Same people as THBMHTY, different circumstances, as there was already a bit of something Christmassey in there. I'm being lazy and don't want to come up with a new version of Tom's family really! I will also put it out there that I know more of the Mass in the first bit should have involved latin, or perhaps Irish Gaelic but my knowledge of either is pretty shady so I am sticking with English even though it's probably not accurate!

Christmas 1919

His mother kept shooting her glances at mass; questioning, concerned glances that told Sybil that Mrs Branson could see through even her best brave face. As they all went up for Holy Communion she stayed in her seat, feeling like her stomach was swooping around her abdomen, twisting and turning, threatening to betray her if she stood to go up for a blessing.

Tom squeezed her hand as he got up and she proffered a weak smile, she watched him go up with his brothers, one of his nieces in front of him, a hand on her shoulder. He lifted her and the priest blessed her, and then pressed a white disc into Tom's cupped hands. The smell of the incense was filling her head, making it feel foggy and a throbbing was beginning just above her temples. Tom took a sip from the wine and crossed himself, genuflecting before the altar before he made his way back along the rows of pews. The church was silent, but for the words coming from before the altar, the barely audible sound of people accepting the Eucharist, those who had already received it were settling on their knees at their seats, heads bowed, lips moving in silent prayer.

It was beautiful really, the ceremony of it all. The tradition, the way everyone knew what to do and what to say in all of the right places, years of repeating the same familiar rituals and actions. Tom hadn't been to Midnight Mass at Christmas in six years and yet here he was, the words and actions flowing out of him like he had never been away.

"Are you alright?" He settled next to her again in the pew, tilted his head toward her ear so no one else could hear. She felt his concerned eyes on her, felt one of his hands slip into hers.

"Mmm." She nodded, looking at him and squeezing his fingers. The candles around the church made the warm, golden light dance across his eyes. "I'm just concentrating." Before she could add 'on not being sick all over these missals', Mrs Branson had tapped her son on the shoulder and gestured at him to kneel forward onto the hassock. He was diligent, obedient to her order but kept his hand in Sybil's.

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing marked the end of the mass and they filtered out past the nativity crib – the baby Jesus now in position in the manger, placed there with careful ceremony by an altar boy. Children skipped about, excited at the prospect of the day to come. Sybil was thankful for the winteriness of the evening when the cold hit her as they drew closer to the exit. Tom dipped his hand in the holy water and crossed himself, he kept his body close to hers protecting her from the crush of people heading into the fresh air. She felt it cool her, seeming to blast away the stuffy fog that had accumulated in her forehead. Snow had settled on the ground in the hour or so they had been inside, it dusted the streets, perfect and untouched like someone had sprinkled Dublin with diamonds. Tom kept her close to him as they shuffled into the porch, his hand on the small of her back, a constant, comforting reminder that he would catch her if she fell. They lost the rest of his family in the masses of people making their way out of the door and for a moment she was glad, glad for a moment it was only Tom beside her – her partner in crime in all of this, who knew everything she did.

"You've gone a bit green." He whispered into her ear after he had wished the priests, lined up outside, a Happy Christmas. She had nodded her sentiment and smiled at them; still unsure she could trust herself to open her mouth. "Is it bad tonight?"

She nodded, turning into him slightly, "It's fine, I'm fine. I think it was all the people and the incense and being cramped inside. I'll be alright now, the fresh air feels good."

His face gave away that he didn't believe a word of her assurances, "You're trooping on with a brave face?" He spotted his mother, attempting to herd her children and grandchildren together, no doubt about to give instructions on tomorrow.

"She's got me figured out you know." Sybil nodded in Peggy Branson's direction, watching as she wrapped a blanket around baby Michael who was asleep against Bridget's chest. "She knows there is something going on." They slowly made their way over toward her, their tones hushed as the talked.

"Well my Ma is just going to have to learn that she doesn't need to be the first to know everything all of the time." Sybil turned her face to his, his arm around her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. "I know, I know – easier said that done. She is just very astute. She's been there enough times herself, she probably knew before we did." Peggy spotted them then, flashing them a smile and gesturing at them to come over, a twinkle in her eyes, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Here goes, let the interrogation begin."

Decided I'd do this a multi-(short)chapter thing, so I guarantee I get something Christmassey up while it is still Christmas! :p Will probably be a continuation of this Christmas (1919 – not 2012 :p) but if you would rather little bits from a number of Christmases through their marriage let me know, as I'm yet to write the rest I can still be swayed! (I'll stop now before my comments are longer than the story!) Review to let me know what you think!

Happy Christmas everyone and I hope 2013 is a fantastic year for you all. All my festive love, LP. x