AN: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! For those who read the last chapter soon after it was posted, my note about where we are in the timeline of this story is a year off. This chapter actually takes place in May 2013, not 2014.

Two weeks later

Tom shambled into Sybil's empty bedroom. "Well, that's the car loaded up." He slid down the wall to sprawl on the bare floorboards.

Sybil looked up from wiping baseboards. "Thanks. Did you manage to get it all in?"

"There're a few things, but I say we put them out by the side of the road. We're going to have a job fitting ourselves in there with all that stuff." He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "We can drop it off at the charity shop on the way to my place."

"Poor darling, you look shattered," Sybil said, and scooted across the floor to sit next to him, squeezing his leg with a rubber-gloved hand. "Thank you again, for helping me. I'd never have done it all on my own." She glanced around. "It looks a lot better, I think."

"It's an improvement." Tom almost quipped that if his mother were here she'd be on hands and knees scrubbing in their wake, but Sybil was already keyed up enough about meeting his family in person in a couple of days. The place looked worlds better than it had before they'd cleaned, though. It was unbelievable, the amount of filth that could build up in three years, and Sybil's housekeeping...well, she wasn't exactly the type to prioritize dusting.

Cleaning her apartment, however, had been nothing compared to emptying it out. Everything Sybil had brought with her from home or accumulated in the four years she'd been in Ann Arbor had had to be discarded, piled up for the movers, or packed in the luggage she'd be bringing to Ireland. The whole process had proven highly emotional. Tom, who'd arrived in Michigan with a laptop, two suitcases of tightly rolled clothes, and three boxes of books to his name, had smiled and shaken his head when Sybil hesitated over tossing a seldom-worn shirt in the "donate" pile because she'd bought it while out shopping with a friend who'd since moved away. It was yet another reminder that just because she didn't wear her feelings on her sleeve, that didn't mean she didn't have them.

"Anyway, I hope it's good enough to get back the deposit." Sybil stripped off her gloves and pushed her hair out of her face.

Though it isn't as if you need it. Another bit of commentary he refrained from making. Money had been weighing on his mind even more heavily than usual, with the rush to earn the extra he needed to get to Dublin and back, along with all the expenses that went with being in a wedding party. Fortunately, with SAT season in full swing, a number of tutoring gigs had fallen into his lap. He'd managed to scrape together what he hoped would be enough, though Katie and Nigel wouldn't be getting a wedding present from him until well after the fact. He felt bad about that, even though his sister had made it more than clear that all she wanted was for him to be there.

"When I do get it back, I'm going to give it to you," said Sybil, making Tom wonder for a second if he actually had spoken his thought aloud. But no: it had the air of something she'd been turning over in her mind. He sighed. Not this again.

"Sybil, love, that's very generous, but…"

"How could you possibly have a problem with that?" Her voice was strained; they were both tired, and had been for the last week. "I just finished saying how I couldn't have got this place cleaned up without you."

"Yeah, but that's just what a good boyfriend does, isn't it?" He lolled his head over and gave her a lopsided smile, arching an eyebrow at her. Breaking the tension.

It worked. Her face softened and she returned his smile, the line between her eyebrows smoothing. "And you are a very good boyfriend."

Now he grinned. "The best." He slid sideways to lie full length on the floor with his head in her lap, closing his eyes as she sifted her fingers through his hair. "It's only appropriate, since I've got the best girlfriend."

She let out a chuckle. "I don't know about that."

"Ah, but you are." He reached up blindly, his hand brushing her face, and felt the flutter of her lips on his fingertips as she kissed them. "Love you."

"I love you."

They stayed on the floor like that for a little while, watching the light turn golden. "It's strange," Sybil said, "that we'll never be together in this room again."

"It is." He'd had one of the most humiliating experiences of his life here, and the most transcendent. "Bit sad, really."

"Yeah." She sighed. "I almost don't want to leave."

"But we'll be together in other places." He turned his head in her lap; she was looking down at him, her hair falling to either side of her solemn face. "And it's not the where that's important, is it?"

"No, it isn't." She spoke firmly, smiling as she brushed a hand over his cheek.

"We could be together here one last time, if you like." He let a glint come into his eye, to show her that he wasn't serious. Unless, of course…

But she laughed. "We should go. Goodwill's going to close soon."

"Mm. Yeah." He could have lain on that floor forever, hard and dusty as it was. But he pushed himself to his feet and led the way to the door.

She stopped at the threshold, turning for a last look round. "It's been a good place, though." Her eyes looked wistful, far away: six months in the past, maybe. He could see the room autumn-dark and full of shadows, feel the sense of wonder that had unfurled in him at the touch of her warm skin, the lust that had stolen his breath. In future, he knew, he'd never see this room as it actually had been: it would become a dream space, the edges gone blurry, except for his memory of her and him.

He squeezed her hand. "Yeah. Yeah, it has."

-ooo-

Wednesday, Dublin Airport

He heard Dawn before he saw her. "Uncle Tommy!" She yelled, her voice slicing through the noise of the post-customs throng. "Uncle Tommy! We're here!" He scanned and caught sight of a small girl, waving madly and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Ciaran was just behind her. He merely nodded and took charge of Sybil's suitcases, but he looked as pleased to see them as Ciaran ever looked about anything, at least while sober.

"Hiya!" Tom said to Dawn, who'd thrown her arms around his waist. "Aren't you meant to be in school?"

She grinned with teeth like fence pickets. "I'm ill today! Da let me throw a sickie."

Tom raised a disapproving eyebrow at his brother, who always had been rather cavalier about formal education. "He did, did he."

Ciaran shrugged, unperturbed. "She was that excited to see you two."

Dawn wriggled full-bodied like a puppy wanting its ball thrown. "Did Auntie Kit tell you? I'm to be a junior bridesmaid!"

"Ooh, my goodness." Tom wondered how that was any different from the senior kind. "Are you sure you're as grown up as all that? Last time I saw ye, you still had your dummy."

"I did not." She pulled a face, though a smile tugged at her mouth; it was a little joke of theirs, for Uncle Tommy to accuse her of babyishness and her to deny it. But she was no baby, not any longer. In person it was easier to tell how much she'd grown. The chubby little girl he'd left behind last August had shot up into ranginess, all skinny limbs and russet curls. She was going to be one of those girls who slouched through an awkward adolescence and then spread her wings, swanlike, somewhere between sixteen and twenty. "The shoes I get to wear have got high heels." She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "And Mammy says I can wear makeup!"

High heels. Makeup. She was seven. Tom rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, making her wriggle again and duck out from under his hand. "Junior bridesmaid, eh? You sure you're not a flower girl?"

"No, that's for babies." Dawn's face scrunched up in scorn. "Saoirse and Maria Andrea and Stella are doing that." She went up and hugged Sybil as though she'd known her forever. "I thought you'd be taller!"

Sybil laughed. "I hope you're not disappointed."

Dawn shook her head. "No, because you're just as pretty as you looked on Skype, and it wouldn't be right for you to be taller than Uncle Tommy." Which made them all laugh more.

Tom gave his brother a look. "So how many people are in this wedding?"

Ciaran rolled his eyes. "Loads. All of us—" meaning the two of them and their siblings—"all the little ones who can walk, and some of Nigel's people besides." He didn't seem inclined to say more about it, but that was Ciaran all over. He was as taciturn as his daughter was talkative; hair color was about the only thing Dawn had inherited from him.

In Ciaran's MPV they had to wedge themselves and their baggage between the baby seats. Dawn commandeered Sybil to sit in the rear with her; Tom sat up front with his brother. "So," he said, as they swung into Swords Road, "How's the baby?"

"He's fine."

"How's Mags doing?"

"She's grand."

"And Saoirse? She put out she's not the baby any longer?"

Ciaran's mustache rippled with a smile. "A bit. She'll get over it though, won't she? I mean, you did."

"Eventually." Tom fell silent, watching the motorway scenery: road signs and whitewashed concrete-block buildings and scrub grass, algae-green under the half-overcast sky. The sun looked like it wanted to come out, but couldn't quite manage it. At least there wasn't any rain to snarl the morning traffic, which ticked along smooth as a wound clock. "So what d'you think of Nigel?"

"I like him." Short but unequivocal. Ciaran's statement drove away any lingering uncertainty Tom might have had about his sister's fiance. If Ciaran came down on your side, you were probably all right. "Even if he is English."

Tom glanced back. Sybil appeared not to have heard, being held captive by Dawn's description of the dyed satin shoes she would be wearing in the wedding. Ciaran noticed him looking and smiled again. "I hope your one's got a sense of humor," he said. "You've prepared her for us?"

Tom let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. As much as I could."

-o-

He'd been truthful with Ciaran: Sybil was as well prepared for the Bransons as anyone could be. Tom had told her to expect curiosity (after all, she was the first girl he'd brought home in years) and good-natured ribbing about her nationality and poshness. In certain situations she'd probably have to drink a bit more than she was used to, unless she wanted to be labeled No Fun. And there were quite a lot of Bransons and most of them liked to talk, so when they all got together...well, things tended to get noisy.

Of course, it was one thing to say all that and another to be in the thick of it, especially after fourteen hours of traveling. Tom had known his mother's house would be ground zero for the wedding preparations, but with it being early in the day he'd hoped for a bit of a lull before the battle.

He'd hoped in vain. His mother's front room, not overly capacious at the best of times, looked like a church bazaar had exploded in it. Katie, his mother, and his two sisters-in-law had some manner of assembly line going, filling up little brown silk bags and tying their necks shut with light-purple ribbon. At the sound of the front door Katie shot to her feet, leaping over a box full of what looked like table centerpieces.

"To-ooom!" She sang, and half a second later enfolded him in one of her surprisingly powerful hugs. It didn't last long. Kit never stayed in one place for long: she vibrated with energy, shimmered with it. Beaming, she heaved a sigh of mock relief. "You've made it! Now I can get married."

"I'd have said you could get married years ago," their mother said from the sofa, a little sourly.

Normally Kit would have made some retort to that, but she only grinned and rolled her eyes. She really must be punch drunk. "And you're Sybil!" she cried, turning to her. "Lovely to meet you, just lovely." She pulled Sybil into her arms with the same enthusiasm as Dawn had done.

"Congratulations," Sybil said. "Great colors, I love lilac and brown together."

"Thank you. And you're the first person who hasn't called it purple, so ta for that as well." One of Katie's eyebrows tugged up, along with a corner of her mouth.

"Come over here and say hello properly, son, I'm buried in wedding favors," his mother said. Tom edged around the box of centerpieces and stepped over a snarl of ribbon and fake flowers to embrace her. "You too, dear," she called to Sybil, who was hovering in the front hall.

"It's lovely to meet you in person, Mrs. Branson." Sybil hesitated for a microsecond before leaning over and brushing Ma's cheek with her lips.

His mother didn't quite smile, but her lips pursed up in a pleased way. "Ah, call me Eileen, love. We don't stand on ceremony here." Tom couldn't keep his mouth from twitching; for all his mother's longstanding desire to see him settled, she'd never asked Edna to call her by her given name. It was a big point in Sybil's favor.

He made the introductions to Mags and Jacinta, Brian's wife, and then turned to Katie, who'd plopped onto the floor and recommenced her work. "So when do I get to meet the lucky lad?"

"Nigel? In about half an hour. He's picking you up to be measured for your tuxes."

Tom almost groaned; he only held back because of the glint in Katie's eye that told him it would just make things worse if he complained. He'd known there would be plenty of errands between now and Saturday, just not that they'd begin the second he touched down on Irish soil. But he could at least see that Sybil wasn't pressed into service quite yet. "We're absolutely knackered, Ma. Is there somewhere we could lie down for a bit?"

"Your room's ready for you, if you can chase the kiddies out of it." As if on cue there was a thump from the ceiling, followed by a muffled shriek of childish laughter: Dawn, probably, jumping from the top bunk.

"Quiet now! Don't wake the baby!" Maggie bellowed, loudly enough to wake ten babies.

When he glanced back at his mother she was giving him her And don't think you'll slip anything by me look. "I've got Sybil in the girls' old room."

He supposed it was too much to expect his very traditional, very Catholic mother to be more progressive than the Crawleys. "Thanks, Ma. I'll just show her where it is."

"Mind you don't take too long," sang Maggie, who had a rather ribald sense of humor, and she and Jacinta giggled. Tom wondered what she'd say if he told her Sybil was the first woman he'd ever had sex with. She probably wouldn't believe it.

-ooo-

By the end of the night Tom was so tired he hardly minded sleeping alone, and judging by the way Sybil was drooping he'd have bet she felt the same. Once he'd lain down, though, it took him a long time to settle. It was strange being back in his old bed, and stranger still having the room to himself: Brian, always one to leave well enough alone, had lived at home until he'd married, well after Tom had moved out. Jet lag was doing its work as well, and the day had provided plenty to think about.

Shortly after he'd shown Sybil upstairs that morning, Nigel had blown through to pick him up for their mercifully brief tuxedo-fitting appointment and a less brief getting-to-know-you session in the pub afterwards. Like Katie, Nigel had an outsized laugh and everything about him seemed in constant motion, but that was where any resemblance ended. They looked an odd couple at first glance: him all long loose limbs, knees and elbows and teeth, a good half meter taller than the tiny blonde fairy that was Katie. But his dark eyes warmed with adoration when he looked at her. She probably ran circles around him in the brains department, though he was hardly thick: his sly sense of humor and frenetic energy were a good match for hers, and they were plainly mad about each other. They'd be happy.

As soon as Tom and Nigel had returned to his mother's the remaining members of the family had started arriving for tea. First the older kids from school, then Ciaran and Brian from work, and finally Erin from her job at just after six. The Bransons full-on could overwhelm even the most definite extrovert, but Sybil had got right in with them. Tom hadn't had a clue she knew so much about football. And she'd pitched right in with the washing up after the meal, though he was quite sure he'd been the only one to notice the little twitch of her eyebrow when the women stood up to clear plates and the men remained seated, as was usual in this house. But she must have known it would go a long way toward bridging the gap.

And it had, because over the rush of water and clatter of dishes in the kitchen he'd heard her voice raised along with the others, her throaty chuckle among the choruses of feminine laughter. By the time they'd come out Mags and Jacinta and especially Katie were shooting him significant smiles that made it clear Sybil was continuing to meet with their—and Ma's—approval.

Lying in the lower bunk, he thought about what Kit had said just before she left for the hotel. Nigel had gone to get the car, parked a couple of streets away, and Sybil had looked so hollow-eyed by then that Ma practically herded her up the stairs to bed. So it was Katie and Tom sitting on the front stoop, keeping an eye on the neighborhood like old times. She'd reached over and palmed his knee, leaving her hand there just a couple of beats longer than a friendly slap before lifting it again, and said, "It's good to see you happy, big brother."

No point in dancing around the reason for it. "So you like her?"

"She's great."

There'd been just a shade of but in her voice, but he'd ignored it. "I'm glad. I want you all to get on."

"You get on with her family?"

"Well enough. They're different." No point dancing around that, either. "Her parents are splitting up."

"Really? Too bad." If Katie had seen any of the tabloid coverage, she was tactful enough not to mention it.

"Yeah." He hadn't felt like going into the messiness of it: not Robert's affair or the tug of war over money—that would have felt too much like gossiping—and definitely not the way Sybil was dealing with it, how it seemed to have turned some of her soft parts brittle. Later, he would wish he'd said something. Who knew, maybe Kit would have been able to tell him something useful.

But then the headlights of Nigel's rental had come round the corner and Katie had stood, dusting off the arse of her trousers, and Tom had got up as well, giving her a long hug. "It's good to see you happy as well, little sister."

She'd smiled impishly, but there was real emotion there, that same yearning for his approval as when she'd been nine and learnt to ride a skateboard because he could. "You like him, yeah?"

"Yeah. He seems like a really good guy."

She'd lit up then, glancing toward the waiting car. "That means a lot, Tom, really." And she'd tripped down the steps to get into the car with her fiance, who in three days' time would be her husband, with whom she'd live together in the same house in the same country on the same bleeding continent for the rest of their days.

Tom had been suddenly, gnawingly jealous, of both of them. He still was.