Hey lovelies, new chapter! Sorry, but no Thomas in this chapter. I wanted to give Sybbie a few scenes with her father, whom I also adore. I hope you love it.

Sparki: I own nothing!


"Father?"

Where he sat, Tom Branson looked up from the yellowing pages of his well-read novel. Seeing the little girl's expectant face, he smiled at his daughter.

"Yes, love?"

Sitting upon her bed, young Sybil drew her fine brows together into a thoughtful frown; an expression, so painfully familiar. Unbidden, Tom felt his heart give a small, aching jolt.

She is so like her mother.

Overcome for a short moment, Tom let the book slip shut. It didn't matter; he'd read those same words so many times. He'd first read them to Sybil, as they lay together, with only the flickering flame of a candle to sprinkle light upon the pages. At the time, Tom had found the novel foolish and shallow; a story for little children, nothing more. But she had loved that book, Sybil had, and Tom had found himself unable to deny his young love the pleasure she so desired. Besides, if she found some joy in the sound of his voice, who was he to complain?

Sybil's love for Little Women was a love, it seemed, she had passed on to her daughter. Barely having seen four summers, the little lass had found the novel, hidden carefully among her father's belongings, and brought it to Tom's lap. Since that day, he'd found himself a slave to yet another Sybil Branson's' odd craving to hear more and more of the March Sisters. The strangest part, was when Tom realized he no longer cared.

Placing the book carefully atop the nearby table, he sat back in his chair. Hands folded, he watched Sybbie, and waited for her to pose the question he could almost see dangling from the tip of her tongue. It must have been a very important query, for his daughter - one whom very rarely found herself at a loss for words – seemed unable to let the inquiry slip by her mouth. Curious and somewhat apprehensive, Tom gave the girl an odd look.

"What is it?" he gently prodded. Still frowning slightly, Sybbie met his gaze with darkened eyes.

"It's just… well, it's my birthday, isn't it?" the girl began. "On… on Sunday?"

With a smile, Tom nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "it is." Despite his easy response, inside Tom's stomach lurched, as it always did whenever the 18th of August was mentioned. Lowering her gaze, Sybbie's fingers played back and forth within her lap.

"Well, I just wondered…," she murmured. Tom leant forward, straining to catch the girl's uttered words. "I just wondered… if you're happy. That… that it's my birthday, that is."

For a time, Tom simply stared at his daughter. As the silence stretched, he felt the first tinges of guilt beginning to crawl up his throat. He gave a small, throaty cough, trying to clear the sudden itch within his chest. Sybil continued to study her hands as they tumbled back and forth across her knees. Letting his eyes slip shut for a moment, Tom pushed a rogue strand of tawny hair behind his ear. Sighing, he fell back against his chair.

"Sybil… I…" At a loss, Tom rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not… entirely certain as to what you're asking." Lowering his hand, he looked pointedly at his daughter. Finally, the girl glanced up. At the sight of her forlorn gaze, Tom felt his heart twist once more.

"You always seem so… so sad on my birthday," she sighed, almost apologetically. "I thought that maybe… maybe you w-wished that I wasn't-,"

"No!" Unable to stand another word, Tom leapt from his chair. With long strides, he covered the distance between them in seconds. Lowering himself onto the vast bed, he placed a hand gently upon Sybbie's soft head. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, but still his daughter refused to lift her eyes. With trembling fingers, he stroked her dark locks.

"Sybil, I never want to hear you say that," he told the girl, his blue eyes still and serious. "Never, ever again." After what seemed an eternity, Sybbie finally raised head. She looked into her father's eyes, and Tom allowed himself to release a breath he'd not known he'd been holding. With a heavy sigh, he placed his large hand upon his daughter's.

"Your birthday," he murmured, "is the worst, and at the same time, the most wonderful day of the year." Tom tried to ignore the momentary look of hurt he saw flash across Sybil's dark eyes. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on, with the speech he now knew should have been given many years ago.

"Eight years ago, I lost your mother. The love of my life." Tom struggled, and failed, to keep the unshed tears from tainting his words. He closed his eyes, relishing his short reprieve in the warm, deep darkness. Through the nothingness, he felt a small hand come to rest upon his cheek. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Sybil gazing up at him, with a love Tom feared he could never deserve shimmering in her eyes. Biting back his fears, he smiled down at her.

"So yes, I can't help but be sad," he admitted. "But eight years ago, the good Lord gave me you. So I cannot help but be very, very happy." Still grinning, he covered the little girl's hand in his own. Overcome, Sybil burst into tears.

"Oh Papa!" Sobbing happily, she threw her skinny arms around Tom's neck. Laughing, he held her tight, savouring her warmth against his skin. She smelled like cinnamon, and soap, and all the good things a little girl should. Tom placed a kiss against his daughter's hair.

"I love you Papa."

"I love you more."


"Oh Tom…" Sybil's voice, still weak and wounded from her ordeal, barely brushed a whisper. But hidden behind the pain and all her unshed tears, Tom could hear the wonder. He could hear her joy – pure, undivided joy. Together, they sat upon the dishevelled bedclothes, and gazed down at the small creature who lay, slumbering silently in her mother's arms.

"She's so beautiful." With trembling fingers, Sybil traced a gentle line across the child's silken cheek, and upon her tiny nose. Tom smiled at the pair of them; his beautiful wife, and his beautiful, beautiful baby girl.

Placing a hand against her cheek, Tom turned Sybil's face to his. Before she could look back at the sleeping babe, he placed a gentle kiss against her lips. They were warm, and wet with freshly shed tears, but he didn't care.

She was so beautiful.

They both were.


Hope you all enjoyed it. Reviews make me smile : )