Disclaimer: I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.

A/N: This is my S/T Valentine Gift for Mosteyn. The prompt was that Sybil and Tom discover their (unmarried) daughter is pregnant. Mosteyn also mentioned WW2 period and I love that idea because I've never been given the opportunity to write Sybil and Tom during that time. It brings up a lot of really interesting facets that would be lacking if it were any other time with the Bransons in England. Ireland views women and the roles in the household a bit differently and that was also fun to play to. So basically I really enjoyed writing this and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

Now a bit of a gaeilge lesson before we continue:
~Peata beag a Dhaidí (pronounced: patuh b-yug a-yadi) means "Her father's pet". It is the irish equivalent of "Daddy's little girl". You could say "cailin a Dhaidí" but that would sound sexual and weird so let's not.
~Tá grá agam duit (pronounced: ta ga agamditch) means "I love you"
~Tá brón orm (pronounced: ta bro-nerm) means "I am sorry"
~Le do thoil (pronounced: lay duh hull) means "please"
~Go leor (pronounced: ga-lore) means "enough"
~Tá náire orm (pronounced: ta nareh or-um) means "I am ashamed"
~Gabhaigí mo leithscéal (pronounced: go-hoyg mo leshkale ) means "I ask (you both) to pardon/excuse me"

Alright — longest author's note ever. Sorry about that!

Enjoy! x

The walk home from the hospital was not done joyously, and Sybil had yet to properly exhale all the stress of the day in the way she normally would after such a long shift. The heels she wore clicked into the pavement heavily, making it look as if she were more determined, more willful in what she was about to do. Normally, she'd walk rather slow, enjoying cool autumn days like this one where the trees that lined the street she lived on with her husband and their four children invited her home.

Tom, now working as Chief Editor for a local newspaper, found he was home earlier. With talk of war, it was not a luxury, but a matter of fact that he was now expected to take much of his work home with him. Late into the night, long after all of the children would go to bed, he'd be up, slaving over the typewriter Sybil bought him several Christmases ago with the bonus from her nurse's wage. Then, the gift was so new Tom practically cried at the sight of it, but now, it was heavy and already beginning to wear on the keys where Tom's fingers spent the most time piecing together days, weeks, and months into years as if they were patches on a quilt and he were no more than a seamstress. It was his stories that educated the public and kept them mentally warm, all the while leaving his fingers dry, calloused, and sometimes bleeding.

Sybil kept all of his articles, saying that the folder of clippings was a testament to how hard-working her husband was, and smart too. These were the things she'd whisper into his ear at night as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him off to bed with her, where he'd argue that the growing file was more of a statement on the time he was allowing to pass lately all without his permission. A war on horizon certainly seemed to bring everything into focus, reminding them both of how much had changed since they first met, and all they'd vow to one another should anything try to tear them apart.

The news Sybil brought with her on this day was inconvenient, and altogether unsettling. Although it certainly did not help that war was imminent, this was news that could shock any mother, at any time. And she dreaded now having to share it with her husband who she already knew was drowning in news of his own, the kind he'd share with the world while she kept theirs a secret.

"Tom?" She called out, her eyes trained up the stairs as she took off her scarf and shimmied out of her coat. "Tom?" It came again.

At the top of the stairs, her youngest son Aiden stopped, carrying in his hands a book as he looked down to his mother with a bemused look upon his face. "He's in your room changing. He got home from work late."

"Is supper on?"

"It's soup. Gran was over earlier. She helped Aine put it on when we first got home with Rian, why?"

"Can you do me a favor and watch it? And have your sister set the table while you do?"

Aiden's eyes narrowed, studying his mother and the way she now marched up the staircase toward him. "Mam?" he asked, the word suddenly seeming so proper. "Is everything alright?"

Sybil smiled sweetly, softening in the way mother's do when their children somehow find a way to be so kind and caring. "Yes, my boy," she practically sang as she reached forward to cup his cheeks. "I'm fine. Just a long day, that's all. Now!" she let out, her voice rising in pitch, "Please do as I ask because I am starved."

She turned on her heel and went to walk off down the hall toward the room she shared with Tom but was stopped. She pointed at Aiden again; this time it was her turn to ponder. "Have you done your homework yet?"

"No, I, uh…"

"Aiden, what did we say?"

"No homework, no rugby," he let out. "But how am I supposed to do my homework if I'm working on supper?"

"The same way the rest of your brothers and sisters manage. Do it when you get home and not when you hear my key in the lock, alright?"

He sighed. "Alright."

"Good," she smiled.

On the way down the hall, she passed the room her two daughters shared, where on the bed, Aine had already completed her homework and was now sketching. In her hand, she held a small piece of charcoal. She did not look up to her mother, and as her hand continued to move, smudging the blackness in a curve along the paper, she let out a simple: "Hi, mam!"

To which Sybil smiled, and tapped at her daughter's door frame. "Hello, darling," she managed in reply.

Finally, she reached her bedroom, and sighed as she reached out for the doorknob. Slowly, she pushed inside, and sighed as she saw her husband, still in his clothes from work, writing something at the desk by the window.

"Tom Branson, do you ever stop?"

He smiled and turned to his wife. "Do you? You're late."

Sybil squinted as if trying to remember an appointment or promise she had made with her husband. When none came, she sauntered over to him and leaned down to give him a long, slow kiss.

"Mmm," Tom moaned. "How was work?"

"Busy," Sybil admitted as she began to get out of her uniform.

"Tell me about it," Tom countered. "I was in Oireachtas today…"

Sybil looked to her husband. "Oh?"

"Should a war break out, they want to stay neutral."

"Do you think that'll hold?"

"For us it will, but for everyone else, I'm not as convinced." A pause. "How's your German?" Tom asked, causing Sybil to sputter out a laugh as she stepped out of her skirt and into a pair of slacks.

A silence settled over them as Tom watched his wife, now in trousers and a lace brassiere, walk to his side of the closet to grab for one of his shirts. Eventually, he turned around, returning his attention to the article he was working on while his wife's tiny hands began to clasp the buttons on his flannel shirt. Barefoot, and with her long hair now loose, Sybil stepped into Tom and wrapped her arms around him. Briefly her eyes glanced to the pages he had already typed before nibbling at his ear then mollifying the lobe with a few tender kisses. "Can we talk after dinner?"

Tom stopped typing and looked to her. "About?"

"I got news today that I need to share with you."

"Good news?" Sybil said nothing so Tom continued. "Bad news, then?"

"It's neither."

Tom sighed and turned back to his work. "Mhm," he accepted.

"I'm neutral," she said simply, her words entertaining the thoughts already in Tom's mind. "Like Ireland…"

Tom kissed the back of Sybil's hand in appreciation, vowing silently to keep the time after dinner reserved for her and her alone. In all of his quiet amusement, he did not have the heart to remind her that those who declare neutrality rarely remain as such; those who refuse to align themselves with the opinions of one side or another must make their intentions known eventually.

~!~

As it so often is the case, Sybil and Tom did not actually get a moment to themselves until it was nearly midnight. After dinner, they took their time clearing the table and washing dishes while the children sat out in the living room listening to a program on the radio.

Madeleine, Sybil and Tom's eldest daughter, arrived to dinner late. It being a Friday, she was due home from University where her parents allowed her to reside after earning a full scholarship. Specifically, Tom and Sybil insisted she go, unable to deny that they were proud to be sending off the first Branson grandchild to college, but even more so proud of the fact that said grandchild was a female, and their eldest. Now, with the news she was about to share with her husband, Sybil felt as if sending her away might not have been the best idea, but it was a better idea than the ones she was raised to believe — ones that told her that locking children away was the best way to protect them from the world.

With the house dressed in darkness and their bedroom door finally shut and locked, Tom grabbed Sybil by the waist and pulled her into him. "I know you wanted to chat, but I just want to let you know how stunning you look today…" he mumbled before lazily seizing her lips. Sloppily, the two remained like this, passing sensual kisses back and forth like secrets that needed sharing.

It took everything in her to finally pull away from Tom, especially as his hand began exploring the smooth, milky skin beneath the material of her shirt. "Tom…" Sybil tried. "Darling, I love you, but not tonight."

Immediately, Tom stopped. "Syb? You're not…" His voice trailed off as he calculated how many days it had been since her last cycle. Doing so, he answered his own question. "Sorry," he let out, turning away. "I guess I was misreading signals there…"

"No, love, I want to and we still can, but if I know you, and I do—"

"You do," he nodded, a small smile now appearing across both their faces.

Sybil continued. "You're not going to want to after I share my news with you."

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly. "Christ, Syb, you're scaring me now…"

"I'm fine."

"The children then?"

"Mostly fine," she said hurriedly.

Tom grimaced as he sat down. "Which one?"

Tight lipped, Sybil smirked and moved to sit beside her husband on the edge of their bed. "Your eldest," she revealed with a heavy sigh.

"Bad?"

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "I'm neutral, remember?"

"Sybil, all the time I have known you, you've never been neutral on anything, love…"

"I'm neutral on this because I don't know if it's true or not."

"Alright," Tom sighed. "Out with it."

"She may be pregnant."

"What?" Tom scoffed.

Hot tears began to pool, coating Sybil's lower lash line as she thought of the anger inside of her husband and the sadness that would soon exist within her if she had to watch him and their eldest daughter argue. "Please don't make me repeat it," she whispered.

Tom looked off and wiped at his upper lip, confirming what Sybil could feel radiating off of him: rage, mixed with just the slightest bit of disappointment and sorrow. "How do you know?"

"Another nurse told me. She works in that part of the hospital. She said Madeleine used a different name, but she was almost sure it was her…"

"Do you believe her?"

"Well, why would she lie?" Sybil yelled back. In hearing her tone, she shut her eyes and looked to the floor. "I'm sorry," she said, her apology coming just as quickly as her volume had. Already though, she was calm, finding that in her own moments of severe tension, Tom was able to take the opposite approach, balancing out the room with the love and understanding she was currently lacking.

"Have you asked her?"

"No," Sybil gave quickly. "I wanted to. I thought, you know, maybe it'd be a misunderstanding, something I could clear up and then laugh about with you before bed…"

"Well. There's no sense in waiting. Let's call her in here."

"Tom," Sybil tried. "Is that our best idea?"

"Do you have other suggestions? I don't know about you, Syb, but I certainly won't be able to sleep until I know the truth."

Sybil picked her head up and looked to Tom. "I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep either way."

Sybil looked away, her mind thinking of Ireland, this place she called home and how at one point it was such a foreign world to her. The women here acted differently, all of them finding a way to be wives and mothers and sisters with sweet smiles and tight lips while at the same time, beings completely capable of carrying their own, especially with the men in their lives that sometimes wished to restrict them.

She was lucky, she thought. Her husband was much more open to liberal ideas, ones that sometimes clashed with what the church told them each Sunday morning. Their children were brought up on these same principles, but Sybil and Tom always thought that to be honest with your children was the best way to combat ignorance. Now, she wasn't so sure, for it seemed that despite all her teachings some things just could not be helped.

Without any word, Sybil stood up and walked to the door. She turned the knob and listened to the indicative creak as she began to creep toward the room her daughter's shared. From outside, she could hear their chatter, and for two girls that rarely got along, Sybil found a smile gracing her cheeks, one that was quickly dismissed when she thought that her work would only act to eradicate it.

"Mads?" Sybil tried, her eyes now feasting on her daughters, both of them on their respective beds. The smiles they wore did fade, a sign that the gossip they were passing back and forth was childish and most likely of little importance if occurring so fleetingly.

Not wanting to alarm Aine, Sybil smiled. "Can we talk to you for a second?"

Madeleine's eyes turned cold as she began to nod. "Sure," she said hesitantly. The pillow she had been clutching in toward her stomach was set down as she stood up and began following her mother down the hall.

"Is everything alright?" she asked as she shut her bedroom door behind her.

Sybil said nothing and instead stopped and turned to her daughter. The hall they stood in was dark, with only a small lamp down at the end illuminating the portrait of each woman's face. Gently, Sybil reached out and touched her hands to Madeleine's shoulders. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Madeleine blinked. "I don't think so…"

"Alright," Sybil sighed. She detached from her daughter and moved to open the door to her own bedroom. "In you go."

Tom was right where Sybil had left him, with his knees spread wide and his body hunched over them, with elbows holding all of his weight as he stared at the pattern of the newly finished wood floors. He looked up, but did not smile in the way Sybil hoped he might. In fact, he did not soften or warm until Sybil was seated beside him, holding his hand in her lap.

"Should I sit?" Madeleine asked.

Tom looked to his daughter. "It's up to you."

"What's going—"

But Madeleine couldn't finish her question because her father had one of his own, one he found to be much more important. "Are you pregnant, Madeleine?" he asked honestly.

She could only nod. "I think so," she replied quietly, tears already coating her eyes.

Sybil tightened the grip she had on Tom's hand. "We didn't...we didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"His name is Jacob. He attends university with me. We go to mass together each week. His dad's a solicitor and his mum volunteers at the library on the weekends. They're from County Mayo..."

"Do you love him?" Tom asked. His question dripped with the same undertone his wife's previously had — if only these confirmations would somehow better the situation.

"No." A pause, and then: "But I might. Someday."

"Were you going to tell us?" Sybil asked, trying to stay calm for everyone's sake.

Madeleine quickly shook her head as her hand reached up to wipe at her nose. Harshly, she closed her eyes on several falling tears. "I wasn't going to tell anyone, not even Jacob…"

"That would have been a hard thing to keep from everyone…" her mother returned honestly.

"I was going to take care of it."

Tom's eyes narrowed and his mouth became pointed as he raised his head and began to calculate what his daughter could mean by that. "Excuse me?" he scoffed.

"I said I was going to take care of it, Papa!" Madeleine screamed as she clenched her fists and stomped her foot. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes widened and she caught her breath, realizing what she had just done. Not only had she just admitted to her parents that she was with child, but she had done so loudly, and with the tongue of an adolescent.

Immediately, her eyes turned to the floor. "Gabhaigí mo leithscéal…" she whispered. The words, ones her father knew well, were melodic and familiar, but they failed at gaining the eldest Branson child reprieve in the way they once may have.

Sybil learned long ago that to use the native tongue was to raise a white flag. She had first heard it when she and Tom arrived at Mrs. Branson's doorstep many years ago. What Helen Branson would not understand in English, Tom did his best to explain to her in Gaeilge. It was not a difference in the knowledge of the language, but instead a vow given while speaking it, a reminder of who Tom was and who he'd always be. It was the same tactic Madeleine resorted to now, her words and the tongue in which they were spoken making a similar request for pardon.

In seeing the anger and disappointment seething within her husband, Sybil inhaled sharply and looked to her daughter. "Look at me, Madeleine." She obliged, her hazel eyes clashing with her mother's concerned grey orbs.

With eyes still closed, she said words a daughter should never utter in front of her parents. "Tá náire orm."

"You should be ashamed!" Tom gave quickly. "You are not married! You don't even have a boyfriend, Madeleine! How could you be so stupid? It makes me sick!"

"Tom!" Sybil tried.

"I said I was sorry!" Madeleine offered, her lips revealing agony as the knot in her throat only tightened. "I don't know what else you want from me, alright? This is why I didn't tell you! I am terrified, Papa! Terrified!" she repeated, this time with a fire in her eyes that caused her pupils to dilate. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I messed up, alright? I messed up and I'm stupid and I'm sorry that I've brought shame to this family…"

Sybil was brought to her feet, moving in the way the inexplicable way mother's do when protecting their family. "Go leor! Both of you!" she roared, knowing now as she spoke her own frustration that perhaps she was selfishly propelled; moving because she could not bear to hear either of them talk this way.

A quiet settled over the room. Every initial trepidation Sybil had was made clear as her blood pulsed heavily, making her whole body seem as if it were on fire. It was her turn to be angry and to show disappointment. For all they had worked for as a family, for all they knew themselves to be, both her husband and their eldest child were now at war, and she was left, feeling as helpless and even more so if forced to pick a side.

"Sit down, Madeleine!" Sybil instructed with her hand pointed sharply toward the small arm chair by the window. As her daughter moved, so did she, walking back to the edge of the bed to sit beside her husband, and just like before, she latched herself onto him, her small hands immediately seeking the girth of his upper arm for support. She was not on his side, at least not yet, but they were most definitely in this together.

She sighed. "Does Jacob know?"

"No," Madeleine whispered. "I already said, I was going to take care of it."

Sybil closed her eyes and tried again. "Madeleine, that's not an option…"

"You always said, mum, that my body is mine and mine alone. What I do to it is my business."

Tom snapped his head toward his wife. With arms still stiffly crossed over his chest, he blinked. "What did you tell our daughter?" he scoffed. "Are you telling them all this?"

Sybil dismissed her husband and turned her attention back to her eldest daughter. "I told you something else when we went through all of that. The stipulation you seem to be forgetting is 'as long as you're safe'," she reminded rather curtly.

"We were safe. Or, he said he was…" her voice trailed off as she let out a loud sob, one that propelled her head down into the palms of her hands as she continued to cry. "I thought...oh, god! I don't know! Maybe he didn't…It was one time!"

Tom looked to Sybil, his face red with fury, but also looking somewhat concerned. She blinked, and he followed, both of them wishing they had the words to mollify a situation that seemed far beyond their own control.

"I cannot tell you what to do, Mads. If you were to have a child, you know how they'd treat you. Girls like you do not have children before marriage. Would you like to marry him?"

"I've honestly never thought about it."

"Then what? An abortion? In this country?" The serenity previously present in Tom's voice was gone now, replaced by something that sounded almost like disbelief. "That's not an option. They'd kill you…"

"There's a place—"

"An unsafe place," Sybil corrected. "Your father's right. Most of the time, the mother is dead before they even have a chance to stop the child's heartbeat and then the child dies slowly inside of its mother...it's a disgusting process…"

"I'm only a month along. Maybe I could go live with Cousin Rose in America!" she tried.

"I'm not sending you to America by yourself to have this child, Madeleine."

Tom looked to Sybil. "Why not? That might be our best option…"

"Will Jacob go with you?" Sybil asked, throwing the question back to her daughter.

"Probably not. He wants to enlist…"

"Jesus Christ!" Tom let out. "Did you hear that, Syb? He wants to enlist."

"Tom, le do thoil…" Please, she said harshly, her teeth practically gritting together in an attempt to calm her husband down. This was all happening too fast, and it did not help that her husband and daughter insisted on switching roles, him resorting to that of a child while she played at being an adult.

"Alright," Sybil sighed. "I'm going to ask you something my parents never once asked me." Madeleine looked up at her mother, willing the words to fall. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know!" Madeleine sobbed out. "I'm sorry! I feel very, very stupid, alright? I didn't know what I was doing and it all happened so fast and I wasn't ready—"

Tom raised his head. "Did he force himself on you, Mads?"

"No, never! He's a sweet boy, really. And beyond all of that, a really good friend. I just...I'm not ready for a child!" she sobbed out. "I want to go to school and travel and do all of these things I should be able to do at nineteen!" She was still crying now, and with every heave of her body, her face became more pink and the tears continued to flow. "I'm sorry I disappointed you. I thought, you know, this was my mistake and I'd take care of it. But I'm really scared. I don't know how to fix this one and…"

Sybil looked to Tom and almost began to cry. Unfortunately, neither had the answers, nor the words in the moment to comfort their daughter's fears. Hoping something would come to her, she once again squeezed Tom's hand, but as she went to speak, she was cut off by her husband, his voice failing to waiver.

"We all make mistakes, Madeleine…"

"Tá brón orm…" she whispered again, her eyes not daring to meet his.

Sybil nodded, knowing that the words Tom gave Madeleine were in her benefit. "I...I know you are, darling." She sighed. "This is not going to be easy, Mads. Whatever you do, this entire town is going to judge you for it. If you disappear, they'll want to know why. If you have this child and give it up for adoption, you'll be cast off. You won't be allowed in church. You may be kicked out of school. We can't control those things. But if I were you, you need to think long and hard about what's best for you. You need to talk to Jacob. If he goes off to war, there's no guarantee he's coming back…"

There were tears in Madeleine's eyes and she nodded, causing one to cascade down toward the bridge of her nose. "Just know that you're not alone and you never will be. We all love you very, very much."

"I know," she nodded.

"I just wish you would have told me," Sybil stressed, interrupting the silence completely. "I thought that your father and I worked to build a relationship with you where if you ever were in trouble, you could come talk to us."

"I kind of just hoped it would disappear. I know it's awful, but with finals coming up, I thought maybe the stress would make me miscarry, or maybe I'd find out it was a mistake at the hospital…"

"Oh, Madeleine, please don't say those things…" Sybil let out, now moving to wipe under her eyes.

"Mam, don't cry, this is my fault."

"It's that boy Jacob's fault as well, I'll have you know…" Tom interjected as he reached out to comfort Sybil once more.

Sybil rolled her eyes and looked back to their daughter. After a heavy exhale, she continued. "But it's not your fault. Because sex is natural and it happens and I don't want this to ruin it for you because when done safely and with the right person, it's the best thing in the world…"

"So you're not mad?"

"Madeleine, I am furious," Sybil emphasized with pursed lips, her words so biting they might as well have been spoken by Tom. "But being angry and getting mad and throwing a chair out the window in the way I'd like is not going to solve this. I can be angry all I'd like, but that won't make the child growing inside of you disappear."

Then: "Papa?"

Tom looked up from where he had just pressed a kiss to Sybil's hairline. "I don't have much to say to you right now…"

"Tá grá agam duit?" she tried, posing her love to her father like a question as if to ask him: do you still love me? She was not going to make the same mistake again of forcing her love on someone who clearly had no need for it.

Tom looked away. "Go to bed, Madeleine. We'll talk in the morning."

The room was silent, and as Madeleine opened the door to leave, all occupants inside were a bit shocked to find that the hallway and the rest of the house was still dark and very much asleep. They were sure that come the morning, everyone would know. Unlike at Downton, secrets in this home were not secrets for very long.

Slowly, Sybil and Tom dressed for bed, and finally, when the lamps were turned off and both were beneath the covers, Sybil curled into Tom and held onto her husband as she wept into his neck. All of the pain of that day, of the burden of children that mother's bear so long after giving birth, was taken off of her shoulders and shared with Tom. In return, the limitless compassion and strength he wished to share with his daughter was instead reserved for this moment, a moment he knew would eventually come when Sybil could no longer claim neutrality.

"That could have been us, Tom. We took that risk once. We made love long before we were married. We didn't even make it to Ireland before I was in your bed. Why her?" she sobbed out. "Why Madeleine? When she has worked so hard and accomplished so much?"

"I don't know, my darling," he said again as he smoothed back her hair and continued to kiss the crown of her head. "I really don't know."

So! Question. In receiving this prompt and then writing it, I quickly realized there's a lot that could be done here. What is Madeline going to do and how will everyone react? IF anyone wanted, I'd love to hear everyone's opinion. Sybil, Tom, and Madeleine herself all laid out the options pretty clearly. What do you think is the best one? I have my own opinions but I'd love to know what you as the readers think. And I'd really love to take those opinions and expand upon this story, making it much more than a one-shot…

Let me know what you think! :]

x. Elle