Author's note
This story was written as part of the Sybil x Tom fandom Secret Santa fic exchange, convened on Tumblr by the lovely Yankee Countess (thank you for organising it!), based on her own prompt!
Many apologies for being late, my dear – at least I nearly made Orthodox Christmas. :) I hope you enjoy your story and wishing you all the best for the New Year!
Happy accident
"Hello? Are you OK? Oh God, look at you... don't worry, I'm here, it's all right. Just hold on..."
Sybil felt rather than saw the torch in her eyes, heard a voice speaking in a comforting accent she couldn't immediately place. Her head was pounding, she felt dizzy, and her whole body ached as if she'd just survived a boxing match.
Where am I?
The open car door beside her was yanked further back, with a couple of jerks to get it over the snow that was drifting beside it, and someone reached across her to undo her seat belt.
Then, she felt herself being scooped up like a child, held against a broad chest, cradled in strong arms. In her dazed state, only one word came to her mind.
Safe...
She stretched her hands up to clasp them around the stranger's neck.
"That's the way, I've got you, I've got you. Hold onto me – my truck's just over here..."
Snow was still whirling around them, and she turned her face into his shoulder as they battled through the storm. She had a strange sensation of being enclosed in a bubble of light, despite the weather – as long as she stayed in his arms, nothing could touch her.
Then, she was lifted up, put into the high passenger seat of what felt like the truck he'd mentioned. She felt him drop her handbag on her lap and slam the door shut to keep out the snow.
He was gone.
Without the shelter of his embrace, she couldn't stop shivering, even in the warmth of the cabin, with the heater turned up full blast.
Please, come back...
She didn't have long to wait. He soon reappeared in the driver's seat next to her.
Gentle fingers touched her face, coming away wet and sticky. "You've cut yourself – don't worry, it's not bad. I'll get your car hooked up to the back of the truck and then we'll be on our way."
After several minutes, during which she heard swearing and banging, he was back beside her. A couple of turns of the key, and the engine roared to life.
She sank back against the seat and drifted into semi-consciousness as the truck made its way into the night – ready to trust this stranger, who had appeared like a Christmas angel by the roadside, with her life.
"Come on, up we go."
She was in his arms again. Her face pressed into his neck, his stubble scratching her cheek, the taste of his skin on her lips. When he put her down in what felt like an armchair, she found herself wishing the journey had taken longer.
"Ah, for the love of Christ, you've cracked your head open. Here, let me just..."
He gently wiped the blood away with something soft.
"Hold on, let me grab..."
She opened her eyes and saw him from behind as he started scrabbling around in what looked like a tool box, pulling out a pack of Elastoplast and opening a strip with his teeth.
Then, he turned back towards her and leaned down to brush back a stray curl from her forehead before applying the bandage carefully to her cut.
"That's better, isn't it? Do you know what happened?"
Her first proper look at her unknown rescuer. Tallish, wide shoulders, fair hair falling into his eyes. Just my type...
"The last thing I remember, I'd just passed Pontefract and a snowstorm blew up out of nowhere. The wind was so strong, it was making the car rattle, and I felt it start to skid. The next thing I knew, your torch was in my eyes."
"Lucky I came along, aren't you! When I found you, your car was jammed into a snowdrift on the side of the road. Your door was open – must have happened during the crash, I guess – and the snow was drifting into your car. You were half covered in it."
"I'm so cold..."
"No wonder, your clothes are completely soaked!" He blushed a little and she wasn't sure why, until his next remark.
"Perhaps you should take them off? I can lend you something to wear while they dry."
"Sure, OK. Thank you."
He went back over to his truck and grabbed a pair of heavy canvas overalls from behind the seat.
"Can you put these on? Don't worry, they're clean."
"I'm not sure I can manage without help at the moment..." She grimaced, holding her side. "Bruised a couple of ribs, I think."
"I'll help you if you like – promise not to peek?" A twinkle in his eye and she couldn't help but smile in return.
Am I his type too? Oh, I hope so...
He knelt down to unlace her boots, pulling them off along with her socks. She fought off an urge to brush his fringe away from his brow as he bent to his task.
Then, he helped her to her feet and unbuttoned her overcoat. Turning his face away, he lifted her sweater and t-shirt over her head. She fumbled for the zip of her jeans and (while still averting his eyes) he helped her tug them down and off, leaving her just in her underwear.
She lingered a moment with her eyes closed, letting the warmth of the garage caress her bare skin.
"Are you... Oh, sorry, I thought you were finished." Their eyes connected for a moment, until he looked away.
"Not quite," she replied, stepping into the overalls.
He helped her pull them up over her shoulders, still not meeting her gaze as he zipped them up. Then, he moved back, snapping the tension that had sprung up between them.
Feeling a bit woozy, she sat back down in the armchair. Then, she laughed as she snuggled her knees up to her chest. "I must look a sight – these overalls are so big on me!"
"Ah, you're all right." His eyes flashed in what she hoped was appreciation of how cute she looked in his oversized clothes.
"Now, how else can I warm you up? How about a dram?"
"That sounds great, thanks."
He walked over to the workbench and reached down behind it, pulling out a half empty bottle of Black Bush and two glasses. A slug in each one, and he handed one to her.
"Sláinte," he said, pulling up a wooden stool beside her chair and sitting on it. They clinked their glasses together and, again, their eyes met and held. This time, Sybil was the one to break away.
"So, you drew the short straw, huh? Working on Christmas Eve?"
A crooked smile creased his mouth, and she couldn't help noticing his lips, smooth and firm.
"Yeah, something like that. I'm saving up some leave to go home for a break in the new year, so it seemed like a fair trade."
"Home? Where's that?"
"Dublin – born and bred. And you? The wilds of Knightsbridge, is it?"
She took her turn to smile. "No, actually – I'm heading to Yorkshire for Christmas, to my family e..." She smothered the word estate that had been about to cross her lips, hoping he wouldn't notice.
No such luck.
"Your family what?"
"Event," she improvised, causing him to raise an eyebrow before he dropped the subject.
She felt herself shivering again, and wrapped her arms around herself. Immediately, he was on his feet.
"You're still cold, aren't you? Let me turn on the heat. Sorry, I should have thought of it sooner. Daft eejit!" he murmured, more to himself than her, as he fired up the burner. She felt a warmth begin to steal through her body, not just from the outside.
"You should take this, too." He shrugged off his jacket and tucked it over her knees.
"You'll freeze!"
"I'll be fine – see, this will keep me warm enough."
He grabbed a multi-coloured blanket from the floor and put it around his shoulders, pulling a comical face.
"That's Ma for you – she loves knitting me things. Makes me feel like Ron Weasley sometimes!"
They shared another smile. "I just realised, I don't even know your name."
"Branson, Tom Branson." A tilt of his glass and a raise of his eyebrow. "And you are...?"
"Sybil Crawley. Thank you so much, Tom, for saving me. I don't know what might have happened if you hadn't come along and found me!"
"My pleasure, milady." Although she knew he was only kidding, the coincidence of the epithet made her blush.
"What is it, Sybil?"
She took a breath, and looked him straight in the eye.
"It's just... well, when I told you I was going to see my family for Christmas, there was one thing I didn't tell you. It's not important to me at all, which is why... well, my father is the Earl of Grantham. My name actually is Lady Sybil Crawley, although I never use the 'Lady'."
"Holy feck, really? Just think – the daughter of an English aristo, stuck in a garage on Christmas Eve with a working class Irishman like meself. Who'd have thought it?"
"Yesss," she mock-drawled. "You'd better watch your step, my good man, in case I decide to have you beheaded for insolence."
"Insolence, eh? What might that entail, I wonder..."
He grinned at her, and she responded in kind, just as a thought struck her.
"Speaking of which – I'd better give my family a quick ring, let them know I am OK. They'll be wondering where I am. I was meant to be home tonight."
He stood up as she grabbed her phone from her bag. "I think I've got some food back here somewhere. I'll make us some supper. You must be starving. "
After sharing a simple meal of cheese and pickle sandwiches and splitting an apple, Sybil and Tom kept talking long into the night, oblivious to the howling storm outside as the level in the whiskey bottle sank lower and lower. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable with anyone as she told him about growing up in Downton Abbey, her life in London as a nursing student, her plans for the future.
In return he told her about his childhood in Dublin, tragically interrupted by the death of his father in a work accident on the docks. He'd had no choice but to leave school at fifteen to take up an apprenticeship as a mechanic, so he could earn money and help his mother take care of his five younger siblings.
"I'd hoped to go to university, read politics, or history maybe. Didn't work out that way."
"Hey, you never know what might happen." He nodded briefly. "You can do whatever you want, Tom. Truly."
"Maybe with family money behind you... it's not so easy for the rest of us." His mouth was tight, and his gaze turned inwards.
Realising she'd touched a nerve, she looked down at her watch. "Can you believe it, it's nearly midnight!"
"Excuse me a minute – I just need to go and get something." He stood up and walked away towards a side door leading off the garage, leaving her alone.
His phone (which he had left on the stool) beeped. A text message.
She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help glancing at the screen. A message from 'Nora':
Merry Christmas, Tommy boy, and lots of love – I'm looking forward to seeing you soon xx
Her heart began to race and her cheeks flushed, as she contemplated what this might mean.
Of course, a gorgeous guy like Tom has a girlfriend. Who was I kidding, thinking he might be interested in me!
He walked back into the room, holding a large parcel. "Since I couldn't get home for Christmas this year, I promised my Ma that I'd open this at midnight." He pulled the wrapping paper off, to reveal a soft, crimson bundle.
Shaking it out to reveal a hand-knitted jumper, he smiled fondly.
"Sometimes she forgets I'm not eight any more. Still, on a night like this it's welcome." He pulled the jumper over his head, settling the roll neck into place under his chin as he sat back down beside her.
"It's lovely, the colour suits you."
"Oh, you think so?" He gave a theatrical pout. "Not exactly Blue Steel, right?" He turned towards her and grinned, leaving behind his introspection of a few minutes before.
"How about you, Sybil? Are you warm enough?" He reached over to touch her hand, which was resting on the arm of the chair. His sudden touch on her skin was electric, and without thinking she jerked her hand away.
"Do you mind? I'm exhausted, I think I'll try and get some sleep. Is that the spare room?" She pointed back towards the door he'd gone through before.
"Of course – here, you might want this."
He handed her the knitted blanket, moving to kneel down beside her and lay it on her lap. Then, he looked up and his gaze locked with hers.
She felt herself blushing as he moved a little closer, then closer still. Feeling she should look away, break the mood somehow, but not able to do anything but stare.
"Sybil..." His finger traced along her jaw, making her tremble. An endless moment passed, in which all she could see were his blue eyes, the curve of his chin. Then, the text message she shouldn't have seen flashed into her mind.
She pulled away from his touch abruptly, afraid of the connection between them and what it might mean.
"Night night, and thanks again for your help."
Standing up, she brushed past him and walked away into the small side room, picking up her clothes on the way. Lying down on the single bed she found there, she was determined to pretend that nothing had almost happened.
A few hours later, Sybil woke up from a restless sleep. Still feeling stiff and sore, she stretched out beneath the scratchy blanket before getting up and putting on her now-dry clothes.
She walked out of the spare room into the garage, to find Tom under the bonnet of her car.
"It's as I thought – should be drivable." He stood up, a smear of oil decorating the front of his t-shirt. "You'll need to take it to your local guy for a proper once-over, though, and to fix that ding on the bumper bar." The bonnet clanged back into place.
"Tom, thanks again. I don't know what I would have done without your help."
"Ah it's nothing. It was my pleasure." He looked down, raking a hand back through his hair, kicking the ground with a toe of one boot.
"Just in time to head off."
He looked up at her, an earnest look on his face.
"Sybil, can I... could I give you a call sometime?"
He stepped towards her and she felt the pull between them again. How can he...
"Tom, I, um, well... who's Nora?"
"Whaaa...?" He seemed confused.
"I saw a message on your phone last night from someone called Nora, and I thought – she isn't your girlfriend?"
"My girlfriend? Sybil, I promise, there's no chance of that ever happening. She's my sister!"
"Your sister?"
"Yeah – she's one of those touchy feely young ones, always signs her messages to everyone with love and kisses." A look of recognition crossed his face. "So that's what happened last night? You saw the message she sent and..."
Joy was racing through her veins and she could hardly hear him for the beat of her heart. His sister, she's his sister! "So, you were saying?"
"I'll be meeting friends for a couple of jars in York on New Year's Eve, nothing fancy, but if you'd like to come?"
"Sounds great, thanks. I'd love to. I'm sure by then my family will be driving me crazy!"
"That's grand. If you give me your number..."
"Sure." She scribbled on a stray bit of paper from her handbag and gave it to him. "Text me the details."
Just then, her phone rang. Without looking at the screen, she answered it.
"Sybil, darling, where are you? We're waiting for you, are you on the road yet?"
She made a face at Tom, trying to stem the flow of her mother's conversation.
"Mum, don't panic, I'll be on my way soon..."
"We're all here, and we..."
"All right, Mum, all right. I'm getting into the car right now."
Sybil hung up and put her phone back into her bag. "Well... I'd better be going, my mother's going all American on me."
"On your way, then. Drive safely, Sybil, won't you?"
"I will. Bye, Tom. And thanks again, for everything. Have a merry Christmas!"
She wasn't sure if she should shake his hand, so she settled for an awkward wave as she got into the car.
The engine turned over straight away, thanks to Tom's attentions, and she drove carefully out of the garage and back onto the slipway that led to the M1.
After driving for a few minutes on the motorway, she knew she had to turn around. Taking the next exit, she headed back to the garage, and it wasn't long before she was pulling up outside. She yanked the door open and jumped out of the car.
"Tom?" The garage seemed empty as she came in, but then she saw him emerge from a dusty corner, wiping his hands.
"Is everything all right? Did you forget something?"
By way of answer, she walked across the room towards him and put her arms around his neck.
"Yeah, I did. This." She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
Straight away, his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her into his body, while his other hand cupped her cheek and slid into her hair. The feel of his lips on hers left her head spinning, and the kiss deepened quickly as she slid her tongue into his mouth.
She didn't know how long they stood there, one kiss becoming many, the current that had been between them all night arcing into lightning that lit her up like a beacon.
When she eventually broke away from him, flushed and breathless, eyes sparkling, she laughed.
"I realised I couldn't wait until New Year's Eve to kiss you!"
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, still holding her around the waist.
"Well, I'm glad you came back! You should know though, for future reference..."
Smiling that crooked smile that made her heart dance in her chest, he touched her bottom lip with his thumb. "When it comes to you, Sybil Crawley, I'd wait forever."