In the kitchen, Combeferre laughed a little at himself, gaze tipped up to the ceiling as he contemplated his own absurdity. Though he certainly had no complaints about the last twenty-four hours, they had not progressed as he had expected, and some part of him was still trying to catch his breath, still recovering from the giddiness of waking up at Sybil’s side. As serious as he sometimes appeared, Combeferre had no trouble allowing himself a bit of time to be ridiculous, given the circumstances.

Besides, it was Christmas, holy day of virgin births, and magic stars, and helpful barn animals. Of beautiful ridiculousness.

Equipped with a new glass of wine for Lucy, and another for himself, he ventured back to the party and the young woman’s side. “Here you are,” he offered the wine glass with a smile. “And what have you been up to these days, if I might ask?"