[[Snowed in]]

[adifferentlife]

Sybil has never been more grateful for a few days off from work with all of the snow that has tumbled down on Darrow over the past few hours. It is relentless, rather like the snow that had trapped them in Kagura, except this time at least Henri and she are in their own home.

"Do you think we have enough formula," she asks Henri, looking in the cupboards. Their refrigerator is full, as are their cupboards. There is bottled water in case they have need of it, and the medical kit that Kaine had gifted to her that she has kept well-stocked even with his departure. There is also wine simmering on the stove, the beautiful bouquet of cloves and cinnamon filling the room. "I think we must, if it only lasts a few days."

She turns to look at her husband, holding a sleeping Sybbie in his arms. There is something about seeing the two of them together that warms her heart. This is her child and her husband and they are a family now though not the one either of them had expected. "We should put her down before she wakes again."

Comments

[jaimemieux]

“We do, cherie,” Henri answers with the long-suffering smile of a man who has already been asked the same question more than once. His gaze remains on the babe in his arms; she has fallen asleep with one of his fingers tightly clutched in her tiny fist, and he grins as he attempts to extricate it, careful not to wake her. Sybil sleeps obliviously peaceful to the snow that has kept so many from their workaday lives, which Henri finds enviable. They are helpless against the elements - why not enjoy the advantages such an exile from the world that the snow offers.

The snow allows a moment to breathe, and unexpected pause in the chaos that has been their life of late. Henri intends to enjoy it.

“Mm?” he looks up from Sybbie’s sleeping face. “Yes, of course. I shall see to it."

[adifferentlife]

"Thank you my love," she says softly, aware of how silly she's sounding going through the cupboards for the third time. Sybil crosses the kitchen to kiss him softly on the cheek, to brush her fingers over the soft brown curls of Sybbie's.

"I'll pour us drinks, and make popcorn. We can watch a movie, or read a book?"

[jaimemieux]

In that moment when Sybil lingers near them both, everything else disappears. So suddenly is he overcome with warmth and love that he would later be embarrassed to share his feelings with anyone - including Jehan, that constant font of romanticism. Though always a feeling person, some might say one given more to his heart than he should, his emotions have lingered closer to the surface since Sybbie has come into their lives, good and bad alike. He know it sounds ridiculous, even in his head, but all at once, he is overwhelmingly grateful for what he has.

“A movie?” he suggests. “I fear that if I must look at another book, my eyes will cease to function.” Combeferre grins down at Sybbie as he turns to take her to her cot in the bedroom, speaking to the sleeping infant in French. “Who ever thought I would say such a thing, mm?"

[adifferentlife]

It is Sybil who feels like the lucky one as she putters in the kitchen, preparing snacks and pouring the spiced wine into glasses. Her days are so busy now; with Sybbie, Henri, her work and trying to study. It's rare to have these moments to spend together, and yet, though her life is full, it is also content.

She settles on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on the table and the video service menu pulled up on the screen. She can hear his voice soft as he murmurs to Sybbie, and she smiles.

[jaimemieux]

“Listen petite, learn from my mistakes: never attend medical school. Your mother would agree, surely. Become something useful - a poet, perhaps.” Combeferre keeps up his playful, one-sided conversation as he takes Sybbie to her cot and lays her down. Miraculously, the infant remains sleeping. He returns to the living room. “Done,” he says, sinking onto the sofa with a rueful look for his wife. “What do you say - do you think we can make it through an entire movie without interruption?"

[adifferentlife]

She hands him his cup, lifting her own in a toast before taking a small sip. The wine is warm and sweet yet nutty, reminding her of similar drinks she'd had at Downton. It's a comfort, especially with all that has changed in her life to have these moments that remind her of home.

"If we are lucky. She's fed and changed. We might have a few hours, even."

[jaimemieux]

“What luxury,” Combeferre says with a wry twist of his mouth, though today, he does not dread Sybbie’s eventual interruption in the same way that he has lately. It’s easier to imagine looking after her when the world consists of only the three of them.

He cups both his hands around the mug of wine and sips it. The drink tastes exactly as good as it smells. “This is wonderful,” he says. “Wherever did you find the recipe?"

[adifferentlife]

"A magazine at work. There are piles of them in the lounge." She studies them some times, trying to be a better wife, cook, housekeeper. They're all so very full of nonsense, but she does like the recipes. "I wish that I had all of Mrs Patmore's sometimes, but then I don't think she ever had most of them written down."

[jaimemieux]

Combeferre nods, knowing the ones she means. He has seen such magazines on the newsstands, some with obvious names like Good Housekeeping, or more baffling ones, like Martha Stewart Living. “Alors, she may have been an excellent cook, but I charge your Mrs. Patmore to have come up with something equally delicious."

[adifferentlife]

Sybil leans close, kissing his cheek. It's a sweet compliment and a well-meant one. He is an honest man, and has put up with too much of her cooking over the years. "A challenge she would live up to I am sure, but for now you can delight in mine."

[jaimemieux]

“And thus, I am content.” Combeferre catches Sybil’s chin with a finger and turns her head slightly so that he can kiss her more thoroughly. They are allowed so few quiet moments together that he intends to enjoy this one. “Now,” he says with a crooked smile, “what film should we watch, my dear?"

[adifferentlife]

"We are both content, then," she says when she breaks away from the kiss. There is a moment that she needs to catch her breath, a moment that is too rare these days. She misses them, and savours when they happen. "There's something called Holiday Inn on."

[jaimemieux]

Combeferre reaches for the popcorn and tosses it into his mouth. “And what are we in for with that?” He has learned not to trust titles, and even genres. The modern world likes comedies that are not funny, fantasies that are too familiar, and stories without plot or moral. Not all of his unexpected discoveries have been bad, but he has learned to choose carefully.

[adifferentlife]

"There's singing and dancing, and..." She looks back to him, with a sheepish smile. It has an someone in it that she's rather fond of, and Sybil sometimes finds it embarrassing. "It has Bing Crosby. He sings, and acts."

[jaimemieux]

Combeferre’s grin is almost sly. He is well aware of his wife’s minor obsession with that particular actor, and finds it charming. Sybbie, he has no doubt, will be singing along to Bing Crosby long before she is speaking in complete sentences. “I should have guessed. In that case, Holiday Inn sounds perfect."

[adifferentlife]

He is sweet, and she kisses him to show she appreciates his good humour about the situation.

"Next time we shall watch whatever you would like," she promises him, leaning back to settle against his side. Their home is warm, and whilst there may be a fierce storm outside, for now they are simply happy newlyweds spending a night together.

[jaimemieux]

“I promise, I have no objections to your Bing Crosby, so long as you do not expect me to sing along,” Henri says playfully, curling his arm around her. Of the two of them, Sybil is the one more likely to hunt down film after film, and Combeferre has largely followed her tastes in the matter, saccharine and harmless as they might be. Films are an escape, and these sweet romances, told in song and dance, certainly offer that. It’s precisely what they need on a night like this.

[adifferentlife]

"Not to sing, but perhaps to dance," she says to him, bright and teasing. It's a delight that he understands; that he doesn't mind the movies she chooses. "I'll expect you to take notes from the Astaire man."

[jaimemieux]

"Pardieu, will you never be satisfied, Madame?" Combeferre's eyes twinkle, his reprimand merely teasing. "I can dance precisely as well as I need to. I did not even step on your toes at our wedding."

[adifferentlife]

She can smile now because she is happy. A few months before and she would have only called herself overwhelmed, and she suspects Henri would have said the same. He is still too busy, and she means some night to ask him of it. Tonight, however, she is happy to tease and jest and be sweet. They need these moments.

"Only at practice," she adds, tilting her head upward to see his face."Never at the wedding."