I intend to write a really, really long story in which we get to see Tom and Sybil's life in Dublin, their marriage, everything. My grandmother spoke Gaelic so I try to add a lot of that into the story. If it isn't perfect it is only because my memory is crap and I have had to piece together some stuff. If I get some response on this I will make it a regularly updated story. This is both canon and head canon.

"Looking at the Stars"

"A fuisce do mo chailín, a thabhairt dom uisce beatha, freisin!" Tom Branson called out over the noise of the pub. The air felt green with moisture—the constant rain hadn't let up since their arrival in Dublin. Sybil felt it all over her, a constant wet that she had not known on her own grey island. Everything felt damp, even her coat pockets. If she wasn't careful, she thought, ferns and moss could start growing out of them. It didn't matter though—she felt like she had stars in her eyes. Tom held her hand and looked at her excitedly, drinking in the night.

The pub was loud. It was her first time out without a chaperon in her entire life. They'd only been away from Downton for a matter of nights, had arrived in Dublin the morning before. The noise, the smell of tobacco in the air, the illicit Gaelic

chatter—everything was new. As was the taste of the whiskey that he handed her. She'd drank wine for most of her life, but the sublime and sharp taste of the amber liquor was as foreign as everything else. Her father had been a whiskey drinker, but it was never given to the ladies.

"How is it?" Tom asked her, leaning in and half shouting over the noise. The noise of a bodhrán made Sybil's heart shake—it was all too thrilling.

"It is so strong!" She yelled back, squeezing his hand as she took another sip of the drink, trying not to cough.

"Aye, you'll be petrified if you rabbit on with that!"

Sybil began laughing, shaking her head and taking swig. Since Tom arrived back home he began using every piece of Irish slang that he could. He'd taken every opportunity to shout in the forbidden Gaelic, to prattle on in words that he had never used in her home. Tom led her to a table in the back of the pub, surrounded by the looming clouds of smoke that hung in the air like blue ribbons. The world felt endless, limitless, eternal.

They sat at a table side-by-side, Sybil watching the scenes of the pub and Tom watching her as she looked in wonder at everything. He kept his hand on hers, anchoring her fingers and his on the wooden table.

He looked at her, feeling the strange marvelous sensations of the whiskey intermingled with the stronger tonic of her presence. She looked so different here, so much more real. She was like a carved angel that got tired of standing on a pedestal for eternity and decided to wander. She wasn't in her fine clothes. Her mother had arranged for her to take some dresses that she could wear without the help of a maid. Somehow, though, the simple blue-green velvet dress looked more glamorous than all of her finery. Her hair was plainly braided, she wore no jewelry. He watched her eyes as they darted back and forth, could feel her body keeping time with the music playing. Having her out in Dublin, his old world, was beyond surreal.

He leaned over and whispered into her ear, her skin warm near his lips: "Is breá liom i bhfad tú amhlaidh."

It was the only Irish phrase that she knew—he'd said it to her enough. She smiled and turned back to him, her face caught in a public kiss. He didn't care about propriety, neither of them did. In the crowded pub their lips were pressed against each other, their noses squishing together, their whole life on display.

"I love you so much, too." She replied, mirroring his words.

0

They walked out into the night, the mist turning into an evening rain. They'd had enough to be drunk, but Tom was a changed man out on the streets. He'd given Sybil his overcoat and held his arm around her—protective, alert. A British soldier passed down the street opposite, and he stiffened, his fingers pulling tighter at her. Tom made direct eye contact with the officer and had to force himself to keep his mouth shut. It was for Sybil's sake that he didn't say a word, and to keep everything clean while the banns were read.

"Dia damnaigh iad go hIfreann." He muttered underneath his breath when the officer had fallen out of earshot. The forbidden Gaelic made him feel so much more wholesome, like every letter was made of milk and honey.

They turned, together, down the street where Tom's mother still lived, where he had grown up as a boy. They had only arrived yesterday, and the place still felt strange. Tom's mother had been kind but wary of her, the same way she thought she would be. His mother was just as nervous about their impending marriage and its lack of social backings. She felt like their marriage was happening in free fall, and was too radical. Too much, though, what she would expect from her son.

Tom unlocked the front door and quietly led Sybil to her room. They'd bent the truth when Sybil said she would be living at Tom's mother's house. They hadn't mentioned that Tom would be staying in a room down the hall until they could find their own flat. Their rooms touched, their beds laid against the walls so that only plaster and wood kept them apart. They crept quietly into the house, through the kitchen and up the stairs. They paused, like thieves, to steal kisses as they walked, out of public and once again tipsy.

"Dia damnaigh iad go hIfreann, mo stór." He whispered into her ear when they reached the door to her temporary bedroom. He kissed her again, opening the door for her, letting her into her room.

"Oh my darling, I love you too." She giggled, reluctant to leave him and go to bed. She walked backwards through the door, keeping her eyes locked on his as she slowly closed it.

"I love you." He whispered to her for the umpteenth time that day, before she disappeared as the door finally clicked shut. He realized that over the course of the day they hadn't said much more than that to each other. It made his heart beat like a bodhrán.

They leaned against opposite sides of the bedroom wall, lightly tapping it so as to tell the other that they were there, that they would always be there. Even if you cannot see me, I am never away now.

Even in the dark, their rooms were glowing. Rain plinked hard against the windows at the rain picked up, and they fell asleep together, separated by such a weak wall. Sybil felt like she could feel eternity in this room, could feel him—freedom, life, everything. She felt like she was looking at the stars.