adifferentlife | A tour of sorts [[Combeferre]]

A tour of sorts [[Combeferre]]

Sybil was serious about her offer to show Henri about the city should he wish, and the hospital and college in particular. There's a cafe at the college she's suggested they meet at, a place where the tea is finally acceptable after a year of her patronage. It's a beautiful day, there's a crispness in the air that can only herald the onset of autumn. She loves this weather, it's her favourite time of year, and something she's very glad still happens here in Darrow.

She has a table outside, a pot of tea sitting half-empty in front of her. The sun is warm enough that she's slung her cardigan over the back of her chair in a manner she considers rather haphazard even still. Her notes for pharmacology lay in front of her, mostly untouched. It's too nice a day to study and she's rather looking forward to the company she's been promised.

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Any comments she might have made about nursing and medicine doing the same are silenced when she sees what holds his attention. Likely she would have walked by without noticing herself, her time in Darrow having changed her in more ways than she would necessarily care to admit. With their final goal so close, the time to notice such a thing? Now that she has, she's happy he stopped them, leaning close to whisper, "have you seen one like this before?"

"Not from this close," Combeferre answered in a murmur. The whispers were needless; even the care with which he crept closer was probably unnecessary, since insects had little interest in the world of humanity. But investigations like these warranted a certain respect. "Papilio glaucus, if I am not mistaken. Sir Walter Raleigh's expedition called it Mamankanois when they discovered it. I've seen drawings."

Sybil steps behind him; careful and precise in her movements. She doesn't want to startle the creature, her memory of butterflies is mostly that they're fluttering things and quite beautiful. This one is no different, and she reminds herself that just a moment ago she spoke of stopping to enjoy things simply because they were there. "The blue at the bottom of his wings, it looks almost brushed on."

"Doesn't it?" Combeferre said, eyes alight. "If I remember correctly, that indicates that it is female." The swallowtail's wings fluttered slightly, but it stayed where it was, even as the people approached. "I believe it's very common in the Eastern United States, but I've only ever seen it in books."

"Do you know a lot about insects?" She's honestly curious, it's not something she's ever had much of an interest in except in a more practical manner. Sybil is all for keeping them out of picnics, or admiring something like a butterfly, but her knowledge of them is highly limited. "Or is it animals in general?"

"A bit. I used to collect them. I am no expert, but they interest me. Is there any creature that lives on land more different from man?" He straightened as the small creature took flight, watching as the wind and whatever instinct propelled it took her away. "They are always more interesting in person, up close. One discovers details even the most exacting naturalist ignored. No drawing could capture that color." Only then did he look at Sybil again, his expression turning sheepish. "Desole. I fear I can be... easily distracted."

His look alone is enough to make her smile as wide as she can manage. It's endearing and sweet, as well as a relief. It doesmake her feel uncharitable for wondering if he was perhaps too interested in these things a moment becore. "It's fine. Truly, I don't mind a distraction or two."

"Thank goodness." Combeferre shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, the same sheepish grin still tugging on his lips. "I suppose I should have warned you - I have been accused of madness on occasion. By my friends."

This time, as they started to walk again, he summed up the nerve to offer his arm.

The gesture is a welcome one and yet somehow still a surprise. With some friends she would not notice at all, in fact with Kaine she nearly insists that she tuck her hand in the crook of his arm when he walks her home. With Henri it seems sweeter, and as shell her hand in a familiar manner on an unfamilar

The gesture is a welcome one and yet somehow still a surprise. With some friends she would not notice at all, in fact with Kaine she nearly insists that she tuck her hand in the crook of his arm when he walks her home. With Henri it seems sweeter, settling her hand in a familiar manner on an unfamilar arm.

"Do they? Should I be worried?" She asks playfully as she leads the way across the solid drive of the hospital, pausing to wait for a car. "You've not exhibited any signs that I know as of yet, but care of patients with mental maladies isn't until next semester."

Combeferre had been half-expecting her to refuse. Not outright, of course, for Sybil was too well schooled for that. But he had feared she might look askance, or keep what distance she could, or even laugh at him. A woman might reject a man's arm in a hundred ways without outright refusing it.

But Sybil did none of those things, and Combeferre flashed her a smile full of warmth as they walked towards the hospital. "My behavior thus far does not warrant concern? Here I am in the company of a lovely woman, and all I can do is talk of insects."

Well schooled, yes, but also charmed and enjoying herself a great deal. Sybil had never considered refusing, thinking his gesture meant that he was also having a pleasant time. His words cement that belief and it's not artifice that brings colour to her cheeks, though she shows no other sign of embarrassment. "After we spoke at length of history, literature, and social justice. At least one of those topics would not be considered appropriate for a social afternoon and yet I wouldn't change a moment of this day."

"Only one? I must be losing my touch. As you might have gathered, I was considered quite radical, once." His tone was light, though something like loss or homesickness flickered in his eyes. Combeferre still found it strange, even unsettling, to think of Paris and his work there as an artifact of another life.

Sybil nearly says that she wanted to be a radical, but her parents wouldn't allow her, only thinks better of it. It's not entirely the right sentiment, either, especially when she sees that familiar lost look in his eyes. Sybil squeezes his arm before speaking. "My father tried to keep me in the house when I wanted to go to political meetings and my mother wasn't fond of my becoming a nurse at the beginning. As it was they thought all of my causes were so dreadfully boring. But I was hardly a radical. I wish I had stood up more for things."

Combeferre shrugged. "Not everyone can play the same role in the progress of a people. Even I fell into politics largely by chance - and that was when you could throw a stone in the Latin Quarter and hit half a dozen radicals." He smiled at her. "You can imagine a better future, for both yourself and others. And you want to fight for it. That is more than most people."

"You are kind," she says, even though she can see the truth in his words. A tug on his arm stops them just out of range of the automatic doors. "Are you ready for the future that we have?"

"Ah, but that does not make me wrong." Combeferre gazed through the wide glass doors with a wary look in his eye. He had spent weeks in a strange new world, and in that time had read book after book about all that had changed in medicine. The discoveries had filled him with wonder, but also with a kind of dread. What if he never caught up with all these was to know?

He took a breath and flashed Sybil a grin. "The future it is, then. Lead the way, mademoiselle."

The doors open with their customary swish, and Sybil tugs a badge out of her pocket that has a rather stern looking image of her on the front as well as some other information. Clipping it on, she leads him to a desk, smiling at the security and offering his name in order to have a temporary one handed over. "May I?"

Sybil doesn't wait, clipping the badge to his vest and patting it to make sure that it sits straight. As much as she still smiles, she's in her element now, her already straight shoulders straighter and her chin that bit higher. "I thought we might start in the short term ward, and then move on toward radiology and -ography?"

The hospital's interior was starkly clean, unnaturally so under the harsh electric lights that still felt terrible foreign to Combeferre. He understood now the importance, of course, having read about germ theory and the like, though he still marveled at how the staff ever managed it. Medicine was messy business. And that messy, human, business happened here, in a building made of glass, and metal, and tile, that seemed the furthest thing from the living and the breathing?

Here was one more thing he would have to get used to, then.

But at least he had a guide. Tearing his gaze from the walls and ceilings, Combeferre smiled as turned his attention back to Sybil and she pinned the badge to his shirt. If she had been lovely before, now she was radiant. "Yes, certainly. That sounds wonderful."

"Is there anything specific you have an interest in?" She had meant to ask it earlier, and realises now that she's been remiss in finding what he wishes to do, planning instead what she finds fascinating. "We have time, and this place is large, though I am told nowhere near as much as some place that exist."

"I would not know where to begin," Combeferre confessed ruefully. He scanned the lobby once again, but found no answers there. "I do not even understand- where do doctors see their patients?" He smiled crookedly. "I fear I am wholly reliant on you to guide me."

"Then I shall do that." She touches his shoulder, nodding down the hall. It's exciting and yet a bit trepidatious, wondering if she'll show things that he will appreciate as much she does. There's a great weight but one she is willing to bear.

"This is the short term patient ward," she says as the door slide open at her swipe. "The people here are often in for observation when we are unsure of a diagnosis, or need medicine for a brief time or are recovering from surgery when it will take more than a few hours."

Much of the room was sectioned off with curtains, though a few were open, revealing empty beds or, in one or two cases, a doctor or patient talking quietly. Aside from the metal and bright lights, this, at least, reminded him of the hospitals he had known, where calm doctors examined nervous-looking patients who perched on uncomfortable beds. He nodded, eyes alert and curious. "You mentioned another ward - something-ography?" Now that sounded wholly unfamiliar.

It has all become familiar to her, the way patients are assigned, the nurses and doctors on rounds, the beds and rooms that seem lavish compared to her own hospital experiences from home where as many men were fit into a room as possible. "Radiography. Downstairs. I thought I might show you X-rays and some of the other scans that let us see inside the body without invasiveness."

Combeferre's eyes lit up. "X-rays! Yes! I have read about those. What a simple thing, and yet so utterly remarkable." He laughed a little and ducked his head, only belatedly halting his outpouring of enthusiasm. "I would very much like to see that."

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