This is a story I wrote for the amazing piperholmes as a birthday present. This story is set in the Downton Abbey & Zombies universe, though it is not part of that story. An AU of an AU if you will! Basically it takes the characters of Sybil and Tom Branson and tries to explore "another angle" as to how their story could have been told, if the same zombie apocalypse that happens in DA&Z happened a little differently. This is also a "sequel" to the short ficlet "Heaven in Hell", which is the second story in my ficlet collection: We Are the Bransons. Posted this on tumblr and wanted to bring it to FF; hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!
...we found love in a hopeless place...
The sun was blazing. Tom groaned and ran his arm across his brow, trying his best to wipe the sweat away. Yes it was the middle of August, but even so, he still found it amazing how hot the summer could be near the Scottish Highlands.
Soft panting from just over his shoulder brought Tom's attention back to his traveling companion, who was momentarily resting against a nearby tree, one hand pressed against its bark, while the other rested over her large, swollen belly. If the heat was bad for him, he could only imagine how excruciating it was for her.
"Love…" he murmured, going to her side and removing the canteen from his pack. "Here, drink this."
Sybil lifted her eyes to meet his, and quickly shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine, truly."
"Sybil…" he gave her a look, and still pushed the canteen towards her. "Come on, love, don't be stubborn."
"I'm being stubborn?"
He couldn't help but smile at that. "Aye; you're more stubborn than a mule."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you calling the mother of your child an 'ass', Tom Branson?"
He bit his lip, wondering how far to take this cheek. "If the shoe fits, milady."
Her eyes went wide, and he laughed as she reached out to swat his chest. It was worth it, though. He would do anything to bring a smile to her face, and in such times as these, smiles were often few and far between.
She snatched the canteen from his hands and proceeded to drink its water, muttering under her breath, "infernal Irishman", which only made him grin.
"Maybe," he chuckled. "But hopelessly devoted to his English princess."
Oh blast it all, he did have a way of making her heart melt, Sybil thought as she looked up at him over the canteen, his eyes twinkling with love and mischief, the corners of his mouth crinkling in that handsome smile that she loved so much. Not for the first time did she hope that the baby would have his smile.
"There," she sighed, closing the canteen and handing it back to him. "Satisfied?" she added a little poke of her tongue.
Despite the light-hearted gesture, his smile faded slightly. They had been walking for many hours, and their pace and slowed considerably, no doubt due to the fatigue of her pregnancy. Even now, after a brief rest, she was still panting. "Perhaps you should—"
"No," she growled, pushing the canteen into his hands, before straightening the pack on her shoulders and pushing herself away from the tree. "We keep going," she stubbornly insisted, walking in the direction they had been walking since sunrise.
"Sybil—"
"Come on, Tom," she muttered, not looking over her shoulder as she continued to move. She was grateful he was behind her so he couldn't see the pain she was feeling. There was that dull throb in her lower back…as well as in her abdomen. She had been feeling it for several hours now, but she simply gritted her teeth and kept on moving, ignoring any looks of concern he sent her way, determined to prove to him and the world that despite her current state, she was still strong and capable of surviving this hell that had once been the world she knew.
She heard him mutter something behind her, but chose to ignore it. Alright, yes, she was being stubborn, but it was for his own good. When they had learned she was pregnant, Tom was torn between utter joy and utter horror. She remembered the day well; for weeks she had been feeling uneasy, struggling with keeping food down, feeling far more fatigued than usual, until one point she fainted from exhaustion. Her poor husband; the look of panic in his eyes was heartbreaking. He had caught her before her head hit the ground, and carried her to the shelter of several trees, begging her to open her eyes while stroking her cheeks, murmuring her name over and over. When she finally awoke she gasped and looked up at him…and suddenly came to the realization of what was happening to her.
Pregnant.
She was pregnant with Tom Branson's child.
Tom Branson, the Irishman who had become her traveling companion after she was separated from her family while fleeing a burning Downton Abbey. He too had been separated, from a brother somewhere between Downton village and Ripon. Together they formed a somewhat reluctant alliance; well, reluctant perhaps on her part (she stubbornly didn't think she needed any help). Yet despite that initial reluctance, they soon began to build trust, and that trust soon became friendship…and then somewhere between Yorkshire and Scottish boarder…that friendship became something even deeper.
It was in the cellar of an abandoned inn that Sybil realized she had fallen in love with Tom Branson, and he with her. Perhaps in the old world he would have courted her before things escalated to their passionate union, but then again, in the old world such a courtship would be forbidden. And when the dead came back to life to feed on the living, one quickly learned not to take anything about life for granted, and that included time. This was not a world where a person could be unsure or indecisive. Therefore Sybil didn't hesitate when she realized the depth of her emotions. She kissed him…and he kissed her back. She told him she loved him…and practically wept with joy when he told her the same. And then their passions seized control, and there in that cellar, they made love like a newly wedded couple, which was how they saw each other. There was no priest, no magistrate, but it didn't matter; Tom Branson was her husband…and she was his wife.
And now they were going to be parents.
Tom cursed himself over and over when Sybil told him the news. This was all his fault, not that he regretted making love to her (he could never regret that). But…but he knew there were ways to prevent such things from happening. Of course, Sybil angrily told him that so did she; after all, she was a nurse and knew how the human body worked. And when he began muttering about how his carelessness had put her in grave danger, Sybil did something she never thought she would ever do, and she slapped him hard across the face, silencing him completely.
"Stop talking like that! You are not the only one who had a hand in creating this child! We are both responsible!" she angrily spat, her eyes clouding with tears. "I will not allow you to take all the blame—no, I will not allow you to take ANY blame, because there is NOTHING to be sorry for!" her hands cupped his face, her fingers running across the red mark on his cheek, biting her lip and wincing at the sting he must have felt. "Please Tom…" she murmured, her voice softer, calmer, but yearning for his strength. "I am scared, but…but I know I can face anything with you…including this…" she took his hand and pressed it against her belly. "This is a good thing," she insisted, sniffling and smiling as she felt his fingers spread across her middle. "It is, it truly, truly is…"
Tom swallowed, his eyes going back and forth between her belly where his hand rested, and her face which looked up at him, yearning for some words of hope and courage. At first he thought it impossible; how could he offer such words when the lived in such a hopeless place? How could they bring a child into such a world as this? And yet…by that same token, how was it that they had managed to find love? It took an apocalypse for the two of them to find each other; and it was the only good thing to have resulted from it, although he had a feeling, deep in his bones, that apocalypse or not…he and Sybil Crawley had been destined for each other.
A baby. They were going to have a baby.
He looked into her eyes once more, and quickly leaned close, his lips seizing hers and kissing her deeply, both arms wrapping around her and holding her tight, before resting his brow against hers and murmuring back, "Aye, love; you're right. It is a good thing; it truly, truly is."
And it was. Tom never questioned it again, although there were moments when he inwardly cursed himself when he saw her struggling to keep up, when the hunger and the fatigue began to get to her, like it had just now.
"Come on!" she called back over her shoulder. "There's still plenty of daylight! And we should keep moving while we still have it!"
He groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He hadn't been exaggerating when he had called her stubborn earlier. Yes, it was wise to keep moving while it was light out; while there were plenty of Walkers that roamed about during the day, it was easier to fight and avoid them when one could see. And the further and further north they traveled, they had actually encountered less and less. Perhaps there was something to the stories he had heard about the Highlands being a sanctuary for survivors? Still…he didn't like the way she panted, as if she were short of breath, and even though she tried to hide it, he knew her back was bothering her, and the way she kept holding her belly…
"It doesn't hurt to rest for more than five minutes!"
Sybil made a noise. "I'll do my resting tonight, when we find shelter."
With her back to him he rolled his eyes.
"I know what you just did!" she accused. Of course she did. It was moments like these that Tom was reminded of the aristocratic upbringing his wife had originally hailed from.
Compromise, as always, was key. "The canteens are low; as soon as we find a stream or a pond, let's stop, refill them, and take a moment to rest in some shade, agreed?"
It was Sybil's turn to roll her eyes.
"I know what you just did!" he accused back, although his tone was lighter and had a little more mirth to it.
She looked over her shoulder at him and poked out her tongue.
He grinned and decided to sweeten the deal. "We could also take a bath…"
That got her to stop. "A bath?"
He grinned and nodded, quickly moving to her side. "Aye; it's hot and I think some cool water would do us both some good." He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her body, his hands resting atop her swollen stomach. "I'll even rub your back."
Sybil nibbled her bottom lip and her cheeks began to color that delicious shade of pink he loved. "A bath would be lovely…" she admitted, humming her approval at his promises.
He chuckled and kissed temple; he'd won this argument.
"But we mustn't linger too long!" she turned in his arms and waved a finger in his face. "A quick bath, alright?"
"Yes, milady."
"Don't be cheeky with me, Mr. Branson."
"Aye, Mrs. Branson."
She grinned. "That's better."
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her, but stopped short at the sound of a foot crunching branches.
Sybil froze, having heard the sound as well. "Tom?"
"Ssshhh," he whispered, moving around in front of her, his hands already removing the rifle that was strapped to his back. He heard the sound again; it was coming from a grove of trees just to their right.
…And there was more than one pair of feet.
Sybil swallowed, her own hands moving to the crossbow that she kept strapped to her own back. She was loading it and turned to make sure there wasn't anything behind them. She moved her feet quietly, following his steps, holding her breath as they drew closer and closer to the grove where the sound had come from.
Please let it be a rabbit or a squirrel and nothing more.
It wasn't.
"Fecking hell," Tom muttered, as a small herd of Walkers emerged from the grove…and began to stumble towards them, their rotting mouths hanging open and groaning with hunger.
"Move!" he hissed to her, aiming his rifle at one of them that was getting dangerously close.
"No!" Sybil gasped, realizing what he was about to do. "Let me! We don't know how many are close by, and if you use that, they'll all come our way!" And before he could argue with her further, she turned the crossbow onto the attacking monster, and fired an arrow directly into the creature's head.
Another one was fast approaching, and Tom cursed, knowing she was right about the rifle, so instead of using the gun to shoot, he instead swung the butt of it hard into the creature's head, while she reloaded the crossbow and proceeded to shoot at another.
However she missed her second target, and before she could manage to reload, the thing was upon her, grabbing for her arm.
"SYBIL!" he roared, launching himself at the monster, swinging the rifle against the Walker's skull, hearing it crack loudly upon impact.
Sybil lost her balance and stumbled backwards, landing with a hard thud on the ground. Tom proceeded to kill the creature, and disregarding his wife's words of caution about not shooting for fear of drawing the attention of any others, aimed the rifle and shot the remaining Walker amongst the herd.
Satisfied that they were all dead, he turned to Sybil who was still lying on the ground. "Love, are you alright?" he asked, falling to his knees. "Are you hurt? It didn't bite you, did it?"
"No…" Sybil reassured, although she quickly began to gasp as a sharp pain racked her body. "AH!"
Tom jumped at the sound. "Sybil! What…what is it!?" He looked at her ankles, his hands immediately going to them. "Can you stand? Can you walk?"
"Yes…yes, I…" she groaned as another wave of pain coursed through her. "Oh Tom…get me up, get me up!"
He didn't hesitate; he leapt to his feet and immediately began to help her. She clutched his shoulders, hissing in pain as another wave spread…only this time she felt it in a specific place…and she also realized that her knickers were wet.
"Oh no…"
Tom froze. "Oh no?" he repeated, fear gripping him. Oh God…the baby! Had something happened to the baby? "Sybil? What is it, what's—"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" she screamed, as another wave of pain struck.
She would have withered back down to the ground if Tom hadn't been holding her upright. "SYBIL!" he gasped, panic rising in his heart.
She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into his shoulders as the wave passed. She needed to remain calm…and she needed to know what she was facing.
"Sybil, love, my darlin', talk to me!" her husband pleaded, clutching her tightly.
Her eyes focused on him and she swallowed. "Tom…am I…am I bleeding?"
BLEEDING!? Oh God, no, no, please no…
"TOM!" she needed him to focus. "Please…look…look on the ground where I fell; do you see any blood?"
The ground was dusty earth, and if she were bleeding, it would be obvious. She felt a rush of something leave her body, and she needed to know if it was what she thought, as well as erase the worst case scenario as quickly as possible.
"No…" he managed to get out after looking down. "Just…just water…"
Water.
His eyes went wide and he looked at her. Oh God…was…was it possible?
"It's happening…" she whispered.
"But…but it's too early!"
Sybil shook her head. "No…no, I…I'm in my ninth month," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as another contraction spread. "I would say…that our son…or daughter…is…is right on time—AHHH!"
She clutched at him and he held her tightly as the pain of the contraction moved through her. Oh God, she was going to give birth…SHE WAS GOING TO GIVE BIRTH!
Shelter. They needed shelter before any more Walkers stumbled upon them.
"Come on, love," he growled, wrapping an arm around her waist and encouraging her to walk. "Come on…we can't stay here."
She nodded her head, knowing he was right, and moved her own arm around his waist, leaning on him for support, while her other hand clutched her belly. She dropped the crossbow in the process.
She moved as best she could, but it was difficult, especially as the contractions began to come closer and closer. Baby Branson had clearly inherited his or her parents' stubbornness, and was determined to enter this world now.
"Come on," Tom kept encouraging, gritting his teeth as he looked past the trees, trying to find something—anything, that could serve as shelter. "Come on, just a few more steps, just a few more steps…"
Please, let there be something just beyond this rise, just beyond this rise, he prayed over and over. Hearing her gasp and tremble as the pain struck again and again was unbearable, and yet he couldn't panic, she needed him, his wife and his child both needed him. Please, God, please…help me!
His prayer did not go unanswered.
There…at the edge of the trees was a meadow…and more importantly, what looked like a dilapidated barn in the middle of it. Perhaps not the most ideal place to have a baby, but it was far better than being out in the open.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" she screamed as a painful contraction shook her body, practically causing her knees to buckle.
Without a second thought, Tom swept Sybil up, his strong arms cradling her as he hurried as quickly as his feet would allow, through the meadow to the barn, kicking the door open, grateful it wasn't chained. He did a quick look around, scanning the barn's dark corners with narrowed eyes, making sure no Walker was prowling, and once he was satisfied they had the place to themselves, carried Sybil over what was once a horse's stall from the look of things, and gently laid her down atop the hay gathered there.
As soon as Sybil was down, Tom threw off his pack and the rifle, before falling to his knees in front of her, looking desperate to do something, but at the same time, looking completely unsure. He had never been more terrified in his life. "What do I do? What do I do!?"
Sybil gasped and gritted her teeth through another contraction, her hands reaching out for him. Tom caught them and gritted his own teeth as Sybil squeezed his hands rather painfully, until the contraction subsided. Oh God, he never felt so helpless!
"Just…just be here," she gasped between short breaths. She had no other answer, at least not yet. She was trying to recall everything she could from her nurse's training; anything that she may have been taught about delivering babies, but the truth of the matter was that most if not all of her training and knowledge had been around the care and rehabilitation of wounded soldiers, not women in the midst of labor.
Still…there were a few things she knew, or at the very least, a few things that common sense had taught her.
"Tom…" she gasped, pulling her knees up to her body, trying her best to get as comfortable as possible. "We're…we're going to need a blanket…something…something to wrap the baby in…"
He nodded his head, and immediately began to go through his pack, looking for the blanket that was rolled up and that they used to cover themselves with at night. "What else?" he asked, trying to sound calm despite the terror in his voice.
"Towels…and…and water…"
They didn't have any towels…but his shirt would suffice. He grabbed it by the edges and pulled it off his body. He also pulled his canteen out, his eyes wandering around the barn, wondering if somewhere within it or just outside he would find a pump or a well or—
"AHHH!" she gasped, as another contraction hit. This one was incredibly strong; she threw her head back, smacking the side of the barn rather hard.
"Sybil!" Tom cried, his hand rising up to cradle her head. She was in so much pain—was this normal? Was something wrong? He had three younger siblings, and he had always been sent away to the neighbor's next door when she gave birth; he had no idea what to expect!
"I…I'm fine!" she gasped. "Help…help me remove…" she pointed down herself.
He swallowed, but nodded his head in understanding, pushing her skirt up past her knees, and reaching under to help her remove any undergarments that were still in the way. He also helped remove her cloak, her own pack which was still strapped to her back, and tried his best to arrange the hay around her, wanting her to be as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances.
He was surprised when a soft giggle managed to escape her lips, despite the heavy breaths she was emitting between contractions. "…a homeless couple…in a barn and with no midwife…" she met his eyes and smiled. "At least you're in good company," she laughed. "You and…and St. Joseph."
Despite his fear, Tom couldn't help but chuckle at her reference. "Do you think he knew what he was doing any more than me?"
He wiped her brow and held her hands as the pain rolled through her again. She managed to give him a few more instructions; such has to have his knife available when the time came to cut the cord. While Tom was no doctor or nurse, he imagined the importance of clean instruments, and so removed a box of matches with the purpose of sterilizing the knife when the time came.
Her breath was coming in harsher, shallower gasps. Tom moved closer, gripping her hands and encouraging her to squeeze them as tightly as she needed as she rode through the pains of the contractions. "Breathe, love," he kept murmuring over and over. The mantra was to help her, but it was also helping him. "Just keep breathing…I'm here, I'm with you…"
"Tom…" she gasped, squeezing his hands even tighter. "I…I…I need to push…!"
Push? His eyes widened and he swallowed his nervousness as best he could. "Alright…just…just do that love, push and don't let go of me, I'm here, I've got you—"
He winced as she practically squeezed the life out of his fingers as she pushed down through a contraction.
"Oh God!" she gasped, groaning from the pain. How did women endure this? How had her mother managed to do this three times!?
"That's good," she heard Tom murmur, his thumb running across her knuckles, while tenderly brushing her hair from her brow. "Just keep squeezing my hand, love, I'm right here; keep breathing…"
She gasped and pushed again, and then again, and then again, each time feeling more exhausting than the last.
Tom was positioned in front of her and his eyes were widening as he looked down. "I…I think…" he looked up and met her gaze. "I think I see the head!"
Sybil groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth as she pushed again. "Toooooommmmm!" she moaned.
"Come on, love," he encouraged. "It's almost here…our baby is almost here!"
"AHHH!" she screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks, mingling with her sweat. Her body was so tired!
"Sybil…Sybil," he said her name over and over, drawing her attention back. "Look at me; my darlin', look at me!"
She opened her eyes and met his gaze; the love she saw in their blue depths was breathtaking.
"Come on," he urged. "Just a few more pushes."
"I don't know if I can do any more," she moaned, her body so tired. Was she making any progress? Oh God, what if something was wrong? What if the baby was choking? The cord wrapped around its neck—
"You can!" her husband encouraged. "You can, love; you're the strongest, bravest woman—person, that I know. And you're so close! Just a little more, and then she'll be here!"
She looked at him, struck by his words. "She?"
Tom couldn't help but smile. "Aye; I know it's a girl. I've always known, deep in my heart. And she's almost here!" he squeezed her hands. "Today's her birthday; we don't want to be late for the party, do we?"
Sybil swallowed, moved by his words and the love in his eyes, and nodded her head. "Roll me over," she gasped. "Onto my side!" She had heard stories that this was sometimes easier for a woman to deliver a baby, lying on her side. Tom nodded and moved quickly around her, his hands tenderly cupping her belly as he helped her do just that.
"I'm going to push," she explained through gritted teeth. "You…you just cradle the baby's head…and…and slide your hand to her back…easing her shoulders if…if she has…if she has any difficulty, understand?"
"Aye, I do, I do," he repeated, bringing his shirt, canteen, and the blanket closer, prepared to clean and swath their daughter as soon as she was delivered. "I'm ready."
Sybil nodded and then closed her eyes as she pushed with all the strength she had.
"Almost, love! Yes…yes, she's almost here! Her head…oh God, Sybil…" his voice was cracking. "She's got a thick head of dark hair, just like you!"
She gasped at his words, her own tears rolling down her face, but she still needed to keep pushing. Almost…almost…
Tom's hand was there, cradling his daughter's head. "Come on, love; just one more push…one more and she's here!"
One more. Sybil squeezed her eyes shut, and bared down with everything she had, with her very soul. One more, one more, one more!
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The world was spinning, her head was heavy, there was a brightness before her eyes, and then everything seemed to become fuzzy and then darken, as she gasped and collapsed in exhaustion.
Silence.
Why was it so quiet? "Tom…?" she whispered, trying to open her eyes. She was so tired…
Nothing. No sound at all. Why? What had happened? Was something wrong? Oh God, the baby…her baby…their baby!
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!"
Sybil gasped as the most beautiful shriek she had ever heard or could have imagined suddenly filled the barn around them. She lifted her head and looked…and gasped at the beautiful vision of Tom, her husband, kneeling before her, his body hunched over, his shoulders shaking with sobs, as he reverently held the trembling child, all pink and wrinkled, in his large hands.
"Oh God, Sybil…" he gasped through his tears. "She's so beautiful…she's so beautiful!"
A whimper escaped her lungs as she tried to sit up, a sound of bodily fatigue and emotional joy. He held their daughter a little higher so she could see, and a loud hiccup escaped her throat as she choked back on her own sobs at the sight of the dark-haired girl, squirming and crying in her new world.
No words. There were no words to express everything she was feeling in this moment. All she could do was cry and smile.
Despite his own emotional exhaustion, Tom knew he still had a job to do. He quickly took a match, sterilized the blade of his knife, and cut the umbilical cord. He then used the water of the canteen, apologizing to his daughter as he washed the blood and birth fluid from her body with the cool water, quickly drying her with his shirt, before taking the blanket and swaddling her tight.
I'm a father, he realized. Even though he had known it for months, reminded of it every time he saw his wife's belly or felt his child kick against his palm when he held Sybil at night, the reality of it all had never struck him completely until now; now, as he held her in his arms.
"Come, my darlin'," he cooed, taking the swathed baby and bringing her to Sybil's waiting arms. "Meet your mam…"
Sybil was still crying, but she laughed at the sweet motherly title, and with trembling fingers, finally held her daughter for the first time. "Oh Tom…" she gasped, shaking as she gazed at her daughter up close. "Oh Tom…she…she has your eyes!"
He smiled and chuckled, his own tears still flowing, but he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips lingering against hers, conveying all the emotion, happiness, and love that was overflowing in his heart. "I love you," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, their tears mingling together. "Oh my darlin', I love you so much."
"I love you too," she whispered back. "So, so much. And thank you."
He shook his head, his hand tenderly lying atop their daughter's chest. "Thank you," he emphasized, kissing her again, then carefully brushing his lips against his daughter's dark head. He lifted his eyes towards the heavens and murmured a thankful prayer. Despite this hellish world in which they lived, there must be a God; how could there not be if he had Sybil and this beautiful baby girl that their love had created?
As the new mother cradled her daughter, Tom quickly did what he could to clean his wife, tenderly wiping away the traces of blood and afterbirth from her body, taking the soiled rags outside of the barn and burning them to leave no trace for a Walker's keen nose to find. He found a water pump and quickly refilled their canteens, before quickly returning, not wanting to miss another second with his family.
He stood quietly in the doorway of the horse stall and stared at the beauty of his wife, holding their daughter against her breast and nursing her, softly cooing to the child. His eyes filled with tears once again.
Sybil looked up and smiled, and that was all the invitation Tom needed. He moved quickly to her side, grabbing a shirt from his pack and slipping it on, before settling himself next to Sybil, and then carefully positioning his wife and daughter against his chest, needing to hold them both, never wanting to let them go.
"You were right," Sybil giggled as her nipple slipped from the child's mouth, their daughter having reached her fill. "She is beautiful…so, so beautiful."
"Just like her mother," Tom whispered, pressing his lips to his wife's hair.
Sybil sighed and relaxed her head against his chest. "We never discussed a name, you know."
"Sybil," he whispered.
She turned her head. "What is it?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "No, love, I…I mean that's what we should call her."
Her eyes widened. "Sybil? My name?"
"It's the perfect name."
She blushed and shook her head. "But—"
"How about 'Sybbie'?" he offered as a compromise. "Sybbie for short?"
Sybbie. Sybil found herself smiling at the name. "Sybbie Saoirse," she added. She wanted their daughter to have an Irish name; after all, she was a child of two lands.
He grinned and nodded his head. "I like that," he murmured. "Sybbie Saoirse Branson."
"Perfect," Sybil murmured back, smiling as their daughter's eyes grew heavy and she gave a mighty yawn. It was enough to make Sybil yawn too.
"Sleep, love," she heard Tom murmur against her hair. "You both deserve it. And don't worry; I'll keep my family safe."
And he would. Nothing was going to tear them apart, not human or monster.
It was such a tempting offer, and Sybil soon found herself closing her eyes, settling against her husband's chest and smiling as he cradled her while she cradled their daughter. An endless circle of protection and love.
Time passed as the new little family rested. Tom stayed awake as best he could, his ears alert to the sounds around them, as well as keep closing watch on his daughter's even breathing, as well as Sybil's. It was so peaceful, watching them both…and if truth be told, he was quite exhausted too. He hadn't meant to, but soon sleep overcame him as well—but not deeply, as he jolted awake at the sound of footsteps coming from outside the barn.
Human.
They didn't belong to a Walker, they moved too quickly. And he could hear voices. Two women—two women and a man!
Tom held his breath and carefully eased himself away from Sybil, not wanting to disturb her or their child, who remained sleeping in her mother's arms. Once free, he quickly rose to his feet, grabbed his rifle, and eased out of the stall, ready to defend his family to the death.
"Perhaps we should check the barn?" a woman's voice murmured. "Maybe someone—"
"Don't open the door!" hissed the other woman. "We don't know what's in there!"
"Let me go first," the man's voice murmured, and Tom tensed as he heard what was clearly the sound of a gun being loaded.
"Stay where you are!" he spoke firmly, aiming his own gun at the door. The voices on the other side gasped.
"Someone's in there!"
"Yes, Edith, I could clearly hear that!" admonished the other woman.
Edith? Why did that name sound familiar to him?
"I don't want any trouble," Tom growled. "But I will shoot if you enter," he warned.
There was a pause, and then he heard the man speak again. "We don't want any trouble either," the man calmly answered. "But…did you drop a crossbow a few yards back?"
Tom realized he was referring to Sybil's crossbow. Yes, she had dropped it earlier, before they reached the barn.
"…Why?" he asked warily.
There was a pause, and then he heard the second woman speak, the one who had admonished the woman named "Edith". "That crossbow has the Crawley Family seal on its handle," she explained. "How did you come upon it?" It wasn't so much a question but a demand.
Crawley family.
It couldn't be…could it?
"Tom?"
He looked over his shoulder at Sybil, who was standing in the stall, rocking their daughter who had awoken and was beginning to fuss. He glanced nervously at the barn door and then back at Sybil, but before he could say anything, the child let out a mighty wail, and there would be no denying now what, or who, he was trying to protect inside the barn.
"Good God, was that…was that a baby?" the first woman gasped.
Sybil gasped. She stumbled towards Tom, whose arms reached out to steady her. "Edith?"
Another gasp came from the other side…before both women's voices joined together in saying a single word: "SYBIL!?"
"Mary!? Edith!?"
The barn doors opened, and Tom stared at the three strangers as they looked right past him to his wife.
Her sisters. He remembered the names now; these were her sisters!
"YOU'RE ALIVE!" Edith gasped, and without a second's thought, rushed forward, prepared to throw her arms around Sybil, but stopped just short…as she stared at the squealing bundle that Sybil clutched to her body.
Mary was right behind her, and she was clutching the hand of the man who was with them, who Tom would guess was Sybil's cousin Matthew, just going by the physical appearance Sybil had once described to him.
Both sisters stared at their baby sister in utter shock, and Tom wondered which surprised them more: the fact that Sybil was indeed alive after all these months? Or that she was holding a child of her own?
"…Sybil?" Mary murmured, looking back and forth between her sister and the child…and even sparing a glance at Tom, who stood proudly next to his wife, his arm going around her shoulders. Nothing will separate us, he vowed. And by the way Sybil leaned against him, he knew she was vowing the same.
Sybil took a deep breath and smiled at her sisters and cousin. "Matthew, Mary, Edith…I would like you to meet my husband, Tom," she explained, turning and looking up at him with nothing but love and pride. "And…this is your niece," she introduced, pushing a bit of the blanket away from Sybbie's face.
The three gasped and looked back and forth between each other and the Branson family.
It was Mary who finally broke the silence. "Well…" she said at last, taking all this information in. "You have been keeping busy."