Even though I initially wrote this story as a one-shot, repmet requested a continuation as part of my holiday drabble bonanza on tumblr. At the time I posted this there, I'd only done the first part, but I knew I'd make the post here longer, so here it is. This picks up on the night Tom and Sybil's first dinner back, with Mary having just told Sybil that the Grey family are coming to dinner the next night. It also makes reference to the run-in that Matthew and Tom have in town the following day when Tom is considering moving to the Grantham Arms.
Hope you enjoy!
The only way out is through.
The only way out is through.
The only way out is through.
Since she and Tom had contemplated how difficult it would be for him to contend with his anxieties and her family's judgments at dinner, the phrase had become a kind of mantra.
At every awkward pause in conversation. Whenever she saw Tom's hands shaking as he moved his fork to his mouth. Every time a new course presented itself like a fresh set of hurdles before him.
She had no doubt that he—they—would make it through the visit unscathed and would return home to Dublin glad to have been there to witness a special moment in Matthew and Mary's lives but also glad to be done with it. She only wished that it didn't feel as if the longer they were there the longer the path through became.
Sybil had always understood that no visit was ever going to be as bad as the first. Even if Tom's phobias did not manifest, the prodigal daughter's return home was never going to be painless. Sybil had been buoyed by the arrival of the anonymous note with the passage home, hopeful that the judgments she knew would come would be tempered by the unconditional love that she'd always believed had been at the root of her relationship with her family. And she believed, even now, having sat through ridiculous questions about their attire, their daily lives and Irish politics, that whatever awkwardness would linger during future visits to Downton would be the kind that she and Tom could laugh at, even secretly delight in.
But as she walked back up the stairs to her room, having just heard from Mary about what was to be expected the following night with the Grey family, Sybil wondered if perhaps God was having his revenge at them. Not over falling in love and marrying over everyone's objections, but over some silly cheekiness from childhood. Tom talking back at one of his grade school teachers, and Sybil sneaking out of the nursery and laughing as she heard the nanny's irritated cries echo through the attic. The kind of thing that is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, but that is seen as a terrible wrong to the adult who had to deal with it at the time.
Larry Grey had been an amusing enough playmate as a child, but in retrospect, Sybil could see that their friendship had been very much a byproduct of limiting her parents were of her social circle growing up. She considered not even mentioning to Tom the fact that the following night's dinner guests included a former admirer of hers, but she didn't want him to walk into what she knew would feel like another battle without a weapon either.
He was reading quietly in the armchair when she walked into the room. He'd gone from the drawing room almost as soon as the men passed through. She knew he wanted to say hello to the staff. She couldn't guess how long that might have taken, but he'd obviously been back in the room long enough to calm himself down after dinner's anxiety.
He smiled softly at her as she stepped in and the two proceeded to change into their bedclothes silently. She had told Anna, when Anna had come to help her dress earlier, that she needn't return that night, so the solitude and silence by which they readied for bed offered a measure of peaceful ritual. It wasn't until Tom was already in bed that Sybil mentioned who would be joining them for dinner the following night.
"Were you keen on him?" Tom asked when she got explaining the presence of Larry.
"No," she said with an easy sigh, "I don't think so. I can hardly remember to be honest. I hadn't thought about him or the Greys in ages—hadn't seen them since before the war. I just didn't want there to be any surprises for you tomorrow, that's all."
Tom closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headboard as Sybil snuggled into him. She could hear his heartbeat and sensed immediately when it began to beat faster beneath her. "I was hoping that the wedding would be the only dinner with guests, though that was a foolish notion, looking back on it."
"We'll get through it," Sybil said, squeezing his side.
"Thank you for the 'we,'" Tom replied.
Sybil sat up again and kissed him. "We're always we, you and I." They looked at one another for a long moment after the kiss, and Sybil said quietly, "I don't it doesn't feel like it now, but we will be home in Dublin before you know it, and nothing that happened here will have mattered."
Tom nodded, but Sybil could see that the small measure of relief that he'd felt at gotten through dinner tonight was done. Without another word, she nestled back into him, with her hand over his too quickly beating heart. She fell asleep before she felt it slowing and, indeed, it was several hours before Tom could calm himself enough to join her in slumber, no matter how many times he told himself he'd need all the strength he could get the next night.
xxx
The following evening, Tom watched from the seat by the window as Anna helped Sybil into a dress he recognized from "the old days."
"Thank you, Anna," Sybil said when Anna was finished. "I'm surprised it fits as well as it does considering my waistline is not what it was."
"I would have had to let it out a bit if you were further along, so the timing is right."
"Thank you," Sybil said with a smile.
Anna smiled back at Sybil with a curtsey and looked over at Tom. "Good evening, Mr. Branson, I hope you enjoy dinner. From what I could see in the kitchen earlier and Mrs. Patmore's level of stress, I dare say it will be very good."
Tom smiled. "And here I'd rather go down and eat stew with you."
Anna shook her head good-naturedly. "I don't think Mr. Carson would be too happy with that."
After she left, Sybil walked over to where Tom was next to the window and said, "Anna could give everyone lessons on how to behave. She is as easy with me as she is with you."
"She's the kindest person in this house by a mile. It would be difficult for anyone to match that."
Sybil smiled, then lifted up her hands, as if inviting him to comment on her appearance.
"I love that frock," he said quietly.
"I know," Sybil answered putting her hands on his chest. "I wore it for you."
"Not for your family or the occasion?"
Sybil shook her head. And it was true. She had been wearing it the day she told him she would marry him, and she knew he'd recognize it too. Anna had brought it out one of Sybil's old trunks at Mary's suggestion and though Sybil had been hesitant to be more fancily dressed than Tom would be, when she spotted this one, she couldn't resist. She was making a concession to her family, yes, but more importantly she was offering Tom a reminder that her old life was full of memories that paved the way for their life now and he needn't fear them.
"Maybe it's something in the attic for me," Tom joked.
"Would you really wear it?"
Tom shook his head and sighed, looking out the window again. "I thought last night was like climbing a mountain and it turns out that was merely a molehill."
Sybil sighed. Even though his posture seemed relaxed and even though he'd just joked with her. She could see the tension building in the way his shoulders were set. There was a tiny bead of sweat on his brow as if the effort not to seem anxious was taking all of his physical strength. Sybil pulled him into a tight hug and Tom practically collapsed into her arms. Pushed against him, she could feel him trying to take deep breaths to calm himself, though his breathing was unsteady as he exhaled.
"The only way out is through," she whispered.
She felt him nodding against her shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to form words.
The only way out is through.
xxx
Because it was a "festive" occasion, the party remained in the drawing room longer than usual. At first Tom thought this might help ease him into the thick of the event, but in truth it just delayed the inevitable.
Despite his discomfort, he had encouraged Sybil to mingle among her family and friends, and not feel obligated to stand by him all night. So for the most part, he stood alone in a corner, holding his glass of whiskey so tightly at times he had to remind himself to loosen his grip lest he break the glass.
It didn't take long for the Larry character to come find Tom and introduce himself. Even if Sybil had not mentioned that he'd once fancied Sybil, Tom would have easily guessed as much from his pointed questions and plainly judgmental comments. Their conversation was short, though, oddly enough, it served to irritate Tom in such a way that it momentarily took his mind off the dinner ahead. Once he'd told Larry just how little he thought of his line of questioning, Tom stepped away and walked over to Matthew, who happened to be alone just then, having been just left behind by Mary, who'd gone to speak to her mother.
"Are you still wishing you'd moved to the Grantham Arms?" Matthew asked.
Tom laughed, welcoming momentary relief that the joke had brought. "I doubt the barkeeper there would be throwing me such stern looks as Carson," Tom replied.
"I can understand that," Matthew said.
"You can?"
"He disapproves of you only slightly more than he disapproves of me. Even Robert's expectations for Mary's husband are not so high as Carson's."
Tom smiled. "I suppose that's true."
Sybil looked over to him just then and smiled, seeing him speaking with Matthew and seeming more comfortable, even if only marginally so. She moved as if about to join them when Carson finally announced dinner and just like that fear began to squeeze Tom's heart again. Slowly the party began to make its way to the door, but Tom couldn't move. His feet felt like bricks of lead. As he watched the other members of the party move through the door, he felt like he was in a tunnel that got longer and longer with every second. His collar began to choke him, and just as he was bringing his hand up to pull the imaginary noose around his neck, he felt Sybil's hand on his.
"Are you all right, darling?" she asked quietly.
His breaths were shallow but he managed to squeak out, "Yes."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
He looked into her eyes, trying to find something in them like disappointment or shame. There was none.
"United front, remember," he said, trying to pull his anxiety back like a monster on a leash.
"You don't have anything to prove, all right?" she said, squeezing his hand. "Don't do anything that you don't feel comfortable doing. United front doesn't just mean you doing things for me, but the other way around as well."
Tom nodded. "I'm all right, love. Go on. Just give me a moment."
Sybil nodded reluctantly and turned to go. The room was near empty now, only Violet and another woman Tom didn't recognize were at the door. Sybil joined them there and Tom, as he took his first step, remembered his glass of whiskey where he'd left it earlier. He walked over to it and drank it in one go. The burning sensation down his throat was like a bucket of ice on his face. Sharp and numbing.
The only way out is through, he thought and finally followed the rest of the group to the dining room to meet his fate. The only way out is through.
xxx
Tom's stomach was in knots during the first course. Unable to look up from his plate lest the room begin to cave in on him, he stared determinedly at the cheese and lobster tart on his plate. He broke it into several pieces but merely moved them around on the plate. He tried several times to take a bite, but his hands were tingling and everything around him had begun to spin. Whenever he lifted the fork toward his mouth, he'd see his hand shake violently and lowered it again.
Something is wrong. The thought came together amid the fog that was clouding all else in his mind. His anxiety was building slowly and powerfully like a tidal wave pulling back, just before it crests, but there was something else too. He didn't know what it was but he could feel it, like a poison slowly working its way through his system. His mouth dried up and his palms and forehead began to sweat. He felt himself swaying in his chair.
The second course came and unable to manage to even serve himself, he waved it off. Next to him, Edith had tried to make small talk but he could only manage one-word answers. He was too preoccupied with the war inside his mind, his body, to think of anything else. Slowly, his vision started narrowing, pulling him away from the room against his will. He wanted to claw his way back but could barely lift his limbs. His hands, which were resting on the edge of the table, began gripping the edge as if holding on for dear life.
Noticing, Edith finally asked, as quietly as she could, "Tom, is everything all right?"
He was breathless and glassy-eyed. "Sybil?" he asked disoriented, as if he didn't know where he was.
Alarmed, Edith looked over at her sister, who had just noticed that something seemed wrong. She immediately stood from her chair to walk over to him.
"Heavens!" Cora exclaimed. "What's going on?"
"Something's wrong with Tom," Edith said, as Sybil made it around to him.
"He looks like he's had a few too many," Larry said from his spot on the other end of the table."
"Sybil, what is the meaning of this?" Robert asked, sternly.
But Sybil ignored him. Tom's forehead was warm, but his hands felt cold and clammy. "Darling, are you all right? Tom . . . Tom . . . can you hear me?"
Tom tried to look at her, but he couldn't focus his eyes. "Sybil?"
As Larry continued to snicker, Mary, who was sitting next to him asked, "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, I'm just enjoying this vivid display of Irish character," Larry replied.
"This is not Irish character and certainly not Tom's," Sybil said, growing both angry and worried sick by the second. "This is—"
"This was you!" Anthony Strallan called out, interrupting Sybil.
"I don't know what you mean," Larry said.
"Yes, you do," Anthony insisted, "I saw you. You put something in his drink, didn't you? Just before we came in."
Sybil's eyes widened, suddenly frightened about what a panic attack mixed with whatever concoction Larry had brewed might do to Tom. "Tom! Tom! Can you hear me? Look at me, darling! Can you stand up?"
Still disoriented, Tom somehow heard Sybil's plea and nodded without looking at her. Isobel stood too, to help bring him to his feet.
"What a beastly thing to do," Edith said.
"Oh, come on, Edith," Larry said. "That's not like you. You could always take a joke."
"A bully's defense," Mary said. "Listen everyone, Mr. Grey has given my brother-in-law something to make him appear drunk."
"Could it be drink?" Violet asked, alarmed.
"No, not drink. Some horrible pill."
"We're going upstairs," Sybil said, barely managing to hold him up. Seeing her struggle, Matthew stood and offered to help, immediately taking the brunt of Tom's weight. After they'd left a flabbergasted dinner party behind and were in the hallway, Alfred came up behind them and took over for Sybil. By this point, Tom was all but unconscious. If Sybil wasn't crying at how thoroughly Larry had humiliated her husband, it was because she was too angry to waste her energy on tears. She followed as Alfred and Matthew more or less dragged Tom back up the stairs to Sybil's room.
Once they'd laid him down on the bed, Sybil asked Alfred to bring her dinner up on a tray and some tea for when Tom woke up.
"So you're not coming back down, then?" Matthew asked once Alfred had gone.
Sybil shook her head. "I can't leave him. Lord knows what Larry did—if I weren't so worried about Tom or with child, I'd go down and throw him out myself."
Matthew smiled. "I'll take care of it myself."
"It's nice of you to say, Matthew, but I'm sure the last thing papa would want is for you to make a scene by forcing a member of the party to leave—even someone as vile as Larry Grey."
"Well, he ruined a dinner in honor of my future wife. I think if I don't defend her honor, Mary will be quite disappointed in me, no matter what Robert has to say."
Sybil smiled, touched. "Thank you, Matthew."
"Before I go do see Larry out, though, I wonder if I could ask you something."
"What?"
"My best man was going to be a close friend from Manchester, but we leaned that he backed out a few days ago, just before you arrived. He's ill—too ill to make the journey. The point is, I can't get married without a best man. Do you think Tom would do the job?"
Sybil was dumbfounded. "You really mean it?"
Matthew nodded. "Assuming this won't incapacitate him for more than tonight."
"I'll ask him when he's better. I know he'll make the effort regardless of how he feels, and anyway, the wedding is still two days away."
"I'll hope for his speedy recovery then," Matthew said before taking his leave.
He hadn't been gone long when Mrs. Hughes returned with Sybil's dinner and a tray for Tom. Sybil woke him, helped him drink half a cup of tea and managed to keep him awake long enough to remove his shoes and suit. Once he laid down again, he was asleep within seconds.
It was past midnight when he finally woke, seeming more like himself than he'd been all night. After finishing her dinner, Sybil had changed into her nightdress and sat on the bed next to him with a book, waiting for him to stir. She'd all but given hope that he'd wake before tomorrow when he sat up, smacking his lips together as if trying to rid his mouth of a foul taste.
"What happened?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
Sybil quickly handed him a glass of water, which he eagerly took. "Larry proved himself a more despicable creature than I'd imagined. He put Lord knows what in your drink. You all but fainted at the dinner table. At first I thought it was a panic attack."
After finishing the glass of water, Tom took a deep breath. "I thought I did have one—at least that's the last thing I remember . . . standing in the drawing room and feeling like one was coming on. After that it's a blank. Was I horrible?"
Sybil smiled sweetly. "No, of course not. You just seemed disoriented is all, then you practically fell asleep on your feet. He might have given you a barbiturate . . . whatever it was, combined with the adrenaline that must have been pumping through your body at the time, it likely overwhelmed your senses and shut your body down."
Tom managed a smile. "Thank you, Nurse Branson."
"Please don't thank me," Sybil said. "I'm sorry that I did not see this coming."
"How could you have? Who'd have guessed he'd have done anything like this?"
Sybil sighed. "No one, I suppose, but even so."
Tom turned to put the glass on the night table on his side of the bed, then faced Sybil again, taking her hands in his. "Please don't worry about me, love. The way I see it, he did me a favor."
"How can you say that?"
Tom laughed, then grabbed his head as if the act itself had been painful. "Well, he did get me out of one dinner, didn't he? Now, we're one day closer to going home again, and your family doesn't suspect that your husband is a basket case."
Sybil smiled. "You're not a basket case."
Tom looked down, feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment.
Seeing the denial of her words in his face, she repeated, "You're not a basket case."
"I'm glad you don't think so," he said with a sad smile.
"No one with that label could possibly look at the silver lining of any situation as you are so clearly doing right now."
"Well, as long as you don't think I am one, that's all that matters.
"Matthew doesn't think you're one, either. In fact, he wants you to be his best man."
"What?" Tom asked in wide-eyed shock.
Sybil nodded.
"Why?"
"Because you're family now," Sybil said simply. "He asked after we brought you back up here."
"Did you say anything about my anxiety."
"Of course not!" Sybil exclaimed. "They don't need to know. Why would Matthew or anyone else in the family suspect anything other than the truth that Larry Grey played a horrible trick on you? If anything, seeing you so helpless and not knowing the cause to be anything but another person's absurd trickery endeared you to them all the more."
"So I really should thank him," Tom said with a laugh.
Sybil laughed too. "We'll send him a note tomorrow."
Tom laid back down and Sybil snuggled up next to him. The night's events already a memory to be laughed at. There would be more dinners, of course, but none would be so bad as this one had been, and that in itself served to make the rest easier. Larry Grey had done Tom a favor. He'd reminded Tom that Tom was never alone and that he was, despite his phobia, really rather lucky to be where he was—which was in Sybil's arms at the end of this and every day.