Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV.

A/N: I'm reuploading this because I thoroughly reworked it with my beloved editor. I'm much happier with it now, and I hope you will be, as well! I've also decided to turn this in to a series of one-shots instead of leaving it on its own. It may have been a bad decision to make during exam season, but alas. I'm inspired to write more about Sybil and Branson, and I don't intend to leave this universe just yet.

Sybil was startled awake by the rumble of thunder so strong, it caused her quaint Dublin row house to shake. The bedroom clock ticked restlessly against the pitter-patter of the rain, informing her that it was only ten in the morning. Her mind was already hazy, and the darkness seeping through the window only aggravated her confusion by suggesting a much later hour. 1920 had decided to make its appearance with a week of incessant rain. Sybil didn't mind; she'd always found storms to be oddly soothing. Yet, she couldn't help but shiver and burrow further into the armchair.

She knew she ought to be at the hospital, working the early shift, but she was simply too exhausted to move. The morning had been a difficult one for her, and Tom had begged her to stay home. She hadn't wanted to listen. She'd been determined to work for as long as she could, but his distress had proven too much to ignore. Now, watching beads of water cascading along the windowpane, she was thankful that she had. Plodding through puddles on the mile-long walk to the hospital hardly would have helped to improve her condition. The last thing they needed was for her to develop a chill.

The past few weeks had been strenuous on the both of them. Sybil was already some four months in to her pregnancy, yet to find any reprieve from the illness of the first trimester. Lost to days gone by, their once blissful mornings were now the most dreaded time of day. They no longer drank their tea in bed, and the days of sitting idly by, exchanging crisp pages of the paper, had long since passed. Their new routine was one they cursed. Time and again, Sybil exchanged their warm covers for the chilly bathroom floor, while Tom bustled about, trying to prepare a meal that wouldn't send her retreating up the stairs.

That morning had been particularly gruelling. The usual nausea had been followed by bouts of vertigo so acute, Sybil had stumbled on her way back to bed. Had it not been for Tom supporting her, she would have surely fallen in to their bedside table. She had been mere millimetres from the porcelain lamp when he'd caught her.

Sybil had panicked in the aftermath, the memory of her mother's fall and subsequent miscarriage irrationally overwhelming her thoughts. Tom had scooped her in to his arms and tucked her back in to bed, before briskly climbing in beside her. Sybil remembered the bewildered look on his face as he'd wrapped her in his arms and attempted to assuage her tears. He'd never been confronted with a hysterical Sybil during their eight months of marriage; certainly not in the time before that. In fact, Sybil didn't even remember the last time she'd cried with such intensity. Typically, she braved whatever came her way with determination, but morning after morning of unrelenting suffering had taken its toll. She was exhausted; she was scared, and she simply needed the room to stop spinning.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Sybil was also starting to be homesick. She didn't miss Downton or the frivolous life she'd once lead. Those things were in the past, and she by no means longed to return to them. She was however beginning to miss her family far more than she'd anticipated. Mary and Edith had briefly come to Dublin for the wedding, but she hadn't seen any other members of her family since leaving home. Her only reprieve came from her correspondence with her mother. Their exchanges had become more frequent in the past months, and Sybil always hoped to find a letter addressed in her mother's elegant script.

Though she had yet to receive a response, Sybil had written her parents to tell them about her pregnancy. She knew she had no reason to worry – it had hadn't even been a fortnight since she'd sent the letter, but she couldn't help but do so all the same. She needed them to welcome the news, wanting nothing more than for her father to soften his stance and allow her mother to visit her in Dublin. Independent though she was, she terribly needed her mother's support. Though not something that had openly been discussed in front of her, Sybil had overheard whispered allusions to the difficulty she'd caused her mother in the womb. She hadn't known what they'd meant by it at the time, but she now craved her empathy.

Twirling the delicate gold band around her finger, Sybil felt a pang of guilt in yearning for her mother when Tom had been nothing but wonderful to her. She smiled at the memory of the day she'd told him she that they were going to be parents. They'd both been overjoyed at the prospect, but Tom had been especially so, twirling her around as she'd laughed in delight. He'd spoken of nothing but their future child, conveying his hopes for a little girl with her mother's spunk, a little boy with their love of books. His happiness had only begun to subside in the last few weeks as he continued to witness his wife's suffering. He'd done and continued to do everything in his power to make things easier for her, but Sybil could see that it was beginning to get to him as well.

He tried to keep the change in his demeanour from her, but she'd begun to notice it a month or so earlier. Years of leisurely mornings continued to influence her sleeping pattern, so that even now, she was never the first to wake. Hardly a morning had elapsed since their marriage where she had not drifted to consciousness with the trails of kisses he left across her face, and waking in such a manner became one of her favourite moments of the day. So, she had been taken aback one morning, when she'd woken to find that her husband's adoring gaze had been replaced with one of great worry. He'd claimed that she'd been groaning in her sleep, but the wave of nausea that had struck had stopped her from questioning him further.

Sighing in frustration, Sybil closed her eyes and willed the pounding rain to coax her back to sleep.

Sybil was wandering through the flowery meadows of her childhood, a gurgling infant in her arms and Tom by her side, when the soft pressure of fingers running through her hair lured her to the equally familiar surroundings of her bedroom. She smiled as her eyes fluttered open to find her husband kneeling beside her, his expression shifting from worried to relieved as he met her eyes.

"It's good to see you smiling," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

Sybil revelled in the contact and beamed when he pulled away. "What are you doing home so early?" It was still storming and dark, but she knew she hadn't been asleep for more than an hour or two at most.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you glad to see me?"
"You know that I am," she chided. "I just thought you had the mandatory staff meeting today."
"I did. The meeting finished about an hour ago. I went to see Mr Doherty afterwards to update him on my progress on the Brennan article. He asked how you were – you know how much of a liking his wife took to you last month, and I admitted that you were indisposed. He was sympathetic, and since I'd finished all of the research for my article, he said I could write from home today."

"I'm glad." Sybil closed her eyes as Tom fondly played with her fingers before lacing their hands together.

"How are you feeling?" He inquired, his voice seeping with concern.

"I'm much better now. Thank you. The additional hours of sleep helped." Taking in the sceptical look he was giving her, she added, "I promise."

Tom nodded, sighing as he moved to sit beside her feet on the ottoman. Looking up, he smiled, but Sybil knew he was suppressing something.

Carefully leaning forward, dreading the vertigo that blessedly didn't come, she fondly caressed his cheek. "Tom…" she trailed off questioningly. Her chest tightened at the look of anguish that crossed his face. "What is it?"

"I was so scared, love. I've never…" He looked away, attempting to compose himself. "I know the doctor said that this was all normal, that some women just have a more difficult time, but I hate that you have to go through this." His voice lowered as he added, "I am so sorry."

Leaning a bit further, Sybil lightly brushed her lips over her husbands', bowing their foreheads together. "You have nothing for which to be sorry."

"I do."

"Honestly, Tom." Sybil sighed, frowning as her husband's stare only darkened. "I'm hardly the first woman to have a difficult pregnancy. It might be awful at the moment, but it'll be well worth it in a few months. We'll forget about all of this when we have our child in our arms."

Tom grinned briefly at the thought, but his expression quickly returned to its dispirited state. "I don't think I can ever forget seeing you like you were this morning. I've never seen you look so helpless, Sybil. I promised you that I would do everything in my power to make you happy, but I was powerless. You wanted me to make the room stop spinning; you were crying that it was all too much, and I couldn't do anything for you. The only other time I'd been that scared was when you fell at the count in Ripon, all those years ago. I've never forgotten that day, the weight of you in my arms, the sight of your blood stained hair, and the fear of you never waking up." He paused, shutting his eyes to keep them from watering. "I hate not being able to help you, not being able to make things easier for you."

Her own eyes burning, Sybil clambered on to his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She pressed a kiss to his hair as she felt his tears trickle down her neck. Time lost all meaning, allowing the tearful embrace to say the things they couldn't quite verbally phrase.

Sybil waited for his tears to lose momentum to finally pull away. Gently cupping Tom's face, she assured he was looking at her before she spoke. "You may not know it, and I'm terribly sorry if you don't, but you do help me. " She glared as he attempted to object. "No, Tom. You do, so very, very much. I didn't even think it was possible for a husband to be as attentive as you are. Papa wasn't even this good with Mama before the war… "

Sybil trailed off as the fear from this morning burgeoned but quickly shook it away. "I've heard so many stories from Mary and Edith's friends of how some of their husbands would go to London until after the baby was born, not even wanting to see their wives when they were in a less than perfect state. Those men are the ones who ought to be apologising, not you. You're constantly by my side, and you do everything in your power to make sure that I'm – that we're – happy. I refuse to have you think that you've failed me in any way when I can't imagine having a better husband." She smiled as his expression softened, adoration quickly replacing guilt. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, milady," Tom teased, his eyes sparkling.

"Tom." Sybil chuckled.

"Yes, love," he breathed before capturing her lips with his own. Sybil sighed contentedly in to the kiss, relieved that he'd put aside his stubborn streak and listened to her.

"Sybil?"

"Hm?" Sybil looked up from her book. They had moved in to their sitting room, and she was lounging on the sofa by the fireplace, indulging in North and South for the countless time. Tom was perched nearby at his desk, alternating between drafting his article and answering mail.

"There's a letter for you from Downton. I didn't notice it earlier; it must have gotten stuck between two of mine."

Sybil sat up and was about to make her way over to the desk when Tom was at her side and the letter was in her hands. "Easy, darling, I know you're feeling better, but you must take it easy."
"Tom, I'm pregnant, not invalid. You of all people…" she trailed off at his glare. She'd been so entranced by Margaret and Mr Thornton that she'd managed to banish the morning's events from her thoughts. "I'm sorry," she murmured sincerely as Tom kissed her on the forehead and returned to his desk.

The envelope was addressed in her mother's handwriting. Trembling, she broke the seal. Taking a deep breath, she began to read. All was well with the family. They'd missed her terribly at Christmas and spoke of her constantly. Matthew was visiting – and oh! – Mary had finally come to her senses and broken with Carlisle. Finally, she reached the part she had been anticipating. The ties in her stomach slowly unknotted themselves as she scanned the lines expressing her mother's elation at becoming a grandmother, and she was filled with relief. Finishing, Sybil exhaled. It was far better than she'd dared to hope. Papa had even sent his love.

"Tom?"

He turned and delightedly took in his wife's beaming expression. "What is it?"

"Mama wants to visit! She says that Papa doesn't mind and that she'd like to stay with us for a few weeks - if we don't mind, of course – to help me prepare for the baby. Oh, Tom, I couldn't be happier. Would you mind terribly if she visits?"

If Tom looked uneasy at the prospect, Sybil couldn't tell. After all, even if her mother hadn't been able to attend their wedding, she had been the first to accept their marriage. Consequently, her letters were always the warmest ones from home, and she'd even begun to inquire after Tom of late. Thus, Sybil knew that her mother would be coming to Dublin to make things easier for her, not more difficult for her husband. Tom must have known it as well, for he quickly matched his wife's smile.

"Of course I don't mind! I know how much it would mean to you, and it would make me very happy as well. When would she like to come?"

Sybil beamed, making her way over to her husband before he could object and pulling him to his feet. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes gleaming, and leaned up to embrace him. In that moment, wrapped in her husband's arms, Sybil felt like the luckiest woman in the world. She was married to the only man she had ever loved - the only man she could ever love. Above all, they were expecting their first child, and that child would be born in to a loving and accepting family. That was all that mattered. The wretched mornings; the fears; the separation from her family – none of it was permanent, and none of it would ultimately be as important as their happiness.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts.