WHOO HOO! Thanks so much for the strong response to this story! And a special welcome to E/A shippers who may have never read my work before! I'm glad to hear that so many of you feel I (so far) have done justice to your ship :o) I hope you I continue to do that, and *maybe* show you the beauty of my own OTP as well ;o) Hooray! Ship exchange! :oP
Anyway, just a quick note here for this chapter. This story is also a bit of a "love letter" to one of my favorite cities in the UK: Oxford. I have visited Oxford twice and I do think that if I were given the option to live anywhere in Britain, it would be there. So there will be a great many Oxford references in this story overall, and I will try to highlight specific places that I know/visited on my trips there. That being said, I confess I know virtually NOTHING about how the higher education system in Britain works, so I'm going with what I do know as an ignorant yank :oP therefore, if it sounds odd, how Sybil is approaching her academic career (4 years undergrad, current grad student finishing up her masters, preparing to go into a doctorate program to get her Ph.D) well...just chalk it up to how she would do that if she were in the States. Anyway, I hope that if I am wrong, it's not too distracting! ANYHOO, for my Sybil/Tom shippers out there, you will get some S/T goodiness in this chapter, but I hope whether you're a lover of E/A or S/T or just DA in general, you'll read each chapter, no matter who is featured (I'll try to have lots of cross-over moments as the story progresses). Anyway, THANK YOU AGAIN for reading and please continue to share your thoughts!
Chapter Two
Earlier that evening…
"Peach or green?"
Sybil was sitting on the couch in her flat, laptop open, reading glasses on, several novels lying nearby with post-it notes poking out between pages, her attention completely on the work before her and not the woman hovering nearby.
"Sybil!"
The youngest Crawley sister's head popped up. "What?"
Edith groaned but suppressed the eye roll. "Peach…" she held up one dress. "…Or green?" she held up another.
Sybil looked back and forth, biting her lip for the longest time, before pointing at the dress in Edith's left hand. "Peach."
Edith frowned. "Are you sure? I mean, I know it's the color I often wear, but…but I was thinking maybe green would be better…"
"Fine," Sybil said, her attention returning the work in front of her. "Then wear the green."
Edith made a face. "But peach really is my 'signature color', as Granny is always saying."
"Edith…" Sybil glanced up over the rim of her glasses, fixing her sister with a look that was clearly on the borderline of annoyance.
"Oh alright, excuse me for bothering you, 'Professor Crawley'," she said with a bit of a tongue poke. She laughed and quickly retreated back to her tiny bedroom before Sybil could proceed with throwing one of her books at her head. "You don't know when to quit, do you?" Edith called out from her room as she proceeded to change. "Friday night in a university city, and yet here you are, hard at work."
"I'm teaching on Monday," Sybil explained from her couch. "Dr. Strallan will be observing me, and it's very important that I impress him, because his recommendation may be the key to getting Dr. Hughes' approval for the doctorate program!"
Edith couldn't help but smile as she listened to her sister. Sybil was the baby of the family, yet it could be argued that she was the most mature of the three Crawley sisters. Certainly during their childhoods, Sybil was not only peacekeeper but negotiator between the two older girls. Things were better now between her and Mary, yet Edith always believed that Sybil was the glue that kept them together, or at the very least repaired them, whenever an argument arose.
She admired her little sister; admired her passion and determination. Some called Sybil "the rebel" of the family, and she wore the title like a badge of honor. She had a thirst for knowledge in subjects like history, literature, and politics. While some girls read fashion magazines and spent hours shopping at fancy boutiques, Sybil would scour newspapers and online articles about labor unions, and volunteer at a shelter for battered women. It soon became quite obvious (much to their father and grandmother's horror) that they had a Liberal in the family, and it was not a phase Sybil was going to grow out of. Sybil's love for feminism and progressive politics soon merged with her love for literature (she was always a voracious reader) and Edith remembered the day Sybil announced to the family the Christmas before she was whisked away to Oxford, that she was going to study literature and feminism, and become a professor in both subjects.
And here she was: almost seven years later, her baby sister, on the verge of finishing her Masters, and preparing to launch right into her doctorate, that is, of course, if she could get accepted by the notorious Dr. Elsie Hughes.
"You'll be the first, you know!" Edith called out from the bedroom, checking her reflection in the mirror, nodding her head in approval for deciding to go with Sybil's first choice and wear the peach.
"First?" Sybil replied.
"First doctor," Edith explained. "Dr. Sybil Crawley."
"Ph.D," Sybil clarified.
"M.D., Ph.D, you'll still be the first!" Edith examined her reflection one more time, wondering if she needed to do something with her hair. It wasn't as long as Sybil's, so there were only so many styles she could do. In the end, she decided to pull it back and used a simple clip to hold it in a bun. She then applied a little bit of eyeliner and a touch of pale pink lip gloss, and examined her reflection one more time, before nodding her head in satisfaction.
"You look lovely," she heard her sister murmur from the doorway. Sybil had risen and was smiling at her, her arms folded across her chest, reading glasses still on, adorned in gray flannel sweatpants and an Irish rugby shirt that was clearly two sizes too big for her sister's smaller frame.
"Will Tom be coming back tonight?" Edith asked, her eyes momentarily lingering on Sybil's shirt.
"Tomorrow," Sybil explained. "Early too, from what he told me. He plans on leaving London at seven. I thought that we could all go out and have breakfast when he gets back; and you can give us an 'assessment' of the evening…" she paused and a wicked smile began to spread across her face. "That is, of course, if you're not having a 'sleepover' at—"
"SYBIL!" Edith gasped, blushing furiously while her sister threw her head back and laughed.
"What?" Sybil giggled, waggling her eyebrows mischievously. "Tom and I did on our first date—"
"I really don't want to hear about your sex life," Edith groaned. She heard enough of it from the other side of that wall, even when she had her ipod on full blast.
"Who said anything about sex?" Sybil gasped, feigning shock at Edith's assumption. "I said 'sleepover', which is true, Tom and I literally slept together on the night of our first date…" she smiled at the memory. "Now we did have sex the following morning, I will admit—"
"ENOUGH!" Edith groaned, grabbing her pillow and throwing it at Sybil's head. Sybil laughed and threw the pillow back, before scurrying back into the living room and plopping herself down onto the couch. Edith emerged a few minutes later, shoes on and making sure she had everything she needed in her purse. "Do you think I should take a jacket? It has been raining off and on today…"
"Remind me again about this guy?" Sybil asked as Edith poked her head out the window, inspecting the atmosphere and deciding that a jacket would be a good idea, just in case.
"His name is John," she began. "John Drake."
Sybil frowned a little, but Edith assumed it was only because her sister didn't recognize the name. But why would she? For once Edith Crawley would be going out on a date with someone that was completely of her own choosing, and who had no prior connection to any member of the Crawley family. Which right now, was what she needed, very much.
"How did you meet?" Sybil asked, still frowning.
"At a coffee shop near Christ Church College; last Thursday, if you remember? I was waiting for you, we were going to have lunch, but you were running a little late, doing some research on Lewis Carroll, if I remember correctly—"
"Right, right, I remember," Sybil murmured. "And…yes, I remember walking in and seeing this guy get up from the chair next to yours, but I didn't realize anything had happened…"
"Well, it did!" Edith smiled. "We hit it off, or so seemed; he's from Yorkshire too, actually, and if you must know, is a gardener and head groundskeeper over at the college."
To this bit of information, Sybil's eyes went wide. "A…a groundskeeper?"
Edith nodded. "Why so shocked? You date an Irish Catholic working class socialist who once worked as a mechanic and chauffeur before becoming a journalist; why can't I date a gardener?"
She didn't say this next part to Sybil, but the truth was she was desperate for whomever she dated to be very different from the men of her past. And John Drake seemed to fit that bill perfectly.
"Anyway, we've been sending texts and emails to each other during the week, and we finally settled on going out tonight, so…ta da!" she smiled, holding her hands out and presenting herself.
Sybil smiled back and nodded her head in approval. "Well, as I said before, you look lovely. And Mr. Drake, I am sure, will not know what hit him!"
Edith blushed and smoothed her hands down her skirt. She was trying to take a page out of her sister's book (both sisters, really) and be cool and confident, as well as comfortable in her own skin. All her life, Edith knew she was the "odd sister"; both Mary and Sybil were ravishing brunettes, whose beauty had drawn the attentions of many. She was the somewhat gawky, awkward, ginger child, whose hair lightened as she got older, and would now be better categorized as a "strawberry blonde", but she was a "late bloomer" when it came to physical beauty, and boys always preferred the company of her sisters. Because of this, it seemed that everyone, from her grandmother to her parents, to even Mary and Sybil, had tried in some way to "set her up" with someone. She had never really felt confident enough to seek a man out on her own, until now.
"Well…" Edith sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall above Sybil's couch. "I suppose I should be going; we're meeting at the restaurant," she explained.
"I won't wait up," Sybil giggled, giving her sister a wink.
Edith poked her tongue out at her sister, before smiling, waving goodbye, and shutting the door behind her. The second she had, the butterflies began fluttering. But she closed her eyes, took a deep, calming breath, and then took a determined step down the corridor, away from the flat.
Sybil got at least another half-hour of work finished after her sister had left, before finally deciding to close her laptop for the evening and make some dinner for herself. She yawned, stretched both arms up over her head, before proceeding to the tiny kitchen to make her old stand-by when it was just her: mac n' cheese. Her grandmother would be groaning at her "common" meal, and no doubt her father would be frowning as well, but Sybil saw no point in cooking something "extravagant", especially when it was just her.
She sighed and set the water to boil on the stove top and proceeded to get the other ingredients out, wondering how Edith's dinner date was going. She hoped it was well; after all, this was entirely arranged by Edith's own doing, which Sybil took as a very positive sign! Maybe she's finally ready? Finally ready to move forward? She hoped so; her sister deserved some happiness, especially after the horrible way "he who must not be named" had treated her over the past seven years.
Sybil wrapped her arms around herself and hugged her body, tucking her chin into the collar of the oversized rugby shirt and breathed in the masculine scent that clung to it. God she missed him; some nights felt a little more difficult than others, and this was one of them, possibly because it was the first night in a long while when it was just her by herself.
Fourteen months ago, Sybil had met Tom Branson, who had been hired to give her sister driving lessons. Sybil had just returned from a holiday in the States, visiting her American grandmother, when she was surprised to see that Edith was the one sitting behind the wheel of a car, picking her up at Heathrow. Sitting next to Edith in the passenger seat was a nervous looking (and somewhat green-faced) Irishman who she later learned was Edith's driving teacher. She also soon realized why he looked the way he did, because she too clung to the cushions of the backseat at the wild turns Edith made in her effort to get out of the airport and back onto the main motorway. There was no rhyme or reason to explain why she and Tom felt an instant connection (although they joked with Edith that perhaps it was a combined concern that they weren't going to survive the drive back to Downton), but whatever the reason, it happened. He was staying at the house, ironically in the old chauffeur's cottage that had been converted into a guest house for tourists who wished to stay on the property of the grand estate when her family was in residence (which was only in the late summer and at Christmas; the rest of the year was spent in either York or London). Sybil looked for any excuse to "pop by" and see him, quickly developing a close friendship that seemed to grow more and more with each passing day. Finally, when Edith's lessons came to an end, Sybil was determined to ask him out on a proper date…which became another funny story, as he had planned on doing the same. It didn't take long for things to accelerate from that point.
Offering driving lessons to posh daughters like Edith was just a side job to make extra cash. Tom Branson's real job (and passion) was journalism, and he had been working for several news outlets (all with a somewhat left-leaning bias) back in Ireland, but had come to Britain with hopes of getting a position with The Guardian. He must have impressed someone, because the paper said they would take him on as a freelance journalist for the time being, but believed that within a few months, he would have a more permanent position. His original plan had been getting a flat in London, but both he and Sybil had grown so close in such a short period of time, that on the night before she was to head back to Oxford, she threw out the idea about the two of them getting a place together.
And so they did. And it was perfect. Or as perfect as it could be, in such a small and somewhat cramped university flat. But Sybil always preferred a simpler lifestyle compared to the one she had been born into and that her father and grandmother had come from, so she didn't mind it one bit. And really, everything truly did feel perfect. The smaller second bedroom became Tom's office, and during the day while she attended classes and lectures, he would do research at some of the university libraries for his articles, and in the afternoons they would both meet, sometimes at their flat, sometimes at a coffee shop, and proceed to work together, her studying and researching for her Masters thesis, he writing and communicating via email with various news sources both in London and back in Dublin. For five blissful months, this was how they lived; scholars by day, passionate couple by night. And while she had had boyfriends in the past, Sybil had always put her academic work ahead of romance. Tom was her first; the first man she ever shared her bed with, and the first man she had ever murmured the words, "I love you" to.
Then things changed. Not badly, but they did change. The Guardian announced that they wanted him to start spending a few days a week in London, working at their office and covering some Parliamentary sessions once a week. So he began to commute to the city, which was roughly an hour and a half train ride. It wasn't so bad at first; hundreds of Oxford residents commuted back and forth to London every day! However, The Guardian began to increase Tom's hours, moving from twice a week to three times, and now currently to four times. He was also asked to cover special political events, such as rallies, conferences, and the occasional MP interview. In many ways it was wonderful, because this was exactly what Tom had been working to achieve! He was almost there; almost a full-time journalist.
But it did mean certain sacrifices.
For one, the constant commuting was starting to take a toll. The hours Tom kept were having a strain on his health. He always looked so tired when he came back to Oxford, having little energy to do more than just sleep upon arriving home. He also had to get up early, normally between 5-6am to make his train and get into the city before 8. It was ridiculous that he was tiring himself out like this, so it was Sybil's idea, even though she hated it, that he get a small flat or room in London, just for the purpose of having a place to stay on nights when he would be keeping late hours at the newspaper. They had been living like this for nearly two months now; and yet Sybil wasn't sure she would ever get used to it. Still, she tried to ignore the heartache by throwing herself more and more into her work, and then there was her sister.
For six months now, Edith had been living with her and Tom in Oxford. She was desperate to get away from their parents, and Sybil couldn't quite blame her. While all the Crawley sisters loved their parents, they could be rather suffocating, and Sybil knew that their mother had a tendency to "over-worry" for her daughters. So in a desperate attempt to once again reassert her independence, Edith reached out to Sybil at their sister Mary's wedding, and begged if she could stay with her and Tom, just for a little while, until she got back on her feet. Thankfully Tom didn't mind; he always seemed to get along with Edith, and he easily became the big brother her sister never had.
However if they thought their Oxford flat was cramped before, it felt like a sardine can with her sister living there. Tom found a small, slim bed that could fit in the office, and that became Edith's bedroom. On the nights when Tom stayed in London, Sybil and Edith ate dinner together, and Edith would scour the newspaper and various websites, looking for inspiration on what to do, while Sybil did her research. In many ways it reminded Sybil of her first few years at Oxford, when she had a roommate and lived in a dormitory. However, as much as she loved her sister and would never throw her out, she could not deny she longed for the days when it was just her and Tom again.
…She also longed for the days when she and Tom didn't have to worry about their "volume level", when it came to taking advantage of those nights when he was home.
She sighed and stirred the butter, milk, and neon orange powder that was meant to be cheese, into the pot that contained her softened macaroni noodles, closing her eyes briefly and holding the cuff of Tom's rugby shirt to her nose, breathing it in and wishing with all her heart that he was there.
Apparently a genie was watching over her.
"Hey good lookin', whatcha got cookin'?"
"OH!" Sybil gasped when two strong arms encircled her waist and she felt her body being pulled back against the familiar plains of her boyfriend's broad, muscular chest. She abandoned the spoon she had been stirring her dinner with, and quickly turned in his arms to face him, the happiest smile spreading across her face as she looked up into his loving blue eyes. "You're here!"
He grinned and leaned down, her face tilting in anticipation of his kiss. A soft, pleasured moan escaped her throat at the wonderful feeling of his lips against hers. Oh Lord, how long had been since their last kiss? Two days? Two days too long.
"I wouldn't be anywhere else, if I had the choice," he murmured against her lips, his forehead touching hers.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, her heart bursting with love, and her eyes filling with happy tears. Sometimes it amazed her, these emotions she had for him. She had missed him, really missed him, and it was impossible to explain how happy she was to have him back.
"But…but I thought you were coming back tomorrow?"
He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I missed you," he confessed. "I skipped both lunch and dinner so I could get my work done and take the last express train out of London."
Her eyes widened at this revelation. "Oh Tom, you must be starving! I have enough macaroni, I can make you—"
"I had a sandwich on the train, love," he chuckled, his arms tightening around her, not wanting to let go. "And the only thing I'm starving for is…" he once again captured her lips and Sybil easily melted against him, sighing her mouth open and welcoming the velvety sweetness of his tongue. Her own arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, always wanting more.
They were panting when their lips finally parted.
"Where's Edith?" Tom asked, seeming to realize just now that her sister wasn't there.
Sybil couldn't help but giggle. "On a date."
Tom's eyes widened. "A date?"
Sybil nodded. "That's right; she met a guy at a coffee shop near Christ Church College almost a week ago; they're having dinner tonight."
Tom seemed just as impressed as Sybil had been when she had first learned the story. "Wow…Edith throwing herself back into the dating ring…"
"I know," Sybil sighed. "And all arranged by her own hand, as well."
This seemed to impress Tom even more. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"
A small smile spread across Sybil's face. "Yeah…I think it is," she murmured. It was a sign of moving on, a sign of growth, a sign that her sister wasn't going to let the horrors of her past rule her and keep her from living life.
"So…" Tom murmured, low and deep, his accent growing thicker. "If she's out…?"
Sybil gasped as she felt his hands move down from her waist to her rump, cupping her cheeks through her sweatpants and pulling her against his body, giving her a good feeling of just how much he had missed her.
Dinner would have to wait. She quickly reached behind her, turned the stove off and put a lid on top of the pot containing her macaroni. She reached up to remove her glasses, but Tom stopped her, pushing them back up her nose. "Leave them on," he whispered, his lips already kissing her jaw, before moving down her neck.
Sybil giggled, the stumble on his chin tickling her skin. "What…you want 'sexy librarian'?"
"Mmmmmm…" he growled his approval against her neck. "More like 'sexy Oxford professor'."
"Very well…" she whimpered as his teeth nipped her ear, before pushing against his shoulders until she could see his face. "Now Mr. Branson…" she put on a stern voice. "I'm afraid you've been tardy; I may have to give you a demerit."
A wicked grin spread across his face, and Sybil gasped and laughed as without warning, he scooped her up, his hands cupping her rump and her legs wrapping around his waist as she squealed while he carried her over to the couch. "I promise to stay late after class to win back your good favor, Prof. Crawley."
Edith groaned as she climbed the stairs in her wet clothes, each step feeling heavier than the last. All she wanted to do was get inside Sybil's flat, take a hot bath, slip on her pajamas and climb into bed. Well…maybe not take a hot bath, she was soaked enough.
When she finally reached the flat, she realized she didn't have the spare key her sister had given her, naturally, because it was in her purse…which now belonged to some thief.
Fantastic. Hopefully Sybil wasn't in too deep a sleep.
However, as she lifted her hand to knock on the door, she noticed it wasn't shut entirely. Her brow furrowed; she could have sworn she shut the door properly when she had left.
The door to Sybil and Tom's flat was notorious for not shutting all the way unless you gave it a good tug and heard the latch click. This had been the very first thing Sybil had told her after she had moved in, and since then Edith always made sure she did just that. Had Sybil gone out? She bit her lip, wondering if she should enter. But she didn't have a phone on her to call or text to find out where her sister was. She held her breath and pushed the door open, just a little bit, and soon realized that the inside corridor was dark. Great, a dark flat and the door wasn't shut all the way. This had the makings of a slasher movie.
"Aaaaaaaah!"
Edith's eyes went wide at the sound of her sister's voice. "SYBIL!" She didn't even hesitate, she pushed the door open and rushed inside, her hand flying to the nearby light switch and clicking it, prepared to launch herself at whoever was attacking her sister—
"OH!"
Edith's cheeks went red and her hand flew to her mouth, and she quickly turned away—although it was too late, because she had already gotten a good glimpse of more than she ever wanted to see of her sister and her sister's boyfriend on the couch…doing the sort of thing that would result in the sort of noise Sybil had just made.
"EDITH!" Sybil gasped, grabbing an afghan that was slung over one arm of the couch and quickly throwing it over both her and Tom. Tom muttered a curse in Irish, and sunk low on the couch, as if hoping the afghan would swallow him up.
"Um…sorry, the…the door wasn't shut all the way…" Edith tried to explain with her back to the somewhat underdressed couple. She coughed and then added a quick, "Hi, Tom."
She heard him clear his throat, before replying, "Hi, Edith."
"Right, well…" Edith sighed, carefully taking a few steps backwards, trying to maneuver herself around the flat without having to turn and look at them. "Um…I…I'm just going to slip into…you know," she gestured towards her room. "Um…carry on, carry on; don't mind me."
Sybil groaned and lowered her head completely beneath the afghan while Edith slunk past, not saying anything until she heard the second bedroom door shut.
"Well…" Tom said after a somewhat awkward silence.
"Indeed," Sybil answered. That was a sure way to kill the mood.
Her face was burning with embarrassment as she climbed off her boyfriend's lap. She gave Tom an apologetic look, but he answered the best way he could, giving her a lopsided grin and leaning close to brush her lips with a quick kiss, before rising and grabbing his trousers which had been earlier discarded. "Suppose the date didn't go that well?"
Sybil bit her lip and glanced in the direction of Edith's room, hugging the afghan around her rather nude body. "She does seem to be back rather early," she murmured, glancing at the clock overhead. "It's only quarter past 9."
Tom was frowning, his eyes zeroing in on the wet footsteps Edith had left in her wake. "I don't know if you noticed…" he began, his face burning with embarrassment as he recalled the past few minutes. "But…was she soaked through?"
Sybil let go the afghan and quickly tugged Tom's rugby shirt back over her body. "I have a feeling there's a story behind all this."
Tom nodded, already moving to the kitchen. "I'll make the tea."
Coming next...
Edith shares her horrible evening, and Sybil begins to plot...