A/N: Thank you guest for the very nice review, it was certainly appreciated.

February 1920

Cillian Branson wasn't sure how long he had been sitting at the small kitchen table in his brother's flat. It had still been dark when he hobbled into the kitchen and even now there was only a hint of lightness coming through the flimsy white curtain that covered the room's sole window. He had slept fitfully, thanks to the throbbing in his arm and ankle, finally deciding there was no sense staying in bed. Maybe he should have taken one of those pain pills the doctor had offered but knowing how scarce medicine was becoming he had decided his wounds weren't grave enough. While he would have appreciated a belt or two of whiskey he hadn't been able to find any so had settled for making a pot of tea.

He was on his second cup of tea when his brother appeared at the kitchen doorway.

"I thought you'd be sleeping till noon" Tom cheerfully teased his younger brother.

"I wish" Cillian replied. "The pain in my arm and ankle kept me up most of the night."

Tom looked at his brother's face with its fresh bruises and the stitches above his eye. "Would have thought you past the bar fight stage by now" Tom retorted as he took a mug and poured himself some tea.

Cillian raised his brow at Tom's words and quickly turned his face away to hide his surprise. He would have bet that once Sybil and Tom had retired to their bedroom she would have told Tom what had really happened to him. But then, he reckoned, life is full of surprises. He couldn't have imagined a bigger one than Sybil being the nurse Dr. Byrne had called in to help him. Who would have thought that his English sister-in-law secretly worked for a republican doctor?

"Eaten anything yet?" Tom quizzed his brother as he began cutting slices of brown bread. Cillian watched as his bother put the slices into a strange spikey looking contraption he had never seen before.

Noticing his brother's stare, Tom chuckled. "It's an electric toaster." Then lowering his voice as if the two brothers were conspiring he said "Sybil never quite mastered the art of grilling bread and I got tired of eating burnt toast so I bought this toaster. Of course I told Sybil it was to make things a bit easier for her."

Cillian couldn't help but laugh at Tom's admission.

"So are you planning on hiding out from Ma until you look a bit more presentable?"

"To be honest Tommy I haven't really thought beyond this moment."

"Well you're welcome to stay here a night or two." Tom smiled warmly at his brother. "It would be nice Cillian. It's been years since we've spent much time together."

Cillian almost blurted out and whose fault is that Tommy but wisely held his tongue. Yet Cillian couldn't help but think it was Tom's fault that the brothers who had once been so close, after all they were only a year apart, had drifted apart. He had understood when Tom chose to work in England where the pay was better and he had been grateful for his brother's generosity in sending money back home to their Ma. What he didn't understand was how the years went by and Tom hadn't returned. Of course that absence was explained when Tom finally returned to Ireland accompanied by beautiful Lady Sybil and since his return it seemed to Cillian that Tom's time had been taken up solely with her.

Cillian didn't think he was hungry but he lapped up the oatmeal Tom made and managed to eat four slices of toast and most of the sausage Tom had fried. During their breakfast the conversation flowed between the brothers centering mainly on reminisces of their shared youth. The conversation and laughter continued as Tom packed his tin lunch pail with two hard boiled eggs and a wedge of cheddar cheese and a good sized chunk of dark bread.

"Sounds like there's a party going on in here." Sybil, wearing a fluffy dark blue bath robe, stood in the kitchen doorway smiling at the two brothers.

As the sound of his wife's voice, Tom turned towards her and smiled then walking up to her kissed her cheek. "Sorry love. Didn't mean to wake you. I guess we just got a bit loud going down memory lane."

"I thought you had to go in early today" Sybil responded to Tom.

Tom looked at the window as if the lightness flowing through the curtained panes would tell him the time. "Oh darn!" He kissed Sybil's cheek again. "I better hurry off."

Sybil looked at Cillian and then at her husband. "Maybe Cillian can entertain me with those memory lane stories."

Tom's face blushed. "Don't you have to work in the shop this morning?"

Waving her hand Sybil replied "Oh that's not for hours."

"You two could continue this tonight at dinner" she smiled. "How about a roast dinner?" While some of her cooking could be charitably described at best as a good effort, Sybil had mastered the art of roast chicken with vegetables.

Tom, with a broad grin and raised brow, looked at Cillian. "I'll look forward to it" Cillian replied.

Stepping outside of his building Tom stopped for a moment to lift his face to take in the sunshine. After a week of what seemed like a constant chilly mist it was a wonderful change to now be bathed in sunshine. It was still a bit cool but he didn't need to wrap his wool scarf around his neck. The lightheartedness he had felt in his flat with his brother and Sybil disappeared as he ran his hand down the soft wool of the scarf loosely draped over his shoulders and hanging loosely down his chest rather than wrapped tightly around his neck.

All those years of yearning for Sybil, of wanting to run his hand through that glossy dark hair, to gently caress her cheek, to kiss those full lips, to freely talk to her far into the night, to walk beside her holding her hand, he had never truly thought of what their day to day existence in Dublin would actually be like.

You're asking me to give up my whole world and everyone in it.

And that's too high a price to pay?

It is a high price.

Their words spoken in that familiar garage rumbled through his head as he made his way down the street to another, far different, garage. The scarf, like his fine woolen coat, had been paid with money from Sybil selling one of her necklaces. We need warm winter clothing Tom and that's far more important than a piece of jewelry I have no need for and that only reminds me of a past I no longer want she had said. Yet despite her protestations that she had deliberately brought her jewelry to Ireland to sell and that his work with the newspaper was important no matter if the salary was a pittance, it broke his heart that he couldn't provide better for her.

It was a situation he was determined to remedy and so he hurried off not to the newspaper's cramped offices but rather to a large brick building a few blocks down from their flat. The building had originally been used as a warehouse as its location next to the river made it convenient for small boats to moor and offload their cargo. While Tom suspected that there was still some storage of goods being done on the upper premises, the lower floor of the building was now a garage.

In exchange for a lower rent on their flat above Fergus O'Hanan's used furniture store, Tom had originally agreed to help with deliveries if the need should arise. Just before Christmas, Fergus mentioned that with Sybil working a few hours almost every day at the store, he'd forgo any rent if Tom would keep the two delivery trucks used for the business in working order. It was an offer Tom enthusiastically accepted since he figured routine maintenance would only take an hour or two a week.

Fergus' suggestion that Tom might find it easier to service the trucks at this garage with all its tools available to him seemed at the time rather benign. After all, without those tools, it would be impossible to properly maintain those trucks. A week later this seemingly benign suggestion became fortuitous when Tom was offered further work at the garage by the man he thought was the garage owner who had a fleet of taxi cabs that needed constant servicing. Although Sybil wasn't enthusiastic about him working five or six hours on Saturday mornings she agreed they could use the money especially now with a baby on the way.

Now, without Sybil's knowledge, Tom had begun working at the garage for a couple of hours most mornings before heading to the newspaper office. With this work and that on Saturdays, Tom earned almost double what he made at the newspaper. His love of motor cars had never waned and he found the work enjoyable and for those few hours while he tinkered underneath a motor car the political problems of Ireland were forgotten.

However, Tom soon began noticing some dodgy things involving some of the motor cars as well as the men coming in and out of the garage. Foremost was his discovery of hidden compartments in Fergus' delivery vans, the biggest of which was under the entire length of the truck's seat and certainly big enough to hide a man.

After refilling Cillian's tea cup, Sybil settled at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea. As she lifted the cup to her lips she carefully looked at her brother-in-law. His handsome face, which looked so much like Tom's, was marred with several bruises and the three stitches just over his right eye. His eyes, a much darker blue than Tom's, looked bleary and with his unshaven face gave him the appearance of a man who had had a restless night.

"I'll need to clean that wound on your arm and change the bandages" Sybil said matter-of-factly after taking a sip of tea.

Cillian right hand automatically touched his left arm. "You didn't tell Tom what really happened." Although Cillian's steady stare showed no emotion the tone of his voice revealed surprise and perhaps puzzlement.

"What was I to say?" Sybil stared back at her brother-in-law. "I can guess what happened but"

"It's probably best you don't know. That way if …" he looked away.

"If what?" Sybil set the tea cup a little too forcefully on the table causing some tea to spill on the wooden table. "If the RIC come around or" she paused "or your friend dies."

Cillian shut eyes. "Do you think Jimmy will …"

Sybil took a deep breath. "I don't think so but it's always a possibility with such a deep wound. The bullet may have done some internal damage that Dr. Byrne couldn't see."

She stood up and filled the kettle with more water before leaving the room. Returning a few minutes later she carried a towel, a wash cloth, and a small leather valise which she set on the kitchen table.

As she set about first cleaning the stitched cut above his eye and then Cillian's bullet wound on his arm he studied her face noting how carefully she concentrated on her work. Her touch was firm but gentle. "You seem to have had a bit of experience with bullet wounds."

She glanced up at his face. "I was a nurse during the war." Her vision returned once more to his arm. "Of course the bullets had usually been removed by the time the patients arrived at our hospital so it was more a matter of treating the wounds left behind."

She looked directly at him once more. "Many died from infection."

"Are you trying to scare me?"

"Just being realistic. You need to keep this clean."

"I was surprised that Dr. Byrne called you to come help him with me and Jimmy."

"I've been working in his office two afternoons a week. Just trying to keep my hand in nursing." Sybil, her hands firmly planted on the table, took a deep breath as she looked away from Cillian. "I'm still hoping I'll get a position at a hospital some day."

Cillian reached out his left arm and covered Sybil's hand with his. "I think you're a fine nurse and any hospital would be lucky to have you on staff."

"No hospital will give me a chance because I'm English even though I'm married to an Irishman. Yet I help a doctor who treats men shot or beaten up by the RIC or the English army. Rather ironic isn't it?" Her voice dripped with bitterness.

She stopped as her eyes filled with tears. Cillian squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry Sybil. Even I …" He stopped talking as she pulled her hand away.

Leaning back in his chair, running his hand through his hair, Cillian looked around the kitchen. He went to stand but grimaced as he put weight on his foot and quickly sat back down. "But Tom doesn't know about all your work for Dr. Byrne does he?"

"It's just occasional work Cillian" Sybil replied indignantly. "Most of the time I'm treating children's cuts and scrapes or the all too common industrial accidents around here."

It didn't really answer his question thought Cillian but he didn't want to tangle with Sybil.

"I think what Tom does for Irish freedom is just as important, maybe more so, than what you're doing Cillian."

Cillian thought it was interesting to see this side of Sybil. He hadn't really had much interaction with her and he was ashamed that he had let her being English color his opinion of her. He now saw her in an entirely different light.

"I'm sorry to admit I wondered why you were here. Wondered what a posh English girl would want with someone like Tom."

"Someone like Tom" Sybil bitterly repeated Cillian's words as she shook her head. "Why is it so hard for-"

"Sybil" Cillian's good arm reached up and his hand wiped away a stray tear from Sybil's cheek. "I realize it now. I see how …" he paused before grinning that lopsided grin so much like his brother's. "I'd say Tom's very lucky."

Sybil gave him a faint smile before she looked down at the table. Neither spoke for a minute or two until Sybil said "Let me see how the ankle is doing."

Feeling around his ankle she smiled. "It doesn't seem swollen much but you should probably sit with your foot up on a stool or chair today."

"I was supposed to drive a taxi cab tonight."

"Cillian you are in no shape to do anything today except rest." Then with her eyes twinkling and a chuckle escaping her lips she added "besides with those bruises and stitches on your face you'd probably scare away any customers."

"Probably not the ones that have had a bit too much at the pub." His face broke out in a grin.