Sybil glanced quietly at the tie and vest she was meant to wear for her Annie Hall costume later that night and wondered quietly why on Earth had she ever told her sisters she would go.

She had never thought her life would be half as chaotic as it was by the time she turned twenty-three. She had moved to London after graduating from Nursery school, with her then-boyfriend Larry; her sisters already lived there, and she felt like living in the city would do them good before settling down elsewhere. Everything seemed almost idyllic during their first months in the city – Larry acted like the perfect boyfriend, and she found out she actually enjoyed working at Whittington Hospital and spending her free evenings with her sisters, with the occasional company of Mary's boyfriend, a handsome lawyer and a distant cousin of theirs that she had met at some social event right after finishing university. Sybil had started feeling like she could get used to living the way she did at that time – that is, until she found Larry in bed with a fellow nurse and recent friend that she had once brought home for dinner after work.

She couldn't really recall what had happened after that. Larry had tried to explain himself, she had slapped him, he had yelled, and she had stormed out of the house and walked to her sisters' flat in the dead of night, even though they lived over an hour away from her. Edith had let her sleep with her that night, and within a week Matthew and Mary had arranged a meeting with Larry to get her things from their flat – and, knowing her older sister, very possibly throw a couple of venomous insults here and there as they said goodbye – and turned the small room they had been using for their old things into a bedroom for Sybil.

And that was, in short, how she had ended up living with her older sisters, working at a hospital where nobody knew her, and quietly making her way through the noisiest city in Great Britain.

"Come on, Syb!" pleaded Edith, rubbing her little sister's arm gently. "You already bought your costume, and Larry told cousin Rose he wouldn't be going because he was busy tonight. Plus Mary's coming, even if it's just because Matthew talked her into it."

"Watch it, Edith," mumbled Mary as she gave the finishing touches to her Hermione Granger costume. After glancing at her younger sisters, she sighed and took a seat next to them. "But she has a point, Sybil. It's ought to be a fun party, and you shouldn't miss it just because you feel like whining about a break-up that happened over two months ago. You should go out and enjoy yourself a little – Matthew could always drive us back home if you don't feel well."

Sybil's eyebrows rose at her sister's words. "Would he?"

"Well, yes, you know Matthew. Always trying to please everyone," even as she did a little scoff, a small smile spread across Mary's face at the thought of her now fairly serious boyfriend. "Anyway, you should really consider it, Syb. You're going to have to get out of the flat sooner or later."

The girl scratched her cheek quietly. To be fair, she hadn't changed out of her slacks and Stranger Things t-shirts ever since she broke up with Larry – and she did feel like she needed to get over Larry somehow.

"I guess I shouldn't miss the chance to catch the tube with both of you dressed up in such fancy outfits, should I?" she whispered, a small smile on her face.

Edith hugged her with a broad smile, while Mary chuckled softly and nodded. "Very well then, off you go. We should be there before eleven."

"All right, all right. I'll be back soon," she giggled, picking up her tie and vest as she headed towards her room. Before closing the door, she flashed a smile towards her sisters. "Thank you. Seriously."

Mary nodded in a dismissing gesture. "It's no problem at all, Syb. Come on, hurry now."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh quietly as she closed the door.


It took them over an hour to get to the club where the party was being held, and indeed, people did give them funny looks while waiting for the tube – which amused Sybil to no end, because Mary's mean glances couldn't be taken seriously when she was wearing a Hogwarts uniform and claiming to be "the brightest witch of her age". Edith, in spite of feeling a little uneasy about standing out, did giggle quietly when a young girl recognized her Leia Skywalker costume and pointed it out to her mother.

"How come nobody recognizes my costume?" pouted Sybil as they waited for Matthew at the entrance of the tube station. "I mean, Annie Hall was one of the first cinematic feminists of modern Hollywood."

"I'm sorry, darling," Mary said with a sigh. "I'm sure she's really important and all that, but a Woody Allen character can hardly beat Harry Potter and Star Wars."

"For the record, Annie Hall is a really good film, Sybil." A familiar voice said behind them.

The girl grinned as Matthew winked an eye at her and Edith and gave Mary a quick kiss on the cheek, which made her older sister's face turn just a little redder than it was before. She had always marveled at how her sister's usually straight face would change whenever he was around – no one, not even their father, had managed to accomplish such a thing.

"You're late," Mary mumbled sternly, pointing at his chest with her wand. "And you're not even wearing a costume, you traitor."

"Oh, but I am wearing one," he replied with a lopsided smile. "Remember when we went to see La La Land? Well, I thought I'd dress up as Ryan Gosling in it. For the sake of Thelonious Monk and classic Hollywood and all that jazz. Ha, pun totally intended."

"Ha, ha," deadpanned Mary, rolling her eyes. "That's hardly a costume, Matthew. You're just wearing a shirt and a tie with – wait, are those piano tiles?"

"Yup."

"Well, that is quite nice."

"It is, right?"

"Um, I'm sorry to interrupt," said Edith. "But we should get going, because we're going to be late otherwise."

"That is quite right, Edith," agreed Matthew, and offered Mary one last smile before adding, "Let's get going."

Sybil chuckled quietly and watched as the two of them walked hand in hand, talking about how genuinely stressing Mary's job at the Chamber of Commons was and how Matthew knew the guy who had organized the party because they had gone to university together, back in Manchester. She couldn't help but feel only a little jealous – after all, she hadn't had so much as a date ever since she broke up with Larry, let alone a serious relationship like theirs. In fact, Matthew and her father were the only men she felt relatively close to at the moment – and, while her ruthlessly feminist side kept reminding her that she didn't need a man in her life to be happy, she sometimes missed feeling the way Mary probably did whenever she saw Matthew after a long day at work.

"You know, I think they were talking about moving in together the other day," Edith whispered with a smile. "So you might get to move to Mary's room sooner than Mama and Papa would expect."

"Well, that would be great," Sybil said. "I mean, look at them. Mary has never looked this happy before."

"I know, right? She looks so dreamy all the time. It's not like her at all."

Sybil giggled at her sister's words, but bit her lip with a smile as Matthew and Mary glanced at them.

"We're here, you two," Mary said, her eyebrows rising at her sisters' amused expressions. When Sybil couldn't hold back a chuckle, she rolled her eyes and mumbled something about younger sisters as they walked in.

The club didn't look particularly fancy, much to Mary's distaste; Sybil, however, didn't seem to mind it at all. She glanced around and laughed at a few costumes she saw – particularly at a man dressed up as Frank N. Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show and two friends who wore identical wigs and dresses and appeared to be some sort of adult version of the twins from The Shining. She didn't really know anyone there, unlike her sisters – after all, they had both lived in the city for much longer than her. In fact, Sybil sometimes felt a little overwhelmed by the amount of people her older sisters seemed to know there – which was exactly why they lost Edith only a few minutes after their arrival, when she said she had spotted some friends from university that she hadn't seen in forever and, after quickly telling her sisters that she would text one of them later to see how things were going, she stormed off to greet them.

"Well, we've already lost one member of the gang," commented Mary, her eyebrows rising. "I think she used to date the one in the cowboy outfit. He was way older than her, though."

"Oh, yes, the one who taught Economics at King's College, right?" asked Matthew. "I hope he's doing all right. Seemed like a nice chap back in the day."

"I think I'm going to get something to drink," Sybil announced, not quite following the conversation. "Do you want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks," said Matthew, and then eyed Mary with a funny expression. "But I do feel like dancing for a while if that's okay with you."

"Oh, heavens, well. If it's absolutely necessary," sighed her older sister. She then looked at Sybil with a slight frown. "Are you sure you'll be all right on your own, Syb?"

"Don't worry, I'll survive," she answered with a small smile. "Go enjoy yourself. And your boyfriend. Always enjoy your boyfriend." She stuck her tongue out and laughed when Mary smacked her arm lightly. "Joking, joking. But seriously, you two should go have fun."

"Very well then," said Matthew and, with a rather goofy smile, raised his eyebrows at his girlfriend. "Can I have this dance, m'lady?"

"I can't believe you sometimes," Mary laughed quietly, but nodded nevertheless.

Sybil waved goodbye to them, and then started making her way towards the bar. It was already quite crammed – she barely managed to make herself some space and order a pint of beer before a couple started exploring each other's mouths next to her. Trying her best not to roll her eyes, she carefully took hold of her beer and turned around in an attempt to leave – only to bump into a broader chest, covered by a bright red jacket and a white shirt that had been gracefully adorned with a French Revolution cockade. He was a bit taller than her, with broad shoulders and a round face – which, in spite of her initial annoyance, was undeniably attractive.

"Um, excuse me," she said, furrowing her brow. "Could you let me through?"

"Oh, yes, totally." He nodded, in a surprisingly polite way. His accent was thick and easily identifiable as Irish. "Sorry about that, Annie Hall."

"Don't wor—" she began, but raised her eyebrows when she realized what he had called her. "Wait, how did you know I'm Annie Hall?"

"Well, it's fairly a recognizable costume, isn't it?" He shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I'm not much of a film buff, but that one's a pretty good film."

"It is, isn't it?" she eyed him carefully as she spoke, and felt somewhat intimidated by the pair of stormy blue eyes that met hers. "And you're dressed up as . . . let me guess, you're one of those revolutionaries from Les Misérables, right?"

"Yes, exactly," he beamed proudly. "Enjolras, to be more precise. You know, the one who stirs up the uprising and then dies defending his country and all that."

"I remember, yes. I think I had to read the book back in school. Or I saw the film when it came out. Either way, it's all so . . . charmingly nineteenth-century. I mean, because of the revolutionary spirit and all that."

"Well, some revolutions had to wait until the twentieth century to take place, didn't they? And I'm not just talking about Russia."

"That's very true, James Connolly."

She chuckled softly when she saw how he rolled his eyes and ordered a pint of Guinness. Of course. The man was so unbelievably Irish she was beginning to think it was all a practical joke set up by her sisters – but then again, she didn't think he looked like the kind of person who would befriend Edith or Mary.

"It's nice that you'd call me James Connolly," he said, his pint now in his hand. "But my name is actually Tom Branson."

"Oh, well . . . nice to meet you then, Tom Branson. I'm Sybil Crawley."

"Sybil. Like the one in Greek mythology, right?"

"Almost, but not quite."

They both laughed, and Sybil couldn't help but feel how a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when he nodded towards a small table away from the dance floor. "Would you like to sit down for a while? I lost my friends around half an hour ago and I'm sort of exhausted – I'm not used to this sort of gatherings anymore, to be honest."

"Gatherings, my God. You sound like my father," she giggled. "But yes, sure, sitting works for me."

As they took a seat, he briefly explained that he was a political journalist and usually covered a lot of events involving the Labour Party – although he leaned a bit more towards Marxism, as he confessed before taking a sip from his beer. She then told him about her job at the hospital and how she didn't quite feel at home in London just yet.

"Why so?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Well, it's just that . . . I don't know, I live with my older sisters, and I don't really know anyone around here."

"Oh, well. Now you know me, don't you?"

"Yes, I guess I do," she nodded before sipping her beer. And he's good company, as far as I can tell, she thought. "Anyway – you said you came here with your friends? And you lost them?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, I'm friends with a couple of them, but it's just coworkers mostly," he shrugged and, after a pause, leaned in to whisper. "There's this guy, Thomas. I think he hates me. But then again, he seems to hate everyone in the office, except for this other coworker named Jimmy. My friend William thinks he fancies him or something like that."

"By God, isn't that saucy." Sybil laughed, shaking her head. However, her smile broadened when she identified the song that came up next. "Wait, that's one of the new songs by Ed Sheeran!" Her eyebrows rose when she heard him huff. "What?"

"Please don't tell me you like Ed Sheeran." He groaned, shaking his head.

"Why not? His songs are sweet. Besides, you should like him too. He sings about Irish people and stuff."

His eyebrows rose with a vague hint of condescendence, mixed with amusement. "Irish people and stuff."

"Well, yes, I don't know. He does give you all some good rep, doesn't he?"

"Having some English guy sing corny songs about Irish girls is hardly good rep, Sybil."

"Whatever." She chuckled and offered him her hand. "Let's dance, shall we?"

"Whatever . . . " he mocked her, shaking his head, and downed his beer before standing up too. "I can't believe I'm doing this, honestly."

But, strangely enough, he didn't offer much resistance when she placed her hands on his shoulders and began swaying to the rhythm of the song. In fact, he did seem quite amused by the sight of her humming to the lyrics as they danced – he even laughed a little when she began singing more enthusiastically towards the beginning of the chorus. She, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel how her heart raced a just a little bit faster when he winked an eye at her as the song came to an end.

"Well, I'll admit that was sort of fun after all," he reckoned with a small smile, as they got a little closer for the next song.

"I told you," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "They better play the one where he says he wants to marry an Irish girl."

"They better not, I tell you." They laughed and danced together for a couple more songs, in a surprising intimacy for two people who had just met. However, before Sia's latest hit was over, Tom leaned towards her and whispered into her ear, "You know, I've an idea."

"Oh, really? What is it?" She asked, an amused expression on her face.

"We should get out of here."

Sybil's eyebrows rose at his proposal. She had never been the sort of girl who just wanders off with a stranger in the middle of the night – but then again, she did feel like she knew Tom Branson fairly well, even if they had only known each other for the past couple of hours. He was undeniably attractive, but she had also found out that he was warm and gentle and funny – and Sybil felt like that was more than enough for the time being.

"Well," she said finally, the corners of her lips turning up into a smile. "I think that's a great idea, Tom Branson."

He grinned, and she couldn't help but grin too. For the night was young, and they were both more than willing to see what it had to offer – particularly, Sybil thought, if a handsome Irishman who appreciated Annie Hall as a feminist icon was involved.


Well, that was my first attempt at writing some Sybil/Tom, just because I'm halfway through Series Four and I'm still not over my precious babies not being together because of Lord Grantham's poor choices *cough*. Anyway, this is actually the first part to a two-shot, so I'll try and have the second part up by tomorrow or Monday – I've also been thinking of writing a longer WWII AU that will include both Sybil/Tom and Mary/Matthew, so stay tuned for that too.

Anyway – got any thoughts? Any ideas or predictions about what might happen to Sybil and Tom while they're away, wandering through the streets of London? Let me know via review!

-cluelessclown.