A/N: I'm posting this mostly for dustedoffanoldie! Because she asked, oh so nicely. Also, I've had this written for a couple of weeks now, and it ironically fits a prompt on across-the-rubicon. Loosely, but the idea is there.

ALSO, I love how all I have to do is put a character's life in peril and suddenly my reviews and page hits skyrocket. You all may hate Fellowes but you play into his games oh so nicely. I AM SO DISAPPOINTED IN ALL OF YOU.

Just kidding. Kind of.

Enjoy?

Song: Where You Are - Gavin DeGraw

Dinner had ended nearly an hour ago, and while everyone upstairs went to the drawing room for a glass of brandy or a cup of tea, Sybil found herself downstairs, pacing back and forth in the hallway that separated the kitchen from the servant's lounge. She had put Madeleine to bed before dinner, not having enough energy to fight the child and keep her on schedule when it was clear all she wanted to do was sleep. Sybil was sure this would have them both up at four, but with Tom gone, she wasn't sleeping much lately, and Sybil was positive she wouldn't mind the company when she spent the early morning hours lost in a book he had left behind.

Wanting to pass the time, Sybil asked the kitchenmaids if they wanted any help clearing the meal. Each girl, already moving onto making pastries for next morning's breakfast assured her that they did not, and then proceeded to thank her for such an offer. When all of them went to the back pantry to retrieve flour and sugar and shortening, they'd laugh, finding themselves utterly amused by this young girl. She was different from the rest of them and they wondered how she had escaped it all and become the woman she now was while Mary and Edith were still very much the women they were.

They were fascinated though, by Sybil's clear ignorance to the way a kitchen was meant to be run, while at the same time finding it notable that she was able to hold her daughter on her hip while warming a bottle for the same child and holding a conversation with Mrs. Patmore.

They may have not understood it, but they all found themselves respecting this girl for her eagerness

"Are you sure I can't get you anything, Lady Sybil?"

Sybil released the bite she had on her bottom lip and looked up to Thomas. He was carrying an empty tray of cups which Sybil assumed meant that everyone upstairs was headed to bed now. She dropped her hands from her hips and stopped pacing, long enough to provide the footman with a smile and a response. "Actually, could I have a warm glass of milk?"

Thomas smiled. "Of course, milady. Would you like me to send it up to your room?"

"Oh, no," Sybil replied. "I'm waiting for a call from Tom so I'll be down here for a bit. But thank you."

As Thomas walked away, Sybil returned to pacing. The cuticles around her nails were nearly invisible now, and she wondered what in God's name was taking Tom so long. Another pang of worry and guilt shot through her abdomen, replacing the constant nausea she had been experiencing there lately.

Even though he had promised, it wasn't Tom who called Sybil when he arrived. Katherine made the call, and although Sybil was glad to hear he had returned safely, she much would have preferred to hear such an affirmation coming in the form of her husband's voice. Quickly, such a thought disappeared, and Katherine quickly dominated the conversation with discussion on her upcoming wedding. She closed the conversation wishing that Sybil and Tom could attend, to which Sybil agreed and then hung up.

Thomas returned to Sybil, presenting her a warm mug of milk on a silver platter. He leaned down to hand it to the girl, and she smiled, graciously accepting it. Thomas assured her it was no problem, and then let her be as he disappeared back upstairs.

Sybil was sitting, sipping at her glass, watching as the hurried state of the downstairs turned into a more calm hustle. The pots and pans from dinner were all put away, and Sybil smelled as the dough for the next morning's meal began to rise in the kitchen. Daisy walked past her with a kettle of tea to bring to the sitting room for the rest of the servants and for a reason Sybil was unaware of, she wanted to join them. The longer Tom was gone, the more she found herself missing Dublin and the simple life they had there.

Not wanting to be obvious, but unable to keep from such a comforting task, Sybil rubbed at her stomach, and then found herself hoping Maddie was fast asleep and dreaming. She envied the young girl's innocence and the way she no doubt was unaware that her father was miles away securing a new life for her.

When the phone finally rang, Sybil sprang up. She pushed the door shut the door behind her, but left it slightly ajar, knowing this space was not hers to occupy indefinitely. She heard the girls in the kitchen laugh at her haste, but she thought nothing of them as she put down her half full glass of milk and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi," Tom managed, his voice harsh and slicked with a glass of whiskey. It comforted Sybil and warmed her the way the alcohol did for him.

"Hi," Sybil breathed out. She could have sworn it was for the first time since Tom had left her three days ago. "I miss you…"

"God, I miss you, Syb. What have you been up to?"

Sybil tried to smile, but she knew her face was pale and emotionless. "Really, not much. You picked a good week to go away, I guess. I haven't worked once."

Tom tried to laugh for the both of them. "This would happen."

"I know," she whispered.

"Everything's okay though? How's Mads?"

Sybil smiled at hearing the nickname Tom had begun to give their daughter. Originally she fought it, especially after she considered what everyone else would say when they heard it, but now, it comforted her, and made her need him all the more. "She's good. She was asking for you."

"Was she really?"

"No," Sybil dismissed with a laugh. "I think she knows something's up though. She seems to be getting awfully bored with me. She wants her Papa home." Sybil inhaled sharply. "And I can't really blame her."

"It's only a few more days, love. How are you though? You okay? You sound-"

"I'm pregnant, Tom."

There was silence on the receiver. Then tom breathed out, his voice turning into a slow laugh. "What?"

"I'm pregnant, Tom. I knew before you left but I-"

He heard the dejection in her voice and regretted the fact that he didn't have the ability to pull her in and kiss her temple. She wore her sadness like a crown, so high on her head, for all to see. Unlike most girls, she didn't see it as a vulnerability and Tom knew better than to ever force her to resort to such a practice.

"Oh, Syb," he said, now wanting to cry himself. "It's okay, love. Really. I know now."

"Are you happy? I mean, can we even afford another baby right now? And with Ireland…"

"Of course we can. And I am so happy, my darling. You have to believe me. God, Sybil, I wish I was there right now, with you," he whispered. She could picture him now, sitting on a stool at his mother's house in front of the telephone they had installed shortly after they departed. He was most likely touching his mouth, covering it with an anxious hand then bringing that same hand down to rest on his neck.

On the other end, Sybil heard a voice, presumably Tom's mother's voice, asking what was going on.

"Syb's pregnant again," Tom responded, his voice already sounding proud.

Praises of "comhghairdeas!" and "maith an bhean!" were heard over the telephone, and the last bit had Sybil giggling into her palm.

"Did she just?"

"I promise she's being nice…"

Sybil continued to giggle. "Well tell her I said 'go raibh mile maith agaibh'."

Tom could practically hear his wife smiling over the line. "She says your gaeilge is getting quite good."

"Did you tell her I make you speak it even though you hate it? Did you tell her I make you sing to Madeleine all those lullabies we both know you know?" Sybil teased.

"I will," Tom whispered. "Have I told you how much I've wanted you lately?

"Tom Branson that is naughty!" Sybil said, but with a rather wide close-lipped smile playing across her face. "Your family is right there!"

Tom shook his head. "They're back in the living room now, love. C'mon, I know you think the same. I know how you hate sleeping alone. You told me."

"I'm not saying those things over the telephone, Tom," Sybil said flatly, straightening up in the chair she was hugging the back of. "I don't know how these things work. What if someone hears?"

"What if I hear?" Tom teased, knowing this was driving Sybil mad now. She did want to reciprocate what he had just said, but she couldn't possibly do it over the phone, even if he was the only one listening. He deserved to be told, in person, and then showed, just how much she was missing him. Sybil was planning such things for the night he returned, and she hated for them to be spoiled now, over this thin electrical wire.

"Tom Branson, no!" Sybil yelped, in the way that only unsure girls can manage. "I am not saying anything."

"Not even how you miss me kissing the back of your neck after we make love or how you miss feeling me spill-"

"Tom Branson, don't you dare finish that sentence!"

"-my seed inside of you…"

"I'm hanging up."

"Do it," he challenged. Tom smiled, feeling proud and powerful that no matter how much she was provoked, she would never hang up on him. She wanted to hear these things just as much as she wanted to give them all back to him in the form of words and phrases and acts that would normally make her blush.

Sybil had gotten adventurous, something provoked by Tom, but wanted all the more for personal reasons. Like any girl, she had thoughts, thoughts she was of course told to suppress and be ashamed of. But she remembered that night in Liverpool before her and Tom departed for Ireland when he told her not to be ashamed and to just follow her heart. He was a constant in her life now, and every time she was with him, she was reminded that it was okay to feel everything he was conjuring up in her.

Without thinking, Sybil leaned forward in her chair and kicked at the door with the heel of her foot. It slammed into the frame on the wall, reverberating through the line to tickle Tom's ears. He beamed. "Did you just?" He paused. "You did! You shut the door!"

"Tom Branson, I did nothing of the sort," she sighed, doing her best to cause the tingling in her abdomen to subside. "The wind-"

"The wind, my arse. C'mon Syb. You clearly want privacy. Might as well just tell me everything you've thought since I left."

"You're being cocky, Tom, and I don't appreciate it."

"No," he corrected for her. "You love when I get bigheaded. What you hate is when I'm right. And when I'm impatient. So I will give you that…" he said, his voice trailing off.

He waited for her to fill the silence, but she said nothing. They were like this sometimes, usually close at night after they had laid Maddie down. Their banter had always been sharp and playful but it was taken to even better heights when the two were feeling up to it. Part of them knew, or at least Tom figured, it was because they had missed so many of their younger years together.

There were words and sentiment, both sincere and inappropriate that went left unsaid between the two of them. They had revealed much since their marriage, but even all of the feelings and thoughts Sybil had at eighteen could not be conveyed in their entirety now. Besides, she would tell herself, they had advanced greatly since then.

"Fine," Tom breathed out. "You know, the girls here thought you had left me when I returned without you. They were staring in church…"

"Were they?" Sybil played along.

"They were."

"I went out to see Keegan the other day."

Tom let out a loud guffaw. "Oh, did you?" He continued to laugh at the thought of Sybil going out to the garage now. Suddenly that thought was ridiculous. "How was that?" he teased.

"Okay, you know what, I am really hanging up this time. You are playing games…"

"Sybil, love, calm down, alright?"

"You know that's not fair, Tom. You know I don't like to acknowledge all of the irish girls and the way they want you…"

"Then we won't acknowledge it."

"You just said-"

"I didn't notice anyone staring," he stated plainly for her to hear. "I'm just trying to have some fun. I'll stop."

"I didn't go out to see Keegan. That would just be silly!"

"I know," Tom said, still laughing at the idea. "You're a really shoddy liar, m'love."

"I mean, that would just be cruel and very, very inappropriate," she said, almost as if she was the one that needed to remind him. "And why would I, really?"

"Syb, it was a joke. I got it."

"Okay."

"Why are you so nervous love?"

"I haven't talked much since you left."

"They've got you caged, have they?"

"No," she said, shaking off such an image with a laugh. "It's just been weird. Is this what it was like when you were here alone?"

"Well it was worse because your family hated me then, and," he said loudly, talking over the words he knew she was about to speak, "rightfully so."

"Well you come home the day after next." She sighed, gathering all the courage she could muster. Already she could feel a brush creeping up her cheeks. "And I do miss you laying next to me at night."

"Just laying?"

"No, of course not. More," she said, her words trying just as hard as she was to get through all of this. She wanted her husband and her best friend, but what she wanted more was to not have to tell him things over the telephone line. She needed him here with her, so that if anything, she could show him just how much he meant to her, especially after a period of absence. "You know what I want, Tom," Sybil gritted through clenched teeth.

Tom sighed. "Two days," he whispered. If she could see him now she'd tell him that he looked like a child with his arm lazily propping up his head, and he'd respond by pulling her down to sit on his lap. Of course she'd giggle, and then he'd tickle her sides and she'd protest, not because she didn't love the feeling of his hands gliding up and down her sides, but because she wanted to stop laughing long enough to taste him and feel him on her lips.

"Two days," she repeated. Sybil looked much like he, with her head propped up on a lazy arm. She was tired, and only acknowledged such a thing now as their conversation was nearing its end. She knew that they could talk forever, about the time he had spent with his family, the arrangements in signing the flat over to Katherine and her fiance, and how everything at the governor's office had gone over.

She'd hear it soon though, and she knew that such things would sound much sweeter when falling from his lips. He'd tell her all of those things and then she'd whisk him upstairs to their room where they'd allow everyone else to think they were unpacking.

"Will you call again before you're home?"

"I don't think so. I have a meeting to go to tomorrow-"

"A meeting?" Sybil croaked out. Her fingers were at her lips now, drawing slow lines on the skin that missed him.

Tom laughed. "A church meeting. They want to rebuild the school."

"Oh. We still have some of Papa's money. Could we-"

"We'll discuss it when I get back."

He wanted to say yes, to accept her offer immediately, if only to let her know how much he loved her giving spirit. Tom heard how tired she was, and because of this, felt that perhaps she was sleeping just as lousily as he had been with an ocean in between them.

"You should go get some sleep, darling."

Sybil shook her head as if he could see her. Then she laughed, remembering how far away he was. "Even if I go up, I won't sleep."

"Maybe you will. If you're that tired. I won't be offended, you know. I promise you that tonight I'm going to try and do the same thing, even if you're not next to me."

"Promise?" She asked, feeling as if he had read her mind. Maybe that was it. Falling asleep without Tom was like admitting such a thing was possible. Of course it was, but she didn't want it to be.

"I love you, Tom."

Tom smiled and breathed out into the received creating a wave of white noise over the line. "I love you too, crazy girl."

Sybil hung up, and quickly composed herself as she stood up and grabbed her mug from where it was sitting, now empty, on the edge of Mrs' Hughes' desk. At the door, she was stationary. She took a deep breath and then opened it, ready to face the world knowing that Tom was still safe in Ireland and would be returning to her soon.

"All set, milady?"

Sybil stopped, standing now at the door to the servants' quarters. "Yes, thank you, Thomas."

"Of course. Can I take your mug, milady?"

Sybil just nodded, handing the young footman back the very cup he had handed her not even ten minutes ago. She pressed a hand to her cheek and giggled, then ran upstairs. Suddenly, everything she had kept from saying to Tom, everything he wanted to hear, flashed in her mind and she was left feeling deviant for having those thoughts.

Once upstairs, she ran quickly to her room and changed into her nightgown. As she buttoned the material along her hemline she stared down at a sleeping Maddie resting soundly in her crib. Sybil kissed her fingertips and then pressed her hand down to the infant's forehead. When she did not stir, Sybil dimmed the light on the wall and walked to her bed in the dark. She allowed the comforter they usually shared to cover her in a way that he normally would. It was warm and safe here, she thought, but she was more than ready to go back to Dublin now.

What did we think? Fluff is good, right?

Maith an bhean means good wife. When you translate it to english it sounds much more sexist than it's meant to. Kind of like, hey, you did your duty as a wife and got knocked up, congrats! Hence why Sybil (and people like my mother) would have an issue with such a form of congratulations. But again, it's not meant to be like that.

Before I get a condescending review telling me Tom's family wouldn't have a telephone, my grandmother grew up pretty poor in Ireland and they had a telephone. I know because it was a running joke in my house because my grandfather who grew up in the same town, apparently did not. So there. I'm sorry for taking away your chance at a snarky review.

x. Elle