but he didn't stop singing. It may not have been the Christmas he was used to, but that didn't mean that it wasn't powerful. The verses went on, and when they had sang all of the verses, another man, an eighteen-year-old private started anew with the first verse. Everyone else had dropped out, not anticipating a repeat of the song. And a strong, clear voice, of a boy who was barely even old enough to go to university, let alone be in the midst of a horrifying war, sang out, alone.

And men, nearly every one in the trench, joined back in, one by one, until the repeat of the song was even stronger than the first iteration had been. And the song drifted over to the Germans. Matthew, out of the corner of his eye, saw a young German man crossing no man's land.

"Shoot him!" one man yelled, having also noticed the German, and he held up his gun to shoot the man.

Matthew grabbed his fellow soldier's gun. "He's unarmed."

"You trust people too easily, Crawley. Do you want us all to be killed?" the other soldier retorted. "Now give me my gun."

"He's unarmed, and there's been no shooting going on tonight, and it's Christmas," Matthew said firmly, and he stood up tall. "Are you armed?"

The German came towards him faster, and shouted back a loud, heavily accented reply. "No, sir. I have come to request a truce."

His English sounded somewhat broken, understandable for a man who natively spoke German, but he was fluent enough for them to understand. "A truce?" Major Ernest, the major serving over Matthew, sounded surprised.

"Yes. We heard you sing and we sing the same song. We do not want to fight on Christmas."

The major nodded. "In that case, your authority and I will meet in no man's land to arrange this."

"That's not a good idea? How can you trust them? They're the bloody enemy!" The soldier who tried to shoot the German protested, but the major had none of it.

Matthew sat down, almost not believing that it might, for one blessed day, be peaceful.

Another young private stood up and said, "Why don't we sing again?"

Many others nodded. And the private began to sing. "O come, all ye faithful..."

Matthew closed his eyes and simply listened to the music. The voices rose above the silence of the outdoors, and for once, he felt at peace.

"They did arrange the truce, and so for that one day we didn't fight, and instead we were together as friends instead of enemies. We played football and I'm not exactly sure who won, but the important thing was that we weren't fighting. And it really was the peace so desired by the world that one day."

Mary squeezed his hand. "Thank you for telling me. Did anything else happen?"

"The next day..." He took in a breath and could not continue. "I'm sorry, I can't really talk about it."

She tried to smile at him. "That's perfectly alright. But if you ever want to tell me about it, I'll always be right here, and I'll always listen.

"Thank you, darling. I'm sorry to ruin your Christmas eve..." he glanced at the clock on the mantel and raised an eyebrow, "Well I suppose now it's your Christmas day, but anyway, I'm sorry to ruin it with my stupid nightmares. Shouldn't you be asleep waiting for Saint Nicholas to come?"

"I'm not a child Matthew, and I doubt visions of sugarplums will dance in my head tonight. I never liked sugarplums anyway."

"Different things will most certainly be dancing in my head," he said quietly, and Mary saw the shadow that passed over his face.

"I'm sorry you still have to suffer like this," Mary said.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about me, it could have been a lot worse."

"I'm so very thankful it wasn't. And to me, that's a gift for every Christmas henceforth," Mary said, placing a soft kiss on his cheek and running her hands through his soft, messy hair.

"You mean I didn't have to get you a Christmas present?"

Mary raised an eyebrow. "You would have had a very disappointed wife, and I don't think you would have liked that. You know how terrible I can be when disappointed."

"You're never terrible to me," Matthew said confidently.

"Have you forgotten the first few years of our acquaintance?"

"I only remember your beauty," he said.

Mary tossed a blanket onto him that he had kicked off, and smirked. "Obviously your powers of observation were not exactly up to normal standards."

He pulled her into his arms. "If you want me to say that you were horrible, I will. I am submissive to the wishes of my beautiful wife, especially on Christmas."

"I find it important to live up to my past sins, and not deny what I've done. I always apologize when I'm in the wrong. And looking back, I was in the wrong quite a bit when I was younger. I've done plenty of things I wholly regret..." she said, her voice growing quiet.

"We both have, and I think we should try to put that behind us. Especially now. It's our first Christmas together and I don't want to taint it with my own memories or regrets," Matthew replied, his own words more firm now.

"Will you be able to go back to sleep now?" she asked, with genuine concern.

"I think so. You know, I would love it if you would sing for me, though. Your voice is beautiful and you don't sing nearly enough."

She pulled herself out of his strong grip and looked affronted. "You'll hear me quite enough tomorrow. You do know we sing carols at Christmas."

"I know that, but just for me?"

"There isn't any music."

He touched a couple of strands of hair that hung in her face. "Good. Your voice will be all the more beautiful."

He laid down between the sheets and Mary sat up, rolling her eyes slightly, but obliging her husband. "Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright," she sang softly, and once again Matthew looked so boyish, so innocent, and she continued to sing.

As she sang the last lines of the song, her husband was sleeping. She smiled at him, turned out the light, and allowed herself to close her eyes as well and sleep until Christmas morning.