Disclaimer: Downton Abbey and its characters belong to Julian Fellowes and ITV.
The downpour of the last few weeks had yet to subside, and the day's storm was quickly developing in to one of the worst of the new year. A strong gust of wind pushed Sybil along, causing her to stumble. Grabbing on to an iron pick of the fence that lined their street, she righted herself and briskly turned the final corner, anxious to retreat in to the warmth of their quiet, Dublin row house.
Many of the nurses had muttered about the weather as they'd left the confines of the hospital that afternoon. Sybil hadn't been one of them. If anything, she was thankful that the weather mirrored her mood and welcomed the long walk. Every icy drop winding its way past her umbrella had brought her refreshment from the day's stifling atmosphere, relief from her throbbing headache.
The sodden gravel slushed under her feet as she finally reached the stone steps leading to their home. Struggling to balance her umbrella as she fumbled with the key, Sybil was relieved when the heavy, green door gave way. The faint smell of what she could only hope was freshly baked cake wafted through the air, immediately filling her with the comfort she had craved. Quickly shedding her dripping cape and hat, Sybil followed the soft clanking to the back of the house, anxious to be wrapped in her husband's arms and forget about her day.
Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, Sybil took advantage of the fact that her presence had, as of yet, gone unnoticed and appreciatively watched as Tom busied himself at the stove. Sybil's cooking skills had improved since her early days in Mrs Patmore's kitchen, but she could still do little more than make tea, eggs, and cake. Tom, on the other hand, had learned to cook at a young age – Sybil had quickly realised that the Bransons revolved around their meals – and had taken over the task. He took great pleasure in cooking for his wife, and Sybil admittedly found the way he embraced their modern arrangement to be endlessly endearing.
Her heels clicked as she stepped over the threshold, giving away her presence. Tom started and turned to greet her, his eyes twinkling as she reached his side. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I'm not surprised. The storm is getting worse. I could barely hear my own thoughts during the walk."
Tom nodded and pulled her in to his arms. "I'm glad you're home."
"I am, too." Inhaling his familiar scent, Sybil closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, relishing the warmth and comfort of the contact. She'd always scoffed at the female heroines of Edith's yellow backed novels tritely claiming that an embrace from their beloved would relieve them of their woes, yet now, she conceded that they might have had a point. The stress that had presided over her for the past few hours began to dissipate, and the only things she wanted to consider were the patterns her husband's hands were tracing down her back. Not wanting to let go, she tightened her grip. Tom responded by pressing a lingering kiss to her hair.
"Are you alright, love?"
Sybil made a non-committal sound and turned her head, unwilling to break the contact more than absolutely necessary in order to answer, "I'm fine. It was simply one of those days that seemed like it was never going to come to an end."
"Did the baby give you trouble?"
She felt him tense at the thought. Her symptoms hadn't subsided in the past few weeks. The nausea persisted, and her bouts of vertigo had intensified.
"Not today." Sybil smiled as Tom trailed his hand over the slight protrusion of her stomach. "It all had to do with the hospital."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Sybil nodded in to his chest before finally pulling away. She wasn't sure of where to begin. Maybe it would be easier if she started with the end. "The matron asked to see me this afternoon." Taking in his frown, she added, "I'm not going back after today."
"Did something happen? I thought you'd decided to wait a few more weeks before you told them."
They both knew that the announcement would bring an end to her days at the hospital, at least until well after the baby was born. Things were changing for women, but it was still unfathomable for a pregnant nurse to be seen tending to patients.
Sybil gave an uncharacteristic snort. "You know Rose, the nurse I've mentioned who always seems to be cross with me?"
"The one who's been glaring at you for the last week or so?" Tom enquired, frowning.
"Yes, her. Well, I took a bit of a turn late in the afternoon - "
"I thought you said the baby didn't give you any trouble!"
"Tom, it was nothing. I just had to sit for a few minutes. I would have sent for you had it been anything like what I had last week, " she promised, watching the fear fade from his eyes.
"Go on."
"Well, Rose kept pointing out how peculiar it was that I was still unwell. Apparently none of the other nurses who had been sick last week had any symptoms left, and it was just the strangest thing that I did. She kept repeating herself whenever the Matron was in the room, until I was finally called in to her office. The smirk Rose gave me when I walked past her was exactly like the ones Mary would give Edith after beating her in one of their silly bets. " Sybil exhaled heavily, gratefully accepting the cup of tea Tom had pressed in to her hands. "I don't know what she could possibly have against me. Other than my accent…"
Sybil watched as her husband cringed. They both knew that she was probably right. The tension between the Irish and the English had been steadily rising over the past few months, and any signs of sympathising with England, or even worse being English, were unwelcome by many. Sybil knew she shouldn't have brought it up, but she was getting so tired of being singled out for something that was beyond her control. She watched Tom switch the burner off before turning to face her. Despite his attempt to hide it, she was unable to miss the shadow that crept over his features, his eyes melancholy, yet tinged with anger.
"You know that doesn't matter, and even if that's the case, I don't see what she has to gain from being rude to you. That isn't the way to make a political statement." He paused at Sybil's bemused expression. "Yes, I can admit that now. There are far more effective – and rational – ways to make a statement. What I don't understand is how she knew you weren't simply recovering from the flu, in the first place."
Sybil shrugged. She didn't understand it either. A wave of nurses had been hit with the flu in the past month, so any signs of illness had escaped suspicion – until today. The cut of her uniform further assured that her pregnancy wasn't noticeable to anyone who didn't already know of her condition. "I suppose it doesn't matter in any case. She knows, and the matron knows. That's all there is to it." She sighed and cradled her teacup, searching for reassurance in the depths of the dark liquid. "I just wish I could've worked for another month before having to go on leave."
"I know that's what we'd planned, but we have enough put aside that a month won't make a difference." Putting down the wooden spoon with which he'd been stirring their dinner, Tom turned to face her. "That isn't what's bothering you though, is it?"
"No…" Sybil stared in to her teacup, biting her lip as she trailed off. It was something that had crossed her mind, but she knew it wasn't an issue. She hated that she wasn't making this change on her own terms. "It bothers me that society still believes that pregnancy somehow disqualifies me from working, as if it impedes my abilities and makes me forget how to be a nurse." She looked up and caught the adoring glint in his eyes. "One day, it'll be perfectly acceptable for expectant mothers to be seen in the workplace."
"If anyone can make that possible, it'll be you, love."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He leaned down and briefly captured her lips with his own.
Sybil grinned, forever thankful that she'd married the one person who embraced her views. "Only if you don't make it happen before I do," she teased, widening her eyes when he teased back seconds later.
"You're not content to be the wife of a mere journalist, then?"
"Of course I am! Though, I still believe this is just the beginning for you. I fully expect you to become the Irish prime minister one day," she elaborated, sincerity overpowering any teasing lilts in her voice.
Tom chuckled, raising his brow. "That's quite the dream."
"I think it qualifies more as an ambition than a dream."
"I'd say we'll make quite the political couple in that case, but I think we already do that."
"Quite right, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Nor I."
Leaning in to his side, Sybil felt the remaining hints of stress dissipate. She was home, and they were happy. Even if everything was bound to come rushing back in the morning, for the moment, it was enough.
Once the dishes had been cleared and the kitchen tidied, the couple had retreated to the sitting room. A book held firmly in Tom's hands, they were curled up on the forest green sofa. The fire crackled beside them, casting an orange glow on the pages as he read to her. His smooth Dublin accent, low and soothing, caressed her senses in a melodious contradiction to the drumming rain. Sybil closed her eyes, happy to savour the moment. Their blissful mornings a thing of the past, this had become their new routine, their time of day when everything else could be forgotten. It had inadvertently begun around the time Sybil's sickness had accrued. She'd had an especially arduous day and had insisted that all she wanted was to lie down and read her book. No sooner had she turned the first page that the novel had plummeted to the ground as she'd succumbed to sleep. Tom had simply carried her to bed, but the next evening, he abandoned his typewriter and joined Sybil by the fire, insisting that he would read to her.
Both were bashful at first. She'd bemusedly handed the novel over as he'd settled behind her. His arms wrapped around her, one holding the book and the other resting against her stomach, he'd begun to read. The words he spoke pervaded both of their minds, proving to be far more intimate than the embrace in which they found themselves.
The two always discussed whatever they read, no matter the topic or the form. It was how their friendship had first been formed, how it had developed over the years. It was simply a part of who they were. Yet, with the exception of an odd article here or there, they'd never read to each other. In fact, Sybil didn't think anyone had ever read to her since her early days in Downton's nursery. They'd both chuckled uneasily at first, but Tom's voice had grown more confident, coaxing Sybil to forget about the peculiarity of sharing the words that she was accustomed to keep to herself. She'd soon begun to enjoy the effects he gave to the text, his voice dripping in emotion as he gave new life to Dickens' familiar story.
Tonight though, her thoughts wandered as she listened. The evenings spent amongst the two of them would soon be amongst three. In a few short months, a cradle would take its place by the sofa, and they would be two to take comfort in Tom's voice. Sybil knew their reading materials wouldn't change much. Of course, they would read children's literature to their child – in fact, the only thing currently residing in their tiny, second bedroom was a small bookcase filled with their childhood favourites – but they wouldn't shelter him or her from their current preferences. Thus, it was easy for her to imagine what a similar night to this one might resemble a year from now… Tom stretched out on the carpet, sneaking glances at her as he turned each page; occasional gurgles mingling with the crackling fire, and a chubby, little arm waving as she gently rocked the cradle. It was simple, probably the simplest vision she had of the future, but it was currently the dearest.
Before she knew what was happening, tears were trickling down her cheeks, dampening the thin material of Tom's shirt.
"Sybil?" He quickly sat up, bringing her with him, and pressed his lips to her now-unruly hair. "Love, what it is?"
"I'm not…" Sybil shook her head, trying to convey that she was wasn't sad, but the tears intensified before she could finish speaking, and she didn't even know what she was feeling.
"Shh, everything's going to be alright. I know you aren't happy with the way things worked out today, but we'll find a solution."
"It's not that…" She trailed off as a puff of laughter mixed its way in to her tears, drawing a look of utter confusion from her husband. "I'm crying because I'm happy."
Amusement quickly made its way across his features. "You're crying because you're happy?"
She nodded as the tears slowed. "I was just thinking of you reading like this to the baby, and …"
He smirked. "And that made you cry?"
She bobbed her head again. "I have no idea why."
Tom took in her tear-stained face and began to laugh and handed her his handkerchief. "You crazy, crazy woman."
She batted at his chest. "Don't tease me."
"I meant that in the nicest way possible," he promised, chuckling and reclining against the pillows. "Ma said your emotions would start to change quickly, but I wasn't expecting this."
Taking in his adorably amused expression, Sybil had to admit the situation was rather humorous. Not being able to control her emotions wasn't an appealing notion, but it was far better than unexpected bouts of vertigo. Succumbing to laughter, she shook her head at their state, thinking this was a much better end to the day than she could have expected several hours earlier.
A/N: Thank you for your support and your patience in waiting for this second installment. Your reviews and messages are very much appreciated. I hope the chapter was satisfactory, and I'm looking forward to your reactions. You can expect the next update in a week or so. :)