The Price of Love

As Sybil placed the bread in the oven one morning, she was overcome by a strong whiff of porridge, which sat on the top of the stove, almost ready to eat. A way of nausea filled her stomach, almost exploding out of it. She'd felt uncomfortable in the morning for the last several days, but this was the strongest yet.

She barely made it to the bucket before vomiting.

"Hi Sybil," Tom said cheerfully, just after she finished. Sybil turned and faced him, forcing herself to smile despite being poorly. Her husband had enough to worry about with the British government trying to block Irish Independence at every turn, and his duty to report these events for the Irish Times.

And in reality, it was easier than she'd expected. Walking across the kitchen did not maker her uncomfortable at all. How could she be, when she was looking at Tom in one of the handsome suits, he wore to the office every day? "Hi, Tom," she said, placing her hands on his firm shoulders.

But as he leaned in to kiss her, she remembered the vomit. Even if she felt well now, he'd be able to taste it on her lips. She didn't want him to worry, especially as it seemed there was no reason for him to do so. "You had best sit down to breakfast," she told him as she turned her head. "I have a busy day ahead of me, and I know you do as well."

Sybil focused on the scooping out the porridge, the scent once again making her uncomfortable, but not as much as before. "I'll eat breakfast later," she said as Tom waited for her to scoop her own. Perhaps a piece of baked bread would be more to her taste today. "Right now, I need more water at the pump." She picked up the same bucket she'd vomited.

After cleaning the vomit and replacing it with fresh water, Sybil arrived back at the flat, once again feeling well. "You should eat breakfast," Tom said, his jaw set and his voice leading no room for argument. "It's good for you, and I like your company in the morning."

Sybil felt bad, realizing that Tom felt ignored this morning. But there was no way she could eat any of the porridge today. "I'll sit with you for a moment, and then I'll have piece of bread soon," she said, looking into his eyes to show his sincerity.

"Sybil…" Tom said, shaking his head. Both his stubbornness and his concern for her was obvious.

She loved him for it, but it made her morning difficult today. Sitting down without breakfast or a bowl, she shook her own head. "Tom…" She could be just as stubborn, and she couldn't have him worry about her. Not when there was no reason to be concerned. "What are you reporting now?" she asked, focusing on something that deserved his attention.

Tom's jaw seemed even firmer as he shook his head, his hair flopping everywhere. "I'm not that easily distracted, Sybil. I'm still concerned about you. Why aren't you eating breakfast. Are you sick?"

"No, of course not," she said firmly, deliberately ignoring the reason why she might be. After all, she felt well now. As the smell of the baked bread filled her nostrils, she smiled. "I'll have a piece of bread, just as I said."

With that, Sybil took the bread out of the oven, and cut a few pieces. Two for Tom's lunch, and one for her to eat breakfast. Tom broke into a huge smile when he finally saw her bite into the bread, and Sybil let the warm, fluffy taste fill her mouth.

The bread tasted better than ever today. Perhaps she'd finally found the perfect touch for baking.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finishing another piece of tasty bread later that day, Sybil stared at the pan. Had she truly eaten more than half of it already? At least she wasn't poorly.

After all, she had laundry to do.

Gathering the dirty clothing in her hands, she carried them to the kitchen, where two buckets full of liquid waited, one with soapy water and one with only water. Tom's trousers brushed against her breasts, causing them to sting for some reason. She'd noticed them aching a little as she dressed, too. But it still didn't matter, as she wasn't poorly.

As Sybil dumped Tom's trousers into the bucket of soapy water, it all came together. Temporary nausea. Increased appetite. Sensitive breasts. Sybil had studied nursing and had countless discussions with Cousin Isabel in the last few years. She knew exactly what those symptoms meant, especially as her period was almost two months late.

"I'm pregnant," she said out loud, her heart beating faster and faster at the horrid thought.

But it shouldn't be horrid, should it? Sybil was supposed to be delighted to be having Tom's child. She'd looked forward to this for months as she watched him interact with Shenna's son, Jimmy, and Brigid's two children. She knew her husband would be an excellent father. Perhaps their child would be a little boy that would look just like her Tom. Or a little girl that Sybil would teach to cook. Either way, they would cheer when Tom arrived home, calling out, "Da!"

But now, the dominant thought on Sybil's mind was that she could no longer be a nurse. Even if she could find a doctor's office or hospital that was willing to hire her, there was no way she could work there while she was pregnant. She could still remember the strong scent of the antiseptic from Downton Hospital. Then there was the stench some of the diseases some of the patients caught.

If Sybil could barely handle the smell of porridge, how could she tolerate those smells while pregnant?

And after she had the baby, she'd be even busier than she was now. She recalled Sheena's subtle lecture about much work was involved carrying for a baby. Not only would she need to cook for her and clean for her and Tom, but the baby would need to be fed and changed. And all the baby's clothing and nappies had to be cleaned constantly, too.

Sybil had come to Ireland believing it could give her everything she wanted.

In the last few months, she'd tried to ignore her desire to be a nurse and focus on Tom instead. But Sybil guessed some part of her always believed she'd be a nurse again, anyway. She still longed to put on the uniform, bandage wounds, soothe fevers, and offer encouragement to patients that had no one else to help them. She desired people to look at her with respect and call her "nurse" again. She wished people to admire her new hairstyle and call her a "modern woman" who would change the world.

Before she knew it, hot tears rolled down her face.

Sybil wiped them away firmly and began scrubbing Tom's trousers, just as she was supposed to do. This selfish thinking was beneath her. A baby was always a blessing.

But as she pulled the trousers out to rinse, more tears fell, even faster than before. How could she say goodbye to her dream? Would she be stuck in this flat, just cooking and cleaning, while Tom pursued all of his goals? She should have tried harder to find a nursing job. Much harder. What good was this new haircut, even if it was easier to handle, if no one ever noticed it?

She hated being pregnant.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The next morning, Sybil forced herself to hide her pregnancy symptoms. She moved slowly, so not to rattle her stomach, as she retrieved water from the pump. She plugged her nose as she made the porridge, while stirring with the other hand. But she still desperately wished she wasn't pregnant.

Sybil even had to make an extra loaf of bread today, considering she'd all of it the day before. Usually, she enjoyed all the household chores she was required, loving the chance to do fulfilling work, especially for Tom. But now, they frustrated her, as they weren't the nursing chores she wished to have.

She kneaded the bread so hard, the table shook

"Sybil?" Tom's voice said from behind her as the table shook again. "Are you all right?"

No, she wasn't all right. She was expecting his child but couldn't tell him that. Tom would want her to be overjoyed with the news, rather a combination of cross and heartbroken. They were supposed to run into each other's arms, kissing with passion and excitement that they would have a baby. Tom would tell her what a great mother she would be, and she would assure him he would be a wonderful father.

But instead, Sybil used both hands flatten the bread as hard as she could, wishing that she wasn't pregnant. The table shook again. "I'm fine, Tom," she said distractedly, without looking at him. "I'm just late starting with the morning chores."

Tom came up behind her, his breath tickling her neck despite jumbled emotions, and kissed her. "Good. You seemed a bit cross at me yesterday morning, and I just wanted to know if I've hurt you in some way."

He sounded so honest, so like the confidant he'd been for years at Downton, when no one else understood her nor took her seriously. Tears filled Sybil's eyes as she finally placed the bread on the baking sheet and prepared it for the oven. She wasn't being far to Tom.

"The tension is heating up in the Irish Times Office," Tom said, switching subjects as if that was no problem. "I know some of the reporters are writing for the Bulletin, as well, even though they won't admit it, and they're a bit skeptical of the rest of our loyalties. But I'm certain it will be fine in the end, as we all support Irish Independence." His voice grew fiery, and she knew his eyes would be dancing as he spoke.

As he spoke passionately about his dreams, which were obviously at his fingertips, Sybil's eyes dried. Without a word, she scooped a bowl of porridge for his breakfast. Once again, Tom stared at her, and the one bowl of porridge in question.

"I'll eat a piece of bread after you leave," she said firmly, trying not to vomit as the smell or his breakfast mixed with her confusing emotions. Her stomach jumped in an uncomfortable way.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Somehow, Sybil was able to hide her condition for the next two weeks. She never vomited in Tom's presence, and he didn't question her increased appetite. Of course, he was mostly focused on the happenings at the Irish Times, so Sybil doubted he had time to notice. And despite her many discussions about nursing over the years, pregnancy symptoms were never a topic they covered.

But everything collided one night as Sybil served their beef stew. The food tasted so good in her mouth, that Sybil didn't hear Tom's shocking news at first.

"… as soon as we catch the Lord Lieutenant, everything will be fine," Tom's voice drifted to her ears as the beef filled her mouth.

Everything stopped for Sybil at that name. Lord Lieutenant. That was one of her father's titles. What did Tom and the other Irishmen plan on doing to her Papa? "Certainly, you don't mean that," Sybil said as soon as she swallowed. She may have been cross at her Papa for the last few months, but she loved him.

"Of course, we do," Tom said in his firm way, his jaw set for no argument. "John French is one of the leaders of the British government in Ireland. If we can get rid of him, it will be that much closer to having control of our own country."

It should half calmed Sybil that Tom wasn't speaking of Papa at all. But between her growing irritation that Tom was allowed to persue all his dreams and possibly her hormones, Sybil only grew more cross. "And what does 'get rid of' mean, Tom? Are your people planning to kill the Lord Lieutenant, just as they did to poor Detective Smyth? I hope his murder won't be in front of his family."

Instead of her hands flying in the air, Sybil's hands landed on her stomach, suddenly desperate to protect her unborn child from harm.

Tom's jaw remained set, but his face morphed into a scowl. "Sybil, the British government won't even let us have our own Dail, remember? We need to remove the British from power in Ireland." His voice grew louder as he said, "I thought you agreed with that, back when they tried to outlaw the Dail."

Briefly, Sybil remembered her outrage when the British government tried to outlaw the Dail, but now her feelings were quite different. Besides, murder was never acceptable. "My priorities are different now, conisdering I'm pregnant, and I thought you accepted that I could never condone killing, anyway?"

Tom's face morphed from a scowl two shock, and his lips formed a perfect "O." It took Sybil a moment to realize what she'd just revealed. The kitchen was silent. She began filling her mouth with beef and carrots as fast as she could, as she was still desperately hungry.

"You're pregnant?" Tom finally said, slowly. "How could you not tell me that? How long have you known?" A scowl reappeared on his face, but she could hear pain in his voice as well.

Sybil swallowed, a mix of anger and guilt settling inside her. "I suppose I've known for a couple of weeks. And this," she pointed to Tom's reaction. "Is exactly why I couldn't tell you. I knew it would mean everything to you, but I don't…" She sighed, anger welling up again. "I want to be a nurse Tom, and it bothers me that all your dreams are coming true, while I pay the price!"

She shouted those last words, then breathed deeply as she finally said what had been one her mind for so long.

Tom's scowl reappeared on his face. "I can't believe you've been keeping all of this from me, Sybil." But pain still leaked from his voice. "I how could you do such a thing?" Shaking his head, he shouted, "This isn't your baby; it's our baby. I thought you would know that!" The scowl still on his face, he walked quickly across the kitchen and opened the door. "I can't be around you right now, Sybil. I should be back in about an hour."

Her eyes stayed glued to the door for several moments, as tears ran down Sybil's face. Foolish hormones, she thought as she took one last bite of stew.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Scrubbing the dishes, Sybil wished she would stop sobbing. But instead, the tears kept falling, especially as she remembered the look on Tom's face and the pain in his eyes. How could she have not told him she was pregnant?

She had just emptied the bucket of water and returned to the flat when she heard Tom's footsteps.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she said as soon as he opened the door. "I should have told you we were having a baby."

He was silent for a moment. Sybil stared at his face, which was covered in scratches and a black eye. What had happened to him? "Are you certain?" he said in a neutral voice.

"About what?" she said, still staring at his injured face.

Tom scoffed. "Sybil what were we just arguing about?"

"Quite," she sighed, annoyed that once again her skills weren't respected. "Yes, I am certain, Tom. I may not have been a nurse in almost a year, but I've studied pregnancy in nursing training. And I've had many conversations with Cousin Isobel about different patients and how their pregnancy symptoms manifested. I have all of them."

Tom sighed. "Right. Of course, you know. It's just so overwhelming…Sybil have you been crying?" he pointed toward her face, which was probably blotchy from all her tears.

"Well, I'm glad we agree that's it's overwhelming," she said with a sigh. "And don't worry about me. I promise you; I don't usually weep when we have an argument. It's just these silly pregnancy hormones," she shrugged her shoulders in frustration.

Then Sybil gestured towards his face. "What happened to you, Tom?"

Tom shrugged. "I went to the pub, and some of the blokes were discussing the British."

Sybil stared at him even harder, moving her head close enough to see every facet of his scratches and smell the beer on his breathe. "I don't see why that would cause a problem for you."

"It didn't at first," Tom sighed. "We all spoke of the trouble that the British gave us and how they won't leave us alone, but then they started speaking about how 'all Brits are good for nothing.' And I started thinking about…you. We'd all had a few drinks, and one thing led to another…"

Sybil sighed. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but please don't get into fights on my behalf." She shook her head as she examined his face again. "I'm going to get some water to clean those."

Before leaving, she picked up a shawl, as it was becoming chilly, and her water bucket.

A few moments later, she returned. Picking up a clean rag, she automatically dipped it into the water and added a bit of soap. "Once a nurse, always a nurse, I suppose," Tom said, sounding surprisingly causal.

Sybil wished he hadn't said that, as he still didn't take her nursing seriously, but she gently washed Tom's face with soap and water. It was as if she was clearing all the tension from both at the same time.

Tom sighed as she finished. "I think…maybe I understand what you've been trying to tell me about the Irish Revolution, Sybil. Our goals are good, and the Irish deserve our own government." Sybil nodded, smiling a little as the inevitable excitement crept up in his voice when Tom spoke of Irish Independence. "But many of the people seem to think there are no good British at all. I know that's not true." He gazed at her, still seeing her clearly despite the black eye.

Then he kissed her, and his lips feeling warm and full of love. More importantly Tom's understanding of Sybil's struggles since they'd first discussed Detective Smyth filled her soul.

"You know Arthur Griffiths, the founder of the Irish Times is a respected member in Irish politics, and he's a pacifist," Tom said with a sigh. "I think…I'm going to follow his example. No matter how many disagree with me or won't respect my ideas."

Studying his face, still full of cuts and a black eye, but his jaw set in determination, Sybil nodded. Tom couldn't have everything he wished in Ireland, either. She'd known that ever since the IRA rejected him a few months ago, but she'd let it slip her mind lately.

"That's a wonderful idea," she said, playing with his floppy dark hair at the same time. "And our baby will be proud to have a Da who stands up for what is right, no matter how many others in Ireland won't accept it."

"Our baby," Tom said, sounding shocked again. His hands caressed her stomach, making Sybil tingle with delight. He was right. Their baby.

She put her hands on top of his. "This what is important, Tom," she said, with awe. "The two of us, starting a family and standing up for what is right together." She sighed. "When we first arrived here, I thought Ireland could give me everything I wanted. It's so far away from the world of Downton, I thought I could live by my own rules. And it's true that I don't have to change my clothes three times a day and I'm not expected to make polite conversation with people I dislike or treat people below my status in a condescending manner."

Tom chuckled ironically, his breathe tingling against her neck. "You never bothered with half those rules at Downton, either."

Sybil chuckled, too, remembering her friendship with Gwen and their own courtship, which would never have occurred if she followed those rules. "No, but here, those restrictions don't exist.

It's so freeing, Tom," she said as his face changed into his trademark arrogant smirk. Sybil could almost see him congratulating himself for rescuing her from Downton…But it wasn't that simple. "Nursing… that's so important to me, too, and I truly expected to nurse again when we arrived." Her heart still ached that it was not possible.

Tom nodded. "I remember, but it's been several months since it's really been an issue." He sounded confused.

Sybil shook her head sharply, becoming more cross at his additude. "No, Tom, it was always and issue," she said, almost shouting, her hands flying in the air.

Then she sighed. "I don't think you fully appreciate how much nursing meant to me," her voice softened. "It was not only the first time I've been respected for what I've done rather than for being 'Lady Sybil', it was a real chance to take care of sick and injured people who needed me."

Tom didn't say anything, but his warm hands were still on her stomach, reminding her of why they were here.

Sybil sighed, thinking for a moment. "I suppose I should have told you how much I still longed to be a nurse, just like I should have told you about the baby."

He nodded, his blue eyes meeting hers to show how crucial it was for her to discuss these things with him. But of course, it was. It was how their relationship had developed.

How could she explain her thought process for the last few months? She stared back into his eyes, hoping he would understand. "I wanted to be happy with just being your wife, Tom, soI pretended I was satisfied with what I had. And it was great, to do real work, rather than have servants perform all the chores while I sit on a chair, chatting with random guests. But when I discovered I was pregnant," she placed her hands on top of his again, which were still resting on her stomach. "It all came crashing down. I realized I could never be a nurse. Not with all the smells at hospital or doctor's office which would make me nauseous. Not with all the extra work a baby will be after he or she is born.

It was so difficult," Sybil swallowed a lump in her throat, as her pregnancy hormones triggered again. "But," she stared at her stomach, where their baby was already growing. "I love our baby, and I love you, so the price…is worth it." She blinked away the tears, not wishing to frighten him with the extreme hormones.

"Oh, Sybil," Tom said," tilting her head so her lips would meet his perfectly. It was an explosion of warmth, feelings, and closeness. "I love you," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "And I think you can still be a nurse. Look at how you knew exactly what to do about this," he rubbed his scratched cheek. "I'm certain our child will have plenty of scrapes and cuts for you to nurse. I certainly did."

Sybil nodded. "I appreciate what you're saying, but it's not the same. Any caregiver can wash cuts and scrapes. Goodness knows, my governesses did."

"No, mo ghra ," Tom said, stroking her cheek as his forehead still rested on hers, his breathe feeling warm against her. "You are not the same. You are a trained nurse. You saved my mother when she had Spanish flu, as well as our neighbor's boy, Conner. Any time our child happens to become ill, he or she will have the best caregiver in the world."

Sybil nodded, realizing he took her nursing more seriously than she'd believed, and she stared into Tom's eyes, feeling his good soul inside him.

Memories of how she'd nursed Conner, determined he would live, floated back to her. How could she have forgotten the lesson she'd learned after treating all those Spanish flu patients? She didn't need to be a nurse; she just needed to be herself, to take care of people. Perhaps the opportunity wouldn't occur as often as it would if she were an official nurse, but it would be enough.

"I have everything I need right here," Sybil said, kissing him even more intensely than he had her a few moments ago. Both her arms wrapped around him as tightly as she could, feeling their body heat as they kissed.

The kiss went on and on, until she'd almost forgotten what they'd been discussing in the first place. All that mattered was Tom's lips and tongue on hers and her arms around him.

"We should…" Tom finally murmured as they withdrew for a bit. He pointed to the bedroom and then kissed her again. "Or is that not possible for you right now?"

Sybil laughed and kissed him again, loving that he reminded her of their baby. "Oh, it's very possible."

He removed his shirt as soon as they arrived in their room, and she removed her dress.

Then Tom grinned as he took off her corset, easily handling the fastenings after many months. But as he reached Sybil's belly, he paused to kiss and caress it, before finally allowing the corset to fall to the floor.

"You look especially beautiful," he told her, as she stood before him completely nude. "There's something about…knowing that makes it different."

Sybil felt her face warm, and she smiled. "Oh, Tom. Mo ghra." Her hands pressed against his naked chest. Then she giggled a bit. "But I need you to remove these, too," she touched his trousers.

Tom chuckled and took them off, although far too slowly. She stared at him as he inched around his buttocks. His mischievous grin was on his face, so she knew he was teasing her.

"Come on," she said, giggling again. She reached for his trousers and pulled them down herself, squeezing his bottom as she did so.

Suddenly chilly from the November air, they quickly climbed under the covers, their tongues meeting and hands stroking bare skin. Suddenly Sybil hissed in pain as he touched her breasts. "Sorry, with the pregnancy, my breasts are sore," she explained as Tom's blue eyes looked wide. "It will go away in another month or so."

Tom sighed, as he removed his hands from that area, almost as if burned. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm glad you know all about these things. See, Sybil, you will always be a nurse. In everything you do." With that he kissed her again. And again.

Warmth filled her from the inside, and Sybil's heart swelled. He was right. Everything was different tonight. More. How could she have ever believed the price of love wasn't worth it?

Pulling him closer, she felt his maleness against her. She automatically spread her legs, wishing for everything.

This is the climax of the story, where Sybil and Tom realize (gasp) they cannot have everything, but there will be another "wrap up" chapter which will include: telling people about the pregnancy, Tom fussing over Sybil, celebrating Christmas, and the fate of John French.

After that, there will be an epilogue which will take place just after Mary and Mathew's wedding.