This is a story that I posted on tumblr a year ago today. I have lots (and lots to update), but I found this in my files while procrastinating and decided to post here to motivate myself. If this is the first time you've seen this one (or even if it isn't), please let me know what you think! I'll post the follow up later this weekend.

From the side of her eyes Sybil saw Gwen pass by the open bathroom door, and before Sybil could object, Gwen took out her mobile and snapped a picture of Sybil kneeling in front of the toilet, scrub brush in one hand and bottle of disinfectant in the other.

"Lady Sybil Crawley, housemaid," Gwen said. "Definitely one to keep for posterity."

"You're not putting it on Instagram, are you?" Sybil asked.

"And have it end up in Hello Magazine like last time? No, thank you."

"Oh, I don't care about that," Sybil said, standing up, her task complete. "It's only that I'm having dinner at Downton next week, and Edith or Mary will no doubt make a comment about it, and then I'll have to hear it from mum and dad."

"You mean Lord and Lady Grantham don't like the fact that their noble daughter is scrubbing toilets for extra money while she finishes medical school?" Gwen asked, the sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Sybil smirked. "As a matter of fact they don't, and there are only so many times I can explain that I am saving my trust to open the free clinic."

"They'll come around when the Queen makes you a dame for all your work providing health care for addicts and sex workers."

Sybil smiled. "I won't hold my breath on that, but I appreciate your support anyway."

Gwen smiled back and lifted the mop in her hand. "Well, I'm done in the kitchen. Just need to put the supplies back in the garage."

Sybil nodded and followed Gwen through the posh Belgravia house they'd spent the last three hours cleaning.

"Mrs. Weston said her son—I can't remember his first name—would be coming by to pick up his car this afternoon," Gwen added, "You know how she can be, so we should go before he gets here . . . or maybe you could stick around and get a look at him. It's been quite a while since you . . . you know."

Sybil laughed. "I doubt someone who grew up in this kind of house is going to go for a housemaid."

"But you're not really a housemaid, are you?"

"I clean houses for money. Isn't that what a housemaid does?"

Gwen gave Sybil a knowing look.

"Oh, all right, but on this day, I look the part of a housemaid, and anyway, I wouldn't want a man who would need to be reassured about my social status to ask me out."

"But you'd go for it if he did?" Gwen asked eagerly.

"Let's just take the gear to the garage and go home."

They were just a few feet from the door when Gwen stopped short. "Bollocks! I've not got the broom. Must have left it upstairs somewhere."

"Go," Sybil said, "I'll wait."

"No, you go ahead," Gwen replied. "I'll catch up. It'll get us out of here faster."

Sybil took the mop and bucket Gwen was carrying and juggled it with her own caddy of supplies. Gwen headed back toward the main part of the house, and Sybil turned to open the garage door.

Meanwhile in the garage

"Only you could manage to change spark plugs without getting a dot of grease on your suit," Alfred said wiping his own grease-stained hands against his coveralls. "You're a hero to all mechanics, Tom Branson."

"Or just very careful," Tom said with a smirk as he closed the hood of the Ferrari he and his partner had been working on. "I couldn't reschedule the interview, and I need to get this story done by tomorrow if I want a hope of getting more freelance work from this magazine."

"I can stay to give Weston his keys, if you like?"

Tom opened the driver's side door of the car and climbed in. "He said just to leave them in the ignition. The two women who clean the house will set the alarm when they leave."

"Two women?"

Tom nodded as he started the car, grinning at the hum of the engine, proud of his handy-work. "They're inside I presume."

Alfred began picking up their tools. "I suppose it would be bad form to go in and ask one of them out."

Tom laughed as he turned off the car again. "Yes, Alfred, very bad."

"Not many birds go for mechanics these days anyway. But maybe with those clothes you could fool one of them into thinking you are David Weston."

Tom leaned back in the seat laughing. "I think the Irish accent and cheap shoes would give me away."

"Worth a shot. It's been far too long for you mate."

Tom shook his head with a laugh and moved to get out of the car.

"I'll just take these to the van, then," Alfred said and headed out the side door.

At just that moment, Sybil opened the door into the garage and stepped in without looking up. Despite her best efforts, she could not manage all the supplies she was holding and the door, so three steps in, she fell forward dropping everything.

Tom was there in an instant.

"Bloody hell," Sybil whispered, grimacing at the pain in her left knee.

"Are you all right?"

Sybil looked up and might have felt a little light-headed even if the pain from falling hadn't made her so.

Tom was likewise rather dumbstruck. Are all housemaids this gorgeous?

Realizing who this was—or rather, making an incorrect assumption—she gasped and said, "Oh, dear! So sorry, Mr. Weston! We were just finishing up. I didn't realize we'd taken so long. We'll be out of your hair in just a moment."

In her haste, she tried to scramble to her feet and fell again. This time he caught her.

"Are you all right?" Tom repeated.

"Er, yeah," she said, now feeling deeply embarrassed. "Let me just—"

Before she could complete the thought, though, he pulled her up on her feet as if she were as light as a feather.

"I'm really, truly sorry," she said. "I know Mrs. Weston doesn't like it when we don't finish before the family is home."

"The help should be neither seen nor heard?" Tom joked.

Sybil's lips curled into a hesitant smile. "Something like that."

"Well, I certainly don't mind having seen you," Tom said. Sybil blushed at the compliment and he did too, realizing how lecherous it sounded.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, "that was wholly inappropriate."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Tom smiled. "Need help?" he asked, pointing to the mess of things she'd dropped on the floor.

"Oh, God, please don't. I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

"Don't be silly." Tom bent down to pick things up and walked them over to a supply closet in the corner. "Is this where they go?"

"Oh, yes, sorry," Sybil said moving quickly, picking up everything else and walking over to the closet.

Once everything was in its place, Tom said, "I should be going," without making any effort to move from where he stood.

"Well, thanks for the help," she said quietly.

"Anytime," he responded with a smile that made her weak at the knees. "I'm Tom, by the way."

Sybil took the hand he had extended shook it. "I'm Sybil."

Not wanting to leave, but not having any other excuse to stay, he let go and turned toward the garage's outside exit.

"Are you any good at pub quizes?"

Tom turned with what he hoped wasn't a plainly obvious eagerness. "Uh . . . I'm all right, I suppose."

Sybil bit her lip. "My friends and I go every Thursday and we're one short tonight. If you're free, you could join us."

Tom was so taken aback that he didn't answer right away, and Sybil, taking this as a no, thought of Gwen's comment minutes before. You're not really a housemaid, are you?

"Never mind," she said quickly. "Probably not your thing."

"What time?"

"Pardon."

"I'd love to come," he said. "What time? I have somewhere I have to be for a bit this evening, but I can come after, yeah?"

Sybil felt herself blush once more. "Oh. Um, 9 o'clock."

"Here," he said, taking his pen and reporter's notebook from his back pocket and tearing a sheet off. "Have my number. Text me the details and I'll come."

Sybil took the paper from him, trying to contain her excitement. "OK." She took her mobile from her pocket, tapped his number and promptly sent a text and said, "There, now you have mine." Looking back at the door, she added, "I should go see what's holding up my friend."

"See you tonight, then?" Tom said.

"Yeah," Sybil replied.

Back inside the house, she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin. She ran back into Gwen in the kitchen, and Gwen immediately noticed the change in her demeanor.

"What's with you?"

With a grin Sybil said. "Turns out, there are posh boys who will go out with a housemaid."

"WHAT!?"

As Sybil explained what had just happened, Tom was making his way back outside to where Alfred was waiting for him.

"What took you so long?"

Tom smiled. "If I told you, I'm not sure you would believe it. I'm rather inclined to think I've just been hallucinating."

"What happened?"

"A beautiful girl just asked me out."

Tom was climbing into the van when he heard his mobile buzz once and then again. Two new messages.

It's Sybil. Nice to meet you.

Thanks for not telling your mum you found us here ;)

Tom had to read the second several times before he realized what it meant.

Oh, dear! So sorry, Mr. Weston! We were just finishing up.

He hadn't corrected her.

"Oh, bloody hell."