Sorry guys, but this is a ridiculously short chapter. I know that many of you were worried about Tom, and so, I wrote this chapter, just to show that he's doing okay.
Sparki: I own nothing!
Tom didn't care about the ache in his chest. He barely noticed the burning sensation that seared his throat, each and every time he took a breath. All he knew was that Sybbie was here, with him. And to Tom, nothing else mattered.
The little girl's smile alone was enough to make the black and white hospital room seem somehow warmer. She carried with her a glow; a bright, ever-growing light that touched the hearts of each and every person she met. As her father, Tom knew its effect all too well. Despite his body's anguish, he wanted nothing more than to scoop Sybil up in his arms, and twirl with her around the room.
When he voiced this want to his daughter, the girl stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Papa!" she exclaimed. "That's a terrible idea!" Tom laughed, and promised her he would try no such thing. "On one condition," he added, and Sybbie peered at him, suspiciously.
"What?" she ventured. With a smile, Tom held open his arms. Grinning from ear to ear, Sybbie nestled herself against her father's heaving chest. Snuggling down, she searched for the beat of his heart. When she at last found it, she let her ear rest against it, and with a sigh, closed her eyes. She lay very still, just listening to the steady rhythm of her father's heart. It sounded weaker, Sybbie realised after a moment. But she supposed it was only her imagination.
"So," Tom sighed, placing a hand upon his daughter's shoulder, "how are things back home?" With his thumb, he traced a small circle against her sleeve. Sybbie sighed.
"Alright, I suppose," she mumbled against his body. "George is annoying, and Grandmother wants to me to go shopping – again!" Here, she groaned, and Tom gave a chuckle. The simple movement sent a stab of pain, wracking through his chest, but he said nothing of it. "It can't be that bad," he tried, but Sybbie shook her head frantically.
"But it is, it really is that bad, Papa!" she moaned, her face still buried in his shirt. "How come George doesn't have to go shopping?" Tom smiled.
"Because he's a lad," her father explained, "and lad's do not go 'dress-shopping'." Sybbie huffed.
"Well, they should!"
Tom chuckled again.
It was Edith who had accompanied Sybbie to London. It wasn't a bother, she'd promised Tom; her trip to London had already been planned, and she was, quite frankly, glad for her little niece to tag along. With an appointment to make, she had left Sybbie with her father, promising to return in the hour.
Tom wished, with all his heart, that Edith would not return. He wanted Sybbie to stay; he wanted to hold her close, and never let her go. In the short time that he had been trapped in this hell-hole, Tom had realised that without his little daughter, life was meaningless. She held his fragile heart in her small hands, and she didn't even know it.
As Sybbie chatted about George's latest antics, Tom held her just that little bit tighter.
Edith didn't return within the hour. Or in within the next.
Finally, three hours after she'd promised to collect Sybbie, the frazzled journalist tumbled into Tom's hospital room, a thousand apologies simmering upon her lips. Pushing blonde curls back from her eyes, Edith found father and daughter locked in one another's arms, lying asleep.
With a weary smile, she lowered herself into a chair, and waited.
;)
