jaimemieux | (no subject)

(no subject)

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

Only through sheer force of will and plenty of experience taking on more than a usual man can handle does Combeferre get this far without collapsing. He had not begun the autumn with the intention of taking on so much, but slowly, the commitments had grown: medical school, teaching French, keeping up his ever-growing collection of flora, and now, tutoring Gavorche. Each new duty had seemed small on its own - small, and important, and meant for him, and so he had taken them on without thinking, not realizing the way his sleeping hours shrunk to nothing.

Combeferre had been weary and ragged at times, uncommunicative to his friends more than he would like, but he has always made time for Sybil. They have not seen each other as often as either of them would like, but when he joins her in her apartment, that time is for her and her alone. Tonight, he is even more tired than usual, and even more grateful for the thought of her company. The evening before had been full of exams, the day’s lessons with Gavroche and the French students dedicated more to keeping order than anything resembling education. And though he had greeted Sybil at her door with his usual warmth, he is already drifting by the time he sinks onto her couch.

In the few moments that it takes her to fetch wine from the kitchen, Combeferre has fallen fast asleep.

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Sybil has noticed the way that he falls asleep earlier each night he comes over; how he's weary and his face is lined. He seems distracted more and more, and she's been meaning to speak to him about the matter. Tonight, however, things come to a head when she finds him asleep on the couch before she could even sit herself. Setting the wine down, she sits beside him, shaking him gently. "Henri."

He had only been slumbering for the briefest of moments, but Henri jerks awake at the touch of Sybil’s hand on his arm. “Le bon Dieu,” he murmurs, blinking, and adjusts his spectacles, which had already begun to slide down his nose.

He offers her a sheepish smile. “Sybil. By God, I am sorry."

"I know that you are," she says, her hand resting on his shoulder. Sybil wants nothing more than for him to be happy, and knows that he loves everything that he's doing. But she also finds herself worried for him, and it's that worry that shows in her eyes tonight. "I also know that you are wearing yourself to the bone."

Henri laces his fingers with hers and tugs her close to kiss her, wishing that a press of lips alone could dispel her worry. "Another month and the term will be over. You needn't worry so."

“And if you collapse from exhaustion before the month is out?” It’s a worry for her, as real as any concern might be. She squeezes his hand, and knows that he is unlikely to like what she says next. “I think you need to give something up.”

“And what would you suggest I sacrifice?” Henri asks with a dry smile and perhaps more skepticism than is called for. But he can think of no commitment that could be easily set aside: he will not give up on school so easily, and would never abandon Gavroche or his studies, his teaching is nearly done for the term, and he does not even mean to find new scientific projects. They just…happen.

He reaches for the wine. “I’ve been busy before. I can manage."

"Perhaps you should spend fewer nights here," she says at long last, not truly wanting to suggest that. But he does need more rest, and she worries. "Or, perhaps you should bring your studies over, and work when you come."

“No.” Combeferre shakes his head immediately, with sharp determination. “You, I will not sacrifice.”

There had been a girl once, in Paris, who Combeferre had thought he might marry someday, the way he now thinks the same of Sybil. But in those mad, desperate months that had followed the July Revolution, when they had come so close to their ideal, and yet lost so much, when he was up all hours feeding their printing press and desperately trying to keep up with lectures and exams in the time remaining, he had let her slip through his fingers. And he will not let that happen again.

Combeferre cups her cheek and dips their foreheads together. “I will find time for rest,” he promises. “And not at your expense.” With a crooked grin he adds, “My classmates are looking at least as tired as I do. This is merely a gauntlet they run us through, and it will pass."

“Then maybe we should take a holiday.” Were this home there would be a dozen places they could go to. Of course, were thisher home things would be altogether more complicated in other ways that Sybil does not wish to imagine. She understands, too, how hard it is to need to learn so many more things than one’s classmates, if only to stay on par with them and understand what else might come.

“Perhaps in the New Year?” She is loathe to go before then lest there be an emergency at the New Year yet again. “Take a room at a hotel and spend a few days on our own.”

Even with the term coming to an end, the number of tasks Combeferre has left to do seems infinite. Gavroche requires constant attention, and the dishes in his kitchen mock him at every turn. And on top of that, all he wants to do is sleep.

And yet the offer now before him is tempting enough to make him selfish. By God, what a comfort it would be to hide away for a few days, to forget all but Sybil, to find some rejuvenation in the new year. He smiles, bright and warm, and nods. “That is a perfect idea."

"Then we shall," she says, her smile growing when he agrees with her. It's a relief to know that he will take at least something of a break, though it may be some time off. Sybil kisses him softly, her fingers curling against his cheek. "I'll organise it."

“You are an angel,” Henri tells her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “And more patient than any woman should have to be.” Already he is settling into the idea of this trip; he has never seen the sort of snow in person that people have described finding up by the lodge, and he wonders what else has changed up there. Perhaps it would be worth bringing his sketchbook along as well, just in case they happen to come upon some plant or animal he has not yet cataloged.

He slides a sheepish look at Sybil. Or perhaps he should leave his notebooks at home.

She knows the look that he gets when his mind begins to wander, but the way he smiles at her at the end shows he knows it too. "A weekend of relaxation," she says pointedly, taking her glass back up and holding it to his. "Of just the two of us."

“Of just the two of us,” Henri agrees. And for the two of them, he promises himself. No textbooks, no sample cases, no reams of natural history notes. To solidify the matter, he adds with a sheepish grin, “I will not even force you out on any long walks."

"I enjoy going on long walks with you. I even enjoy when you get distracted by specimens. Only not when we nearly freeze because of it," she says kindly, affection and admonishment in her eyes.

“That was only the once!” Henri laughs. “And only because I wanted to discover how old that spruce was. It may have shed some light on how Darrow could exist at all.” He does not expect any real secrets to be revealed, not after all this time, but Combeferre cannot help searching for an answer. Such is the nature of the scientist.

"Of course it might," she says, smiling and leaning close to kiss his nose. Truly, she would not change a thing about him, even the moments in which she fears for her toes from frostbite. "I will book a room then. Up at the lodge, I think?"

“Perfect.” He playfully wrinkles his nose at the kiss. “Over the new year, perhaps? I hear they are having some sort of celebration at Kagura, and thought we might like to attend. We can stay the night after."

"Yes," she says, pleased at his agreement. It means they can still spend Christmas with their friends and then they can have some time to themselves afterward. "We should begin the New Year how we mean to continue it, shouldn't we?"

There is a thought that has been lingering in the back of Combeferre’s mind for some months now, one that makes him feel warm, and terrified, and bright. As Sybil speaks, it is as though she has read his mind, and he blushes faintly.

“Yes,” he agrees with sudden certainty, knowing all of a sudden exactly what he will do to ring in the new year. “We shall."

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