A/N: Let the Christmas gift-giving begin! This is the first of many prompts I have completed for some of my lovely readers to show just how appreciative I am for their endless support. This particular prompt was given to me by and is a missing moment from Don't You Mind?

***Prompt: The first time Sybil sees Tom in O'Connors

It was a Saturday and Sybil arrived early to work, bringing with her a tea from a cafe just down the road. After setting down her school bag behind the counter, she walked immediately for the back room to put on a pot of coffee for Mr. O'Connor. He'd be late today, just as he had been this entire week. His daughter was getting married next weekend, leaving Sybil to open and close the shop by herself lately.

Shortly after the shop opened, Sybil sold several used textbooks to a local boy set to start at UCD in just a few weeks. After that the shop was empty and therefore quiet. The stillness allowed Sybil to take advantage of the sunlight streaming in through the large glass covered storefront. In her usual position hunched over the front counter she escaped into the world of Sophie's Choice by William Styron. Already the main character Sophie had begun to discuss her past when the door opened again, bringing in with the sun a boy, or rather — a man, similar in age to Sybil.

As she always did, Sybil straightened up her posture and moved to close her book as if customers would somehow be offended to know that a girl who worked at a bookstore enjoyed reading. While she did, however, the man walked by; it was quickly clear to Sybil that he had been here many times before and yet this was her first time seeing him. Perhaps the sun was to blame or maybe Mr. O'Connor's absence had the shop feeling particularly empty so a visitor was just that much more obvious.

With his presence, Sybil was motivated out from behind the counter. She told herself that this was to stock all of Mr. O'Connor's recent returns but even while completing that task she felt pulled to him. Several times she walked by the aisle he was in, doing so to retrieve a sip from her tea up front. Why she did not bring the paper cup to the back of the store with her she was unsure, especially now that her distance had the liquid turning cold.

He was beautiful, that much was clear and the way his hands, an appropriate size for his stocky arms, reached for each book was somewhat attractive. He wore a contemplative look, one that had his eyes narrowing and his lips pouting as if he were in search for a specific thing and just hadn't quite figured it out yet. All of Sybil felt warm and she wondered if her face was flushed. As she touched the skin of her neck with anxious fingers she was now embarrassed. This boy couldn't see her and even if he could, it was unlikely he'd notice the color in her cheeks or all of the nervousness contained in each slender limb. In fact, Sybil told herself he wouldn't notice her at all. This was, of course, an attempt to calm herself down. All the while she suppressed giddy feelings that somehow terrified her the more she truly thought about them.

With her tea not only cold but nearly finished as well, Sybil used inventory management as her excuse to take several more trips past the aisle where this man stood. At one point she felt bold enough to enter. On her toes she reached up to put away a book on the shelf parallel to the one he faced. All the while her eyes remained pinned on him, causing her to nearly lose her footing. When she stumbled back she was sure he'd turn to look to her but he didn't. Her presence unknowingly had the opposite effect on him. He took the book he held in his hand and sat down with it.

While he moved, Sybil examined him. His appearance, while somewhat rough due to the leather jacket he wore, was overall quite clean. If it weren't for the scent of cigarettes, Sybil would have remained in this aisle forever, swallowing air she felt was inadequate to resuscitate her and bring her out of the moment. When it finally passed, Sybil took a step back to compose herself. She even reached down to smooth out her blouse before returning to the front of the store.

"Sybil!"

She looked up, finding her body had nearly collided into Mr. O'Connor's. Her head was elsewhere, still searching for the sight of him through the cracks between stacked novels.

"Mr. O'Connor! I am so sorry!"

"Are you now?" He smirked. He had daughters of his own and while he was not always the best at understanding their intentions, he was growing to be more observant in his old age, a talent he had even honed since his wife's passing. "Is someone here?"

Sybil nodded. She didn't know his name but she wished she did. "Yes."

"A customer?"

"A new one," she explained with a quick shake of her head.

Mr. O'Connor looked around Sybil in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the patron. It was not uncommon for people from out of town to stumble into his bookshop; the charm of his store was certainly warm enough to welcome strangers. "Oh," he gave with a face that seemed less than thrilled, but relieved. "Tom."

"Tom?"

He nodded simply. "Tom Branson. Surely you've seen him in here before. He's been coming in my shop for far longer than you've been working here."

"You know him?"

Mr. O'Connor began to walk away and Sybil followed. If her eyes couldn't be on this boy, her ears wished to at least hear about him. "We all know him," he said with a chuckle. "His father was a great man. His mam's extremely active in our church and he has a sister that is an absolute beauty. He was in Alice's grade I believe..."

"What's his story?"

"His story?" Mr. O'Connor prayed that the look he gave to Sybil over the wireframe of his glasses was enough to stunt their conversation.

Before she could ask another question, she was assigned a task. While she moved to a nearby table to begin exchanging books for their newly released counterparts, she wondered if her work existed out of necessity or distraction. It seemed as if Mr. O'Connor respected Tom but was hesitant in encouraging her to do the same.

Separated, her eyes remained on the elderly gentleman, especially as he disappeared behind a stack of dusty encyclopedias. Just as she'd done with Tom, she leaned back to get a better view of him. Together she saw him and Tom conversing. The boy smiled and she couldn't help but to follow his lead. Only after did she realize how silly she must look, gawking with wide eyes and an open mouth at a man she'd never even met. Sybil thought of what it was they could be discussing: books, she imagined. But later when Tom's hands closed the novel he held onto and placed it at his side, Sybil saw a much stronger connection existed. Off Mr. O'Connor's lips she read things about his daughter's wedding and questions about Tom's mother and sister. When Tom's father was not mentioned she studied his features, wondering if the absence bothered him as much as it seemed to pain her. Questions flooded her mind, ones she wished to ask him but doubted she'd even be brave enough if given the chance. These were the same questions that caused her to tense up. Thankfully no one knew her well enough to ask. But it was likely she'd open up to him and that thought horrified her more than anything in Dublin ever had. She wasn't even supposed to be here; Tom, whoever he was, was not part of her plans.

Soon Sybil was trying her best to remain focused. Instead of watching his mouth or the gestures contained in each hand, her own gaze moved to the stacks of books she was compiling. She treasured tidiness but her fingers were being extra delicate in their work, ensuring that each pile of newly published works was separated evenly and perfectly aligned with the books below. This was only a temporary distraction. With her diligence and without her complete acknowledgement Sybil still managed to complete the chore rather quickly. Sensing this, she walked to Mr. O'Connor, passing the aisle Tom now stood in to reach the back room. Her feet dragged, as if the slowed movement would have her seeming less inconspicuous. This was counteracted by the way her head snapped in Tom's direction when he once again took a seat to read. Originally he held one book but now a full stack was placed near his rucksack. With his legs spread out in front of him he looked just as comfortable as a child would have. His back was hunched and his neck hung low. At one point he craned his neck to the side when he began to read the next page. As he moved on, he picked his head up completely, causing Sybil to scurry off toward Mr. O'Connor's office out of fear of being caught.

When she appeared, Mr. O'Connor stopped tapping at his calculator and turned to her. Usually Sybil never needed to be assigned a task. This is why it was odd, at best, to see her smiling face at his desk. If she had received good news he had yet to be notified of it. "Yes?"

"What did he say?"

Mr. O'Connor paused. "Tom?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Does he need help?"

"I don't think so. He didn't ask, so I'd assume he's fine. I mean, he rarely does."

"Is he usually like this? He's been here for almost a half-hour."

"Yes," he smirked. "This is very common. It was actually worse when he was a boy."

"So he's a student?"

Mr. O'Connor shook his head and swallowed the coffee he had just taken a sip of. "Not anymore," he said while concentrating on putting the mug back on its coaster.

"How old is he?"

"Older than you," he gave, as if the fact was an amusing one that she should take note of.

"Well did he finish university?"

Mr. O'Connor stood up and began to laugh to himself as he walked to a nearby filing cabinet. "Yes, Sybil. He finished."

"Why…" Her mouth parted. Her eyes moved similarly, carrying with them equal parts hurt and confusion. "Why are you laughing?"

"You have a lot of questions."

"I'm curious. Is that wrong? Am I missing something?" Sybil was suddenly so defensive she couldn't hear herself. If she could, it was likely she wouldn't have spoken at all.

"I suppose. I guess…" he settled as his voice began to trail off. "I just think there are far more fascinating things to be curious about."

"Like?"

"Find a new book. We've just received deliveries yesterday. Surely there are titles you haven't read."

"I'm sure there are," she agreed.

It seemed Sybil's own reclusive habits had Mr. O'Connor reducing her to an outcast as well. With Tom so close, she hated the label and wished to banish it forever. When Mr. O'Connor had no other suggestions or instructions, Sybil exhaled heavily and leaned in toward the door frame. She was almost certain his words would follow then, but only silence existed between them. Her exhale turned to a huff and she disappeared.

Abruptly though she was back, unable to fully desert the questions still lingering. "Doesn't he have a job?"

Mr. O'Connor sighed and took off his glasses which he placed in front of him on his paperwork. He was so frustrated he even rubbed his eyes. In waiting for her answer, Sybil was ignorant to all of this. It seemed her usual ability to decipher social cues was lost as well.

"Not quite. He volunteers…" Mr. O'Connor was proud of his aptness toward avoiding lies and he showed this by leaning back in his chair.

Meanwhile, Sybil thought of soup kitchens and tutoring, leaving her to ponder Tom's fate as if it were something black and white in consideration. "What does he want to do?"

"I'm not really sure. I don't know if he knows, really."

"Should I ask him? I mean, say hello?" she clarified. "Do you think he'd talk to me?"

"Yes, I think he'd talk to you. But no, I don't know if you should talk to him. And honestly Sybil, I'd prefer you didn't."

"Because I'm English?"

"No." Mr. O'Connor shook his head. "Not because you're English."

"Well is he seeing anyone then? Is that it?"

"They say he is, though I've never seen him with a lass other than his sister."

"Then we can be friends, no?"

"Sybil, you've yet to even talk to him. You only know what I've told you. How do you know he's even a person you'd want to be friends with?"

"I'm trusting what you've told me."

Mr. O'Connor exhaled heavily and moved to stand. "Then do me a favor and trust me, alright? Just leave Tom alone. There are thousands of young men in this city. Befriend them and let Tom be."

"Who are you protecting? Me or him?"

An answer did not follow. While Sybil spoke, Mr. O'Connor sensed movement in the aisle behind her. Because of this, Sybil's grip atop his desk tightened as she silently thanked circumstance for having her back facing Tom while he entered a different section of the bookshop. In seeing Mr. O'Connor, he gave another smile. It was something the older man was happy Sybil did not see. Tom was kind and polite and beneath it all, every bit the man he'd want for his daughters. In fact, this is why he cautioned Sybil against inciting an encounter. If he knew Tom, and he did, the two would actually be a perfect match. But he'd made a choice recently, one that books and education and faith could not reverse. Perhaps if he wasn't going to Belfast, he'd allow Sybil to speak with him. Then again, it was likely she would on the simple grounds that she did not need his permission.

Unaware of this, Sybil watched as the two men conversed, with Tom pointing to the stack of books in his hand, his eyes full of inquisition when he listened to Mr. O'Connor give what Sybil could only assume was an informative answer. He was so still in this moment Sybil regretted ever allowing Mr. O'Connor to fill her head with his opinions. Never before had her own judgement failed her, and for this reason she wondered why she was still so weary to approach him.

Mr. O'Connor returned and Sybil absentmindedly shared with him a thought she hadn't yet internally acknowledged. "He's one of them, isn't he?"

"One of who?"

"Them," she nodded toward him. "You know…"

"I can't say I do." That was a lie, he thought. One of many. But he'd do the very same thing for his daughters.

"That's why you don't want me to talk to him, isn't it?"

"Sybil, listen. You have so much going for you. You're pretty and intelligent and anyone would be lucky to be in your company."

"Just not Tom?"

With his hands flat on his desk, Mr. O'Connor sighed out. It was clear this was the last warning he'd give her. "Sybil, if this were a different time and place I think you and Tom Branson would really get along. But it's not. There is an anger in Tom that no one can seem to fix. And trust me, we've tried."

With one last glance to Mr. O'Connor, Sybil looked down. She nodded, but his words had a different effect entirely. She could not and would not accept any of this. Just in being so close to Tom she felt a connection, one she promised herself she'd decipher but only with his help. Perhaps Tom Branson was a challenge but she disregarded this idea that he did not need to be fixed. It was more likely that he needed a friend — someone to notice him, not for the person he was, but for the man he wished to be. In giving him this, Sybil hoped he'd notice her too.

I hope this is what you wanted Taylor! I have to admit it was a bit difficult to have Tom ignore Sybil and therefore to have them not communicate…

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle