First Downton FF.

Do not recommend reading this if you have not yet seen 3x05.

Initially wanted this to be debuted on Halloween, but with Sandy approaching soon, I decided to put it up a bit sooner. Happy Halloween!

Reviews appreciated.

Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey

The Ghost of Love

Tom took a large swig from his beer, letting the liquid burn his throat as it traveled downwards into his stomach. His tongue savors the taste, and nothing else could be sweeter than the warmth it begins to generate. He would much rather have yet another shot of Irish whiskey, but somehow in his muddled mind, he decided against it. He would have a terrible hangover either way, anyway.

He needed to forget, he had to forget. Just for one night. Was that too much to ask? But the strategy never seemed to work. Again and again, he would return to this damn pub, each attempt to lose himself in alcohol failing quite miserably.

He can imagine her now, screaming at him like a banshee, her curls disheveled and her chest rising and falling rapidly as she scolds him. No doubt a few curses would be thrown his way, as well. She would smack him, declare that if he didn't stop this nonsense he would be kicked out…

And somehow, after all the rage has been cleared out of her system, she would embrace him. She would caress him, lightly kiss his skin, perhaps even fuss over him like his mother. Yes, though it seems far-fetched, he knows that would be the tactic she would use. He knows her better than anyone else ever did.

Did.

How he loathed the past-tense…

He still cannot believe how vivid those images of that night are. First the sweat spilling down her flushed cheeks, then the relief of getting the baby out, and finally the ivory skin turning as blue as the ocean…

Sometimes, he cannot help but wonder if it all happened. Each day, he woke up and pretended it was all a nightmare, nothing more. Perhaps she was visiting his mother, or travelling down to the village to pick out whatever fresh vegetables she could get. It was only at night time, much past supper, when he would realize that it had been real. The love of his life was gone, ripped from him because of a preventable mistake.

It doesn't help that everything reminds him of her. The pillows still hold her aroma of warm vanilla, almost as if they themselves do not want to let her go. Like him, they want to hold on to her for as long as possible. Little knick-knacks in the kitchen reminded him of her; everything from the velvety green dishcloth to the blue marble centerpiece. And—of course—his little darling: Sybil II.

Sybie was an adorable creature. So much of her mother was represented in her. While Tom was perfectly happy with being a single father, he couldn't help but wish that his wife was with him. She would know what to do when those infamous teenage years rolled about. God knows how hard it had already been to deal with her tiny temper tantrums!

Sighing, he grabbed his coat and paid for all the drinks he had consumed. And, just because he was feeling extra-sentimental, he threw in a bit of a tip for the bartender. The man looked like hell, and a clean bar of soap would most likely make him feel a bit better.

A wisp of wind touched Tom's cheek as he exited the bar. He licked the tip of his index finger and held it up in the air. Peculiarly, there was no breeze.

How strange…

As he walked home, he suddenly recalled the date. It was All Hollow's Eve. He remembered how his father would tell him tales of spirits and such lurking about during the night-time. There would be times when the stories scared him, and his mother would scold his father for "filling his head with silly fantasies". And then, she would soothe him so that he could take a short nap. When he awoke, he always found a lukewarm glass of goat's milk waiting on his bedside table. It had been quite some time since he had allowed himself to think of childhood moments like those.

Cautiously, he continued the journey home. He didn't have the time to loiter about and wonder about such silly myths. They were not real; it was simply just a childish belief that no longer consumed his mind. Long gone were those frightening nightmares of ghoulish carcasses rising from graves in order to seize him and rip his life away. Such things simply did not exist.

Suddenly, a familiar aroma tickled his nostrils. How many years had he spent letting the smell infiltrate his nose, yearning to taste the flesh from which it was permeating? He would have known that smell anywhere, what with its sweet vanilla connotation…

Fantasies. Myths. Legends. Nothing more.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

"Tom…"

No, it couldn't possibly be! Such things were not real! Had he learned nothing from his childhood?!

But the voice would not stop.

"Tom…"

"It's not real…It's not real…Good God, Tom, pull yourself together…" he muttered incoherently to himself.

"Tom…Look at me."

Damn it, this was just a nightmare! Nothing more. Soon, he would wake up to see Sybie jumping on the bed.

"Tom, darling, look at me…"

He can't…he won't. This is just a trick that someone is pulling on him.

His ears pick up a sound. Feet walking on gravel. A dignified, proud statured woman appears in his mind immediately.

"Tom. Look. At. Me."

He gasps as he feels a cold object press against his shoulder.

Or rather, a cold hand…

The fingers are soft, stroking his coat in a rhythmic pattern. He's memorized them, ever since he was a chauffeur. How could he ever manage to forget the sparks that flew in just a simple assisting handhold? And how easily their fingers fit as they intertwined with another?

Mentally cursing himself, he glances behind him.

Damn it…

Sybil…his Sybil…stands before him, shimmering brighter than the stars above. She wears a very simple gown, but he longs to grasp her and maneuver his hands across the many ruffles that cover the body of the dress. Her hair flows down her back, like it had before she had decided to get it cut in Dublin.

And in that moment, he swears that there was no other time in which he had loved her more.

He wants to believe it's all a hallucination. After all, wasn't it he whom was just battling his mind against such childish beliefs? But somehow, he knows that it's not. That she is here, at least for the time being.

She smiles at him, and before he can process anything, begins to kiss him.

All thought and reason are thrown out the window. He knows that he has to relish this moment. It didn't matter if he believed in ghosts and spirits or not; he is just painfully aware that eventually all of it must come to an end. So he kisses her with as much fervor as he can muster, trying to make up for all the lost time. Her lips are exactly as he remembers them: warm, full, and intoxicating as brandy. They are not cold like he expected them to be, but that doesn't matter at the moment. God, how he's missed this!

After what seems like centuries, she slowly pulls away from him. Her face is flushed (could that even be possible for a ghost?), and she looks heavenly (no pun intended). He has so much to say, but his throat seems to have dried up.

"Oh, darling…"

She caresses his cheek with her hand. It is only then that he realizes the tears cascading down his face. He holds her hand there, trying to cling on to the time they had left.

"I won't be back for another year, Tom, so do say whatever it is you are holding in."

He can't stand it. Right then and there, in the middle of a deserted street, he falls to his knees and clutches her ankles. He bawls and bawls everything that he had been feeling since he started working at Downton. He screams about the struggles he's been facing for quite some time. He even goes as far as to curse God; why did He have to take away his love once he had obtained it? Tom doesn't care if he floods the entire street with tears; he just needs someone to comfort him.

Once he regains some composure, she begins to speak.

"I hate it too, Tom. Don't think that I'm perfectly happy with being away from you."

He bites his tongue from lashing out some sharp retort. Now was not the time to be cross with his wife.

"But darling, you must move on. Don't go on like those other buffoons drinking their lives away in those pubs."

Oh, how hard it is for him to restrain himself from taking her shoulders and shaking her, declaring that the two of them can be reunited if he destroys his liver!

"You're better than this, Tom. I know you are."

She's beginning to fade…Oh God, not yet! He needs more time!

"I love you, Tom Branson. And as much as I would love to live with you once again, I cannot restrain you from moving forward with you life. You may not want to remarry, but do keep living, dearest. For me. For Sybie."

Sybie. His darling little daughter. Yes, he would have to live on for her. He could never remarry, that he was certain of. But he could pull forward a bit of strength to live for his daughter.

"Sybil, darling-"

She places a finger over his lips.

"I love you, Tom."

And then she kisses him once more. She clings on to him much tighter than she did before, and he cannot help but moan in longing. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls him into her chest as much as possible. She tangles her fingers in his hair, her breath slightly hitching as she gets on her tiptoes to pull in closer. He is vaguely aware of the saltiness that he tastes on her lips. At the same moment, he realizes that tears are being shed from the both of them.

"Sybil…good God, not yet…"

"Until next year, Tom."

He opens his eyes and finds himself alone in the street.

Of course it had been too good to be true. But it had felt so real…

He wanted to cry. Oh Lord, how much had he cried? His shirt front was already stained with tears. He was painfully aware of the harsh October wind creating numbness in his legs. And most importantly, he felt the piercing stab of his heart breaking all over again.

Good God, how much alcohol had he drank?!

Something soft flits against his hand. As he looks down into his palm, he sees a tiny rose petal. Her favorite rose.

He smiles. Perhaps those childish beliefs were not completely wrong.

Deciding the walk home would be excruciating, he decides to step into a nearby inn for the night. Besides, Sybie was being taken care of by Halle, the house-keeper. As he digs around in his pockets for some money, he finds a folded-up piece of parchment. He did not recall ever carrying parchment in any of his jackets, nor did he ever intend to. Sighing, he paid for a room and decided to erase all strange happenings during slumber.

The next morning, Tom awoke to a familiar, sour gurgling in his stomach. After he finished emptying his stomach's contents in the bedside chamber pot, he glanced around the room once more.

It was nothing special, but it did have a warm glow about it. With its polished wooden trimmings and rustic furnishings, he could have believed that he was in his flat.

He debated whether or not to go out and fetch some breakfast before starting the day. The inn offered complimentary food at all times, but one could never be too sure of the level of edibleness in such public places. There was also the gnawing idea that he could skip breakfast, one which he was happy to perform due to the uneasiness clenching his stomach.

Finding himself at an utter loss, he scrounged for the folded-up parchment he had discovered yesterday. Sure enough, it was still in the jacket pocket, just where he had first found it. As he turned it over, he gasped.

It was from Sybil.

Perhaps it was just an old note that he had neglected to notice until now? Strangely enough…he found himself wishing that last night's odd turn of events had really occurred.

With his heart racing, he unfolded the letter as if it were a fine artifact.

My dearest Tom,

Do not be alarmed whilst reading this letter. I know you have many questions as to what has just occurred, but in due time, you will understand.

Despite your ramblings (yes, I can, in a sense, hear your thoughts), everything from last night was real. The kissing, the talking, the caressing, all of it. Strange as it might sound, those "childish beliefs" of yours are certainly true, Tom. Ghosts and spirits do come back to haunt their loved ones on All Hollow's Eve, but not in the way you may think.

We come back to inform loved ones of our "living state", so to speak. See, whomever we cherish the most in life is whom we spent our time with during the night. Oh, Tom, I know it is dreadfully confusing, but I promise you it will get clearer!

As for whom I will be spending my time with once a year, I have decided that it will be you. Yes, Tom, we cannot afford to transport everywhere, for the world is much too big for such a task. Therefore, I will always come back to Dublin—or wherever you may be—to spend All Hollow's Eve with you. Even though it is not the same as spending time with you while I was still living, I will never truly be "gone".

And I did mean what I said. You must move on. Even if that means you'll always be chasing after me (I should hope that you will do no such thing), you must continue living a healthy life. You owe it to Sybie, Tom.

You see, Tom, I saw you in the pub. I hate the thoughts that kept racing in my mind. What if you would choose the spent the rest of your days drowning in hatred and drink? If I had to see you go through that…

Oh, Tom, don't you see what would happen to our poor daughter? If she had lost both parents before she ever got to know them?

Forgive me for rambling, darling. I know you still must be a bit muddled as to what my point really is.

You must try to forget me, Tom. I'm not asking for you to completely wipe me from your memories, but I want you to stop thinking about me for at least one moment each day. I don't want you to try getting drunk as means of forgetting me. But rather, I wish that you would take one second out of everyday to forget all of the tragedy and angst that my death has caused you. You do not deserve to carry the burden of remembering those painful last moments.

We have a connection, Tom. I believe we always have, ever since the pair of us started talking of politics and such in those earlier days. You believe it too, probably long before I started putting the pieces together. That's why I was never destined to be a grand Lady born from the famous Grantham family tree, and why you were never destined to be only a chauffeur for all of eternity. No, we were put together for a reason, Tom. And though we do not have the happiest of endings, we have certainly shared some of the happiest moments.

I bid you farewell for the time being. Darling, do take care of yourself. I am eager to be reconciled with you once again next year.

Yours always,

Sybil

His hands were shaking, and he wasn't aware of it until he had finished reading. So it had not been a nightmare or a dream. No, it had been real. In a way, Sybil was alive. The realization made him want to dance about the room in a giddy manner. She wasn't gone! Perhaps he was going mental, but what did it matter? The love of his life was still walking the earth!

He would have to wait for her, yet again. But he also knew that he couldn't spend the rest of his days moping. No, he had to obey her commands. He would gladly continue living life, so long as it meant that he would have one night with her per year. It didn't matter if she was dead; this was just another blurred boundary. They were not strangers to crossing lines, anyway.

Feeling quite pleased, Tom quickly gathered his few belongings and exited the inn.

He had to go home.

"Daddy? DADDY!" Sybie cried out, a joyful laugh accompanying it.

Oh, how he had missed his little darling!

"Sybie!" He picked his daughter up and spun her around with ease, laughing as he did so.

There was so much of Sybil in his daughter that it sometimes hurt to look at her. But then, he would have to remind himself that they were two separate human beings. And all would be well soon enough.

Her eyes were a sparkling blue, just like her mother's. She had inherited the elder Lady Grantham's strength, and her great-grandmother bloomed with pride whenever Tom brought her over to Downton for a visit. Her hair was a mix of her father and mother's: mousy-brown with a hint of golden. Just like all young children, she was eager to explore the land on which she treaded upon. All the villagers adored her, and it was seldom that any of the other children would loathe her. She was well-behaved, and all were enthralled by her vast knowledge.

Tom knew that there would be times when his daughter would not be enough comfort to fill the void in his chest. But knowing that his love was somewhere near, he felt that he could tackle any obstacle in the world.

"Where did you go, Daddy? Why didn't you come home last night?"

His daughter's questions break him out of his reverie.

"On an adventure, so to speak." At this, his daughter's eyes brightened considerably. "Do you wish me to tell you all about it?"

"Oh, yes!"

"You'll have to be very patient, darling. Daddy has to rest for a bit, alright?"

She pouts, but nods her head.

"Good girl. Now go with Halle and visit grandma. She'll be happy to make you some cookies if you behave!"

Just then, Halle stepped outside.

"I don' 'spect you'll be tellin' me nothing 'bout where you's been, Mr. Branson, but I's really don' care."

He smirked at the use of his surname. She had always called her "masters" by their last name. Halle had known Tom since he was a toddler. She was an elderly African woman whom his father had hired. When he was little, she would always be his rock whenever life left him dangling. He was always grateful for her company, and could not help but cherish it more at the present moment.

As he watched the two of them leave, he took in his surroundings. The luscious green of Ireland enveloped him. Everything from the rolling hills to the grassing terrain below filled him with pride. He had always imagined showing it all off to Sybil, and so he had done after their honeymoon. It wasn't a flashy city like London or Paris. In its own way, it was enchanting. Ireland did not need glaring electricity and new technology. It was perfect the way it was. Clean, pure, and home.

Thinking back, he had known for a long time that there would be a day when he would not come back home alone. He just hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly. But the fact was that he wasn't alone. He had Halle, Sybie, his mother, and he still had Sybil.

And that, at the moment, was all he needed.

Not a history person, so I don't really know if all of the information is accurate. Thanks for reading!