Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello everybody! This is my (very late) contribution to the January/February World War II Rock the AU theme. This story has been a long time coming for me, honestly. As some of you may know, I am currently spending this semester studying abroad in Cambridge, England. On our second day in Cambridge, we went on a walking tour of the city centre, during which we stopped at and talked about the history of the Eagle Pub, located in King's Parade street in Cambridge. This historic pub was a popular hangout for RAF pilots during the Second World War—the nearest RAF airbase was located only a few miles away at Duxford. The Eagle is notable because the RAF pilots would often write or carve their names onto the walls and ceilings of the bar. These names have been preserved to this day, and you can still see them if you visit the Eagle, as I have done. As I was hearing the tour guide talk about the pub, I got an idea…what if Tom was an RAF pilot, and met Sybil whilst she was working at the Eagle? The idea only grew when, on a field trip, we visited the actual airfield at Duxford—which now houses a branch of the Imperial War Museum. At that point, I absolutely knew that I had to write this story.**

**This will be multi-chapter, probably three or four. There will be angst, there will be fluff, and there will hopefully be humor. I hope you enjoy this, and that I do this incredible place and piece of history justice. I'd like to give a special shoutout to Yankeecountess, who has been integral at helping me get this story off the ground. Thanks Sharon!**

**And without further ado, here we go! Hope you like it!**

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_Let's do it, let's fall in love_

_-_Cole Porter

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_**November, 1941**_

The night air was brisk and cool as the two men walked through the darkened streets of Cambridge, jostling through the crowds as they made their way over the bridge and down Magdalene Street. Although the night had a somber note to it, the streets were lively, light spilling out of every pub and conversation filling the air. Servicemen and women mingled with locals and students alike, walking quickly, their desire to get warm and inside fueling their steps. As the two men pushed their way through the crowd, they were met with smiles and nods by some as they noticed them in their RAF uniforms, grateful salutes by others. They smiled and nodded in return, murmuring when people thanked them out loud, but not stopping to chat until they had reached their destination—a crowded pub near one of the colleges, with a sizeable queue outside. The sign outside proudly proclaimed it to be The Eagle, swinging on its hinges as the wind blew through the alley. The queue was loud and lively, most of them men and almost all of them in uniform. They waved to friends and quickly called them over to catch up, the line moving quite quickly to accommodate the newcomers into what was known in Cambridge as the RAF's favorite bar.

"I promise you, Tom, you're going to like this place," Matthew declared as he shifted his weight, leaning heavily on his cane to support himself as he used his free hand to open the door. Tom was immediately by his side, shouldering the weight of the door enough for Matthew to step across the threshold. His friend made a face, no doubt ready to scold him for his actions and insist that he was perfectly capable of opening a door for the both of them, for heaven's sake, but as Tom grinned at him he saw a smile begin to overtake Matthew's face as well. "We used to come here at least once a week when I was studying here."

Now it was Tom's turn to pull a face. "So it's going to be full of your posh Cambridge mates?" he asked, pretending to whine. "You might've mentioned that. I might've just stayed back on the base if I'd known…keep that lovely wife of yours company…"

"Mary would have thrown you out the door after me in about ten minutes and you know it," Matthew said with a chuckle. "If she wasn't feeling so tired she would have come with us. She knows everyone here, after all. They all love her. It broke her heart that she had to stay home."

"Yeah, well, keeping that baby of yours safe and healthy is her number one priority right now," Tom said gently, clapping a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "There'll be plenty of other times to spend the night out with us…" He saw Matthew's face fall and immediately knew that he had said the wrong thing, as his friend glanced down to his wounded leg and the cane he carried with him everywhere he went. He knew that Matthew was still sensitive about the injury. Tom hadn't been at Duxford, the RAF base a few miles outside of Cambridge, yet when Matthew had been wounded—his transfer to the base had only come a few weeks before, but he and Matthew had trained together back at the start of the war and he knew the story. Everyone did. How Matthew's plane had been hit by a German anti-aircraft gun a few months back, a bad shot that had grazed the wing and the side of the plane just enough to bring it down. His navigator had been knocked unconscious by the hit, and Matthew had had to parachute them both out of there before the plane had lost total control in the air. Both he and the navigator survived, although their landing was rocky and cost Matthew much of the mobility in his left leg. He could walk, with the help of his cane, but it would never quite be the same. He was still lucky, though, incredibly lucky, and had been regarded as nothing less than a hero upon his return. He wouldn't take to the skies again, though—he had been reassigned to a training position on the ground, in reward for his service and bravery. Tom was sure that Mary, Matthew's wife, had been over the moon at the news, but he wondered sometimes if Matthew didn't, in a way, resent or feel ashamed of his new position…

He cleared his throat, clapping a hand on Matthew's back as he started to lead his old friend over to the nearest empty table. "Come on. Shall I get us a drink?"

Matthew finally smiled again, shaking his head. "No, first round's on me, Tom. I insist." He gave a small wink. "I've got connections here, you see." Refusing to say more, he turned and limped into the crowd.

Tom chuckled and shook his head as he watched Matthew walk away, pausing here and there to greet men who recognized him from Duxford, all of them wanting to shake his hand and no doubt offer to buy him a drink. As he settled into the table in the corner, he took the opportunity to look around the Eagle while he waited for Matthew to return with the first round. The pub was warm and lively, the lights casting a soft yellow glow onto the assorted patrons as they talked, drank, laughed, and danced. The majority of them were servicemen like himself, mostly from the RAF—many smiled and raised their drinks to him as he caught their eye, recognizing him—although he saw some Royal Navy uniforms in the crowd as well, and a few from the army. There were some women he recognized from the base as well, some chatting in small groups while others mingled. There were also a few in the crowd that were obviously university students, their faces younger and not lined with worry as someone who had been touched by the war. Tom envied them. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and perfume, and an old Cole Porter song was playing over on the wireless. Most noticeable, though, he realized as he looked up, was the ceiling and a few of the walls. It was covered in names and graffiti, some of them carved right in while others were written in ink. Tom squinted up, trying to read a few of the more legible ones, and smiled softly as he realized that many of the names also had dates and ranks written below them, many of them RAF. It was becoming a bit of a custom to leave one's mark whenever one came to visit the Eagle, apparently, and Tom found he liked that the establishment wasn't discouraging the practice. With all the uncertainty in the world, particularly for those who were in the thick of the fighting, sometimes it felt good to be able to leave a bit of yourself behind in a place like this. He cast his gaze around the room again, taking in the crowd. Some of them, he knew, would not make it back home before the war was over…but their names would live on in this pub, and that was a small comfort.

Yes, Matthew had been exactly right. The Eagle felt comfortable, and safe, and utterly welcoming. Just like Matthew had promised, Tom found he did like it here—it wasn't as rowdy as some of the other pubs he'd frequented in England and Ireland and even abroad, but there was a charm to it that Tom found he enjoyed. He settled back into his seat, a little half-smile on his face as he took off his hat and set it on the table in front of him, waiting for Matthew to come back with their drinks.

That was when he saw her.

She was standing behind the bar, a bright smile on her face as she took the order of a tall, redheaded boy that couldn't be much older than twenty. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle even across the room, and her dark curly hair was set in a beautiful victory rolls style that framed her face and reminded him of his younger sister's fashion magazines back home. She held herself with the air of someone whose upbringing had intended her for much better things in life than being a barmaid in Cambridge, but there was something else to her air as well, a true sense of happiness and contentment that let Tom know in his heart that she was happy with what she was doing. The apron tied around her light blue dress was wrinkled and patched and slightly stained, and she wore no jewelry, but the smile on her face was bright enough to dazzle the whole room. The other man working with her behind the bar, who was shorter than the man ordering and had dark hair and a calculating expression, whispered something in her ear and she laughed, the husky sound carrying to Tom even from where he sat. He was mesmerized, unable to look away. She was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, of that he was sure. He wanted to speak to her, to ask her about herself, but he was frozen, a soft smile playing at his features as she smiled to the redheaded chap and handed him his drink. Tom wanted to know everything about her…

_Who are you?_ he wondered, still mesmerized, feeling ridiculous as he stared at her. Half of him wished she would catch his gaze and look over, if only for a moment, while the other half wanted to remain unnoticed. He wondered whether it was just her beauty that enticed him, or the confident way she held herself…unlike any woman he could remember seeing in quite some time…

* * *

It was Thomas who noticed him first.

The dark-haired bartender had nudged Sybil's arm as he wiped the dust off of an old bottle of wine that one of the officers had requested for himself and his friends, nodding his head towards one of the men across the bar. As Sybil handed off the pint she had been pouring to Alfred, one of their regular customers, Thomas leaned in close to speak to her. "Now there's a catch for you," he murmured under his breath, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Take a look, Sybil. Ten o'clock."

Sybil rolled her eyes as Alfred thanked her for the drink and took a seat at the bar. This was one of the games that she and Thomas played during their shifts at the bar, a game that had started up almost as quickly as their friendship had. Sybil had been in Cambridge only a few months, and had come to The Eagle looking as a way to earn a little extra money while she studied to be a nurse. She had wandered around the City Centre, looking for some place that might be willing to take her on part-time, until her growling stomach had overwhelmed her search and led her through the pub's open doors in pursuit of something to eat. There she had seen Thomas, his usual glove covering his injured hand—he had been shot in the battlefields in France the year before, but she hadn't known that at the time—wiping the bar down with a wet rag. It was mostly deserted, and for a moment Sybil had hesitated in the doorway, wondering if maybe she had come at a bad time, that they weren't serving food this early in the day, that she should just try to find another restaurant or buy something at the nearby market…

"_Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to come inside?" the man behind the bar had said, startling her out of her reviere. His voice sounded bored, his accent a Northern drawl that she almost recognized. When she looked up at him, though, there was a hint of something else in his gaze—kindness. That had been enough to prompt her to walk right up to the bar, take a seat and order her lunch…and begin the conversation that had got her there today. He had introduced himself as Thomas Barrow, and asked who she was and what she was doing there. For whatever reason, Sybil had found herself telling him everything—that she was going to be starting a nursing course at one of the colleges soon and was looking to earn some extra money. As it turned out, after Thomas had recovered from being wounded by the German sniper in France, he had taken to volunteering at the local hospital. She was surprised at how easily she was able to talk to Thomas, the two of them chatting as if they'd been friends for years. By the time Sybil's food arrived, Thomas had promised her that he would go and speak with the owner of the Eagle, a man named Bates, about finding her a job, and about leasing her one of the rooms over the pub so that she could move out of Mary and Matthew's house on the base, knowing of Sybil's wish to be independent. She had blushed and thanked him, not entirely believing that anyone would want to take a chance on a girl who had no experience whatsoever, telling herself not to get her hopes up…_

She'd gotten hired the very next day, and immediately after had moved into one of the empty flats above the pub. She'd been there ever since, and the friendship between Thomas and herself blossomed with each day. Despite the differences in their backgrounds, she felt like she could be herself around Thomas, in a way that she could not do even at home…and she knew that her friend felt the same way. He, it seemed, out of those she knew in Cambridge, seemed not only supportive of her dreams, but confident that she could achieve them. He understood her need for independence and her desire to help those wounded in the war in a way that not even her parents or sisters had ever done. They weren't just coworkers, they were friends, and more than once they had pointed out attractive men in the bar—Sybil knew Thomas' preferences (it hadn't been that difficult to figure it out) and didn't care one way or the other which gender he was attracted to, even though she knew that if her family knew that she was working with a man like him they might faint dead away) and Thomas was quickly figuring out Sybil's type as well. Even though she didn't want to, she found herself glancing in the direction Thomas had indicated.

Alone at the table in a corner sat a man who had just taken off his hat, who was watching the bar with unbridled curiosity in his eyes. He had light brown hair that was pushed back from his face in typical RAF style, and his uniform was clean and fit him well even though it was not as pristine as some of the others that she had seen. His shoulders were broad, and she couldn't help the way her eyes lingered on them…but what really struck her was his eyes, blue and piercing, seeming to see straight through her as they locked onto hers for just a moment before she looked away to take the next order.

He truly was handsome, and there was a reason that her heart seemed to be beating faster beneath her chest. But she had work to do, and no time for fun and games tonight.

She felt rather than saw Thomas' grin of triumph as he watched her reaction to the man. "Told you. Why don't you go over and say hello? Make his day. He's been watching you for the past few minutes."

"I don't have time to flirt, Thomas Barrow. I'm working. In case you haven't heard, there's a war on."

"Doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves in the meantime," Thomas said with a shrug.

"He's right!" said a new voice, and Sybil looked up just in time to see Private Jimmy Kent, resident flirt of the Eagle, sliding into the seat across from her at the bar. "Live a little, Sybil…just not with that old bloke. How about you give someone your own age a try?" He shot her a wink. "Someone like me, for instance."

Sybil laughed. Jimmy was persistent, but harmless, and she was fond of him despite his not-so-subtle attempts to interest her. "Sorry, Jimmy, but the answer is still no…" Still, she found herself leaning over the bar and placing a soft, quick kiss on his cheek in greeting.

He grinned. "What was that for, then?"

"That's for the fact that I haven't seen you in three weeks and I know they've been sending you out. That, Jimmy, is for coming home safely."

She swore she saw him blush. "Lord, Sybil. If every girl in England was like you…"

"But they're not, and so I have to work my fingers to the bone to make up for it," she teased. "Now, what'll you have?"

Face still red, Jimmy placed his order, not knowing that sitting behind him was a man whose face was red for an entirely different reason.

Tom sat there, fuming, wishing Matthew would hurry up with the drinks already. He wasn't sure why he felt so jealous, so possessive, of a woman he didn't even know, but seeing her kiss that bloke was like a slap across the face. He wasn't even sure why he was surprised. A beautiful girl like her, no wonder she had a beau! She probably had more than one, at that—_no, Tom, that's cruel. You can't just assume things about her when you don't even know her…_

_But I'd like to know her. And now I may not ever get the chance to…_

Suddenly, the girl gave a cry of delight and Tom glanced up again as he saw her running out from behind the bar. "Matthew!" she cried, and Tom's eyes widened as he realized that she was running straight into his friend's arms. He stood up, watching as Matthew grinned and limped as quickly as he could over to meet her. Both of her arms came around his neck, and with one hand still supporting himself on the cane Matthew wrapped his other arm around her and lifted her up off her feet in an embrace.

Tom stared in disbelief, his feet moving before he was even aware of what was happening. Jealousy flared up inside him once again, joined by a new feeling as well: protectiveness. Tom didn't care who this barmaid was, but if Matthew was being unfaithful to Mary, then friend or not Tom was going to…

"What's going on here?" he demanded as he walked over to them.

Still grinning, Matthew set the girl back on her feet. "Ah! Tom, there's someone I'd like you to meet. Sybil, this is Lieutenant Tom Branson. We trained together and he's just been transferred to Duxford with us. Tom, this is Sybil Crawley. My sister-in-law."

"Nice to meet you," Sybil said with a smile, holding out her hand for him to shake.

_Tom Branson, you absolute idiot._

* * *

Once Tom got over his initial embarrassment, their drinks arrived and Thomas let Sybil off of her shift early so that she could sit and talk with them. She had protested, insisting that she could still help, but he had waved her off. "Gwen will be coming in to take over for you in half an hour anyway," he said breezily. "It's no trouble. Go on, go have fun."

Sybil thanked him and left, and soon she was happily sipping an Irish cider as she tried to catch up with Matthew—it hadn't been too long since she'd seen him and Mary, only a week or two, but somehow during wartime each and every separation felt like so much longer—and got to know Tom. He and Matthew regaled her with stories from their training days that made both of them roar with laughter, and in between Sybil tried to ask Matthew about Mary and the baby. Tom asked her questions about herself too, and seemed pleasantly surprised to know that she was training to be a nurse in addition to working at the Eagle. As time wore on, Matthew realized as he sipped his pint that Sybil and Tom seemed to be paying far more attention to each other than they were to him, and he smiled. He didn't know much about Tom's life in Ireland, but he did know that he'd had a sweetheart that hadn't been willing to wait for him until he'd returned from the war. He was glad that Tom and Sybil seemed to be getting along…and as he saw the way that Tom was looking at his sister-in-law, a sparkle in his eyes that he had never seen there before, Matthew began to wonder if there was more than just a budding friendship between them.

Tom had just finished teaching Sybil how to properly give an RAF salute—longest way up, shortest way down—when Matthew stood up, pretending to check the time. "It's getting rather late," he said. "I should go home and see how Mary is getting on. It was lovely to see you, Sybil…"

Sybil and Tom stood up as well, and Matthew kissed Sybil's cheek softly before reaching for his hat. Tom went to get his as well, but Matthew held up a hand to stop them. "No, no, don't leave early on my account. I know the two of you are having fun. You can stay if you want. Do you think you'll be able to find a ride back?"

Tom shrugged, looking grateful that Matthew had given him the option to stay. Matthew offered him up a knowing smile. "I'm sure I can find one. If not, it's a beautiful night, I wouldn't mind the walk."

"I'll make sure someone can give Tom a ride back to Duxford," Sybil said quickly. "It's no trouble. Worse comes to worse I'm sure we could always call him a cab."

"All right then, it's settled. I'll tell Mary you said hello, Sybil—and we're still on for lunch this Sunday, right?"

She grinned at her brother-in-law. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Good to hear. Now, Tom, can I trust you to look after Sybil?"

"You know you can count on me, Matthew."

They said their goodbyes, and Matthew shook Tom's hand, telling him he would see him back on base. Sybil and Tom sat back down and watched him leave, both of them saddened by the sight of the cane and the limp although neither of them would ever bring it up. Matthew was handling his injury as best as he could and with cheerful spirits, and there was hope that with time and physical therapy he wouldn't even need the cane anymore. "I know it's horrible to say," Sybil said softly, "but when I found out what had happened…when I heard that his injury was minor compared to what might have happened to him…I was so relieved. I was almost glad it happened."

"There's no shame in that," Tom said, his voice also quiet, thoughtful. He took a sip of his drink and looked over the table at her, setting his hand close to hers on the worn tabletop. "He's out of harm's way now. That's all that matters."

Sybil nodded. Tom knew that as a nurse, she was probably steeling herself every day to the fact that there would be many she encountered that had not been as lucky as Matthew. When she spoke, her words confirmed his suspicions. "He was lucky. And I'm here so that I can help out those brave souls who might not be so lucky."

"That's very brave of you." He smiled at her, daring to reach over and cover her hand with his. She looked surprised at first, but not as surprised at Tom was when she carefully turned her hand over so that she could properly grasp his. A warmth seemed to spread through him from their joined hands, and he swore that his heart stopped for just a moment.

"They tried to talk me out of it, you know," Sybil said quietly, casting her eyes down for a moment. "Not so much after Matthew joined up, and my sisters were always supportive in their own way, but my parents, my grandmother…they were convinced that there were better ways I could help the war effort, but…" She almost smiled, something shining her eyes that Tom could not name. "I knew in my heart that I could do it, that this was what I needed to do, and it didn't matter what kind of sacrifices I had to make to get there…not when there are men like you out there every single day sacrificing so much more just to keep people like me safe. I can't stand by while they give their lives, Tom. I just can't."

"I understand," Tom said softly, and she got the distinct feeling that he truly did understand.

A little silence fell over them then, and she stared into her glass for a few minutes before speaking up. When she looked up at him again, there was a curiosity in her eyes that Tom found irresistible. "So, Tom Branson…what's your story?" she asked, leaning forward eagerly. "How did you—"

"You mean, how did an Irish mongrel like me end up in the English Royal Air Force?" he asked, a rather impish smile crossing over his face.

She looked shocked, and Tom chuckled as he watched her face relax once she realized that he was teasing her. "Of course not!" she cried out, reaching out a hand to slap him lightly. "That's not what I meant at all. I just…I was wondering how you got into flying."

"Of course you were," Tom said, daring to throw in a wink along with his words as he looked over to him from above the rim of his cup. "It's a bit of a funny story, actually. You see, this friend of mine in Ireland had an uncle who was a bit of an airplane enthusiast. Didn't know the first thing about them, honestly—had my mate ask _me_ if I could help him with one of the engines. I was working as a mechanic at the time, and part-time as a chauffeur for a family nearby. I guess he figured that the engine of a car couldn't be too different from the engine of a plane."

"And was it?" Sybil asked, a smile playing on her lips. "Was it similar, like he thought?"

"No," Tom said impishly, the look on his face making Sybil laugh. "It was not. About as different as night and day, actually" Tom said with a laugh. "But it got me interested in planes, so in a way I guess I have to be grateful to the old goat. I started reading up on them, shelled out money for books and a day of lessons, and then got the old man to teach me a bit about how to fly them…he sort of kindled an obsession, really. Being up in the air like that…there's nothing else like it. I was actually saving up to buy one of my own, something cheaper that I could fix up to fly all by myself…" He sighed fondly, staring down into his glass for a moment before he spoke. "And then when war broke out two years ago…I just knew what I had to do. Ireland may be neutral, but I'm not. Not when there are people out there in the world suffering and I have the power to do something about it. I'm like you, Sybil—I can't sit idly by while other people give their lives. Not when I can do something to change that."

"No," Sybil agreed, meeting his eyes with a tiny smile that told Tom that she understood more than any words could have. The pub was slowly emptying out, but Tom knew that even if it had been filled to bursting with people, he still would have felt as if he and Sybil were the only ones in the room.

"Tell me what it's like to fly," she whispered, leaning in towards him , her eyes never once leaving his.

"It's incredible," Tom said without missing a beat. "There's nothing like it in the entire world. You feel invincible, there on top of the world. Nothing can touch you, nothing can hurt you…even when we're up in the air on missions, I feel that way. All those stories of the horrible things that can happen while you're up in the air, you don't think about them. You can't think about them. Not just because if you thought about them you wouldn't be able to go through with whatever it is that you've been ordered to do, but because the very act of flying doesn't let you think about anything else. You're just…you're unstoppable. You're on top of the entire world, looking down and soaring over it all. You're weightless, breathless, and you don't even care because it feels so amazing. There's no other feeling like it in the world"

His eyes met hers for a moment before falling, unconsciously, to her lips. They were only a few inches apart now, and he couldn't help himself as he leaned forward to bridge that gap. She gasped lightly in surprise when his lips met hers, but after a second she was kissing him back as well, her eyes fluttering closed as Tom's heart threatened to beat out of his chest all together. He had kissed more than his fair share of girls in his time…but none of them had ever made him feel quite like this.

"What was that for?" she breathed when he pulled away.

"I don't know," Tom whispered back, resting his forehead gently against hers. "I just…wanted to. You make me feel like I have nothing to lose. Sybil Crawley…you make me feel like I'm flying."

Sybil looked at him a long moment before glancing over her shoulder. The pub was mostly empty now, the lights dimmed, and both Thomas and Gwen were occupied with filling the last remaining orders. Draining her glass, Sybil smiled at him and stood up, tugging him along with her. "Where are we going?" Tom asked, confused.

"Come with me."

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_**To be continued…**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers! I am thrilled with the response that part 1 of this story has gotten, and so here is part 2! Just a warning…this chapter is rated a high T/borderline M for sexuality. I didn't go full-on smut, but it is there and is alluded to, so you've been warned. Hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for your support so far! There will be one more chapter after this, so don't worry yourselves TOO much… ;)**_

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Tom's heart was racing as he allowed Sybil to pull him through the thinning crowd, past the bar and through a door marked _Employees Only._ His brow furrowed, wondering why she was taking him to the kitchen, only to have Sybil bypass it entirely and turn to the right, through another door that led to a darkened staircase. "Come on," she repeated, tugging him along. He stopped for a moment, lingering on the bottom step, suddenly unsure where she was taking him. Something deep inside of him knew, of course, but he wanted to be sure…

In response to his unspoken question, Sybil retreated down the few stairs that she had managed to ascend and returned to his side, cupping his face in her hands gently. This time, it was her who kissed him, deeper than the last, a kiss that seemed to set every inch of Tom's body alight. He had certainly never met anyone quite like Sybil Crawley before, that was for damn sure…

Her mouth opened gently under his lips, and after a moment of hesitation he slipped his tongue inside. He could taste excitement and Irish cider on her breath, and his arms entwined around her waist, pulling her close against him as her hands slid from his cheeks to rest on his chest. Now that they were alone, they allowed their kisses to become more desperate and longing as they stood there, gripping each other so tightly it was as if each of them thought that they would be torn from each other at any moment. War had a funny way of doing that to people, Tom thought—you got the sense that every moment was precious, and if you wasted a moment of it then everything could be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. Tom wondered what it had been like for Matthew when his plane had been hit…whether Mary was the only thing on his mind, whether he had any regrets as he realized that the plane was going down…whether he'd woken up in the hospital later unable to truly believe the fact that he had survived…

In war, everything could change in an instant, and usually not for the better. Tom Branson was acutely aware of that, and that was why he gripped Sybil all the more tightly, pressing her against him and kissing her until they were both breathless and panting, their foreheads resting against each other as they stood in the dark stairwell.

"Come with me," she whispered again, something in her eyes that had not been there last time. Tom's breath hitched in his throat. "My room..it's just upstairs."

He nodded, his forehead still pressed against hers, still tasting her lips on his. "Are—are you sure?"

Slowly, she smiled. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." With that, she took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing first his palm and then the pulse point at his wrist, which only made his heartbeat speed up even more beneath her feather-light touch, before turning to guide him up the stairs once again. This time, he followed her eagerly, their footsteps seeming to echo on the wooden steps as they ascended up to where Tom assumed were flats for the employees and perhaps a room or two for paying guests of the tavern. The stairs led to a dimly lit hallway, and Sybil paused at the second door on the right, reaching into her pocket for her key before quickly unlocking the door and ushering him inside. She fumbled for the light, leaving Tom to give the room a quick once-over before she flipped it on.

It was small and sparsely furnished, but somehow he felt that suited Sybil. The front door led to a small living room with a sofa, chair, and wireless on the table. Most of the available surfaces sported heavy nursing textbooks and framed family photos, and there was clean laundry hanging over the radiator to dry. Through an open doorway Tom could see a tiny kitchen, and directly across from that was a door that he assumed led to the bedroom. _Her_ bedroom. The reason, or at least he assumed, that she'd brought him here in the first place.

He found himself chuckling.

"What?" she asked, seeming amused, the alcohol and adrenaline that was pounding through their veins making them far giddier than they might have been otherwise. "What's so funny?"

"I just never thought I'd see an Earl's daughter living above a pub, much less kissing me and inviting me up to her flat."

Sybil raised an eyebrow at him, grinning as she stepped closer and placed a hand onto her hip. "Well…I'm not like most girls. _Especially_ most earl's daughters."

"Oh, I can see that," Tom whispered, his arms snaking around her waist again. "And I'm glad of it."

"Because I make you feel like you're flying?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

"And I never want to come back down to earth again," he responded immediately.

"Neither do I."

And then he was kissing her again, her arms coming around his neck to anchor her to him as she began to lead him to the bedroom. They stumbled a bit as they crossed the threshold, both of them clearly nervous, and as Tom caught her around the waist they both let out a little breath of laughter. "Careful now," he whispered as his lips brushed her neck, making her gasp delightedly. The sound seemed to go straight through him, only fuelling his actions further, silencing the little voice in his head that was busy warning him to slow things down, to think them through. There was no longer time to think things through. He was a fighter pilot in the middle of wartime, and tomorrow—maybe even tonight—he would have to go back to that life. He wanted to put that off as long as he possibly could…but first, he had to make sure that this was what Sybil wanted. Already her fingers had found the buttons of his jacket, slipping them out one by one, but he laid his hands on her wrists to still her for just a moment. "Sybil…"

"Please, Tom. Just trust me. I…I know what I want, and it's you. I know this is too fast, all of it, but…but I can't help it. I've…I've never met anyone like you before, Tom. I've never felt this way before, and…I don't ever want to forget how this feels…" Even in the dimness of the room, he could see her eyes shining at him, pleading and full of a strength he had not expected to find in an Earl's daughter. She knew what she wanted out of life, and she was not afraid to take it…and she felt the same way about him that he felt about her.

"You are, without a doubt, the most extraordinary woman I have ever met."

"Then kiss me, Tom."

He didn't need to be told twice. His lips all but crashed into hers with a force that surprised him, taking their breath away from the second time that night. His hands wandered her back as she worked to rid him of his jacket and shirt, her hands running up and down his broad shoulders and down to his back, the two of them practically breathing the same air…and thinking the exact same thing, how perfect and _right_ this felt, standing there in each other's arms. It was as if they fit together perfectly, like they had been meant to find each other from the start…

Neither Sybil nor Tom would ever admit to having believed in soul mates before this. But now, as they kissed each other with a desperate passion that seemed to threaten to consume them, they each wondered if they had really been wrong all along.

Tom's fingers had wandered down to the buttons on Sybil's dress, undoing them slightly more clumsily than she had done as his teeth and tongue wandered her neck and jawline, nipping lightly here and there and smiling against her skin when she gasped. One by one the buttons fell away, revealing her creamy skin and the sensible white fabric of her bra. When the last button was undone, she stepped back and pushed the fabric from her shoulders, letting the dress pool at her feet. Tom stared, unabashed, feeling desire rear up inside of him even though he had not even seen all of her yet. "You're beautiful," he whispered, stepping forward to stand before her again, taking her face into his hands gently.

"Thank you," she whispered. It seemed silly to say, but she wasn't sure that she had ever heard someone call her beautiful and mean it quite the way that he did before.

"I mean it. So beautiful…" he stumbled over his words as he looked into her eyes, the pupils darkening with desire, needing her to see him and tell him the truth. "Sybil, have you…"

She nodded, smiling shyly. "I have. I hope that's—"

He cut her off with a kiss, backing her up towards the bed, letting her know that _of course_ it was all right, that he would never judge her for her past. Honestly, he would have been surprised if she hadn't been experienced—a woman as amazing as Sybil Crawley no doubt had hundreds of admirers, perhaps had even been in love before he came along. What had happened in their pasts did not matter, and neither really did what might happen in the future. All that mattered was the two of them, here and now, and for a moment Tom found himself wishing that he could stop time.

Together, they moved slowly, discarding the rest of each other's clothes and marveling at each other's bodies, taking their times for both of them wanted to put off the morning hours as long as possible. She truly was, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature that Tom had ever seen, and he kissed his way down her body again and again, wanting to memorize the way her skin felt beneath his lips, how she looked as her head fell back onto the pillow and her eyes closed in pleasure. His hands entwined with hers and he raised them above her head, seeking out her lips and kissing her so deeply he never wanted to come up for air again.

"Tom?" she whispered just before he began, looking impossibly beautiful as she looked up at him with her dark curls spread out across the pillow, her eyes bright and darkened with desire and lips swollen from his kisses. "I've never met anyone quite like you either."

He leaned down, kissing her more gently than before as he slowly slipped inside of her, thanking God and all of his lucky stars for the incredible woman in his arms.

* * *

When Tom awoke, the faint sound of birdsong reached his ears, and a chill had fallen over the room. Sybil was burrowed into his side, his arms wrapped around her tightly in return. He cracked his eyes open, realizing with a sigh that the sun had begun to rise as his eyes flickered over to Sybil's alarm clock on the bedside table. He groaned, and Sybil stirred beside him. "I have to go," he whispered. "If I'm not back on base in time, I'll be in for it later. I'm sorry, Sybil…you can go back to sleep if you want…"

She sighed again, a soft, tired sound that almost broke his heart. Her blue eyes opened, settling on him as her fingers danced over his bare chest. "I wish you didn't have to go," she whispered in response.

He leaned forward, kissing her softly, apologetically. "God, Sybil, so do I. But I have to. I'm sorry."

He had half-expected her to stay in bed, but to his surprise, when he got out of bed she did too, crossing to the wardrobe and pulling out a new, brightly colored dress for the day. In the sunlight that was filtering through the open window she seemed even more beautiful, if possible, than she did last night, and as they both dressed in an easy silence he found himself watching her, watching the fluid movement of her body and remembering how amazing last night had been. When they were both dressed Sybil crossed the room to him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight, his body thrumming with contentment at the simple act of having her in his arms again. It was amazing how less than twelve hours ago they had been perfect strangers, but now…it was as if he already could not imagine his life without her.

"I really do have to go," he whispered after a few minutes, sounding dejected." Sybil nodded against his chest, smiling up at him and leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I'll walk you down."

They went back down the same way they'd came, their footsteps seeming to echo through the empty tavern. Tom held Sybil's hand tightly when they reached the landing, slowing down when she began to lead him back into the bar where they'd met. It had only been a few hours ago, but somehow it seemed like a different lifetime—like he had been an entirely different man before he met Sybil. He liked to think that he had been.

He cleared his throat as Sybil stood before him, looking surprisingly cheerful considering the circumstances. "I should get going," he said quietly. "Sybil, I just want you to know that—"

"Tom, stop."

His brow furrowed, confused. "Stop what?" he asked. "What have I said?"

"It's not what you've said, Tom, it's what you were going to say. You were going to tell me goodbye."

"Is…is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," Sybil said, her tone vehement. "We're not going to do this," she whispered, reaching out to take hold of Tom's hands in her own. His shook slightly, and she tightened her grip, determined to prove to him that she was there for him no matter what. "We're not going to say goodbye, Tom. We're not.I hate goodbyes. I always have. So we're not going to say goodbye. I'll see you again…you know I will." She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, stroking his smooth skin gently. A tiny bubble of laughter escaped her lips, even as her eyes threatened to fill with tears. "You're only just down the road. Duxford's not that far…I can borrow Thomas' car whenever I want and come see you. Lord knows he owes me enough favors as it is."

That almost made Tom smile. "We're not exactly supposed to have…_female_ visitors that often, love. Those of us who aren't married, anyway. They sort of frown upon that…"

"I don't care," Sybil said, her voice firm and so stubborn that Tom had to smile this time. "They can try to keep me away all they want. I will not give you up."

He tried to smile for her once again, but it was strained and did not reach his eyes. "Sybil…" he whispered, his voice sounding weary as he searched for the right words. "You might have to—"

"Don't say that," she whispered, her voice still as strong as ever as she gazed up at him. "Don't say that, Tom Branson. Don't you dare. You're going to be fine, do you hear me? You're just up the road at Duxford."

"I can't stay on base forever, Sybil," he said softly. "Sooner or later—and probably sooner—they're going to need me back up in the air again, and—Sybil, I can't be certain of anything…"

"Yes you can," she countered, a bit of a challenge shining in her beautiful blue eyes. "Yes you can. What was it you were saying to me last night? When you're up in the air, you're on top of the world. You're invincible. No one can touch you." She leaned forward then, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a kiss that Tom wished he could hold onto forever. "Last night you asked me to bet on you, Tom…and I don't plan on stopping now."

He stared down at her a moment longer, his eyes shining with something that she couldn't name, and when Tom finally spoke again, his words were enough to take her breath away.

"God, I love you."

The phrase hung in the air between them, but neither of them regretted them nor wished that he would take them back. For the last three years, the world had changed. Life was precious, and no one in all of Europe seemed willing to take a single moment for granted. Maybe before the war it would have seemed silly, even impossible, for two complete strangers like Tom and Sybil to meet and fall in love in one night, but no longer.

Immediately she felt tears prick at her eyes, but they were the happiest tears she could have ever imagined. She had never believed that she would be the type of girl to fall in love so fast, but that was before Tom…and now that she had him, she never wanted to look back.

"I love you too," she whispered, and the smile that crossed his face was bright enough to power all of London during a blackout. His arms came around her and he kissed her with a gentle passion, making Sybil sigh as he pulled away, turning towards the nearest wall.

"What are you doing?" Sybil whispered as she watched Tom reach into his pocket, pulling out a pocketknife. She watched as he began to carve something into the surface of the wall, the gentle scratching of the knife against the wood and their gentle breathing the only sound in the now-empty tavern. She leaned against him, not eager to be parted from him for long as they faced their inevitable separation, a small smile dancing across her face. "You know, you're not actually supposed to do that."

"Didn't stop them," Tom countered, gesturing with his other hand to the ceiling above them, where countless other pilots had left their mark on the Eagle. Sybil stood on her toes, trying to get a glimpse of what he was carving, but he shifted so that his shoulders blocked her view entirely. "Patience, love. It's a surprise."

Sybil crossed her arms and pouted behind him, but he was entirely engrossed in his work and didn't notice. She furrowed her brow, wondering what in the world he was writing—surely their initials, his RAF rank, and the date couldn't take that long to write? It didn't need to be anything fancy—initials and rank were the norm, generally, and unless he was doing something more…

"You won't even let me take a peek?" she asked coyly, making him chuckle.

"Not until it's ready." She tried to peer around him again, but it was no use, and she settled for wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the rough fabric of his uniform as little by little the sun began to brighten the deserted pub. Soon, she knew, Thomas would be coming in to open it for the day, but until then, it was entirely theirs…

"My next scheduled leave is next month," Tom said, his the timbre of his voice vibrating against her cheek as she pressed it into his back. "I mean, every now and again I'll get a free night, like tonight…but next month I get a whole weekend to do whatever I want. Maybe…maybe we could spend the weekend together…"

"Yes," Sybil whispered, pulling him closer as he worked, never wanting to let him go. "Yes, Tom, yes."

She felt rather than saw him smile, and he began to work faster, the gentle scratches against the woodwork becoming louder. Sybil busied herself by counting the breaths he took, trying to memorize his scent and how he felt in her arms, wishing that he would hurry up and finish so that she could see but also that he would take longer, so she didn't have to go once he was done…

"There," Tom said finally, his voice soft and content. "Take a look."

Slowly, she disentangled herself from him and stood by his side, gazing at the wall in front of them. His arm automatically came around her waist, pulling Sybil closer as she read the words he had so painstakingly carved into the wall of the Eagle, immortalizing the two of them forever.

_SC + TB_

_Nov. 1941_

_Let's do it._

_Let's fall in love._

* * *

_**One Month Later: December, 1941**_

The radio crackled as Tom maneuvered his Spitfire forward, nodding along to the coordinates as his commander recited them over the wireless. He pushed the throttle forward and the plane descended slightly, just enough that he could glance over the terrain below him and make sure that he was still on-course. This was to be a short mission, or so he hoped…after all, he had Sybil waiting for him back home. A smile spread over his face at the mere thought of her, and he glanced up to where he kept the picture of herself that she had given him, always within his sight. It kept him going on days like this, when he was tired and yearning for home, because she was what he was fighting for now. He hadn't seen her in nearly two weeks, but with her most recent letter in his pocket and her smiling face reminding him that she was sending her love to him all the way across the Channel, it was easier to keep going.

"Not much longer now, love," he whispered to the photograph as he had taken to doing when he was feeling particularly lost or lonely. He smiled, bringing his fingers to his lips and kissing them softly before pressing them to the picture, wishing she was truly with him, that it was her real lips he was kissing instead of stiff, unfeeling paper…

_BOOM._

Suddenly Tom's teeth rattled with the force of the explosion, seeming to come out of nowhere. He shouted a curse as he began to lose control of the plane, the left wing dangling uselessly. Anti-aircraft guns, from the look of it. Another blast rocked the plane and Tom catapulted forward, his seatbelt yanking him back as the plane continued to plummet. His arm hurt for some reason, and when he took his hands away he saw that he had left smears of blood behind on the throttle. From broken glass, perhaps, or…_Tom, you idiot._

Numbly, he reached for his parachute. There was clearly no saving the plane now, not from the look of things or the way that smoke was beginning to fill his nose. The ground was getting closer and closer, and there was no way for Tom to know what would be waiting for him when he reached it. All he could do was jump and hope for the best.

As he threw open the door of the plane, there was only one thing on his mind.

_Sybil._

* * *

**_Stay tuned for the final chapter..._**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Here it is, the final chapter! Sorry for the tremendously long wait. School and stuff, you know. Enjoy!**

* * *

_**January 1942**_

_We regret to inform you that Lieutenant Thomas Branson…potentially shot down over the French countryside…missing, presumed dead…_

_Missing._

_Presumed dead_

Sybil didn't even realize that she had started to scream until the telegram was fluttering out of her hand down to the floor.

* * *

_**February 1942**_

"I told you we should have told her in person! Why the blazes did you let them give her that bloody telegram!" From where Sybil was lying on her side, her arm a pillow beneath her head, pressed into her gaunt cheeks, she could hear the contempt in her sister's voice as she hissed at her husband.

"Darling," Matthew said, understanding as always, so infuriatingly understanding. She still remembered the way he had opened his arms to her after she'd gotten the news, how he'd held her tight even as she'd screamed and sobbed and beat him with her fists. She had cursed him over and over, as if blaming him for what had happened, hitting him over and over, but still her brother-in-law had refused to let her go, not until she had stopped fighting and cried herself dry. He'd delivered bad news to grieving widows before, and many of them had reacted the same way that Sybil had—although he'd had no idea that the connection she felt to Tom could have been so deep after only one night of knowing each other. She'd fought him like a wildcat, but he never let her go, knowing that she needed to be held, needed to get all her sorrow and grief out before she could even think about facing tomorrow.

She'd gotten out all of her grief. Facing tomorrow was a different story entirely.

Mary glanced into Sybil's room, and Sybil quickly shut her eyes, pretending to sleep—something that, no matter how exhausted she felt day in and day out, it seemed she had not done in weeks. Nightmares plagued her every night, of Nazi fighter planes and smoldering wreckage, of falls from great heights and being buried alive—and when she was not dreaming, she was tossing and turning, crying herself to sleep and trying to ignore the ache in her heart and her churning stomach. It was as if Tom had taken a piece of herself with him when he'd jumped out of that plane…if he had…

Matthew was still speaking. "You know she wouldn't have believed me if I'd done it. She needed to hear it officially. That's just how Sybil is."

"You didn't have to take away her hope," Mary said, lowering her voice as the baby in her arms began to fuss. She immediately began to rock her small son in her arms, a practiced mother already after a little over two and a half months, and Matthew felt the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. His best friend had been taken away just a few days after the birth of his son. It was the cruelest irony that he could have imagined. He'd not even had time to write to Tom and tell him the good news…that George Thomas Crawley had come into the world safe and sound.

It still didn't feel quite real, the fact that Tom would never get to hold Matthew's son.

"I didn't take away her hope, darling. She needed to know…"

"It's only been two months. There's still a chance…"

"Mary," Matthew whispered, and Sybil felt tears prick her eyes once again. Mary sighed as George's fussing died down, and Sybil peeked open one eye. She could see her sister sitting at the table through the open door to her bedroom—Matthew and Mary had insisted on Sybil staying with them until she was "back on her feet", whenever that would be—her dark head bent as she looked down at her child, love and sorrow shining in her eyes.

"I've never seen her like this," she whispered.

"She hasn't smiled in weeks."

"That's not true, she smiled at George last night at dinner. And she's finally started getting out of bed in the mornings…"

"She looks so thin and pale. Are you sure she's been eating, Mary?"

Sybil's hand instinctively fell to her stomach, which felt hollow with hunger. Maybe she hadn't been eating as much as she should…but what was the point anymore? How could she go on, when he could not?

"I don't know. I do the best I can, Matthew. I try to talk to her, to get her to come up out of bed and out into the fresh air…I try to get her to hold George when she feels up to it. But I don't know what to do. I have no idea how to comfort my sister. She's _not_ my sister anymore. She's become someone I don't even recognize…and that scares me…"

Sybil threw back the covers, her feet hitting the floor with a jolt as she forced herself out of bed. She was going to be sick.

* * *

_**March 1942**_

It was funny, really, how after so long of thinking that it was impossible for life to go on…it had. It did.

Slowly but surely, Sybil felt little bits of her old self coming back. First it was a smile as she took a giggling George from Mary's arms, bouncing her little nephew on her hip as he reached to pull at a lock of her hair. Then it was waking up in the morning and putting on a nice dress and lipstick, like she had before the telegram that had changed everything…like it was just another day. With each passing week, Sybil found herself healing slowly, little pieces of herself she thought she'd lost forever coming back. She might never be perfectly whole again, she knew. There would always be those unspoken, unanswered questions about what her life would have been like if things had been different. She was like a china plate that had been broken and glued back together—still cracked, here and there, but ultimately stronger for it.

Or at least, that's what she told herself, because she knew that's what Tom would have wanted.

Sybil allowed herself to return to the life she had abandoned months ago. The color returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were once again bright, although they did not sparkle in quite the same way that they used to. She gained back the weight she'd lost and went back to her job at the Eagle, which Thomas had valiantly kept waiting for her all this time, although she wasn't sure if she could take up her nurses studies just yet. Part of her feared that it was too soon, that seeing and working with men who had made it would hurt her too much when she knew that Tom had not. Add that to the fact that she was still so exhausted, even though she was sleeping better, and Sybil knew better than to take on more than she could chew right now. Her place at the nurses' college would be waiting for her when she was ready, she knew. There was still no sign of the tide of the war turning, even now that America had joined the fight, and she knew that whenever she did choose to come back, there would still be people who needed her to help them.

Maybe that's why she was so reluctant to return. Maybe she wasn't yet sure how to help others when she was still trying to figure out how to save herself.

It was still difficult, but Sybil found somehow that every day her heart hurt a little less than it had the day before…and then came one day when her life suddenly changed once again. After that day, Sybil walked with more of a spring in her step than she had before, not knowing whether she should feel joy or regret over the news…but knowing that whatever this was, it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to her in ages.

* * *

_**April 1942**_

It was a beautiful day in Cambridge, the warm April air streaming in through the open windows as Sybil stood with her back to the bar. She hummed a little half-tune as she cleaned glasses, setting them on the table once she was done. It was easy work, something to keep herself occupied on a day when the weather meant that few people were venturing into the pub. She jumped a bit when she heard the bell above the door jingle softly, and she dropped her rag. "Just a second!" she called out, bending over carefully to get it. "I'll be with you in just a moment," she promised. "What can I get you?"

"Pint of Guinness, please, love," a lilting voice asked as she straightened up.

The glass in her hand shattered as it fell to the dirty floor.

_It can't be…._

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Sybil turned around.

The first thing she noticed was how much thinner he was from the last time she'd seen him. His clothes seemed to hang on his frame, and there were hollows in his cheeks that hadn't been there before, but that didn't stop the soft grin that came over his face at the sight of her behind the bar. He held his right arm slightly stiffly, and Sybil briefly wondered what had happened to it before she tore her eyes away, needing to look at him properly, needing to know that this was _real…_

"Tom," she whispered.

He grinned, although even from where she stood she could see tears brimming in his eyes. "Did you miss me?" he asked.

In the next moment she was running out from behind the bar and into his arms, his arms, still as strong as she remembered, enveloping her as she buried her face in his chest. She sobbed incoherently, clinging to him as he cradled the back of her head and pressed kisses into her hair, apologizing for scaring her, trying to explain….and telling her that he loved her. It felt so good to be able to hold her again, and although something felt different about the way his arms fit around her, he wasn't about to say anything about it…not when everything was finally perfect.

And then she pulled away and her lips were on his, salty with tears and just as he remembered them. They kissed until their lungs screamed for air, until they were so dizzy they felt they would fall over if it weren't for the other's arms around them, and still it did not feel like enough. When they pulled away at last to breathe, they kept their arms entwined around each other, their foreheads touching, reluctant to part even for a moment after nearly six months of separation.

"Tom, what happened?"

He explained as quickly as he could, telling her of the French family that had risked so much to take him in after they'd found him wandering injured around the countryside, how they had nursed him back to health as best as they could and how it had taken ages for him to figure out a way to safely return to England from the German-occupied France, all the while hugging her close and wondering just what it was that felt so _different._

"I couldn't write to you, Sybil, I'm sorry. I tried to get a message through a few times, but it was just a risk I couldn't afford to take. I can't imagine what you've gone through all these months—God, Matthew is going to _kill_ me when he finds out…darling, can you forgive me for what I've done to you? I didn't mean to, honestly. This entire time, all I've been thinking of is how to find a way back to you."

"I know," Sybil whispered, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, so relieved to be back home with her at last. Now their life together could begin, the life he had been planning since their one and only night together…

"It _was_ hard," she said softly. "So hard. But I knew that you would have wanted me to go on with my life, and…" she smiled, and Tom swore he saw a faint blush creeping over her face. "I didn't have to go through it all alone, either."

"I'm sure Matthew and Mary were a big help, weren't they?" Tom asked with a smile.

"Oh, yes, they have been…especially lately. But that's not exactly what I meant."

Tom's brow furrowed. "What did you mean?"

"I meant…this." She stepped back, revealing her full form to him for the first time…and the glaring thing that he had failed to notice.

His eyes widened as he saw the rounded mound of her belly, the way her dress billowed and hugged the small bump in a way that was unmistakable. Suddenly everything made sense, and Tom's mouth went suddenly dry. "Sybil…"

She smiled as her hands came to rest on either side of her swollen belly, her face glowing with happiness. "Surprise, Tom."

And then he was kissing her again, one hand slipping between them to rest on her stomach as well, marveling at all that had changed in five months time. She was crying, or maybe him, or maybe both, and all that mattered was that they were a family and he was _alive _and everything was finally right again.

"Marry me, Sybil," he whispered against her lips.

There was only one thing to say.

"_Yes."_

_**THE END**_


End file.
