Timeline: Dublin. All things Irish, all the time (finally!). If you know me, you know that I grew up in a home where my Irish heritage is very prominent. I come from a huge Irish Catholic family and I know a little bit of Gaeilge. When Fellowes completely dropped all of these great story lines, I was crushed. Needless to say, the Irish girl in me was so nostalgic writing all of this! Whatever I have kept from this point on that is true to canon is because I wish to rewrite what Fellowes treated with little care. Please do not for a minute think that I think this man had any proper execution in the small amount of good ideas he had with season 3.
Song: In This Boat Together - The Frames
The night sky was dotted with pinks and blues fading out into a much more somber grey that shaded in the tops of the Dublin skyline. They were both sleepy now, shown best by Sybil latching onto Tom's arm as he pointed out his favorite places in the smog covered city. He was sure she would forget all of this in the morning but she egged him on nonetheless, nodding into him as she watched their feet cross over one another on the cobblestone streets below.
Sybil giggled into his shoulder as a silence settled over them. She wanted to be home, wherever that was, with Tom. Her legs were growing weak and all traces of her aristocratic background were left back in Yorkshire before they had departed. Like the one piece of luggage she was carrying, she was more than willing to leave most of herself behind. She imagined her suitcase was enough for all of Dublin to see that this journey had changed her. She would have come empty-handed if it meant convincing the rest of the world her feelings for Tom were real.
The walk from the docks into the North side of town was simple but calculated. Sybil followed Tom, loving how he pulled her along, inviting her to places he had been a million times. This was home for him and she thought, as she took in the government buildings that disappeared into rows of working-class homes, it could absolutely be home for her as well.
"Sybil, we're here."
She looked up, her eyes feasting on a row of brick townhouses pushed up tightly against one another. It was dark but the light from the street lamps guided them down the row to where Sybil could only assume Tom's parents lived. Their house in particular was three cramped stories much like the others. She wondered, as they stepped inside and Sybil realized these were apartments and not town homes, how many families lived like Tom's in living quarters much too small for their large families. Sybil also made a mental note to ask if this was the home he grew up in or if they had moved since then.
Immediately she thought of Downton, and how a few years ago it was the only place she called home. Now that definition was changing, marked by the boy holding her hand, leading her into the warmth of the interior that now protected them.
"This is quaint."
Tom laughed. "You know I hate that word." A reminder of the vocabulary, the words he used, like humming her favorite song on a warm Spring day for only her to hear.
Sybil smiled in return, throwing her arm over his shoulder as she did so. Their faces were rather close now, urging Sybil to kiss his lips and entice him into more. In doing so, she had ignored Tom ringing one of the bells on the wall behind her back. It only occurred to her that they were not alone when Mrs. Branson, a petite woman in her mid-fifties opened the door behind them to reveal her middle child and his bride-to-be attached at the lips. "Tom Branson, I swear to Christ when you are in this house-"
Tom separated himself from Sybil. The warmth of his fiance was replaced by the heat he felt coming from his mother's stance, her hands on her hips as she glared at the two of them in patient scorn. "Hi Mam-"
"Hi Mam?" Her words were incredulous. "I don't see you in four years and it's 'Hi Mam'? And you're kissing girls on my doorstep-" Sybil watched as Mrs. Branson left them at the open door, traveling down the long hallway that separated the front door from the rest of the house.
They followed, Tom grabbing Sybil's hand to lead her in. She obliged, but only when his other hand found the small of her back. There was an urgency in their motions, one not evident minutes before when the cold night pushed them off the ferry and onto the streets of the city.
"Not a girl, Ma, this is Sybil," Tom offered, nudging her forward. Sybil, like a doll at his mercy, smiled, loving the way she would never be just a girl to him. She would have kissed his cheeks for that statement if his mother wasn't still looking at them waiting for an answer to a question she had yet to ask. Sybil wondered if the world would ever let them explain or if it would always be like this; their existence being enough proof.
Sybil took off her gloves and immediately stuck out her hand with an enthusiasm not seen by Mrs. Branson or this house in quite some time. "Hello Mrs. Branson. Sybil Crawley. Erm, I'm sorry we were-" Sybil pointed over her shoulder toward the door. Her voice trailed off, realizing it was impossible to justify such a thing. Sybil also wasn't sure she wanted to excuse herself, her lips still tingling.
"Hi, dear." Mrs. Branson took her in, starting at her shiny black shoes and then going all the way up to her dark hair, pinned back at the nape of her neck. She certainly did not look Irish. Or rather, did not look like any Irish girls from this neighborhood. Maybe Tommy could tell them he found her in Southern Ireland, she thought. "Have you eaten? Has he fed you?" She was off again, leaving the thought behind. Sybil noticed how fleeting Mrs. Branson seemed to be. She was there and then she was gone, onto the next task in the next room over.
"He has. We had dinner on the train." It was a fact Sybil was proud of. They had soup, something so simple and yet Sybil couldn't remember a time her and Tom had been more content. Was it really one of the first meals they had shared together?
"Lovely." Her response was curt and as she returned, brushing past her son and this new girl, It was then that Sybil realized her face was not in time with the words she spoke, causing a cautious lump to grow in the young girl's throat.
Sybil straightened up, taking all of this in. They may have arrived in Dublin but Sybil still felt as if she was in limbo, forfeiting her acceptance at Downton only to be poorly welcomed into this new world.
"Sybil, darling, you can put your bags in here," Mrs. Branson said, gesturing to the room behind where Sybil stood. The young girl looked up, watching as Mrs. Branson opened the door to reveal a modest room with a bed and an armoire. It reminded Sybil of the inn her and Tom had stayed at while in Liverpool. She reminded herself not to say that, a thought that was only reinforced when his mother's next order came: "Tom, you're on the couch tonight."
"What about Katherine's old room?" Now he was moving too, if only to keep up with his mother. Sybil remained stationary behind them, her arms clasped in front of her with her drawstring bag hanging down near her knees. It swayed in time but eventually came to a stop. For a moment, Sybil wished to disappear into her room and fall asleep. A tired mind pictured her, even here, sitting on the floor and closing her eyes.
"Oh, is the couch not good enough for you?" Mrs. Branson's tone changed from one of indignation to one of pure fact. "Your sister is asleep in her old room. She's home from school this weekend. Excuse her for inconveniencing you." Somehow Sybil was attentive to this, noticing for as active as his mother was, her demeanor seemed to be rather kind. She was cold but comforting in the same way cooled tea was to a thirsty mouth.
"And Pa?"
"Will be home on Friday." Mrs. Branson was off toward the kitchen now, leaving Sybil and Tom to simply gawk at one another in the hallway. They soon followed, but only because they were left without any other options. Tom had briefed Sybil on his family but for some reason it was the look on his face that made her seem as if this was all new for him as well. "What is it with all the questions? Is this my home or yours?"
Tom turned to Sybil, noticing how her eyes had widened the more they sunk back into their shells. He felt bad for leaving her so exhausted like this, especially when his mother seemed to want to wake them both up. "Syb, can I talk to my Mam alone? I'm sorry, love..."
If they were in the same place they had been for the past few months, neither at Downton or in Dublin, Sybil was sure that question would have been followed by a kiss to the forehead. It was her favorite part of being with Tom, their little kisses shared like secrets between two people who felt that the world owed them moments like these to be cherished. Each kiss like a whisper: you're young, you love each other, enjoy this.
"Don't apologize. I'm going to unpack my things and then read the paper," Sybil whispered. For reasons she was unaware of, she was hesitant of how to react to Tom's mother. She had always been the only girl in Tom's life and now she was at the mercy of this woman whose petite frame was demanding of respect and yet still so discrete.
Tom watched Sybil go, his eyes trained on her back as she shut out this new Irish world. His mother had been watching too, watching the way his son stared at this new girl, wondering all the while how much weight this all carried. Her words did not come until the guest bedroom door was flush securely against the jamb. "Is she pregnant?"
Mrs. Branson was standing on one side of the kitchen counter with her son on the other. At the sound of her voice, Tom approached her. "What? No, she is most definitely not pregnant!"
"Are you positive?"
"Fully, Ma!" Tom rubbed at his eyes out of both shock and embarrassment. This was most certainly not the conversation he wanted to be having with his mother. Not now, after midnight, and not ever, even after his mother would learn what a kind and compassionate love he had found in the girl on the other side of the door.
"I saw the look you gave her when I told you the sleeping arrangements. I know how you boys are-"
"No, Ma, you know how Kieran and Michael were. Sybil is a good girl. Hell, she's the best. She makes me better..."
"And when this love wears off? Hmm? What then, Tommy?"
Tom leaned over the counter, grabbing for the mug of coffee his mother had just poured for him. God, he had missed this. There was a routine here, a routine that despite the best parts of himself he wanted to escape from when he was seventeen. It was also the same routine that pulled him back to Dublin and beckoned that he stay. He wished to show it to Sybil, hoping that like the best of habits, she'd allow it to grab her and never let her go. There was love here worth searching for.
"It hasn't. I've loved her for almost six years now and I reckon she's loved me for just as long. If it hasn't worn off by now I don't know if it ever will. I just know I never want it to-"
Mrs. Branson sat down at the stool next to her son. Tom looked up, unaware of when she had even come out from behind the counter. Gently, she placed a hand to her son's shoulder. "Tommy, you are so far in. You don't know, my boy. You don't know how hard this is going to be. She is English! They have killed your family! You don't know what it's been like here-"
He stood up now, leaving his coffee mug behind. "And you don't know her! I don't care where she was born or where she grew up, okay? I love her, you're right. And I won't apologize for that. She is the best thing to ever happen to me. And I'm sorry she's not the girl you always wanted for me-"
His mother was sitting and he was standing off by the oven on the far wall. The roles had changed but not in the way he wanted them to. She was right; he was almost too far in.
"Tommy, I just want you to be happy. Please do not have me mistaken for a mother who cares more about the nationality of her grand babies-and there will be grand babies- than her son's health and happiness. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."
Tom laughed. A typical Irish Catholic response: warning against the evils of pregnancy all the while expecting the very thing should a grandmother stand to be successful in this world. He thought of his mother and her church groups discussing his new wife and the life Tom had undoubtedly led in England to find her. But of course all ills can be explained away by the presence of a child.
"You can ask me-"
Tom turned, hearing his fiancee's voice from behind where he stood. His back was to her but he could feel her eyes burning into him. She was asking for assistance when it was her turn to be his rock.
"Sybil, love, it's-"
She stepped forward. It was now that Tom realized how much closer she was to his mother than he had originally guessed. He turned around, not paying attention to the look on Sybil's face. He knew this version of her well. Now It was his mother that he was worried about.
"No, Tom. I can't sit there and pretend I'm not hearing all of this. And Mrs. Branson, I'm sorry to talk out of turn and my mother would probably smite me if she saw me right now but I'd like to ask you what part of this you think was all Tom? What part do you think I was given absolutely no choice in? Do you think I was forced on the boat or dragged to your doorstep? Because I wasn't. Your son is my best, best friend and we made these decisions together. That's why I love him so very much. He gives me options and we almost always agree on the outcomes together..."
"Excuse me, Sybil I just have a hard time figuring out why a girl like you, with your looks and standing would want to come to Dublin. You're young, I get that. But you're giving up a lot."
"It's not my world to lose." Her words were matter of fact. Tom loved her honesty and wished that she would keep talking so he could commit more of it to memory.
"Fair enough."
"If you don't want me to stay here, I understand but I'm not going anywhere-"
The mood in the room changed. "Darling, if my son says you are as wonderful of a girl as you seem to be, you are always welcome in this house, do you hear me?" Something that Sybil was sure would have offended Tom's mother instead instilled respect between the two women. Tom smiled, doing his best not to show his satisfaction.
"Yes ma'am."
"Enough with the 'ma'am' nonsense...it's Helen."
Sybil smiled. Growing up in a world where respect was given and not earned she found herself oddly surprised that she had somehow won over Mrs. Branson. Never before did Sybil care what someone thought of her the way she cared about Tom's mother's opinion. It meant almost as much to her as the love of her son. "Right. Of course. And we really appreciate all of this. I know it's an inconvenience-"
"Sybil, you're a part of this family now. Or you will be. I just need you to be strong while you're here. Dublin is my home and we're a good people but your people haven't always been kind...do you understand that?"
Sybil sighed, stepped into where Tom and his mother were. The gap was closed, alleviated by the sigh Sybil let out. "Unfortunately, I do. Is it really as bad as you say?"
"It's getting better. But I can tell you now they're not going to like the fact that my Tommy has married an English girl. And they definitely will not like the fact that you're a 'crat."
"Mam!"
Sybil was next to Tom now. He shivered when he felt her hand upon his. He remembered back to the garden party and how many times she had held his hand since then. This was the seventh time, if his memory was correct.
"She's fine, Tom. Don't raise your voice to your mother, please..."
"And you? What do you think of all of it?" Tom looked down, avoiding his mother's glance as he instead stared at the space between him and Sybil where their hands were attached.
"I think that you're both foolish but I remember what it's like to be young and in love. I remember how nothing else in the world mattered and Sybil seems to be a strong girl and I know how strong you are, Tommy." A deep inhalation settled the matter: "You two will be fine."
"Is that your blessing, Ma?"
"That's my blessing. When your father gets home we'll discuss it more. I'm not going to stop you. You're both adults. I need to remember that."
"Thanks, Ma," Tom whispered. He hadn't urged the action but his lips were suddenly pressed to Sybil's cheek, a reassurance for the love he felt radiating around the room. As his mouth graced her skin, she smiled into his lips, both of them forgetting where they were and who they were with.
Mrs. Branson took off her apron. She hung the material on the back of the pantry door, wiping her hands on the soft cloth after she did so. "Don't mention it. And please don't wake everyone. I put a kettle on for Tea for you, Sybil. Blow out the candles before bed, you hear?"
"Thank you..." They both mumbled, watching as Helen disappeared out of the kitchen and to the back hallway where the rest of the household inhabitants were fast asleep. Sybil was jealous, wanting so badly to be fast asleep in Tom's arms. She blushed, thinking of the night before, the first night she was allowed to fall asleep next to him.
Tom poured Sybil a cup of tea. She admired his attention to detail; two sugar cubes and a splash of milk. "Whose here?," Sybil inquired.
"Katherine's home from school, then Patrick."
"And your Dad..."
"Works in London during the week."
Sybil looked down, sipped her tea causing her eyes to disappear into the glass mug. "Right. Sorry."
Tom reached out, stroking her hand. "He's a good man, Syb. He just got caught up in the wrong stuff. The Rising was-"
"I'm sure he's a great man. I don't think you came out of nowhere...the house is lovely," Sybil finished.
Tom smiled. "It becomes less lovely the more people are in it. Wait for Sunday brunch."
Sybil brightened up, suddenly loving how natural all of this was. "How many will there be then?"
"Twenty, maybe."
Still smiling, she giggled. "Oh, I love it." A number that would usually seem overwhelming at Downton was suddenly conservative and welcoming.
"We'll see."
"I will. I love it already. The city is beautiful and your Mum was perfect."
"You don't have to lie about my Mam-"
Sybil cut him off. "She was! She likes me..."
The air softened. "Anyone would be crazy not to love you..." He kissed her forehead. Tom's words were true, as true as they had ever been. She wanted to hear them again. Instead, she continued the conversation, hoping words would reform to make sentences that sounded exactly the same.
"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight."
Tom looked up. A silence must have settled over them causing her admission to catch him off guard. His face dropped, drawing a blank stare for him to cast upon her. "You have to, Syb. I wish I could-"
"No, I know. And I would never. I'm being silly, I guess. For a girl that's barely had you in her bed I'm missing it more than I should."
"I'll be in your bed soon enough," Tom said. He was teasing, she knew that much. She also knew she enjoyed when they were like this. She was a woman now. Something she used to have to remind herself of was now so evident every time he smiled her way.
Tom moved over to where she was, wrapping his arms around her midsection. She settled back into him, loving the way her body fit perfectly against his. "I just want you to hold me, just like this."
"I would if I could. To sleep by your side would be perfect."
Sybil closed her eyes to savor the moment.
As she opened them, she awoke up in what she remembered was the guest room. She was in her nightgown, figuring she must have changed herself before bed. Her hair was braided; she guessed she had done that too. The bed she was curled up in was warm despite the room lacking a fireplace. Not warm enough though, to keep her.
She grabbed for her shawl and wrapped the scarf material around her body. She remembered how she had done the same thing on the night she left Downton for the first time. Now, she needed it for different reasons. For comfort, and not to fight off the cold.
Her feet brought her to the couch, the same cushioned love seat her fiance was sleeping soundly on. She watched him, loving the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed in and out. Sybil so lovingly wanted to let him sleep, if only so she could watch him, but she thought better of it. This was not her house, and although she may not be a lady anymore, she still respected the woman she knew was sleeping only a floor above. "Tom?"
He opened his eyes, but only barely. It was enough for him to see her hovering above him, playing with the curled hairs at the tied off end of her braid. Dear god, she was beautiful. "Sybil, you need to get to bed," he whispered, allowing his mind to speak things his heart wouldn't dare. Other parts of him doubted his statement as well.
"I can't sleep, Tom. Not without you. This is my first night here. Please-"
She was begging and Tom couldn't help but to want to give in. "Syb, my Mam-" But he knew this was a battle worth losing. After he had sent her off to bed he had wished the same thing; for her body to be pressed against his just as it was the night before on the small bed they shared.
"I'll go back to bed before daybreak," she said, doing her best to convince him of her innocent intentions, intentions he didn't doubt or reciprocate. "Please, Tom. I need you."
He didn't answer her. He couldn't lie, not now with her lips so full and her hair so mussed; he needed her too. Dancing around the issue was no use; Tom picked up the quilt he was laying underneath and invited her in. Immediately, he felt the smooth skin of her legs as her body pressed against his on the couch. He had seen the nightgown she had worn to bed and the way it had fallen down almost to her ankles. As she nestled into him, it hiked up past her knee. Tom shivered, thinking how close they had become in such a short period of time.
Instinctively, she moved against him causing him to respond in a similar manner. Soon, they were both perfectly comfortable, even on the small confines of the couch. Christ, she was so small and yet to strong. he thought. She clung to him the way she had so many times before. This time, out of want, and not out of need.
No matter what she said, he'd always be able to see through her and right now he was proud of the fact. He thought of Downton and this girl he used to call a friend. She was breathing into his neck now, taking every inch of him in as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
Tom wanted to laugh; she had once denied him of friendship and now, as he laid next to the one girl in the world who would always be his best friend, he thought of how they were so much more. As Sybil fell asleep, their bodies intertwined, Tom thought how he didn't want her to leave at Daybreak. He didn't ever want her to leave.
Indifferent to the guilt they felt and the duty they had to be respectful, Tom and Sybil could only accept the rush they felt in their cheeks when Mrs. Branson found them the next morning, breathing each other in and out as sleep continued to reassure them.
Thanks for reading!
x. Elle