Peace is the beauty of life. It is sunshine. It is the smile of a child, the love of a mother, the joy of a father, the togetherness of a family. It is the advancement of man, the victory of a just cause, the triumph of truth. - Menachem Begin

December 1, 1920

Downton Abbey

"What is wrong with those people?" Robert Crawley put down the London Times and picked up a piece of toast.

"With whom, dear?" Cora asked absently. Her attention was on Edith, who sat across the table toying with her food. She had lost weight, Cora noticed. Her eyes were sunken in her cheeks, and even her skin had taken on a pallid color. Something had happened in Ireland, she was sure of it, but as long as her daughter refused to talk about her time there, she could do little about it, beyond worrying. Since Mary and Matthew had married last year and moved into the family's London house, Downton seemed emptier than usual, and Edith was not helping. Even the sniping between sisters would have been better than this!

"Those Irish!" Robert expostulated, waving his toast in the air. A fork clattered, and Edith's head came up. "They will insist on trying to kill themselves and everyone around them. I truly worry about Sybil…and Tom", he added grudgingly. "And now they've gone and added a Fenian grandchild into the mix—someone else we have to worry about. It's just not safe over there; thank goodness you came to your senses and came home, Edith!"

Edith flushed but said nothing. Her fingers clenched around her fork.

"Now, Robert," said his wife, "it's not that bad, really. Sybil and Tom live in a lovely flat in a good part of Dublin, and Abby is the most adorable baby. Which you would know, if you had come with me to visit them!" Cora knew that Robert's bluster had more to do with worry for the safety of his daughter and his grandchild than with any real concern over the "Irish Question", as they called the whole mess in their set.

"I'm not setting foot on that island until this disagreement between the Irish and the British army is over and done with!" he rumbled. "I damn well nearly died the last time I was over there!"

He picked up the newspaper and brandished it. "And now it's gotten worse! That ruffian Michael Collins and his hired hounds have assassinated high-ranking members of the British Army…in their beds! A coward's path!" He took another bite of his toast. "And of course the army retaliated…what could they expect?"

"What happened, Papa?" Cora looked up, startled, at the sound of Edith's voice.

"Another country heard from," said her father. "Nice to hear you can still speak, Edith. Well, what they did was go after the killers in this "Squad" of Collins'. They tracked them to a football match and apparently fourteen people are dead."

Edith's voice was sharp. "Wasn't it rather reckless Of them to shoot at people when there were so many innocent civilians around?"

"If you were a soldier, you would understand," her father said loftily. "The IRA have taken the dispute to the streets—they are the ones who are reckless, in my opinion. Am I not justified in worrying about my daughter and my grandchild?" He glared at Edith, daring her to argue.

Carson came into the breakfast room with a silver tray, on which rested a single envelope. "A letter for you my lady," he announced to Edith. Edith glanced at the return address, and then snatched the missive from the tray and stood up. "Please excuse me," she muttered, and hurried out of the room.

In the library, Edith tore open the letter from Sybil. As she read, her eyes grew large and her hand crept up to clutch the necklace around her throat. For a long time afterward, she sat as if turned to stone, staring blindly into the fireplace. He had been there! Patrick had been at the scene of the massacre; he could have died! A soft whimper forced its way between her tight lips.

Her body shook with suppressed sobs at the thought of what could have happened to that wonderful, amazing man. She remembered Sybil's anguish and worry over Tom when he had been shot by those British soldiers her father thought so highly of, and something clicked into place.

December 23, 1920

The Collins Home

"It's an insult!" Michael's blue eyes flashed fire as he faced Aislinn. "Another Home Rule bill? Do they really think we're so stupid as to accept this tripe?" He resumed pacing the sitting room, hands plunged into his pockets.

"Well, doesn't it offer us more rights than we had before?" Aislinn asked. "We still have our parliament, and Sinn Féin still has most of the voting power, right?"

Michael stopped pacing suddenly and ran his fingers through his dark blond hair, making it stand on end. Aislinn giggled. He looked for all the world like a small boy having a temper tantrum, she thought. It seemed to be a Branson trait. Michael frowned at her.

"This isn't funny, Aislinn!" he rounded on her, but she stood her ground. "All this fighting, and it seems as if we're getting nowhere. All this Act does is push the north further away, and closer to England. It's as if we're stuck in the mud, and sinking!"

Aislinn fixed her dark eyes on him, willing him to listen. "Michael, nothing is going to change the fact that the counties in the north aren't Catholic, and they won't agree to a government run by Catholics in the South. You know that! I know that this doesn't give us our freedom from England, not yet, but it's a start, isn't it?" She sat down on the couch and beckoned him to join her.

He sighed. "I know. I'm just so tired of it all. I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking for the next Tan around the corner, or stealing weapons from the RIC. I want it to be over." He looked so desolate that Aislinn moved to pull him down on the couch beside him, forcing him to look at her.

"It'll be over some day, and Ireland will be free. I have faith, and you must too, Michael. And it's because of people like you. People who are brave and honorable at the same time. War is ugly, Michael, but sometimes there are bright sparks in it, and you are one of those sparks!"

She stopped, embarrassed. Michael was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, and suddenly, without warning, he pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her. As their lips met, Aislinn thought, Ahhh, I was right to give this one a chance. And then she stopped thinking at all for awhile.

As Michael left, in much better spirits than when he had arrived, he told her, "Don't forget, tomorrow at our house at half five. Make sure Deaglan isn't late!"

Aislinn laughed. "As if Deaglan would be late to anywhere Kathleen is! Don't worry, we'll be there." As she closed the door and leaned against it, she could hear Michael whistling "Molly Malone" as he walked away, and a slow smile spread over her face.

December 24, 1920

The Branson Home

Evan gazed around at the chaos, and marveled. A year ago he had been spending a lonely Christmas Eve in the barracks, listening with one ear to his comrades as they bragged about the success of the army in Ireland, lamented the poor quality of the food in this godawful country, and expressed fervent hope that this war would be over soon so they could go home to England. In one short year he had met the most beautiful girl in the world and fallen in love. He had saved her from his own people, been arrested and saved in turn by her family, traveled across the ocean, and gotten married.

He would have been laughed out of Murphy's Pub if he'd spun a yarn like that, and yet it was all true. Sometimes he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. The peace he had found, not just with Maire but with her whole crazy, wonderful family, was Evan's victory over loneliness…his triumph of truth.

The proof was right here, in this humble row home in Dublin. He looked at his wife across the room, watched her chasing little Connor around with reckless abandon, and his heart swelled. Maire was a natural with children, he thought. That little boy had been through the worst this war could throw at him, and he didn't even know it. Last month he and his father, Daniel, had been separated from the rest of the family when the world blew apart on Bloody Sunday, as the papers were calling it, and when they had finally been reunited with the rest of the Branson men, all Connor could talk about was the ice cream his Da had bought him! Daniel, visibly shaken, had somehow shielded him from it all.

Evan had discovered that he quite liked Daniel. Although the man was nearly ten years his senior, they shared a quiet, self-effacing nature that belied a fierce loyalty to those they loved. Evan had barely known Maire's brother-in-law before the older man had played a key part in his rescue last summer, but the two had bonded over football and fine Irish whiskey during their visit this holiday, Daniel acting as something of a mentor to the Englishman. His guide, Dan called it, to all things Irish.

"She's different," said Daniel, following Evan's gaze. "You've sanded off the rough edges some, given her a nice polish."

"She's not a piece of wood, Dan!" Evan laughed, but secretly he was pleased. He'd never want to tame Maire; her wild spirit was what had made him fall in love with her, but sometimes all that fire could be a bit exhausting. His wife had learned to control her temper, at least most of the time, and the reason was that she simply could not get a rise out of him. He did not argue; he reasoned. And Maire found his constancy comforting. She felt safe with him…safe and loved. They were an odd pair, but in a family abounding in odd pairings, they worked.

Maire caught her husband's eye and winked at him, moving to sit beside her sister Kathleen and Deaglan's sister Aislinn. "What's wrong with Patrick?" she asked. Kathleen followed her gaze into the kitchen where her brother was seated with Tom, Deaglan, and Michael, embroiled in a heated game of Twenty Five.

"Oh, he's much better," Kathleen answered her. "You should have seen him a few months ago. Look, he's taking part in the game, isn't he? He used to just mope around all the time, unless he was working. I think he was really heels up over Sybil's sister. It takes time, you know."

"Well, look at you, all full of knowledge about love!" Maire teased her sister. "Just because you think you've found the perfect man, you know it all now, do you?" Kathleen blushed and punched her on the arm.

Maire sobered as she looked at Patrick. No, he wasn't all right. Those who saw him every day might think he was improving, but she could tell he was very different from the Patrick she had left behind when she'd sailed to America. He was suffering. It wasn't in his nature to brood, and he was putting a good face on it, but he was bleeding inside. And armed with her new understanding of what it was like to love and be loved, Maire thought she understood his pain.

And something else surprised her. The old Maire would have wanted to hunt Edith down and maim her for hurting her brother. But instead, she thought she understood what had driven Sybil's sister away. Edith could have been her, three months ago when Evan proposed and she couldn't say yes. Fear and anxiety about what such a love could do had frozen her, almost ruined everything. If she had allowed Evan to leave Ireland without her, if she hadn't overcome her pride and gone to him, that shadow person in the kitchen might be her. And suddenly she wondered what Sybil's sister was doing tonight.

Across the room, Sybil came up beside Claire and put her arm around the older woman's shoulders. "This is how you wanted it, isn't it, Mam?" she said, looking around at her family. "Everybody here, all together and safe. A perfect Christmas!"

Claire Branson smiled and patted her hand. "You know, dear, sometimes I worry about Ireland's future, or about money, or any number of things. But when I have my family gathered around me, and feel all this love, I realise just how lucky I am."

A shout erupted from the kitchen. "That was not trump, damn you!" Michael bellowed at Tom. "You cheated!"

"I did not! If you knew the rules, maybe you wouldn't be losing!" Tom threw back.

"Yes, indeed," said Sybil, her eyes dancing. "So lucky. Let's go rescue them from all that love, shall we? They need to stop fighting before we go to Mass."

As they crossed through the hall on their way into the kitchen, Sybil thought she heard a knock on the front door. "Michael," she called, "did you invite someone else?"

"No," he yelled. "But see who it is, and ask them if they can play Twenty Five. They can take your cheating husband's place! Ow!"

Sybil shook her head. She opened the door—and recoiled in astonishment. On the step, her face white as a ghost, stood her sister Edith.

"Edith! You're—what—how—?" Sybil's voice trailed off.

"I- I shouldn't have come, but I—I just thought—I wanted—oh, Sybil, this is so hard!" Edith swayed slightly.

"Who is it?" asked Claire, from behind Sybil. She saw the forlorn figure on the doorstep and her eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh. It's you." Her voice was hard.

Edith flinched at the tone. "I just wanted to make sure that Patrick—that everyone— was really all right…" Her voice was a whisper. "I read about what happened at Croke Park, and Sybil said Patrick was there, and…"

"He's fine," snapped Claire. Sybil put a hand on her arm, but she shook it off. "Now."

Edith shrunk further into herself. "I'm s-sorry, I shouldn't have come. I'll go back to the hotel." She turned, and Sybil noticed for the first time that a car was waiting in the street, it's engine still running. Oh, Edith, she thought. "You expected to be turned away. You were ready." Her heart went out to her sister.

"Wait!" came another voice. "It's Christmas Eve," said Maire. "You must be freezing out here. Please come in." With a pointed look at her mother, she extended her hand, and numbly, Edith took it and allowed herself to be pulled into the foyer. Claire let out a loud huff and walked away toward the kitchen.

"It's nice to see you, Maire," said Edith shyly. "You look well."

"Thank you, I am." Another long silence descended. And you look terrible, Maire thought.

"Mam said you ladies needed me," said Tom, coming around the corner, and then stopping short at the sight of his sister-in-law. "Edith!" He looked helplessly at Sybil. "This is—a surprise."

Daniel and Evan had heard the commotion at the door and joined the growing crowd.

"Evan," Maire said brightly, "you remember Edith, Sybil's sister?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Hullo, Edith." They were all speaking in whispers, as if trying to keep their voices from going any further than the hall.

Sybil felt as if she were floating in a dream. Can this get any more awkward? she thought.

"Aunt Edith!" crowed Connor, flying into the hall. "You're back! Unca Pat will be so happy!" He ran off, screeching "Unca Pat, Unca Pat…guess what?"

And then he was there. The others melted away and it was just the two of them standing in the hallway. They stood only four feet apart, but it seemed like an impassable gulf had opened at their feet.

The silence stretched. Then…"Why are you here, Edith?" Patrick asked politely.

For a moment she could not speak. Tears pooled in her eyes and ran unheeded down her cheeks. She took a gasping breath.

"I w-wanted to make s-sure you were s-safe," she stuttered. "I read about the sh-shootings in the paper—"

"I'm fine, as you can see. Thank you for your concern." So formal. Cold.

She turned and stumbled toward the door, and then turned back. "It was wrong of me to come," she choked, "I'm sorry. I've ruined everyone's holiday. I'll just go."

Patrick looked intently at her face, and then he said softly, "Why did you really come? What did you want?"

She raised her wet eyes to his, and somehow held his gaze. "You," she whispered. "I wanted you."

He blinked and for a long time said nothing. Then, "I don't know if I can do this again," he said honestly.

"I know. But I had to come. I had to try."

Without a word Patrick stepped past her. He went down the walk to the waiting car, spoke to the driver, and watched as the car drove off. He came slowly back and stood in front of her again.

"Come in, then," he said simply.


A/N: On December 23, 1920, In response to the political unrest throughout Ireland, Westminster passed the Government of Ireland Act, which partitioned Ireland. Two Home Rule parliaments were created, one in Belfast for the six northeastern counties and one in Dublin for the rest of the country. The two governments had "powers of local self-government, but defence, foreign policy, and finance remained under British control. England also maintained the right to interfere in Irish affairs, insisting that "the supreme authority of the parliament of the United Kingdom shall remain unaffected and undiminished over all persons, matters and things in Ireland, and every part thereof." The north welcomed the Act, but Irish rebels ignored it and continued their military and political campaigns. The war raged on.

Pronunciation Guide:

Aislinn - ash + ling

Deaglan - deck + lan

Maire - my + ra

Sinn Féin - shin + fane

Tom and Edith have a discussion about writing. He gives her an idea.