First sentence fic:
"I shan't think much of you if you don't drink that brew, Siegfried" Audrey said, mitigating the asperity of the words by reaching her hand across the table to touch his where it lay curled in a fist.
His hand, beneath hers, was cold as ice still, and she gave him a look, silently conveying with her eyes that he ought to wrap both hands around the steaming up of tea she'd offered him. Stubborn as ever, the hand beneath hers remained just where it was.
"It's well-sugared," she said conversationally. His hair was still wet, clinging to his forehead even though she'd pressed flannels into his hands and told him to dry off the moment he'd appeared in the doorway of Skeldale House, dripping wet. She was surprised that she hadn't seen icicles stubbornly clinging to his moustache, as well.
A few days after the surrender, it was as if the Almighty had decided that it weren't right to have too much of a good thing, and a cold snap had gripped the Dales. Icy winds came down from the north, along with driving rain and bone-chilling temperatures that made one wonder if it were November rather than May. James was out on a call and Tris was nowhere to be found when the telephone had rung, sending Siegfried out into the cold himself to check on a ewe stuck in the second stage of labor with no end in sight. That had been hours ago, and when he finally returned home, wet, bedraggled, and positively shaking with cold, Audrey had taken one look at the sorry state of him and ordered him to sit while she got him a cup of tea. "Can we spare the sugar?" he asked wryly. Audrey fixed him with another look and gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders. "War's over, at least in Europe," she said quietly. "Surely rationing won't last forever now that the fighting's done. Don't give me that look, Mr. Farnon, I remember good and well how long it lasted after the last war," she said when she saw him open his mouth. His lower lip shook a little bit, and his hand beneath hers was trembling from the cold, as well. She gently turned it over in her palm (pushed down the thought of bringing it to her lips and kissing the icy, callused skin of his palm) and wrapped it around the mug of tea herself.
"It were no trouble," she said easily. "With so much to celebrate and you wandering off into a near-blizzard in May, yes, we can spare the sugar. I daresay you've earned it. You're chilled to the bone." He harrumphed softly but he was already bringing the tea to his lips. His mouth closed as he took a long sip and let out an appreciative hum. "Bloody good tea," he said quietly.
Audrey beamed at the compliment and sat back in her chair to watch him drink. He was still shivering. "And you better drink all of it," Audrey warned. "Last thing we need is for you to catch your death of cold. After it's all gone, you're marching straight upstairs to a bath, and no argument."
The wind continued to rattle the boards and shutters of Skeldale House and Siegfried looked, for a moment, like he was gearing up for an argument.
"A little cold never--" "I'd be more inclined to listen to whatever it is you're going to say if you weren't shivering like a leaf, Mr. Farnon. Drink your tea."
Whatever sharp retort had been on the tip of his tongue was drowned out by a gust of wind that rattled the shutters and woke Jess up from his fireplace nap with a muffled bark of indignation. Both Siegfried and Audrey half-rose from their chairs, but at Audrey's look, he settled back down and after a moment, she did too.
"You know," he said after a few more sips, "there was a time when I thought I'd never drink your tea again."
She rolled her eyes, but it was done in affection. "I were just in Sunderland," she reminded him for the umpteenth time, "it weren't Timbuktu."
"Well, it might as well have been bloody Timbuktu!" he protested, setting the mug down with a clatter. "And if you were there, where would I be? I'd have been left to freeze to death." He was shaking in earnest now, the tea forgotten, and Audrey crossed to him in an instant to put a hand to his forehead. "Mr. Farnon?" she asked, and then quieter, gentler, "Siegfried?"
"And I'd have never gotten the chance to--" "Hush, now," Audrey soothed. She took hold of his shoulders, the tea forgotten for the moment. "Hush, we must get you warm. Come on. Upstairs. Bath, then bed."
"T-this is highly improper, M-Mrs. Hall," he remarked almost conversationally as his teeth chattered.
"I'm not worried about propriety, I'm worried about you," she said easily, wrapping an arm around him to keep him upright as they made their way to the stairs. "Come along." "Audrey," he whispered, making her look at him. It was the second time in near as many days that he'd called her by her Christian name. "Yes?" "Please don't leave me again," he whispered, trying hard to get the words out through chattering teeth. "Not to Sunderland, not to Timbuktu. Please, please. Don't leave. Not again."
"I won't," Audrey said immediately. "I won't, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."
