Author's note -

Oh dear, once again it's been a long time between updates! *blushes* Thank you as always for your feedback on this story collection, I really love to hear from you.:)

I wrote this fic for the lovely broadwaybaggins, based on a prompt she gave me longer ago than I care to remember (sorry!). It's in honour of Tom and Sybil Romance Week on Tumblr.

Took me by surprise

Even at the age of ten, Sybil was a rebel in the making.

Her sisters always did the right thing. What they wore, what they said, the way they ate and drank. Even their hobbies were 'appropriate' for the daughters of an Earl.

For Mary, it was horses – riding, showjumping, even the type of hunting which was still allowed when she was old enough.

Edith was the creative one – she loved to draw and paint, and one of her watercolours had pride of place on their father's desk.

But when the time came for Sybil to choose an out of school hours interest, the disapproval the Earl and Countess of Grantham felt was etched on their faces when she told them what she wanted to do.

"Where on earth did you get an idea like that?"

Their youngest daughter looked at her parents. The look was calm but resolute, a look her face has worn many times before. She had made up her mind, and she would stick to it, no matter what they said or did.

"It's something I've always wanted to do. I want to move after sitting down all day at school! And Irish dancing looks like so much fun."

She pulled a pamphlet out of her school bag and showed it to her parents.

"See? There's even a school in York when I can learn. Classes every Tuesday evening at 5, just down the road from St Olave's. I can get the bus home afterwards, it will be easy."

"No you won't!" exclaimed her mother. "We'll send Pratt to collect you. That's the only way I will agree to this."

The young girl smiled, knowing she had got her way.

Sybil was always putting on her ghillies at home and practising her 'skips' in her bedroom.

"Hop, front, back, front, hop, front, back, front..." she murmured to herself as she danced. When she saw herself in the mirror, her long dark curls were flying and untidy, her cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling ear to ear.

Mary came in, nearly crashing into her sister as she crossed the room from one corner to the other.

"Sybil, what on earth? I could hear you half way down the corridor. I think the chandeliers are rattling downstairs!"

"I'm having fun! I love dancing, it makes me feel so free, so... happy."

"But why Irish dancing? Why not something more suitable like ballet?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I don't want to be a prim little girl in a pink tutu. I like flying across the floor, making my presence felt. I'm going to keep doing it, and you can't stop me."

To emphasise her point, she stuck out her tongue at her older sister.

"I'll tell Papa if you do that again!"

"Go ahead and be a tattletale, I don't care." Sybil turned away.

"Turn out your feet! Point your toes!" she reminded herself as she started dancing again, leaving her sister behind.

Eight years later

"Ready, Sybil?"

Sybil looked up and smiled at her roommate Aoife, who was already halfway out the door.

"Where are we going again?

"It's a mixer, down in Temple Bar. Perfect for you, being new to Dublin and all."

On exchange for the coming university term despite the objections of her parents, Sybil was already relishing the freedom she'd found. She stood up, grabbing her jacket.

"Yes, come on! Let's go!"

The back room of the pub was already packed, traditional music blaring through the speakers and setting everyone's feet tapping. Dancers stamped and turned, stamped and turned again in a reel that Sybil recognised.

"It's a ceilidh!"

"Aren't you the clever one," deadpanned Aoife. "Come on, there are some people for you to meet."

Sybil was soon shaking hands and kissing cheeks, surrounded by a crowd of friendly faces.

"Ah, so you're the English girl we've been hearing so much about!" A man with dark hair and a lean face finished his pint and grinned at her.

She grinned back. "Yeah, I guess so. Sorry, Aoife introduced me to you all so quickly, I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Daniel, Daniel Lynch."

Aoife punched him on the arm, in an "I like this guy but he doesn't know it yet" way. "Usually known as Dan the Man," she said. "Another drink, Dan? I'm off to the bar."

"Another of the same would be grand. Cheers, Aoife."

"Sybil, what would you like? They may have some wine, I can ask for you?"

"No, it's alright. I want to try Guinness anyway, and where better to do it than here!"

"Coming right up!"

A while later, Sybil heard a piece of music begin playing, one she knew well. She saw Aoife heading out onto the dance floor and crossed the room towards her.

"May I join you?"

Her roommate looked surprised but pleased.

"Well, this one has special steps..."

"I know. It's St Patrick's Day, isn't it?" Sybil began to move, the steps she hadn't danced for years coming back to her.

"Yes, that's it! Come on, Sybil, this way."

The two girls linked arms. The music flashed through Sybil's veins like quicksilver, and she remembered why she had loved Irish dancing so much when she was young. Tossing her long curls back from her face, she danced into the heart of the crowd.

As she crossed the room, she caught sight of a good looking man staring at her - fair hair falling across his forehead, scruffy leather jacket, cheeky grin.

Wow, that guy is hot! Mmm... what have I got to lose?

At the end of the dance, she walked over to him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you fancied me."

He smiled, one eyebrow quirked, a glint in his dark blue eyes. "Perhaps you're not as smart as you think you are."

Oh really? Game on...

Drinking another Guinness as they started to talk, she realised that she'd never had such an easy conversation with someone she'd just met.

But it wasn't just talking they were doing. She could feel herself communicating with him at the level of their cells, far more deeply than mere words could reach. A smile seemed to be permanently on her lips and she kept touching his arm, her face not only warm from the heat of the room.

When he leaned in to ask her if she wanted to get some air, she nodded, taking his proffered hand as he led her outside. Knowing she'd never wanted anything as much as what was about to happen.

"Mmm, oh Tom, you're so..."

Sybil couldn't finish her sentence as Tom claimed her lips with his once more. A couple of lads making their way home caught sight of them, pressed up against the wall of the bar, and whistled loudly.

When he broke their kiss, he put one hand under her chin and lifted her face to his so that he could look into her eyes, his other arm still wrapped around her waist.

"Sybil, you're gorgeous, do you know that? I could hardly believe it when I saw you dancing out there, I thought I must be dreaming you. But here you are, in my arms, kissing me... how the hell did I get so lucky as to find you?"

"I was just wondering the same thing about you... Come here to me." She pulled his face down to hers and started to kiss him again, surprising herself with her self-confidence.

This time, their kiss lasted even longer. A moan rose up in her throat as she slid her fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair. She could feel his arms tightening around her as his tongue explored her mouth and he pushed her more firmly up against the wall. Heart racing in her chest, head swimming, legs trembling beneath her, she felt as if she'd fall if he let go of her.

She'd never been kissed like this before. In fact, she hadn't even known kissing could be like this!

A tug on her arm, which she ignored until it was repeated.

"Sybil, we have to go. Come on!" It was Aoife. At that particular moment, there was no-one Sybil wanted to see less.

"You can go without me if you want..."

"No, not going to happen. We've got to get back. Classes tomorrow, remember!"

Sybil reluctantly pulled herself out of Tom's arms, sighing as she did so.

"Might see you around some time?" she murmured, not wanting to seem too eager.

"You can be sure of that," he replied, the same glint in his eyes.

Sybil walked into her Irish history tutorial the next morning and took a seat. Looking towards the front of the room, she froze.

The name scrawled on the whiteboard read "Dr Branson", but she didn't need to read it to know exactly who was sitting at the desk.

She just hadn't known his surname before.

When he looked up from his laptop and saw her, their eyes locked.

Oh God, I snogged my history tutor last night!