Born Sleeping

By: Piperholmes

A/N: This is my contribution to the S/T Valentine's Exchange. The I was lucky enough to get the delightful Shannen1 (katsthoughtsonthingsbigandsmall on Tumblr) and her marvelous prompt: Sybil/Tom story crossed with "Call the Midwife": new to the eastend of London, Sybil goes into labour-both Sybil and Tom are very nervous after having lost their first child. Enjoy! Unbeta'd.

"Nonnatus House, midwife speaking,"

Nurse Camilla Fortescue-Cholmondeley-Browne, or Chummy, as she was more affectionately known, answered the phone, mindlessly repeating the customary greeting, working to suppress the yawn threatening to escape at any moment. The early morning light of the sun left the lobby gray and filled with shadows, the walls hummed with the sound of the nuns in early morning prayer, but for her night on call it had been quiet, allowing her to doze lightly through the long hours of waiting.

"My wife, it's started…the baby, she's said it's time. Will you come? Come quickly?" a voice prattled on, a panicked wildness that Chummy was used to.

"Cheerio, wonderful news," she answered easily, striving to divert the fear and uncertainty that always seemed to plague young fathers. "Name?"

"Tom Branson," The Irishman answered quickly.

"Sorry, I mean the mother's name."

"Right, sorry, Sybil, Sybil Branson."

Chummy made quick work of looking through the files of information until she found the correct one. She verified the address, promising to come, offering platitudes of reassurance.

"Nurse?"

She paused, just as she was about to end the call, hearing more than the customary concern in his voice.

"Yes?"

The hesitation surprised her. Most, when overcome with the emotion of labour, talked endlessly, as if silence were the enemy.

"Can you…" He stopped, and Chummy waited. "Just, come quickly please."

She knew that wasn't what he had wanted to say, left confused. "Righto chap, not to worry, we'll be there straight away."

After replacing the phone Chummy moved to gather her black bag and coat and hat, she turned at the movement behind her, not surprised to see Sister Evangelina approaching.

"Thought we'd make it through the night in peace," the older woman grumbled, leaving Chummy to suppress a smile. She'd say Sister Evangelina was a grumpy morning person, but then Sister Evangelina tended to be a grumpy all-day person, and Chummy would hate to disqualify all the other times of day.

"Well, where are you off to?"

Chummy grabbed the file, ready to look through a bit of the information. "A Sybil Branson?"

Sister Evangelina looked sharply, her eyes softening a bit. "Right, I best come with you."

A raised eyebrow was all Chummy offered by way of surprise. "Are you expecting complications? I admit I'm not familiar with her history."

Sister Evangelina moved about the room, gathering her things. "Sad story. This is the second pregnancy for Mrs. Branson. The first ended with the baby being stillborn."

Chummy felt a flash of pain cut through her. They all tried to remain apart from it, at least they pretended, but it was impossible. Serving these women day and night, feeling their joy, their sorrow, witnessing the greatest miracles and the greatest tragedies, it was a part of them. Being a midwife wasn't a profession, it was life.

"Oh dear."

The words seemed hollow, but Sister Evangelina nodded, knowing little could be said in light of such revelation.

"Left the couple gutted as you can imagine." Sister Evangelina shrugged into her coat, joining Chummy by the door as they stepped into the cool spring morning. "And the poor woman seemed to be left on her own."

"Her husband?"

"Oh no, not him, he's as devoted as a man can be." The pair freed their bikes, preparing to mount and peddle through the streets of the East End. "Her family I mean. No mother, no sisters, no womanly support."

As the wind pushed around her ears Chummy thought of her own family. She had a mother, but Mater wasn't much by way of support. Most recently Chummy's growing relationship with Constable Noakes had left her mother bereft, reminding Chummy that she was more a burden than daughter.

"Alright love?" Tom asked again, feeling stupid and useless.

Sybil didn't answer, leaning forward against the tiny kitchen counter, her eyes closed as she breathed deeply, gently rocking back and forth, hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

As the tension in her back released, she gave her husband a small smile. "Walk in the park."

Tom's own lips rose, eased by her teasing. "I wish there something I could do."

Sybil shook her head, taking his hand in hers. "Just be here."

She moved slowly, leaning heavily against him as they resumed their walk about the tiny flat. Walking helped, doing something, anything, to distract from the pains…and the memories.

Having children seemed so easy a thing to speak of. One expected to grow up, get married and have a family; it fell so easily from the tongue. Yet as Sybil's first pregnancy had progressed, as they felt the baby move, as they laid awake at night discussing names, deciding who the baby should look like and what features to have, to slowly fall in love with the sound of a heartbeat, had shown Tom how ridiculous a thought that children were ever an easy thing.

"Please, Mr. Carson, don't hang up," Tom pleaded.

He stood out in the phone box, a heavy cold rain falling about him, making the line crackle some.

"I have my orders, sir," the butler spoke sternly, unmoving.

Tom wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh. It was all so absurd. He'd had a child taken from him; they'd thrust a child from them.

"Wait," he spoke quickly. "You know I wouldn't call unless…"

He didn't even know how to say it.

"Unless?" the deep voice implored, sensing, knowing something was wrong.

"I know they won't speak to me, but can you at least take a message to them?"

Tom heard the sigh, knew that despite her falling out with her family, the surly old man always had a soft spot for the daughters.

"Give me the message and I will do what I can."

It was time to speak; time to say the words that left him broken.

"Sybil," he had to clear his throat. "That is Lady Sybil…we've had a baby."

His revelation was met with silence.

Too much silence recently.

"Is that all of your message sir?" The formality never left.

Tom's eyes closed, his lips pressing together as the heavy weight in his belly pushed upwards into his chest. How he wished that was his message.

"No…ah…" He had to swallow hard, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "I'm afraid…I'm afraid…"

He didn't know why, standing there alone, his breath fogging up the windows of the phone box, his coat damp from the down pour, he didn't know why it suddenly became impossible to stay the tears.

He tried to control it, tried to force breath in and out of his body.

He didn't want to say it.

He didn't want it to be real.

Scrunching his face tight, using his strength to wrestle down the overwhelming loss, he spoke again.

"I'm afraid the baby didn't survive."

He heard a sharp breath through the line.

His breathing shaky, the tears still fresh on his cheeks, he continued. "I don't expect, I don't…I know what he said, but please Mr. Carson, Sybil is devastated. She needs her mother, her sisters, her family." The words began to flow and he couldn't stop them. He had to speak them for her. "It…it was a little boy. A grandson, a nephew. He never opened his eyes…a little boy. We're burying him tomorrow."

His voice broke.

"Please, will you tell them? Tell Lady Grantham?"

It the quietest voice Tom had ever heard Charles Carson use, he answered. "I will do what I can."

Tom sagged against the wall, sliding slowly to the dirty floor. "Thank you," he whispered just before the phone fell from his fingers and he sobbed.

Sybil squeezed tightly to his hand, halting their movement as another pain began twisting through her. She whimpered through it, her chest rising and falling dramatically.

He could feel the tension in her, knew the nightmares that kept her up at night. He wished he could tell her this time would be different, but he knew the danger of empty promises. Each awe-inspiring revelation with this pregnancy brought with it fear; fear to dream, fear to love, fear to hope.

A knock on the door brought his head up. "That'll be the midwife."

Sybil nodded absently, still working through the pain. Her grip on his hand kept him where he was.

She suddenly turned to him, her eyes bright and glassy, flaming, the eyes of a fighter. "Before you go, before they send you away, promise me, you won't go far. That if I call you'll come. You must promise me that."

"Of course love."

Her grip tightened and Tom could see the muscles of her neck working, struggling to hold it together. "And tell me everything will be ok, even if it's a lie, I need to hear it."

Tom shifted, taking her cheeks in his hand, his thumb wiping away the tear that managed to escape. He didn't care what it may cost him, in that moment he allowed himself to believe, for her.

With his whole heart he answered, "Everything will be ok."

He placed a light kiss to her lips, sealing the promise.

"Now I better let them in, because if it's Sister Evangelina she'll have me by the balls for leaving her in the cold."

"Tom!" Sybil gasped, laughing at his coarse language, just as he knew she would.

He made quick work of getting the door open and ushering the two women in.

"Well you took your sweet time letting us in," Sister Evangelina scolded, causing Tom to sneak a wink in Sybil direction and the two shared a smile.

"Keeping spirits up I see," the nun commented, the gleam in her eyes betraying her harsh tone. "Good, good. It's important to keep mother happy. Now, this is Nurse Browne, and I promise you she is one of the most capable midwives at Nonnatus."

Tom turned to the taller woman, noted the way her cheeks pinked at the compliment, and immediately warmed to her.

"Nurse Browne thank you fo—"

"Chummy?!"

His wife's cry interrupted his words, causing all three to whirl about to look at her.

"I say, Lady Sybil?"

Tom's head flew between them, taking in their reactions. The two women stared at each other with equal amounts of surprise.

"Good heavens Chummy, what are you doing here?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same thing…though I think I've figured some of it out on my own," Chummy added cheekily, here eyes traveling to Sybil's well rounded, well distended belly.

To his surprise, Sybil laughed, genuinely laughed.

He was about to inquire when Sister Evangelina beat him to the punch.

"Lady Sybil?" The older woman scoffed, unable to hide her disbelief.

"Yes, Lady Sybil and I…" Chummy trailed off, her eyes moving back to Sybil, suddenly realizing it wasn't her place to answer, as it was clear Sybil had not mentioned it to anyone. "Sorry."

Sybil waved her off. "Chummy and I knew each other as children."

"We both made our début the same year," Chummy continued, delighted to see her old friend. "We stood together, knees knocking, and got an awful case of the giggles. Mater was furious, but I could hardly think straight for fear I would fall over when I curtsied."

"You did wonderfully," Sybil assured with a smile.

"And you were the talk of the season," Chummy pointed out happily. "Everyone wanted a chance to dance with Lady Sybil."

Sybil's own cheeks went pink, her hand stroking her belly. "It's just Sybil now Chummy, or Mrs. Branson, if you prefer." She glanced at Tom. "My title has been no good to me for quite a while now."

"Well, m'lady or not, this baby will come into the world as all babies do," Sister Evangelina interjected, having efficiently dealt with the revelation of Sybil's birth, and ready to get to work. "So let's get you comfortable."

The three women began to move, shuffling Sybil to the small bedroom off the hall.

"Now, then," Sister Evangelina said, turning to a following Tom. "Off you go."

Tom nodded, his eyes on Sybil's. "I won't be far."

He reached for her hand, falling forward as she tugged him to her, awkwardly wrapping her arms around him, her belly pressing into him as they hugged.

With one final squeeze, she pulled back, squaring her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

"I'm ready."

Sybil lay miserably on her side, her face pressed against her pillow, having spent the morning rolling about on her and Tom's bed. The sun now filled the room with light, making Sybil feel hot and frustrated. The morning hours had dragged on, may no better by the enema Sister Evagelina had given her and the awkwardness of a childhood friend shaving her…down there.

"You're doing brilliantly," Chummy cheered, the same happy Chummy Sybil had known, but all Sybil could muster was pathetic smile. She'd been told she was progressing well, that baby was in the right position, that all was going smoothly.

But she'd been told that before.

She tried not to think about it, but as she grew more tired, more worn, it was hard to hold them at bay. She felt a hand hold hers and looked up to see a gentle, kind expression on her friend's face; as if Chummy could sense her thoughts.

"Incidentally, I'm sorry I may have ratted you out earlier," Chummy whispered, mindful of the ever present nun.

Sybil smile grew more genuine. "I can't blame you. It must have been as much of a shock for you as it was for me."

"I'll say," Chummy smiled. "I'll wager you never expected to see me as a midwife."

"However did you manage to talk your mother into allowing it?"

"Oh, well, you know I always longed to be a missionary, but Mater was dead set against it. I suppose in comparison being a midwife wasn't quite so bad to her."

Sybil scoffed. She'd known enough of family trials to last her well into her dotage.

"And are you happy? Here in Poplar?"

Chummy smile grew. "Oh yes. I love being a midwife. I have made such good friends…I even have a beau." She couldn't help but duck her head, embarrassed by her admission.

"Oh Chummy! That's marvelous."

Pushing her glasses up her cheek Chummy added, "Yes, well, Mater wasn't too impressed. He's a constable here in the East End. Not exactly the baron she was hoping to boast about."

Sybil's answer caught as the muscles in her body tightened excruciatingly. She couldn't help the cry that flew through her lips, and was grateful for the cool rag Sister Evangelina pressed against her neck.

"There now," the older woman cooed. "Perhaps that's enough talk."

But Sybil shook her head. She needed the distraction.

As the pain passed and she was left lying limp, she pressed on. "As you can guess my family doesn't approve of my husband."

Chummy shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure—"

"I want to," Sybil interrupted. "I want to talk about it. I've been made to keep quiet for so long. He worked for my father. He was our chauffeur. Did you know?"

Chummy shook her head. "I did wonder what had happened to you. I knew you had become a nurse, but then I heard you moved to Ireland to work."

"I did, but I went with Tom. I loved him. I spent my life fighting for what I wanted." Sybil turned to Sister Evagelina. "I know I must sound ungrateful. I was born to such privilege when so much of the world struggles in poverty, but I felt trapped. I wanted to do something with my life, something more than parties, and cotillions, and hosting bizarres. And when I met Tom, we shared so many of the same ideas and dreams, it felt like…well like I was waking up to what my life could be."

Another contraction started, spreading from her back. They were coming faster now, stronger, leaving her breathless.

"We live in Ireland for a year," she panted, ignoring the way Sister Evangelina tusked. "But I wanted to keep learning and real opportunity opened up in London. And Tom didn't even hesitate. He found a job with an English paper and we moved. Being here isn't ideal, but Chummy, I've known more love in this tiny flat than all the grand rooms at Downton. I love Tom, so very, very much."

"Shush now dear," Chummy soothed, moving to check Sybil's progress. "We need to get you in position to start pushing."

"That's it, bear down, you're nearly there," Sister Evangelina encouraged.

Sybil felt like her body was being twisted in two.

Sybil knew what was coming. The urge to push became primary, primal. She could feel it between her legs, her child.

"Please, do all you can to help the baby."

"Just concentrate on pushing when I tell you," Chummy advised.

Her body throbbed with the pressure exerted to move the baby along.

"Keep it up," Nurse Franklin said, holding tightly to Sybil's hand. "Baby's head is nearly out."

The Earl of Grantham's first grandchild was about to be born and he had no idea.

"That's it Sybil, another push."

She moaned through the pain, wasn't aware of the tears falling down her cheeks mingled with sweat on her neck.

"Little pushes now, not too hard, babies head is out."

Sybil didn't know who was speaking to her; all she could do was focus on the words. With all her energy she pushed her child into the world.

Collapsing back, relief flooded through her.

But it was too quiet.

And she was all alone.

"Please," she panted. "Please, I can't do this alone."

"You're almost there," Chummy encouraged. "Baby will be here any minute."

"No," Sybil insisted, her grip on the sheets turning her knuckles white. "No, I can't do this alone. I can't. It can't be like last time. I can't face it. Please call Tom. I want him to be here."

Chummy looked to Sister Evangelina who shook her head firmly. Chummy knew the older woman's stance on men in the birthing room.

Sybil's face was red and wet, her tears coming in earnest.

"It'll be alright," Chummy tried to appease. "Everything will be fine. You're doing beautifully old girl."

Sybil shook her head, struggling to sit up. "No. That's what they told me last time. I want him here."

"Please—"

But Chummy's words were cut off as Sybil called out her husband's name.

It was weak at first, all the breath in her body focused on bringing her child into the world, but her confidence grew until she was shouting.

"Tom!"

The rush of footsteps could not be mistaken.

Whether Sister Evangelina wanted him there or not, Tom Branson was coming through the door.

Her hands shook as she took her sleeping son into her arms. He was impossible small and her heart broke under the weight of the pain.

A sob caught in her throat, a mother full of love with no child to feel it.

She sat in shock.

When Tom was finally let into the room all they could do was hold each other until the doctor arrived to take the child from them.

His hand held hers, his face filling her vision. "I'm here love. I'm here."

"Mr. Branson—" Sister Evagnelina began.

"She asked for me to come and I've come," Tom stopped her, giving the nun a glimpse at the man who had married an Earl's daughter.

"Then stay right where you are, keep quiet, and don't get in the way," she commanded, leaving no room for argument.

"Talk to her," Chummy encouraged. "Tell her what I say."

Tom nodded.

"I need another big push."

"Big push now," Tom parroted.

Sybil nodded, bearing down with her might.

"That's it," Chummy cheered. "Nearly there, head is moving nicely."

"You hear Sybil? You're nearly there." Tom praised.

"Little pushes now."

It was happening again. She'd been here before.

She felt the baby slip from her body.

"I'm so sorry."

Sybil couldn't bear it, burying her face in Tom's shoulder's she wept.

And then

a baby's cry.

"It's a girl!"

"A girl? You hear love? A girl!" Tom cried.

"She's…she's ok? She's ok?" Sybil asked, unable to accept that it was real.

"Pinking up quiet nicely," Sister Evangeline assured. "And a nice pair of lungs I'd say."

Sybil's body shook, as finally tears of joy fell down her face. Tom held her close as she took her daughter into her arms.

"She's so beautiful," Tom breathed, as he touched her tiny cheek. "Oh my darling, I do love you so much."

Sybil sighed happily, reveling in the feeling of his lips against her brow, before turning back to her child.

"My baby," she whispered in awe. "You are not alone."

Tom had once again been banished from the room to allow them to get Sybil and the baby cleaned up and resting comfortably.

Sybil couldn't stop staring at her daughter.

"Chummy," she spoke suddenly, slowly, drunk with love. "If I had listened to my family, I would never have found this."

Chummy nodded, mindful of the perceptive gaze of Sister Evangelina. "You were always the brave one Sybil."

The new mother shook her head. "No Chummy, you've always had more courage than you believed. There are things, precious things, worth fighting for."

"Yes, and speaking of, should I let your husband back in?"

Sybil's face immediately lit up as she nodded eagerly.

The image of Sybil and her husband and child cuddling close on the bed, so madly and deeply in love, despite the heartache, the loss, the struggles, to be so perfectly happy—happier than Chummy had ever felt in life—pushed her to peddle just a little faster.

"Eager to get back Nurse Browne?" Sister Evangeline called. "Thinking a certain constable will be stopping by?"

Chummy laughed at the cantankerous nun's teasing, because she had awoken to love, and couldn't wait to begin the rest of her life.

With Peter.

The end.

Thanks for reading!

Happy Valentine's Day!