Bring Back the Light

Let the Storm Roll

Disclaimer: I don't own Beauty and the Beast.

A/N: Oh my gosh, I just need more Lumiere and Plumette in my life! Plus Adam and Belle and everyoneee. But right now, enjoy some Lumiere and Plumette family fluff with their kids Soren and Mireille. Go team FireFeather!

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Rain cascaded down the turrets and spires of the castle and blurred the moonlight in every window as the storm beat against the glass. Wind buffeted the stones and howled down the chimneys like a threat as Lumiere turned over and pulled Plumette closer to him before burying his face in the nape of her neck.

It was late summer, moving too swiftly into autumn. The air was beginning to turn chilly and nippy in the morning, and everyone was beginning to pull out their winter garb in preparation for the coming snow. Still the last vestiges of summer clung to the estate.

Thunder rumbled over the castle, rattling the windows. Somewhere down the hall, fluffy FrouFrou barked at the storm, trying to intimidate it without avail. Some of the enchantment had clung to the dog, and he hadn't aged much even though he should have already been an old, arthritic fellow by now. The dog with the tassel tail still acted like a puppy sometimes, which the children enjoyed.

Speaking of the children, he was surprised that neither of them had come running into the room yet. Normally at least one of them would have invaded at the outset of all this noise.

Just in case, he lifted his head to glance at the door and nearly had a heart attack. "Good Lord!" He jerked up, his hand going to his chest.

Sitting silently at the foot of the bed like a ghost, his dark eyes wide, was his and Plumette's five-year-old son, Soren.

"Hmm, what, what's going on?" Plumette said, startled into wakefulness. She pushed herself up onto her elbow and reached for Lumiere.

Soren was sitting cross-legged in his nightclothes, his hands resting on his knees, but when Lumiere shouted, he yelped and tumbled backward off the bed.

"Soren!" Lumiere exclaimed, his heart still beating like a hummingbird's in his chest even as Soren's eyes appeared again at the foot of the bed. There was a chaise lounge at the foot of the bed, so it wasn't as if he had fallen to the floor. Still, Lumiere was far too old for this kind of thing.

"Papa?" the five-year-old said, tilting his head to the side, "Are you all right?"

Lumiere dropped his head into his hands as Plumette rubbed his shoulder and silently laughed at him. "Did he scare you that much?" she whispered, her lips close enough to brush against his ear. Mmm, she shouldn't of done that, it made him want to kiss her instead of focusing on calming down from his potential moment of death.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to see a ghost child on the bed, dear," he said as he looked up. Soren was watching him closely from the end of the bed, chewing on his lower lip anxiously. Lumiere smiled and pulled back the covers. "Come here, you wicked creature."

The five-year-old scurried up the big comfy bed and sat down between Plumette and Lumiere. Soren had black curly hair, golden eyes nearly the same brassy shade that Lumiere had once been as a candlestick, and light brown skin. His long curls were free from the tie that normally held them back, and curls brushed against Lumiere's nose as he hugged the boy to him.

"You should've woken us," Plumette said, her eyebrows raised in gentle scolding. She snuggled Soren for a moment, kissing his temple.

"I didn't want to scare you," he said.

Plumette laughed. "Mmm, that was sweet of you, darling." Her eyes met Lumiere's over Soren's head, and she grinned at him. "How about you simply call out to us from the doorway, then? Or knock?"

"It was too loud," Soren protested, and as if to back up his claim, thunder rumbled again. He ducked down against the pillows and covered his head with a sheet.

"Let's discuss proper ways to wake people in the morning, loves," Lumiere said. He reached across Soren and stroked Plumette's cheek before flopping back against the mattress, tossing one arm over Soren so he could keep at least a hand on his wife. "We all need our sleep," he mumbled. There was supposed to be a tea party the next day for some visiting nobles, and he didn't want to be serving the party with tired eyes and yawns.

Lumiere had almost drifted off to sleep when he felt Soren press a hand against his cheek. "Why does the thunder rumble?"

Oh, no, not questions. Not now... Let's have children, he had said to Plumette over five years ago, it'll be fun, he had insisted.... "We'll look it up in a book in the library in the morning," he said, not even opening his eyes.

"And why does the lightning come first? What is lightning?"

Really. They were going to discuss scientific matters at this early ungodly hour. Lumiere opened one eye to look at his extremely awake and very curious little intellect of a child watching him. "Soren."

"Yes, Papa?"

"Go to sleep."

"But now I'm awake."

Lightning lit up the room and was quickly followed by a crash of thunder. Soren winced and then shook his head. "What would happen if it didn't ever rain?"

"That's called a drought, little one, and it's a terrible ordeal," Lumiere muttered, "But I really must sleep and so should you."

"Sing me a song, then?" Soren asked.

"Yes, love, sing a song," Plumette said, eyes closed, her tone extremely amused, "A lullaby. Preferably an effective one."

Before Lumiere could explain why he wasn't going to sing because he was just as exhausted as she was, the sidedoor to their quarters burst open. A blue-clad blur dashed across the stone floor and then launched herself into the air, landing in a small ball toward the foot of the mattress.

Four-year-old Mireille uncurled and scrambled up the blankets as another lightning strike led into thunder. Lumiere held out a hand to help her, and she slipped her dainty hand into his. She was petite and delicate for her age, but her stubbornness knew no bounds. She was a sweet, quiet child, though, soft-spoken and tender-hearted.

"Hello, sweetheart," Lumiere said as she settled down next to him, letting Soren stay beside Plumette. "And how are you on this fine evening?"

"Not fine," she said emphatically. Her round blue eyes, ones she had inherited from him, flashed in the light of the storm before she pressed her face into his shoulder, taking refuge in his arms. Besides her eyes, she was a miniature version of her mother. Her tight dark brown curls were held back in a braid that trailed down her back, and her skin was a darker shade of brown than her brother's. "Make the storm go away."

"We need the rain," Lumiere said.

"It makes the flowers grow," Plumette put in. She put her arm over Soren so she could tickle Mireille. "And you like flowers, don't you?"

Mireille laughed a little and nodded.

"Besides, if it didn't rain, we'd have a drought," Soren told her as if he hadn't just found that out himself.

"What's a drought?" Mireille asked.

"It's when there's no rain and stuff," Soren said with a matter-of-fact tone, "What if it stopped raining now, Papa, would that be a drought?"

"I don't like it..."

"My dears, my loves, my tiny cherub angel faces, if you don't go to sleep, you shall rise to find your kind and dashing father replaced by a snarling tired brute," Lumiere said. He pulled Mireille to him and rested his chin on her head. "Now. Sleep."

And finally, under the threat of a displeased father, the children fell asleep. Lumiere glanced over their heads to see Plumette watching him, her own eyes soft and gentle. "You're a sweet papa, Lumiere."

Lumiere smiled back at her. "I'm only trying to be worthy of all of you, darling."

He had a second chance at life. There was absolutely no way he would not live it to the fullest. But he still needed to sleep...