adifferentlife | Christmas Eve (for Henri)

Christmas Eve (for Henri)

For a short while Sybil had wondered if she'd even be able to leave her apartment on the Christmas Eve, the snow coming in droves the day before. But it had tapered off through the night, and on the 24th the roads and footpaths were all clear of it. She'd bundled up to meet Henri at the Soup Kitchen, their time there passing quickly. A few hours of ladeling soup, serving up rolls, and handing over baskets of canned goods and gifts for the children, and she honestly felt as if she'd done something to help those who needed it. It wasn't enough, the simple giving of food only a bandage on the wound. But it was what they could manage today, though she finds herself more determined to contribute more to Darrow in the coming year.

It's perhaps an appropriate mood for going to mass. She's never been to a Catholic Church before, and it seems rather disappointing in the end. In English just as any service she was used to, but with a dreadful number of candles it seems to her. Overall she finds lttle different, refusing communion as the entire idea of transubstantiation seems suspect, but enjoyable nontheless. It's nicer to have Henri to share it with, even if he seems somber at some points of the night.

When they leave it's nearly one in the morning, truly Christmas day. It's snowing again and as she slips her arm through his offered one, Sybil looks up to him contentedly. "Happy Christmas."

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"As a rule, I think men care much more about the particularities than God, yes," Combeferre said, half to himself and with a rueful smile. He was silent for a long moment, thoughtful again. "The mass was not quite what I expected." It had been softer, somehow, easier - in English, with muted ceremony, and an easy message of goodwill and family togetherness. "But- can we really complain? The Church has always shown its worst colors when it has refused change, and turned its back on the course of Progress. But if one demands that clergy adapt, one should not be so surprised by the result."

He shook his head a little, reddening. "I am very sorry. I'm getting too philosophical."

"Hardly too philosophical, I don't think. You're reflecting," she decides the word is a better one than his. "After all, it must have been very different, after all this time. In English, as well."

Which was nice in its way, her latin not exactly up to snuff. "I think that my Granny would be horrified that I even stepped over the threshold, but I don't mind. It was fitting, I think, for the night."

Combeferre had to smile, ducking his head. “You do indulge me so.” He gave a thoughtful sigh. “The Church has done so much damage over the years. It has sheltered the wicked, traded in hypocrisy, committed acts of downright cruelty. But I suppose it has never quite lost its hold on me. Even in English, it seems. I hadn’t really expected that.”

He chuckled. “Oh dear. Well, I shall do my best to keep the secret, if you can do the same."

"There's very little indulging, honestly," she tells him truthfully. "Or if it is, then we indulge each other from time to time and it's needed when it happens."

"Men always do awful things to one another in the name of man y things, but religion seems to be the one they choose most, isn't it? Religion and country, rather," she amends, tightening her arm through his. The snow is still falling but it's light and dry, landing on her nose and cheeks and tickling her skin. "It doesn't mean that they can't build things in the name of such as well, or that it can't mean more to us than we perhaps wish it to."

She's glad for a slight change in conversation, her smile growing. She tries to picture Henri meeting her Gran, and after the momentary horror, it pleases her. "I promise to not tell her if you don't."

Combeferre hummed softly and held her a little closer. Indulgent or no, Sybil had a way of thoughtfully bringing him back to earth that he already cherished. Combeferre was no Voltaire, with his gleeful mocking of the Divine, and certainly no Robspierre, with all his hated and fear of the Church. He felt the push and pull of faith and reason keenly, and had ultimately planted his flag on Reason’s shore. But faith had a pull of its own - and was that so very terrible?

He knew next to nothing about Sybil’s grandmother, but had no difficulty in conjuring up the image of an angry titled matriarch. “I swear it,” he chuckled. “She will not know that I have dragged you into papistry - at least not from my lips."

"I should hope not," she says softly, stilling them for long enough to plant a quick kiss to those very lips he mentioned. It warms her, as cold as it is out, the rush of affection a heat.

Sybil looks up to him, her teeth pulling at her lip as she considers what she wishes to ask him next. "I've a gift for you, Henri, I thought you might like to have it tonight?"

“Oh-“ Combeferre blushed a little, remembering the small gift in his own pocket - a box in which rested a pendant made from a deep blue stone, which though simple, had immediately reminded him of her. “Yes- I would like that very much. I have something for you, in fact."

"Then, perhaps you would walk me home, and come in for a drink? To toast in Christmas morning, together." Her family rarely went to bed before one on nights like this, or during the season, and whilst her schedule has changed a great deal here in Darrow, sometimes she clung to the old ways. Even if inviting Henri back to her rooms at such an hour would in no way be considered proper, and as such she finds her stomach dancing with unexpected nerves. "I could give you your gift."

“A wonderful proposition,” Combeferre said with a warm smile, glad for the opportunity to stay in Sybil’s company a little longer. All the same, he told himself that he should not overstay his welcome. He had a feeling that lingering too long was another thing that would be considered improper in Sybil’s world.

"Good," she says, pleased that he's agreed. Sybil hooks her arm back through his, pausing only to pull her keys from the small purse that she carries. Frankly without Henri she thinks that it would have been a lonely Christmas. Having him has changed all of that. "I'm glad."

Henri gestured for Sybil to lead the way into the building, a smile playing at his lips. His hand went to his coat pocket where the jewelry box was stashed, and he fiddled with it as he followed her into her apartment.

She takes their coats and insists he sit, pouring them both a drink before retrieving his gift from beneath the tree. She sits with the box in her lap, hoping that he'll remember their visit to the hospital, otherwise the gift may just seem strange. Nervous, she holds it out to him, "Happy Christmas, Henri."

Grinning softly at the anxious sweetness on her face, he set down his glass and took the box from her. The smile only grew when he undid the ribbon and raised the box lid. “Sybil. It’s wonderful” He laughed a little, taking it out of the box and holding it up. “Papilio glaucus. You remembered."

"You like it?" She says it with honest relief, smiling wide at him and clapping her hands together the once. "Yes, I remembered. I remember it fondly."

“It’s exquisite. My only regret is that I could never mount a butterfly so well.” He grinned crookedly at her. “Where did you find it?"

"At a little shop in the city. It was dusty in a back corner, and I almost looked past it," she admits to him. It had been her third turn to through the shop before she'd even noticed it was there. "I am sure you would do it admirably well."

“Quite remarkable what you can find in hidden places.” Combeferre set down the gift and leaned over to kiss her, cupping her cheek gently. “Thank you, cherie."

"Je t'en prie," she whispers softly, returning the kiss with affection, her hand reaching up to cover his. "My darling."

Henri blushed, ducking his head slightly to press his forehead to Sybil’s, his hand slipping to the back of her neck. “Et joyeaux Noel.” A soft smile curved at his lips. “I have something for you as well."

"You do?" Her delight is obvious, almost gleeful. Sybil touches his cheek fondly, her fingers grazing along before pulling back to clasp her hands eagerly together.

Her obvious delight made Combeferre chuckle softly. “Of course. Here-“ He took the jewelry box out of his pocket and placed it in her waiting hands. “I hope it suits.” The necklace inside was really quite simple, but there was an elegance to the simplicity that he hoped Sybil would like.

"Henri," she says in awe as she pulls it from the box, letting it dangle between her fingers and catch the light. It is simple, but that makes it no less beautiful, in fact she thinks it enhances the beauty of the stone. "It's wonderful."

She hold it up to her neck, twisting away so he can catch the clasp of the chain behind her neck. "Would you?"

Combeferre nodded, taking the chain from her. His fingertips were warm against the back of her neck. “Et voila,” he murmured, and pulled back with a fond smile. “Beautiful."

When he's done she doesn't look for a mirror, but rather turns back to Henri, cupping his face much the same way he'd cupped hers a moment before.

"Thank you," she whispers before she presses her lips to his again, slightly parted. It's a kiss that leaves little space between them, both nervous and yet not.

The kiss came unexpectedly - if not the mere press of her lips, then their purposeful sureness. Henri brought his hand to the back of her neck again, fingertips playing lightly against her skin. And though he sunk into the kiss gladly, he did not push further, allowing Sybil to take the lead.

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