Sybil Crawley (
adifferentlife) wrote2014-06-23 08:36 pm
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Home Plot - Part 3
There had been little sleep for Sybil that night, unable to stop her mind from racing. Each word that was spoken at dinner played over in her head, followed quickly by her stilted conversation with Henri and then the one with her sister. When the maid comes to wake her she's already up and dressed, sitting at her dressing table and counting the minutes until she can go down for breakfast and then to the hospital.
Breakfast was a rushed affair as well, nodding and answering when asked a question and grateful that Mary was still abed. When she excuses herself she declines the offer of a ride into the village, wanting the walk to clear her head. This is her home, and yet she feels out of place. Has she changed so much? Will they be here forever, and will she have to find a way to make this her life again? These are the things that she wonders on the way to the hospital, thoughts that deserve more time than she has to dedicate to them. There's a transport there which means a morning of blood and sweat as they take in patients and get them clean and settled.
Sybil rushes toward Henri, barely making eye contact as she hurries to help him settle a patient. "Good morning."
Breakfast was a rushed affair as well, nodding and answering when asked a question and grateful that Mary was still abed. When she excuses herself she declines the offer of a ride into the village, wanting the walk to clear her head. This is her home, and yet she feels out of place. Has she changed so much? Will they be here forever, and will she have to find a way to make this her life again? These are the things that she wonders on the way to the hospital, thoughts that deserve more time than she has to dedicate to them. There's a transport there which means a morning of blood and sweat as they take in patients and get them clean and settled.
Sybil rushes toward Henri, barely making eye contact as she hurries to help him settle a patient. "Good morning."
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Good God, had he ever been so-tongue tied? Combeferre had only a few too-brief hours of sleep behind him as well, having stayed up half the night, staring at the low ceiling of the inn where he had found lodgings, as though there, amongst the stains and grit, he might find the answers he sought. Who was he in this strange place? Not Henri Combeferre, medical student and radical, nor even Henri Combeferre, French teacher, scientist, and lover of Miss Sybil Crawley. Instead, he was an amalgamation of things, none of them quite him: military doctor, stranded Frenchman, poor dinner guest, friendless foreigner. The Irishman, Branson, who had driven him home, had called him bold for what he had said at dinner the night before, but he only felt foolish now. Foolish, and a little afraid. What would he do if he lost Sybil in this strange place? If he found himself truly alone?
Thankfully, there was enough work around the hospital to keep both of them busy late into the morning, and Henri and Sybil exchanged only polite words and professional questions as the hours passed. It was midday when, suddenly, the found themselves alone. Henri was washing his hands in a basin and turned, only to find her standing there.
“Sybil.”
Only a handful of hours had passed, but he felt like he hadn’t called her by her Christian name in ages.
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It has been a hard morning for Sybil, and she thinks it has for Henri as well. Working so close to the man that she loves so very much hasn’t brought her the comfort that she has imagined it to be, but rather a stress that is not needed on a day such as this. The hospital, once seeming well-equipped to handle whatever might be thrown at them, seems woefully archaic to her now. More than once she thinks to ask why antibiotics weren’t proscribed, or some other such thing that Sybil realises she takes for granted. The eyes of Doctor Clarkson always seem to be on them as well and the situation is only made worse when Edith stops by to try and talk to Henri, though luckily they were far too busy to entertain visitors.
“Henri,” she says softly, letting her hand brush his before she pulls away to dry them. Her eyes flit about and she looks to the door, nodding. “Follow me.”
It’s a small path, another less-used way to the courtyard and a place that some of the nurses and doctors choose to smoke. For now it is empty, and for that Sybil is grateful, unable to stop herself from reaching out to Henri to wrap her arms about him.
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He swallowed. “Sybil, last night…” But what could he say? He wasn’t sorry for what he said, though he wished he hadn’t upset Sybil so. He was worried about her, but a bit hurt as well, though perhaps he had no right to be. “If God were truly just, the earth would have swallowed me whole,” he finally said with a touch of a smile. That, at least, was true.
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"No, if it were just, I would have spoken up," she says softly, her eyes searching his to know that he does not bear her any ill will. For her to have expected him to simply adjust to her family and her life, when she treasures his opinions so very much has done them both a disservice. "It was a hard night. Unexpected for us both."
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He nodded a little. “I hope there was no more trouble for you after I left?"
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Sybil wishes to press the matter, but at the same point, doesn’t wish to worsen an already complicated situation. Aware they are in public, though secluded, she squeezes his hand once more before letting it go. “Mary came to see me. She suspects that we know one another. I told her that we met whilst I was undergoing my training.”
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He hesitated. "Sybil, some of the men who arrived today... Their burns come from gas, I understand?" Though he did not blame a single family, no matter how privileged, for this war that he only vaguely understood, what he had seen today, the pain and suffering, had brought last night's opulence into stark relief. The hospital was well-equipped, but still morphine ran low, and beds were increasingly few.
Henri took a breath. He did not want to bring his disagreement with Sybil's family into their discussion again, and if he continued with these thoughts, they would surely lead in that direction.
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If he had mentioned opulence she would have protested, noting how much less they all had at Downton then before the war. But it would be a protestation that she only felt half-heartedly, especially since her time in Darrow where she has become accustomed to having so much less.
“They are. They’re horrible, though we do not get the worst patients here.” Yet, even still she has seen blindness caused by the gas, seen it force a young man’s hand into taking his own life. She’s seen the scars and blisters and it makes her wonder how it is men can do these things to one another. “I’ve heard stories from the men, from other hospitals. About how they scream and cannot bear to be touched, even with sheets.”
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“Our lives are not so simple as we wish them to be, are they?” She is grateful for the embrace, leaning against him and breathing in his warmth. In some small way, her words are an admission of the thing she is sure is bothering them both. “We come from very different places, and in Darrow that does not seem to matter. But here…”
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“Nor I you,” she says sincerely, her hand gripping his tightly. Almost as if she worries that should she let go she will lose him entirely. Sybil clears her throat, unsure of how exactly she can explain what she has to tell him next. “Thomas told me once, in Darrow, that I eloped with Branson in my future. He was- is, our chauffeur. I would gladly marry you tonight if I thought it might end our worries.”
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He had thought before of marrying Sybil - had thought about it quite a bit, in fact. But in Darrow, the idea had been as idyllic and easy to contemplate as their nights spent together. Here, it overwhelmed him. “I would marry you in an instant, you must know that. But such would only compound our troubles, pull us apart more swiftly. I have nothing-“ Henri took a breath, straightening. “I will not always have nothing. I will find a way for us, I promise you that."
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"I do not care what we have, if you are there," she says, and she knows now that she means it. All of the wealth means nothing to her without him. "We could work, and make our way. Unless-"
There is a thought that has wormed into her head, and it is one that is hard to dislodge. "Do you not wish to?"
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“We can do this together,” she insists, though she’s no time to say much else. Two other nurses come out of the door, already fumbling with cigarettes. Sybil takes a discreet step back from Henri, and bows her head slightly to seem deferential.
“I love you,” she whispers as she walks past him and back in the door. Hopefully that is enough to see them through..