Author's note -

Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/reviewed/favourited this collection so far! I always love to hear from you.

A birthday ficlet for the wonderful piperholmes - wishing you a fantastic day, my dear!

Tell me a story

Dublin, 1926

"Ready or not, here I come!"

Aislín pushed her way into her parents' room – "Michael, are you in here?"

Silence. Maybe he's in the wardrobe.

She opened the door and peered inside, but there was still no sign of her brother. Flicking the clothes out of the way, she saw something she'd never seen before right at the back. Something that made her stare in wonder.

Dragging a chair over, she stood on it and reached up to the railing. Then, she lifted what she had found from its hanger, laying it down on the bed.

A dress. A beautiful dress like the ones in the shops on Grafton Street. Where did it come from?

She ran her hand over it carefully, admiring the way the gold roses shimmered against the black silk. Then, the door opened and Sybil came in.

"A stóirín, what are you up to?"

"I found this, Ma…"

Her mother crossed the room, a look on her face that made Aislín nervous. Am I in trouble?

Once Sybil reached the bed, she stared at the dress, smoothing the glossy fabric with one finger.

"I'm sorry, Ma, did I do anything wrong?"

"No, Aislín, you didn't. Come and sit with me."

They sat down together and Sybil pulled her daughter onto her lap, kissing her and ignoring the mutinous "I'm a big girl now" look on her face.

"Well, darling – there's a story behind that dress. Would you like to hear it?"

"Oh yes, Ma – please!"

"When I was a girl, I lived with my family in a large house in England, called Downton Abbey. Although the house was beautiful, I never really belonged there, and my family never accepted me for who I was. They wanted me to be their idea of a daughter, not the real me. Then, one day, I met a young man. We became friends and then we fell in love, although it took me a long time to tell him how I felt."

"Why did it take you so long?"

Her mother laughed – "That is a good question! I really don't know. I'm sure I thought I had good reasons to wait but I can't remember what they were now. Anyway, I agreed to marry him and we went to tell my family about it, and they weren't happy."

"Why, Ma? Why weren't they happy you loved him?"

"Because he worked for us – he was our chauffeur."

"What's a cho-fer?" asked Aislín, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

"It's someone who earns a living by driving cars, taking people where they want to go."

"And why couldn't you marry the cho-fer?"

"That's just it, my love. I did marry him, even though my family didn't want me to."

"So – Da is the cho-fer?"

"He used to be, yes. But now, as you know, he writes articles for the newspaper. That was one of the first things he ever said to me, actually - that he wouldn't always be a chauffeur, and he was right."

Sybil's eyes had a faraway light in them as she spoke and Aislín saw the gleam of tears there.

"What happened then?"

Her mother sighed. "On our first visit home, for my sister's wedding, my family didn't welcome your Da – he went there for me, but I know he really didn't want to be there. Things got a little better after that. Once both of my sisters were married too, they began to understand how I feel about your Da, how much I love him."

Aislín heard a noise and looked towards the door, where she saw her father holding her brother's hand. They'd been standing there, quietly listening to her mother, for the last few minutes.

Tom crossed the room in three long strides, sitting down beside Sybil and taking Michael onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around them all. Aislín cleared her throat and ventured another question.

"But Ma – what has the dress got to do with you and Da loving each other?"

It was her father who took up the tale. "Your Ma was wearing that dress the night she agreed to marry me and made me the happiest man who ever lived. She wore it again the night we told her family that we were in love."

"Remember, Tom, I told you I would, because I thought the dress gave me courage and I thought I might need it that night!"

He kissed the tip of his wife's nose – "Of course, how could I forget the way you stood up to your father for us!" – and turned back to Aislín. "And then, your Ma wore it the first time we visited her old home, after we were married. Seeing her wear it reminded me of those other times…"

"I knew you didn't want to be there, that you were only there for me," Sybil interrupted. "That's why I wore it, you know that – to remind you that I chose you, you and our life together, over anything else I could have had in this world."

Aislín heard her mother's voice break as she finished speaking, and felt her father lean over to kiss her.

"Thank God you did, my love," he murmured.

"Ow, Da, you're squashing me!" Is he crying too?

"I'm sorry, a stóirín."

The screams of the youngest member of the family cut across the quiet conversation, and the young girl jumped up.

"I'll get Padraig, Ma, can I? I can do it!"

"Thank you, my sweetheart, you're such a help to me."

Michael climbed down from his father's lap and followed his sister out of the room, as always keen to be part of any action happening. When Aislín came back, carrying one brother and leading the other by the hand, she stopped in the doorway, watching her parents.

Tom had Sybil on his lap now, arms wrapped around her waist, and he was whispering to her in Irish – Aislín caught the phrase "is tú mo ghrá". Then, her Ma put her arms around her Da's neck and kissed him, the kind of kiss Aislín had seen her parents exchange many times before, the kind of kiss that seemed to have no end.

Ohhh, Ma and Da are kissing AGAIN! I'm never going to get the end of the story now!

Aislín led her brothers to the kitchen, where they spent the next hour or so quietly together, building castles out of blocks and making up stories. The Branson children all had to learn at a young age that, sometimes, their parents weren't to be disturbed.

A/N -

It's my headcanon that, over the years, Sybil would have learned many Irish phrases from Tom. Not just the loving words he said to her – "is tú mo ghrá", meaning "you are my love" – but also the little terms of endearment he used with their children – "a stóirín", meaning "my little darling". I think Sybil would have used those phrases quite naturally herself, as she did in this story.

I was inspired to write this fic by the lovely Yankee Countess, based on her comments on some tags of mine on a Tumblr post. Thank you!