A/N: Trying to get an actual canon story done, saw the weekly challenge ('anywhere with water'), and my plans went to heck. Actually, I had a couple of scenes for a non-canon story rolling around in my head anyway and I just merged them together, which proved to be a bit of a challenge itself. "Home" was intended to be a stand-alone one-shot, but since this piece used my same headcanon with Sybil and Tom still at Downton with their son, I decided to add this as a subsequent chapter. I had started writing a fanfiction prior to Season 3 covering the Bransons' return to Downton and imagined their child to be a boy (never dreaming Julian Fellowes would insert the guillotine mid-season). I may pull some of that material into additional chapters, so I'm leaving the door open for more. This one's a little hokey but most of my writing requires a little humor so I just went with it.

And, yes, Yankee Countess, Bobby is indeed short for Robert – 'little Bobby Branson' seemed to have a nice Irish ring to it and made him sound just mischievous enough to be his father's son. ;)

Thanks to everyone for the reviews – stories are meant to be enjoyed and I hope you like this one as well. And a very happy Thanksgiving weekend to my fellow Americans out there.

Disclaimer: Dammit, Fellowes.

2. Monsters and Midnight Revels

(Downton, Late Summer, 1923)

Tom moved leisurely against his wife's body and moaned her name, an unintelligible sound, into the pillow beside her head. She was kissing that sensitive spot just below his ear, intent on driving him mad and enjoying every second of it. The early and vicious effects of her second pregnancy had finally abated enough for her to feel somewhat normal again, with the added benefit of whatever medical miracle occurred that made her want to devour him. He remembered it happening before when she carried their son, a few months of mood swings, morning sickness and general fatigue, followed shortly thereafter, and somewhat suddenly, with wanton desire. He wasn't sure what caused it and, quite frankly, didn't care. Especially right now with her writhing beneath him, her nails burrowing into his back. He wasn't going to last much longer, and just wanted to close the deal as quickly as possible and be inside her. It's been too long, he mused…his mind was so focused on the task at hand that he barely registered the soft tap-tap-tap on his right forearm. He ignored it, and reached down to tug at her knee, bringing her hip in alignment with his and…. tap-tap-tap.

Breathing heavily, Tom glanced down at the sensation and startled at the sight of a smaller, but identical pair of his own blue eyes peering back at him over the edge of the mattress. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" He snatched up the rumpled sheet, trying to cover (at a minimum) his wife's beautiful body.

In the soft lamplight, Sybil's eyes followed her husband's gaze down to their son. Her hands bumped awkwardly with Tom's as they both tugged on the covers. "Bobby, darling, what's the matter?"

Little Bobby Branson, recently three years old and (fortunately for his parents) oblivious to what he interrupted, stood by their bed, tears pooling in his eyes as he held tightly to the hand of his two-year-old cousin beside him. "There's monsters under my bed," he replied.

Tom's head dropped to his wife's shoulder, his heart clamoring to find its original spot in his chest.

"Bobby, I promise there are no monsters under your bed," his mother assured him, reaching out to brush his sandy brown locks.

"Yes, there are! David heard them too!"

Tom and Sybil both looked at their nephew, who nodded his impossibly blonde head with a thumb plugged in his mouth and a blanket secured in the crook of his arm.

"Do you remember what I told you about making the monsters go away, what you should tell them?" Tom asked his son.

Bobby nodded. "Imigh leat!" he said, matter-of-factly.

"And did you say it like you meant it?"

"It didn't work," he said with a shrug, his hands aloft. "They're English monsters."

Sybil nearly choked on a stifled laugh as her two men stared at one another with matching expressions of frustration.

"They have big eyes, with lots of hair and hit the floor with their feet," Bobby said, thumping one foot to imitate the scary sound. "And they growl just like the ones Uncle Matthew told us about in the bedtime story."

Tom narrowed his eyes, silently cursing his brother-in-law. "Then perhaps Uncle Matthew should be the one to go slay the evil monsters…."

Bobby shook his head and plopped two chubby hands over his cousin's ears. "But Uncle Matthew's not as brave as you, Da," he whispered.

Sybil bit back a smile and pressed a kiss on her husband's cheek. "This sounds like a job for an Irishman. I'm not going anywhere. Besides," she whispered, rubbing her hip against him playfully, "I think we're going to have to start from scratch again anyway."

Tom sighed, realizing she was right. Nothing could kill an arousal like a three-year-old's eyeballs. He pointed down at his son's feet. "Bobby, be a good lad and hand your Da his pajamas."

The little boy did as instructed and waited patiently as his father tugged them on out of sight on the other side of the bed. "Why aren't you wearing them, Da?

"Ask your mother," he replied, wryly.

"Tom!" She crooked a displeased eyebrow at him as he snatched his dressing gown from a nearby chair.

"Follow me, boys" he said, heading for the door. "Let's go slay some monsters."

Bobby pulled firmly at his father's hand, worry etching his cherubic face. "But, Da, don't you need one of Grandpapa's guns?"

Tom glanced to his wife for support, but by her position, now nestled back against the pillows with a book in hand, he appeared to be on his own. "I'm afraid Grandpapa's guns are only good for killing pheasants."

"But you can't go in there alone!"

"Alright, alright," he groaned, glancing anxiously around the room. He padded over and snatched a poker from the hearth, and presented it to his son for approval. Bobby gave a quick satisfied nod and followed his father from the room, his little cousin in tow.

Tom paused outside the boys' room and glanced down at them, seriously. "Stay here. I'll just be a minute." He closed the door behind him and smiled proudly as he heard his son declare, "Don't worry, David, my Da will get rid of those monsters for you."

This wasn't his first attempt to purge monsters from his child's dreams, although he was curious as to why none had appeared in recent months. The door secured behind him, he pounded the poker on the floor, repeated the Irish order he ensured his son would work, along with a few native profanities for good measure. He then opened and closed the windows for effect before appearing back in the hall, wiping his brow. "You're right, Bobby, those English monsters are rather stubborn. But, they're no match for the Branson boys, right?" Bobby nodded proudly and led his cousin into their room. Tom tucked both of them back in bed, planting a kiss on each of their heads, before heading down the hall to his waiting, and hopefully still-naked, wife.

Sybil placed her book aside as he closed the door and quickly began divesting himself of his dressing gown and pajama bottoms. He slipped beneath the covers and resumed his earlier position. She couldn't help but laugh. "Eager, are we?"

He brushed a hand up her thigh, pushed his hips against hers, before leaning down to press a warm kiss to her mouth. "If I recall correctly, you were the one that had me on the bed as soon as you could after dinner."

She nestled into the mattress and ran nimble fingers through his hair. "I suppose you're right. Now where were we?"

He captured her mouth, his tongue seeking hers before trailing his hands lower to tease her. She grinned wickedly as he worked his fingers between her legs and slid one into her, eliciting a groan into his mouth as he rubbed a sensitive spot just inside her entrance. She whimpered slightly as he began taking his time, drawing out her arousal. Whether it was just to tease her or prolong the moment, she wasn't sure, but her patience began to wane. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him.

Tap-tap-tap.

Tom pulled back, a pained look on his face, and peered down at his son.

"They're back." Bobby blinked up at his father with a most earnest and innocent expression.

Sybil looked pensively at her husband. "I thought you got rid of them," she said, her breath short from their interrupted activities.

"So did I."

"Apparently you didn't do a very good job."

He glared at her. "Why don't you go do it then?"

Bobby reached up and clutched his mother's arm, protectively. "No!"

Sybil smiled at her son, and bent down to kiss the top of his head. "Now what have I told you? Girls can do anything that boys can, which includes getting rid of monsters. But, you're right," she said, returning her husband's stare, "This is a job for your father."

He sighed (somewhat dramatically) and pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering a little longer than their son would have liked. Bobby tugged at his father's arm, impatiently. Reluctantly, Tom pulled away from his wife, glanced back at his son and pointed at the discarded pajama bottoms on the floor. This time it was little David who reached down, thumb never leaving his mouth, and handed them to his uncle. Tom slipped his dressing gown back on before heading down the hall.

Little Bobby padded behind his father, the poker hoisted in front of him with one hand, tugging his cousin with the other. "Da!"

"Oh, right, thank you," he said, taking the poker, and twisting the doorknob. "Wait here."

The little boys waited outside for him to reappear, which he did a few moments later. "All clear," Tom declared, ushering them into the room. One at a time, he hoisted the boys in the bed, pulling the covers snugly around them. He smacked kisses against both foreheads and couldn't help but smile.

"Goodnight, Da."

"Goodnight, Bobby," he said, ruffling his son's hair, before doing the same to his nephew. "Goodnight, David."

He trotted quickly down the hallway to their room, where he found Sybil waiting patiently for him in the middle of the bed, propped up on an elbow. She held the covers open for him as he peeled off the dressing gown and pajamas (again). God, she's so beautiful, he thought, sliding in beside her.

"Mission accomplished," he declared, rolling over on top of her.

"I wish I could say the same for us." She laughed as he smacked playful kisses against her face, neck, and down lower on her breasts.

"All in good time, love." He settled back between her legs as she pulled the sheet up to his shoulders. "Although," he said after a moment, squinting one eye as if in deep thought, "I'm not sure things are moving quite as quickly as before." He groaned a little in frustration.

"I can't imagine why," she said wryly, then moved her hand lower to grasp him. She massaged him slowly, patiently, as she kissed him, her hand moving in the same rhythmic pattern as her tongue.

His muscles relaxed and his body finally began reacting to his wife's ministrations. Tap-tap-tap.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Tom whispered, his face buried in Sybil's neck. "Son, I think you're imagining them now. I promise you I got rid of the monsters. Please believe me," he pleaded.

"No, you didn't!" Bobby cried, tears threatening to fall, both from fear of the monsters and his father's obvious and mounting disapproval.

Sybil pushed at her husband's chest and whispered irritably. "This is your last chance, or you'll just have to stay in there with them. He's going to drive himself mad with this nonsense and I don't have the patience to deal with it tonight."

Tom pressed a quick and beseeching kiss against her mouth, which she barely responded to, before scrambling out of bed and pulling on his pajama bottoms again, foregoing the dressing gown altogether. He seized the poker, this time out of sheer habit, and tugged his son and nephew behind him down the hall. By now, he was exhausted and painfully frustrated with having been unmercifully snatched from the throes of passion multiple times.

"You'll have to show me where they are," he said, heaving the door open.

Bobby shook his head viciously, his feet stubbornly planted in the hallway.

"Well, according to you, I'm haven't gotten them all and I've run out of places to look. Do you know where they are?" Tom asked, a little more harshly than he intended.

The little boy peered around the threshold and pointed hesitantly towards his bed. "Under there," he whispered.

"Under the bed?"

He nodded meekly.

"Alright," he said, staring firmly down at his son, "But, if I look and don't see anything, do you promise me that you'll go back to bed and stay there?"

Bobby nodded again, pulling his cousin snugly against him as his father crouched down on his hands and knees at the bedside and pushed aside the ruffle. To generate as great an effect as possible, Tom laid down on his stomach reaching up under the bed to scrape a giant swath on the floor with his arm. Unexpectedly, his hand brushed something…with fur and feet. "Jesus!" He yanked his arm away and scrambled backwards.

Both boys screamed and darted back into the hallway. Dumbfounded, Tom sat back on his rear and propped on his arms, as Isis squirmed from under the bed and proceeded to lick him messily in the face.

"Isis!" Bobby crowed happily when he saw his Grandpapa's beloved Labrador bounding towards them, wagging tail aloft. The boys threw their arms around her as she began licking their faces, alternating between the two of them.

"David, what are you doing out of bed!"

Tom slowly padded into the hall, greeted by the ominous faces of his wife's sister and her husband. "What on earth is going on?" Mary asked, her brows knitted in disapproval.

Tom cocked his head. "Your husband thought it a good idea to tell them a bedtime story about monsters. I didn't know Isis was in on the plot."

Mary rolled her eyes before pushing past her half-naked brother-in-law. "Alright, boys, enough excitement for one night. Back to bed," she ordered, ushering the giggling little urchins into their room. She closed the door behind her, leaving Tom, Matthew, and the dog alone in the darkened hallway. Locked out of her hiding spot, Isis quickly lost interest and trotted towards the stairwell in search of a new place for her slumber.

Matthew glanced down at his brother-in-law's lack of attire. "Aren't you cold?"

Tom forced a raw smile. "Your monster stories pulled me out of bed not once, but three times this evening," he explained, in a low, even, and slightly threatening tone. "And each time I was in the middle of something very, very important."

"Sorry," Matthew said guiltily, albeit with an amused smile.

"She's probably asleep now, thanks to you." He handed his brother-in-law the superfluous poker and shuffled down the hall.

He almost cried when he returned and found their bed empty, and earnestly began to worry when it appeared she had abandoned their room altogether. He wandered the corridors upstairs, and then the darkened and silent rooms downstairs in search of his wife. His concern mounted upon checking the last room, the library, but he found it empty as well, except for the soft warm breeze wafting in from the open French doors. Barefooted, he strolled out onto the new terrace and lush landscaping. His ears perked at the sound of splashing.

He stood next to his brother-in-law not long after construction commenced, wondering about the gargantuan hole in the ground.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

"It's a pool."

"A swimming pool?"

Matthew eyed him, dubiously. "Yes, of course."

"Why do you need a pool?"

"Well, they're all the rage now," he replied with a shrug.

"Don't you have a lake that would serve just as well?"

"It would be nice to go for a swim without the fish and weeds. And, Dr. Clarkson said it would do wonders for my back."

Though he and Matthew had successfully propelled the estate on a renewed path of prosperity, Tom remained wary of the aristocratic trappings surrounding him every day and he resisted the urge to waste money on frivolities. "It's a little opulent, don't you think?"

Matthew looked offended. "Perhaps, but there's nothing wrong with the occasional indulgence," he said. "It wouldn't hurt you any to do the same."

"You won't catch me in that thing," he scoffed, before heading back to his office, muttering to himself.

So far, most of the family had taken to enjoying warm summer afternoons on the terrace and refreshing dips in the water. Even Sybil had finally given in and taught their son how to swim, leaving her husband and grandmother allied together as the lone dissenters in the family.

He opened the waist-high iron fence, which his wife insisted on to protect the mischievous little boys, and spied her in the water. He recognized her dressing gown draped over one of the chairs, and his heart caught suddenly as the moonlight reflected off her ivory skin. All of it, he noticed. She never ceased to amaze him.

"I assume you found all of the monsters?"

He laughed. "I don't know about monsters, but I did find your father's dog." He plopped down at the edge of the pool, a forearm resting on one knee, admiring her with an indulgent smile as she swam short laps back and forth in front of him.

"Aren't you going to join me?"

"I'm not coming in there."

"Oh, I think you will," she replied.

"Is that so?"

"Of course. Because you're my husband and you promised to devote every waking minute to my happiness."

"You seem frightfully full of yourself, milady," he said with a wink.

She reached out of the water, and ran a wet hand up his calf. "And here I thought you wanted to make love this evening….I must have been mistaken."

He shook his head, chuckling softly. "I do, but it's lucky for us our son didn't realize what we were doing earlier. I have a feeling your parents wouldn't be quite as ignorant or as understanding if we woke them up."

"We are married," she reminded him, pulling his hand to her mouth, kissing the palm.

He felt his resolve start to crack, but he couldn't help but smile at her antics. "Let's go upstairs, love."

"Not until you get in and swim around with me a bit," she said wickedly. "That's all I ask."

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in defeat, before reaching down to slip his bottoms off and slide in the water next to her. Eternally grateful that the water remained warm from the afternoon sun, he laughed as she began swimming small circles around him, splashing him mercilessly. He reached for her, but she darted under the surface only to appear a moment later behind him, pulling him under with her. For the next half-hour, they laughed and played like children with a new toy, splashing and chasing, teasing the other with stolen kisses. They finally and simultaneously caught each other, both gasping for air amidst their laughter.

He pulled her to him, easily hoisting her up in the water, and kissed her slowly. "I was worried when I couldn't find you earlier," he admitted, reaching down to wrap her legs around his waist. "Too much motherhood for one evening?"

She snaked her arms around his neck. "Perhaps. But, I really just wanted you to myself tonight. I know I've been rather horrid lately."

"Don't think on it," he whispered, lowering his hand beneath the water and resting it on the soft mounding of her stomach. "I'm just glad you're feeling better." Bobby's birth had been difficult for her, and though neither admitted as much to the other, after three years they both wondered if they would have any other children. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the top of her shoulder and smiled.

"What?"

"I was just thinking, I hope this one's a girl," he answered, his eyes alit. "At least she would have sense enough not to believe in monsters."

She laughed aloud, her fingers trailing down his neck to rest in front of her. She brushed her hands against his chest, the hair tickling her palms. "When I was little," she said solemnly, "I never thought my parents spent enough time with me. Now, as a parent, I'm starting to realize they probably never spent enough time with each other."

He smiled and dipped them lower into the water, its surface just below their chins. Pushing against the bottom of the pool with his feet, he led them slowly around the perimeter, small wavelets lapping at their skin. As a child, he didn't have such luxuries, but he would occasionally sneak down to the Liffey with his older brothers or on even rarer occasions go with his mother for a short afternoon at the seaside. But, as he bobbed along in the water with his wife, her body warm, soft, and slick against his, he thought he could get used to this, an 'occasional indulgence,' as Matthew had said. Parenthood had certainly changed them, as had their jobs, his of running of the estate and her back to the joys of nursing. It kept their time alone together at a minimum.

"Do you know what my brother-in-law told me the night before our wedding? He said that if a husband and wife put a button in a jar every time they made love during the first year of marriage, and then begin taking a button out each time beginning in the second year, that they would never empty the jar."

She laughed, the sound reverberating against the surface of the water. "With eight children, I can understand why he might say that."

He planted his feet before the water got too deep for them. "I suppose it's just a matter of quality over quantity," he whispered, his hands supporting her, gently squeezing her backside and then sliding slowly to the backs of her knees.

He gently nudged her against the tiled wall and she delighted him with a wicked smile as she reached between them to stroke him. Whether it was the slickness of their bodies in the water, her deft fingers, or the fact that it was just the two of them alone at last, he didn't know, but despite all the interruptions and their previous attempts earlier in the evening, his arousal came quickly. Sybil couldn't help but laugh as he moaned in relief and captured her mouth, his tongue impatiently seeking hers. He replaced her hand with his and guided himself into her, gently, yet quickly. His hands grasped the edge of the pool as he moved against her, slowly, the buoyancy of the water keeping his thrusts at an agonizingly slow pace. The water broke against their skin as they began a steady rhythm. She buried her face in his neck, stifling her cries against his skin as the orgasm radiated through her body. She pulled back, resting her hands on his face, watching him, reveling in the rapture in his features, as he came soon after.

"That didn't take long," she teased, feigning disappointment.

"I wasn't taking any chances," he replied, laughing as she kissed him again.

Later, they returned upstairs, leaving an incriminating trail of puddles behind them. He lay in bed facing her, too tired to sleep, and listened to her easy breathing. Sybil had never been one to lie awake and chat as he always imagined young lovers would. No, she expended most of her energy on more important things and wasn't ashamed to admit it either. In the quiet of the room, he heard a near-silent squeak of a door, the pitter-patter of little feet, and a familiar tap-tap-tap on his back. He rolled over, and glanced down at his son.

"More monsters?" he whispered.

Bobby shook his head with a frown. "David wet the bed."

Tom chuckled and motioned for his son. "Alright, then. Come on up."

Grinning happily, the little boy clamored up and over his father, nestling down between both parents. Tom secured the covers around the three of them, watching as Bobby snuggled next to his mother who, even in her slumber, pulled him to her. He pressed an affectionate kiss to his son's soft hair and another against her brow, before wrapping an arm around them both and falling into a contented sleep.

TBC?

A/N 2: Yeah, this was probably written just for a reason to 1) have Tom sauntering around in his pajamas, and 2) give us the domesticity Fellowes wouldn't.