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. :)

I was in the mood for some Bransons fluff today, and was inspired to write this (extra fluffy) ficlet by a post I saw on Tumblr:

"Okay but imagine person A of your otp picking up sleepy person B and carrying them to bed and person B just snuggles their face into person A's shoulder you know on second thought don't imagine that" - well, I did imagine it, and the result is below.

I was also inspired by a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson from one of his essays, which I've included at the end and which gave the story its title.

Carry you with me

November 1919

"Are you comfortable there, sweetheart?"

"Yes, thank you, very."

A quiet Sunday evening in the Bransons' small, cosy flat. After eating and clearing away their evening meal, they were relaxing on their recently purchased couch. Tom was leaning on its arm, propped on a cushion and reading his book in the light of a small lamp. Sybil's head was resting in his lap, her hand loosely linked with her husband's over the gentle curve of her belly as she played occasionally with his fingers and gazed dreamily into the fire crackling in the grate.

Every now and then, he would quote a funny or interesting passage of the story to her. Otherwise, they were perfectly content to be silent in each other's company, sharing warmth and comfort and gathering strength for the busy week to come.

"Here's a good bit – 'I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms'. I like the way this George Emerson thinks."

"I told you you'd like it, didn't I! George really reminds me of you, actually."

"Hmmm, interesting. How would you have responded, milady, if I had taken you in my arms and kissed you on a Florentine hillside?"

"I would have kissed you right back!" She lifted his hand to her lips before settling down again.

Around quarter past nine by the clock on the mantlepiece, Tom put down his book. He tightened his arm around Sybil with a squeeze and she smiled up at him.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"I'd love one."

He stood up, putting a cushion under her head before heading over to the stove to boil the kettle. Soon, a brew was ready, just as she liked it these days – the Irish way, strong with plenty of milk. Carrying their cups over to the couch, he set them down on the table and turned to look at his wife.

She was curled up like a child, eyelids drooping, hands pressed together under her rosy cheek. Her breathing was becoming steady and he knew from the sound of it that she would soon be asleep. He shook her gently.

"Sybil, love? Do you want your tea?"

She stirred, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. "Oh yes, please! I had no idea being pregnant makes you so tired, I'm so sleepy already and it's only just gone nine."

He nudged her over and took her in his arms after handing her the cup – his could wait. She sipped, smiling when she saw the biscuit he had put in her saucer as a treat and taking a bite.

A few more sips and her eyes were closing. "Sorry, darling, I just can't stay awake any more."

He took the cup from her, putting it down on the floor. Wrapping her in his arms again, he pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Sybil, let me take you to bed."

"Now there's a proposition I'd find it hard to refuse!"

She turned her face to his and winked. He kissed her forehead, remembering for a moment the feel of her skin beneath his fingers early that morning as she rose above him.

"I'll hold you to that soon enough, Mrs Branson. But right now, you and our baby need your sleep. Come on, up we go!"

Tom pulled Sybil into his lap and then stood up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, holding her firmly against his chest. She sighed, sliding one hand around his neck and snuggling her face into his shoulder in a way that made his heart skip a beat.

He tightened his arms around his precious burden as he started walking across the room. The journey was slower than it could have been as he savoured every moment, looking down at her and feeling as if he might burst out of his skin from joy.

In their little bedroom, he untied her dressing gown and laid her down on the bed, pulling the blankets up around her. She opened her eyes for a moment and looked at him.

"Thank you, my Tom. You take such good care of me."

"Didn't I once promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness?"

"You did, love, and you've kept that promise, every day."

He leaned down, putting his hand to her cheek and kissing her lips. Then, after returning to the sitting room to douse the fire and turn out the lights, he came back in to join her and took off his own robe.

Breathing in the scent of her hair, he slid under the covers behind her and pulled her close.

"Oíche mhaith, mo ghile," he murmured, joining his wife in sleep.

A/N –

"Oíche mhaith, mo ghile" = good night, my darling in Irish Gaelic, per Google translate.

So, the Emerson quote I mentioned was this one:

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."

As soon as I read it, I thought of the Bransons. Sybil and Tom have already 'found the beautiful' in their love for each other and the life they are building together. Wherever they go, they can find beauty, because they carry it with them. I love that idea! *le sigh*

In case you didn't guess it, the book Tom is reading is one of my all time faves, A Room with a View, by EM Forster. Don't you get major S/T feels from the story of Lucy and George! I always do. One of these days, I might write an S/T fic based on it.