Chapter Four

A/N: Thanks to BobbietheBobble and Margaret Taylor (thanks for the advice) for reviewing.

It was very early the next morning, a good ten hours after the fight, when Sybil finally allowed her eyelids to begin to droop. She had sat in a loving vigil over Tom all night without sleep, and she was unbelievably tired.

Tom's pain induced fever had calmed dramatically now, as opposed to the spikes of hot and cold that had occurred during the night, and he was stable now, enough so that she felt safe enough to go to sleep at last.

She was awoken several dozen minutes later, by a gentle pressure against her face. Opening her eyes slowly, a little alarmed, Sybil was delighted to see that it was Tom's hand that had caused the warm presence.

"Hello, beautiful." the man greeted his wife, a slight slur in his voice, though whether it was caused by his slight concussion or the amount of alcohol he had consumed the previous night, Sybil still did not know. Still, as long as he was alive and well, she found that she really didn't care, although, something within her still couldn't resist having a little jibe at him.

"You're drunk." Sybil commented, her eyebrows slightly raised. Her response was a laugh from Tom, slightly permeated by a hacking cough that shook his body.

"Maybe I am a little. But no matter if I drank a glass of wine or a gallon, you would still be the most beautiful woman in the world." he told her, his Irish brogue a little less slurred as he spoke the words that he believed in his heart to be the truest that had even been spoken. Sybil herself, however, did not give in to the flattery so easily.

"Alright, what do you want, Mr Branson?" the brunette asked, in a cheekily questioning voice.

"Just the pleasure of my wife's company. Is that too much to ask?" he replied, with an equal amount of cheek.

"Perhaps it is. It depends on whether you intend on bringing any more gangs home to knock the seven bells out of you." Sybil questioned him, her voice clearly having a playful edge to it, though Tom did not see that side of it, the smile on his face dropping immediately. The woman noticed this just as quickly, reaching over to take his hand in hers by way of an apology. "I'm sorry, that was a low blow."

"No, you're right." the Irishman told his wife, gently tracing the patterns on the surface of her palm. "I was so foolish, and I am so sorry for that. I endangered you, and our baby, and I shouldn't have done it. I should have just left it as it was. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You just did what you thought was right, just like I did when I left home. Sometimes, you will make a mistake, and sometimes you'll get it right. I know that I definately did." she admitted.

"Did you? Are you sure you did?" Tom questioned her immediately, a real look of desperation in his eyes, one that Sybil recognised him of having before.

"Tom, I have never been surer of anything in my life." the woman told him honestly, smiling a little more with each word she spoke.

"Good. Because I feel the same, and it would kill me if you didn't." His wife smiled at this. The honesty in their relationship was one thing she cherished, though it had always been rather difficult for Tom to reveal his true feelings, as it was not something commonly done in the jungle of Dublin. Still, he did so, if only for Sybil's sake.

"Well, then you have nothing to worry about, because I do." she responded, leaning down to peck her husband lightly on the cheek, and then collapsing beside him in a fit of laughter when he turned his head to pull her down into a full on kiss. Their laughter was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.

"Oh my goodness. Would you two at least go somewhere more private if you are going to do that?" The two of them broke apart, turning in unison to look at the woman in the doorway.

"You know, Mary, you are married as well. You must at least give Matthew a quick kiss in public once in a while." Sybil reasoned, her head tipping slightly to the side as her sister moved a little further into the room.

"Yes, but there is a difference between a quick peck on the cheek and what you were just doing." Mary countered, gesturing towards the couple, who were slowly reddening in their cheeks.

"Well-" Tom began, but was cut off by the huge sound of rapping on the front door. It was almost like the sound of metal on wood. The man suddenly looked terrified, almost dementedly so in Mary's eyes.

"Tom?" Sybil questioned gently, laying a hand on the man's upper arm, but it had little effect, as he jumped to his feet, wincing slightly as he did so, due to his injuries.

"Get upstairs. Now, both of you. Go!" he exclaimed, pointing towards the staircase for good measure. Though she looked reluctant to do so, the younger Crawley sister allowed herself to be dragged up to the landing by the elder, sighing in relief as Tom followed her up, wrapping two arms around her waist.

"To the attic!" Sybil exclaimed, as she heard something, most likely glass, shatter near the front door. Or indeed on it, as the case may have been. So, the two Bransons, Mary and Matthew, who had come to find them when he heard the ruckus on the landing, ascended the staircase into the dusty, overfilled attic.

By this point, all of them were near to shedding tears of fear and frustration, though not one would ever think of showing it. Unfortunately, they each became far closer to doing so as a terrifyingly familiar voice was hollered up towards the space they were hidden in.

"You'd better come down, or you'll all get it."

A/N: Please review, to find out what happens next.