I'm well aware that there are already approximately seven million "Tom and Sybil after they get married" fics and frankly I do not care. Mine will be short and questionably edited. Any plot that appears is there entirely by mistake.


So they were married now.

It was late: the wedding was over, and the little party that followed. His family and a few friends were there, and her sisters. Mary was cool and reserved, Edith visibly ill at ease, and both of them set instantly apart by their fine dresses and English voices, but they had come, and it was enough. They were gone now; they'd left on the last boat back. "Stay a little longer," Sybil had not-quite-begged, but, "Oh, no, we mustn't," said Mary, and, "We wouldn't want to disturb your honeymoon," said Edith. They kissed her on the cheek, sweet, dry kisses, before they left. "Some family," Tom said when he noticed Sybil gazing a little wistfully in the direction they'd gone, and wondering how she could be so happy where she was, and welcome the changes in her life, and still miss them so very much.

"I'm glad they came at all," Sybil said. "It's difficult for them. But it doesn't matter." She took his hand and smiled at him. "It isn't difficult for me."

So they were married now, and the party was over, and they were standing just inside the doorway of their little flat. The flat was plain and rather dingy; Mary and Edith would have thought it dismal but Sybil would not have agreed because it was theirs, and who cared for dirty windows and small rooms anyway? She was in any case not in a position to notice the flat's shortcomings, or indeed anything at all except her husband, particularly her husband's hands and her husband's mouth, and the uses to which they were being put.

They had kissed before, of course, sometimes rather extensively, but they always stopped before anyone's clothing became too disarranged. (They had done exactly enough to make Sybil heartily wish they'd made it to Gretna Green, or even just taken advantage of the fully functional bed at the Swan Inn. She took some but not much satisfaction in knowing that Tom was in an even worse state than her, most of the time.) Now, though…now, there was no reason to stop.

Now there was an exciting notion.

They parted for a moment, breathing heavily, and Sybil was momentarily alarmed to discover that the chief emotion on Tom's face was not desire but remorse. "What is it, Tom?" she asked.

"It's nothing," he said.

"It's not nothing," she said gently. "Just tell me." Sybil Crawley—Sybil Branson now—was not given to catastrophizing, but even so his reply surprised her.

"I'm sorry I can't take you somewhere fine," he said after a moment's hesitation. "I'm not ashamed to be poor but I'm sorry I can't give you—"

"Don't be," she said fervently. "Don't be sorry. I swear to you it doesn't matter where we are, so long as we're together. That's enough for me."

"Oh, Sybil. Oh, my love," he said, gratitude and relief in his voice and, yes, there it was now, desire on his face. "It's enough for me too."