Tag: 25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments

“So what are you going to get Sybil for Christmas this year?”

Tom took a moment and sipped the Port. He nervously looked at Robert, then turned to Matthew who posed the question.

The dilemma: what to get Sybil…

Last Christmas, their very first, Tom and Sybil decided to get one Christmas present for the both of them, something that would be put to good use.

“Tom?”

Tom turned his head to look at his wife. They were in the small bookstore they frequented, looking for a book that they would both enjoy reading to each other. Two hours had already passed but they couldn’t find a book they could agree on.

“Did you find something?”

Sybil’s cheeks were burning red as she flipped though the pages of the book.

Tom walked over to her and placed his hand on the small of her back. She shivered at his touch.

He looked over her shoulder and saw the pages. Drawings and full descriptions…every night for one year. He pictured Sybil and himself recreating the pages, making her writhe and moan and scream in pleasure. The blood drained from the top of his head and headed south.

Tom only then realized that they were in a dark corner at the back of the bookstore. Alone. With this book.

Tom turned her to face him and pushed her into the shelves. He trapped her between his arms and pressed the length of his body onto hers. She moaned at the contact. His voice came out husky and breathless.

“Where did you find that book?”

Sybil snaked her arms around his neck, book still in hand.

“On the very top shelf.”

Tom pressed his forehead to hers and breathed in her scent.

“We’re getting this book.”

Sybil giggled and nodded, but then pulled away. She looked into his eyes bashfully.

“I don’t want the cashier to know what we’re buying…He may look at us differently from now on…”

Tom nodded in agreement. He took the book from her hands and flipped it over. 15p.

He took the wallet out of his coat pocket and handed Sybil a 10p coin and a 5p coin. He stuffed his wallet back into his jacket along with the book.

“Give the money to the cashier and say that you found the money at the back of the store.”

Sybil nodded and within a minute, they were running back to their cozy Dublin flat, ready to tackle the book.

It was a shame the book only lasted four months.

Tom smiled at the memory and was brought back to the present.

He still didn’t know what to get her when suddenly an idea popped into his head.

‘Sybil does love her Christmas Carols…’

He grinned at his brother-in-law, knowing exactly what to get his little minx.

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

–from chapter 1 of “The Twelve Lays of Christmas” by Pointless Things

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 25

On Christmas Eve morning, snow began to gently fall and would continue to do so for the rest of the day on into the night. The Dowager Countess called to notify the family she would be staying home, using the snow as an excuse to skip the party. With Isobel Crawley and Lavinia Swire arriving with Dr. Clarkson, Tom didn’t need to pick any one up. Nor would he have to worry about leaving the party earlier or later than he wanted. It also afforded him time to get ready instead of scrambling to change into his suit.

Tom spent so much time getting ready. He wanted to look his best for Sybil. He had carefully ironed his best suit – his dark grey trousers with matching waistcoat, his best white shirt, and his black suit jacket – wanting to look as presentable as possible. He was going up against men who would be in officers uniforms, who could offer her more than he could ever hope to. Tom even woke up early that day before to shine his best black boots. He took a long bath, wanting to be as clean as possible and scrubbing his hands, hoping to get all of the oil out from under his fingernails. He carefully shaved and applied some aftershave. He had fussed with his black tie for half an hour, feeling as though it was choking him when in fact it was his nerves. He would get the chance, and more likely only one chance, to dance with Sybil tonight. He desperately wanted to make the best impression on her.

Unbeknownst to Tom, Sybil had also spent a great deal of time readying for the party. She had never been one to spend long amounts of time fretting over what to wear, how to wear her hair, and what jewelry would best compliment her outfit, even when she was a young and naïve girl proclaiming how thrilling it was to get a new frock. However, on this Christmas Eve, Sybil put an inordinate amount of thought into her outfit. She had quickly narrowed down her dress options to two: her black silk, sleeveless, mid-calf length dress with gold roses and her ankle-length dress with the black bodice and white skirt with black lace overlay. She decided on the former, as it was her favorite and was paid for by her Grandmama Martha as a gift for her twentieth birthday in June 1916. It was one that she had picked out for herself without her mother’s input. What she refused to acknowledge was that she knew that Tom loved it when she wore this dress, having told her it was more her than her harem pants.

Once she had chosen her dress, Sybil spent an hour trying to choose the best jewelry to wear with the outfit. She chose her long black beaded necklace and her onyx and diamond drop earrings, again personal favorites. Her mother hadn’t been thrilled with her dress decision, Cora not approving of the rising of dress hems. She had tried to convince her to wear one of her ‘more demure dresses’. However, Sybil, knowing that her mother was trying to fix her up with one of the officers, had stood her ground. After dabbing on some of her perfume, Caron’s N’Aimez Que Moi, she took a final look at her appearance, then left her room.

As soon as she entered the Main Hall, Sybil walked around the room and said hello to the officers and her fellow nurses. Soon, she had made her way to the Christmas tree. Taking in the tree, her mind began to drift both to her past and to her future. Sybil remembered Christmas when she was a little girl and all of the fun she had with her family as they opened gifts. Yet, she also remembered the stiff formality of the holiday and being banished to the nursery until she was old enough to behave (basically, not to speak) during dinner. As she thought of those Christmases, Sybil’s mind went to the Irishman who had simply promised to devote every waking minute to her happiness. What would a Christmas in Ireland with Tom be like? As she asked herself this question, one of the officers came up to Sybil and greeted her. Turning, she smiled at the man and wished him a Happy Christmas. Though she liked the man, a Captain Edward Bailey, Sybil sensed his interest in her was more romantic in nature, and she did her best to discreetly discourage him. However, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her mother watching them and started to suspect her interference. Sybil decided to make small talk and try to end the conversation as soon as she politely could. While she would admit that Edward was a nice man and very good looking, a little over six feet tall with dark brown hair and light blue eyes, she didn’t see him as a man that she could spend the rest of her life with. That might be because your heart already belongs to someone else.

–from “The Christmas Party” by gothamgirl28

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 24

It hadn’t occurred to Tom to think much beyond Christmas morning with his daughters and dinner with the family but he’d quite forgotten that in between, the servants were to receive their gifts from the family.

Which now included him.

He had often stood in this hall in his green livery, hat removed of course, but buttons polished and his boots spotless as he waited his turn to receive a nice, but not really heartfelt, present of their choosing.

He was usually gifted books. History and politics, nothing too radical but interesting none-the-less. Tom had to admit, despite the lack of feeling behind it, he’d always appreciated them and all still rested on one of the bookshelves in their flat at home.

Saoirse had thoroughly exhausted herself that morning opening the mass of presents she had awoken to and was now napping upstairs with her equally tired out cousins.

Cora and Robert had spent far more on their granddaughter than Tom was comfortable with but the delight on her face and the sheer joy the presents brought her had gone a long way to helping him forget his worries.

However, right now he had little to help him forget. He stood awkwardly at the end of the family, like a shoe on the wrong foot, as his old colleagues wished him a Merry Christmas like a stranger and called him ‘sir’.

After the fifth awkward greeting, he leaned towards his wife, desperately needing a distraction.

“Do you remember the year we did this after you’d accepted me?”

Sybil laughed quietly. “How could I forget?”

Her hand found his, their fingers threading together as they both remembered the last Christmas they’d spent here.

“I was so worried,” she continued, keeping her voice down. “I thought the second you came up to get your present everyone would realise and we’d be thrown out into the snow.”

“Am I that irresistible, Mrs Branson?” he asked cheekily, raising an eyebrow.

“You are that full of yourself,” Sybil shot back without hesitation.

–from “A Christmas at Downton” by repmet

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 23

There was only two hours left before the family’s Christmas Eve dinner, and despite their lord and master’s magnanimity that granted them their annual evening off, they still had much to do to get everything ready in due time. Which means that Mr Branson exceptionally had some work to do inside the castle: for instance he had just had to give a hand to decorate the hall, to move some furniture and to go get a few crates from the attic.

“Mr Branson,” Mr Patmore told him, “I know this is not within your job duties, and I also know this is below your position, but could you please bring me the crates of vegetables that have been delivered this morning and are kept outside in the cold? I’m sorry to ask you that, but all the hall-boys are otherwise occupied, and Thomas and William are busy laying the table.”

“That’s not a problem, Mrs Patmore, I’ll get them for you. Everyone has his share to do today. I’m at your disposal for anything else, if you need me. Please, don’t hesitate to make use of me for whatever you might–”

“Careful, young man,” Mrs Patmore replied with a playful smile in her voice, “I could take your offer at face value… I might be an old woman, I’m a woman all the same!”

Too taken aback to react, Mr Branson didn’t immediately find a witty yet respectful retort to her wisecrack. But Mrs Hughes didn’t miss one single word of this exchange.

“Well, Mrs Patmore”, she said, “ we’re just lucky Mr Carson wasn’t here to hear that, or we’d have had to deal with a butler’s heart attack on top of everything else!”

“My my my! Mrs Patmore!” Thomas exclaimed, “you’ve been playing your cards close to your chest… All this time and we didn’t notice that you had a thing for much younger men!”

“Fearing competition, Thomas?” she asked in jest. “But more seriously, there’s no harm in some friendly joking. Mr Branson knows fairly well this wasn’t a genuine proposition…”

“How so, Mrs Patmore,” Mr Branson answered acting hurt, “you mean this wasn’t a sincere dishonest proposition? You’re breaking my heart,” he added, raising his right hand to his chest in a theatrical gesture.

“Toying with men’s hearts, Mrs Patmore?” Thomas teased her. “Who would have thought? I’m sure you let a line of bleeding and weeping male hearts in your wake”

“Well, enough banter for now, gentlemen,” Mrs Hughes cut in. “Thomas, please, take this tray upstairs. Mr Branson, as you agreed to give a helping hand, would you please bring Mrs Patmore her crates?”

“Of course Mrs Hughes,” he answered, rather happy to escape the servants’ hall for a few minutes after this.

He left when Mrs Patmore was quietly exchanging a few words in a low voice with Mrs Hughes, asking her not to become “as much a wet blanket as Mr Carson”.

When he came back, carrying a heavy and cumbersome crate full of leeks, turnips and celeriac, he bumped into Mrs Hughes who was passing by.

“Oh, I’m sorry M Hughes,” he told her, “I hadn’t seen you.”

“That’s all right, my lad, no harm done. It’s very kind of you to help us here inside…”

“Don’t mention it, Mrs Hughes,” he answered while walking down the corridor to the kitchen, “I was having a bit of free time after Lady Edith’s driving lesson…”

“And by the way, how is it going with that?” Mrs Hughes asked him.

“Err–” Mr Branson began hesitantly, “how to phrase that…” he added. “I think I have grounds for asking His Lordship for danger pay!”

But he stopped short when, peeking through the doorway, he noticed in the kitchen a very refined shirt and very elegant skirt, worn by a young woman who had her back to the door.

His blood suddenly ran cold: what if it was Lady Edith? And what if she had heard what he just told Mrs Hughes?

In this case, he’d probably just have to go and find another position, and not with a very good recommendation…

But no. The young woman here had black hair. And never in a millennium would Lady Mary enter the kitchen. Which left only one possibility…

Branson’s blood went from icy cold to boiling hot, while his stomach seemed to be doing at least two or three turns in his insides before settling down when his heart fell down at the bottom of it.

The Lady was donning an apron and asking Mrs Patmore what her instructions were.

Instructions? Well, wasn’t she one of the people who were generally entitled to give orders around here?

But apparently, seeing how everyone downstairs was so busy preparing the coming feast, Lady Sybil had volunteered to lend them a helping hand. Now that she had learned the basics of cooking (well, the very basics, like making tea, cooking an omelette or doing the washing up), she thought she could make her small contribution to preparing the evening without being too much of a bother, of a hindrance to Daisy or Mr Patmore.

Realising that, Branson’s heart had a sudden pitch and leaped from the bottom of his stomach to his throat, pounding with double speed. Then after some time it seemed to settle back to his usual physiological place in his chest, a little bit on the left side, but the pounding didn’t cease being stronger than was certainly healthy for it; its rhythm just gradually slowed down to a more normal one, while somehow echoing lower in his stomach.

–from “Giving a Hand” by hetep-heres

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 22

By the time they’d got through oohing and aahing over the gifts (Emma and Roisin’s grandparents had bought them a pair of exquisitely detailed porcelain dolls, prompting an amused widening of eyes from Tom and an indignant screech from Roisin as her doll was taken away before she could smash its pretty head on the floor), and dinner, and the game, the habitually early-rising Bransons were exhausted. Sybil emerged from the bathroom to find Tom propped up on two pillows, chin on chest and butterflied book on stomach, fast asleep. With a fond smile she slipped into bed with him, closing his book and reaching across him to turn out the lamp.

He stirred. “I was reading that.”

She chuckled. “With your eyes closed? Of course you were.” She shifted onto him in the dark, nestling under his arm. “Don’t worry, I marked it for you.”

“I’m getting too old for this. I can’t keep their schedule any longer.”

“You’re not the only one.” Sybil yawned. “Though age has nothing to do with it. Granny was still going strong when we came up.”

“Your grandmother doesn’t get up at six a.m. as a matter of course.”

“You can say that again. Whenever I come home I wonder how I managed to stay up so late every night, and then I remember how much everything has changed.” She left the addendum for the better unspoken, it being self-evident. A brief silence fell and within each of their heads scenes from the last decade played like a film reel spliced and sped up. For the first time in a long while Sybil thought of their defiant announcement in the drawing room: the slow heat that had risen from her chest to the roots of her hair, the way her heart had pounded so hard she was sure everyone would hear it battering against her ribs in the sudden, shocked silence. How far she had come even then, and how much further since.

Tom was reliving a more recent memory: Emma tearing down the stairs in her nightdress that very morning, yelling Father Christmas has come! once she got to the bottom. Look, he’s drunk the whiskey and eaten the mince pies and Rosie! He’s left us presents! Tom had not dwelled on the contrast between this and his own childhood Christmases; he was doing his best for his children, as his mother had done for hers. But if he’d found his eyes getting a bit moist, what of it? “I know it’s bad form to say it when we just got here, but I’ll be glad to get back home on Sunday.”

Sybil’s fingers stroked the cotton shirt stretched over his chest. “Me too. Though they’ll be sorry to lose us so soon.”

“They never will truly understand, will they? How different our lives are from theirs. And that we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“No. But they do try.” She gave an indulgent chuckle. “Mama was very understanding about us not coming back for the Servants’ Ball this year.”

“Good. I never enjoyed it anyway. It always seemed such a sop, m’lord and m’lady giving the hoi polloi a chance to hobnob with their betters.” Tom snorted. “Trust me, half the people downstairs see it as just as much of a chore as your family does.”

“You never enjoyed it? Not even once?” A teasing note crept into her voice.

“Well… maybe once.” His tone warmed as well, and his hand moved over her hair. And now the same scene played in both their heads, of candlelight refracting through wineglasses in the great hall of January 1919, the sonic watercolor of music and voices echoing in their nervous ears. They’d been almost afraid to look at each other, moving in overlapping circles that narrowed as the night went on. She remembered the subversive thrill of being in Tom’s arms in front of everyone for once—not that she’d been in them in private more than a handful of times. Tom had been strung tight as a bow, almost flinching when he went to put his hand on her waist and it slipped. But by the time they danced Sybil had felt curiously relaxed. She’d found herself slipping into a fantasy that it was June and not January, that they were in Mayfair and not Yorkshire. She had known it was very likely she’d never be welcome in a fashionable ballroom again, but she hadn’t cared about that. It was the sense of normalcy she craved, the ability to glide over the floor with Tom without anyone raising an eyebrow.

“I was sure they could all tell just by looking at us,” said Tom.

“Well, half my family knew anyway.” Sybil smirked. “When you asked me to dance I remember Mary whispering to me to behave myself.”

“Ah, so even then she knew you were the one she needed to worry about.”

Sybil’s smile deepened. “What did the two of you talk of when you danced together? You never told me.”

“The weather,” Tom said dryly. “We managed to make a five-minute conversation out of whether we thought the winter of 1919 would be colder than the one before it.” Sybil gave a skeptical snort. “Believe me, love, wedding plans were the last thing either of us wanted to chat about.” He flexed his shoulders and relaxed further into the mattress, and Sybil seemed to sink into him as they settled into their habitual sleeping position. We’ll never need a very big bed, Sybil often said. And Tom would answer with a wink: Unless our family keeps growing.

“Happy Christmas, darling.” Sybil yawned, and a second later felt Tom’s chest rise beneath her cheek as he did the same.

His arms came more securely around her, warm in the room’s midnight chill. “Happy Christmas, love.”

–from “You Will Have a Perfect Christmas (In and Out of Bed)” by foojules

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 21

Tom grabbed his coat from the hanger behind his desk – the evenings were always cold in the run up to Christmas in London, and tonight was no exception. He was heading out for some festive drinks, and after the hectic week he had just been through, he was really ready for a few pints and a few laughs.

“Where are we going?”

Jimmy was fixing his hair, making sure he looked his best for the evening ahead.

“Back up City Road to Shoreditch. Alfred’s going to Ivy’s party in Hoxton later, he thinks he has a chance with that American flatmate of hers, so we’re meeting for a few drinks first before we kick on with him.”

“Yeah, Ivy mentioned it to me on Tuesday – she told me we’d all be in big trouble if we didn’t turn up!”

The 43 bus from outside their office in the City of London took them towards Old Street. From there, they headed east to a lively pub on Columbia Road.

Pushing through the door, Tom could see the crowd was already in holiday mood. Luckily, Alfred’s tall frame and red hair were easy to spot, and he and Jimmy shoved their way to the bar, where their friend was just ordering a drink.

“Perfect timing, Nugent! Couple of pints for me and Mr Kent, if you’d be so kind.”

The first beer was halfway down Tom’s throat before he started to look around. There was more to this place than the usual Friday night boozer, and he wasn’t sure what it was – until he heard a slightly out of tune voice singing the chorus of “Born to Run” to a rowdy accompaniment from the crowd, and realised they had wandered in on karaoke night.

He grimaced – he really wasn’t a fan of the “empty orchestra,” preferring to spend his time at the pub drinking, talking crap with his friends and occasionally shooting some pool. Of course, there was something else he enjoyed doing at the pub, too, if the moment was right…

The wannabe Bruce Springsteen finished his song, and the host was calling out a name he couldn’t hear as the next victim. He heard the name again, and then he saw a girl off to the side of the stage, being pulled forward by one of her friends.

The small, blonde girl doing the pulling was clearly the keener of the two, while the taller brunette whose hand she was holding was reluctant to get on stage. Tom could hear several voices start to chant what sounded like “Sybil, Sybil, Sybil…”

The strains of an ABBA song he couldn’t quite remember began to play through the slightly tinny speakers, and the two girls stood side by side, waiting for the singing to start…

“My my! At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender,
Oh yeah! And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way…”

The blonde girl started to dance along, and the brunette gave a resigned grin as she copied her friend’s moves.

Their two voices rang through the pub strongly enough to attract most people’s attention – of course, the fact that the girls were both beautiful drew many eyes to the stage as well. He found himself mesmerised by the brunette. She kept flicking her long wavy hair out of her eyes as she sang, and as she shook her arms and hips to the music he couldn’t help noticing her beautiful figure.

“Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you, woah, woah, woah, woah,
Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo…”

The song came to an end, to a lively round of applause from the crowd. The two girls grabbed hands and took a bow before walking off stage. Tom could see the brunette had a smile on her face, as if she’d enjoyed herself more than she thought she would. He was dismayed to notice a handsome blond man lean in to kiss her on the cheek when she got back to her table, as if to congratulate her. Of course, she has a boyfriend – no way a gorgeous girl like that would be here alone.

He felt a keen sense of disappointment as he turned back to his friends, who were talking about the upcoming Premier League round and assessing the likely outcome of the Arsenal-Chelsea game that was being played on Christmas Eve. A little while later, he saw the beautiful brunette come to the bar alone.

What the hell, I can talk to her, can’t I! Tom moved along the bar to stand next to her, and saw his opening when he realised she was buying far more drinks that she could carry herself.

“Need a hand with those?”

She turned to him and he saw that she was even lovelier up close than she had been on stage. Her eyes, a deep grey-blue, smiled into his, and he found himself staring at her face, in particular her full, pink lips…

“Thanks, that would be good. I can do the tray thing, but I’m such a klutz I’d be bound to spill something.”

“I’m T-Tom, by the way,” he stammered, feeling more awkward than he usually did when talking to a girl, his Irish gift of the gab that saw him through most situations deserting him in the face of her beauty.

–from “Time after Time” by cassiemortmain

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 20

Her mobile did not ring until noon, when Sybil was lounging in the library, also the warmest room in the house. Her papa was out somewhere, and Mama was still in her private sitting room. When she heard Tom’s personalized ringtone sound, she inhaled quickly and had to press the answer button a few times due to her sudden excitement.

“Tom!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper. “What have you been doing? I called you an hour ago.”

“Sorry, Sybil,” Tom said sheepishly. “I took a shift at the garage this morning.”

“Oh,” Sybil said shortly.

Tom worked odd hours at the car garage outside of the village. He knew cars well, and that was how he made money and spent time when he wasn’t educating himself on political corruption. It made for unpunctual communication and arrival on secret dates, however.

“So, you want me to help you cleanse your attic of old Christmas decorations?” Tom asked.

“Yes. If you can. And if you want to,” Sybil said.

“I’d like to help you with that Sybil, really. It’s not too big of a deal. But are your parents okay with it?”

“Tom, as long as they think that you are hear to help fix the plumbing or the car or something, they are fine. As far as they’re concerned, you’ll just be here sorting through crappy ornaments.”

“‘As far as they’re concerned,’ huh? What are you planning to do up in that attic?” Tom inquired.

Sybil blushed. “No, not that we’re – I mean, you will come to help – I didn’t actually mean – !”

Tom’s laughter cascaded through the receiver. “I’m teasing you Sybil. Yes, I’ll help. What time?”

“Gwen is going to help next Saturday and maybe Sunday …”

“Should I come tomorrow? How many boxes are there, exactly?”

“I have no idea. A lot, at least thirty.”

“Then I should come every day, starting tomorrow. It sounds like there will be a lot to go through. We shouldn’t save it all for one weekend.”

Sybil nodded, even though Tom wouldn’t say. “That sounds like a jolly good idea. Okay, come tomorrow after ten. We’ll just be going through the older decorations and tossing out the broken or ugly ones.”

“Won’t your grandmother want a say in what constitutes as ‘ugly?’” Tom teased again.

“I don’t care what she says. She should learn that her old-fashioned décor is too ancient for the twenty-first century.”

“I see,” Tom said, laughing again. “Anything else I should know?”

“One more thing. Among all the things we are going to be digging through, there is one thing that we must absolutely be careful of.”

A pause. “What is that?”

“It’s a demon Santa.”

Something sounded like a pig snorting on the other side. “Pardon?”

“A Santa Claus statue that apparently plotted to kill me and make it look like an accident.”

Apparently, Tom was not sure how to respond diplomatically. “What the – uh, when was this?”

Sybil took a look breath. “I was seven, and it was a week before Christmas. It was really late at night, and I heard this noise, a bell, like the ones they ring to get people to donate money. Anyway, I thought it was Papa doing that thing with the funny elf hat, waving it outside my door, but when I went outside, there wasn’t anyone. I swear, it was really dark, but I didn’t hear anything else. But I waited for a bit, and I heard the bell ringing again. So I go out in the hall and listen again. When it rang again it sounded like it was downstairs, so I went to the stairs. But while I was walking down, I tripped on something – I don’t know what – and I fell down.”

“Was it the evil Santa?” interrupted Tom.

“Maybe. I really wasn’t hurt too badly, but I was so scared, because it was dark and I thought I was going to die,” Sybil said. Then, for a dramatic effect to elicit sympathy from Tom, she made her voice slower and deeper. “I look up, slowly, and I am exactly one inch from this angry face, a troll from the depths of hell. Yes, the demon Santa Claus planned for me to trip and fall to my death. But just in case I survived, his bell, the one he used to summon me from my bed, was raised and ready to strike out my frontal lobe.”

There was a very long, very awkward silence between the two of them. Sybil was afraid that Tom had hung up.

“So … did it kill you?”

“Excuse me?” Sybil exclaimed. “I am really alive, in case you didn’t notice. I ran, screaming, into my parents’ room. They put away the statue for that year, but they forgot about my attempted murder and since then, it has been out every December, standing on the mantle in the drawing room. I hate looking at it, even now.”

“But why would a Santa Claus statue want to kill you?”

“When we find it, you can ask it. I’m not going anywhere near it once it is out in the open.”

“Alright, then, Sybil. Would you like me to bring the salt and the garlic?”

“Eh, what?”

“Sybil, it’ll be fine. I’ll protect you from the evil Saint Nicholas vessel.”

Sybil breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Tom.”

“No problem,” Tom said.

“One more thing,” Sybil said hurriedly, before Tom could hang up.

“What is it?”

“Please bring that salt. And a knife.”

Tom would not stop laughing to himself for two hours afterwards.

–“Deck the Halls with New Decorations”, chapter 3 of “Advent of Snow and Love” by scathach124

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 19

Later that morning, once the servants had come up and lined up to receive their gifts, Sybil joined her father, mother and sisters next to the table where they’d been set up. It was the first time that she was seeing many of them since her return the day before, so she welcomed the opportunity to greet them and give everyone her and Tom’s best wishes. Tom stood off to the side with Matthew, Isobel, Rosamund and Sir Richard. Several of the servants eyed him as they returned to their line, but the morning went off uneventfully.

Once the gifts had all been distributed, the staff retreated back to the servants hall, where they would enjoy an early Christmas “dinner” while the family served themselves a modest luncheon, from dishes that had been laid out for that purpose earlier that morning in the library. This was another well-established tradition that Tom was familiar with, so it surprised him when, as the family moved on to exchanging gifts, a member of the party questioned it.

“Why do we have to help ourselves at luncheon?” Sir Richard asked, from his seat on the sofa next to Mary.

“It’s Downton tradition,” Robert replied, as he unwrapped the silver letter opener engraved with a Celtic design that Sybil had brought for him. “They have their feast at lunch time and we have ours in the evening.”

Richard was not satisfied with the answer. “But why can’t they have their lunch early and then serve us … like they normally do?”

“Because it’s Christmas Day,” Mary said, with a slight exasperation in her voice that Sybil couldn’t help but take note of.

“It’s not how we’ll do it at Hacksby,” Richard said dismissively.

“They work incredibly hard, every day all year long,” Sybil said, unable to stop herself from putting in a word. “Are you really unwilling to offer your servants an afternoon’s reprieve. That seems rather unforgiving.”

Richard shifted his gaze to Sybil, who was sitting on the sofa across from him. She met his stare almost eagerly, wanting to look into the eyes of the man her sister intended to marry.

“If I pay them a fair salary, why should I expect anything but the best service?” he asked. “I am asking neither for their loyalty, nor their allegiance, only their labor, for which they are duly compensated. That’s the difference between a man who made his own fortune, as I did, and a peer.”

“What is the difference?” Robert asked, his brow furrowing. Tom had been standing next to Matthew by the table where tea had been served. As he watched Robert, it seemed to Tom that this was a path Robert wasn’t interesting in heading down, but Robert couldn’t help himself but ask the question.

Richard’s lips—usually set in a firm, humorless line—curled into a small smile. “Those who inherit wealth are sometimes inclined to proffer magnanimity toward those who are beneath them. You call it your duty. I call it guilt.”

“Guilt?” Sybil repeated.

“Guilt about enjoying the spoils of others’ efforts. As a self-made man I carry no such burden. You see a servant’s labor as deference. I see it merely as employment, and I’ve worked just as hard as any of the people who work for me. With respect, Lady Sybil, you wouldn’t now anything about that.”

“She knows plenty about hard work,” Tom spoke up.

Richard’s eyes—as well as everyone else’s—turned to him. Richard’s smile suddenly became a smirk, which unsettled Tom.

“She’s a nurse,” Tom added.

“I was here during the war,” Richard said. “I remember. Nursing is work of a sort, I grant you, but wheeling officers around the grounds and serving them tea, isn’t exactly hard labor. Her sisters did as much for the war effort and they’re not taking more credit than is their due.”

It was Tom’s turn to smirk. “I wasn’t talking about during the war. I don’t suppose you know anything about Ireland, but finding employment and keeping it isn’t easy if you’re a married woman, an Anglican or an English aristocrat. Sybil is all three and not only managed to find a job, her work is so well regarded in the few short months she’s been employed, she’s come to earn more than I do in a given month.”

“You must be very proud,” Richard said with an eye roll.

“I am,” Tom said, and turned to look at Sybil across the room, who was smiling proudly back at him. “But then newspapermen tend to be misers when it comes to wages. And they tend to forget that all employers, no matter who they are, have a duty to those who work for them to share in the spoils they earn together. Lord Grantham’s pride never came between himself and those in his service—that’s the kind of person good employees seek out. The laws of supply and demand apply to the labor market too. I would think a capitalist like yourself would understand that.”

–from chapter 1 of “Wherever We Choose to Be” by magfreak

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 18

Just hours before the annual Servant’s Ball and all of Downton was decorated in Christmas cheer. Earlier in the week it was announced that in addition to the Crawley family’s usual guests, the current nurses and officers of their convalescent home would also be invited. This made for an even warmer atmosphere as the fire crackled and waiters from London skirted around each group all to the soft holiday tune played by the nearby orchestra. For a moment everyone was made to forget that just miles away a war raged on.

In the middle of it all Sybil forewent a glass of wine to sip at a mug of mulled cider. To her left and right stood her sisters and other women like them, all in heels that had her feeling inadequate in areas other than her height. Her own flats were last season’s design and while she bought them for the sake of comfort she often wondered if it was time to give up such lofty ideals as she grew older.

Through it all, with every gracious acceptance of hors d’oeuvres and smile at new friends, Sybil found herself searching for him. Originally she was the one who invited him but based on how easy it was for him to decline, Sybil began to wonder if he’d been notified of the gathering prior to her arrival into the garage several mornings ago. Easily he rejected the invitation by explaining that while yes, it was a party meant to honor the help, it was not a party without other guests, some of which needed rides to and from their homes in the village.

Tom was not condescending, he just found himself so constantly amused by how little she sometimes knew; the things he thought of were usually of little important to Sybil. She was smart but in ways she couldn’t quite help, she lacked worldly knowledge. Tom often wondered if this is why she was friends with him; maybe no one had explained to her just how dangerous their relationship could be. Or maybe she knew and was disregarding those claims, using her perceived ignorance to her advantage if it at least gave them more moments alone.

A full hour had passed since her own arrival, meaning the party had been going on for quite some time. Still her eyes scanned the room and when she excused herself to freshen up, she found herself slowly walking the back hallways, wondering if he’d come up from the servant’s quarters after his last trip of the night. Even if he did have to work, Sybil hoped he’d make time for this but all too quickly she hated how fanciful she seemed; Tom had once asked her to make time for him and she still had yet to give him a complete answer. Maybe this was his revenge: making her wait for something far simpler than the answer to a marriage proposal.

When she arrived back in the grand hall it was easily noted that more guests had arrived. This both thrilled and saddened Sybil. She hoped Tom was one of them but found that through the crowds of people it was becoming more difficult to decipher him from any of the other men wearing white collared shirts. The thing that eventually had Sybil’s eyes narrowing was a loud laugh. For any other patron it would have gone unnoticed but Sybil observed that it was followed by several other giggles, all of them female and belonging to the group of nurses standing around Tom. Nothing at this party had made her laugh in that way and she doubted that would change, especially if Tom were preoccupied in this way for the remainder of the evening.

Originally Sybil remained still with her feet firmly planted so she could just barely lean back and catch a better glimpse of him. At one point Tom saw her too because his face grew serious before returning to his audience and resuming his act of entertaining. It was an act too. For as hurt as Sybil became, when she was brave enough to glance to him again, she found it was no longer his lips that moved. Instead, everyone around him was made to come alive, leaving him to slump back and listen. In fact, when Sybil looked at Tom, she found he was gathering the courage to do the same. All she could manage was a sympathetic smile before disappearing behind a group of army officers.

With her gone Tom perked his head up. She thought this was what he wanted, but instead it had him concerned. His posture straightened and his neck craned to get a better view of her. In contrast to his previous disposition, Tom had no stories to share or jokes to tell. He wanted nothing more than to have her in his sight, or better yet, in his grasp as many officers now did with nurses or housemaids. Surely if the two were meant to have some time to themselves, tonight would be the appropriate host. As Tom continued to seek her out, he wondered why it was that this wasn’t so painfully clear before. Or rather, why he’d allowed his own stubbornness to distract him from her especially when her work at the hospital made their meetings less frequent.

“Sybil!” It finally came, her name falling so beautifully off his lips, crashing down as he pulled her body toward him. His grip on her wrist was a tight one but as Sybil’s eyes moved to his mouth, her breath hitched in silent surrender to him.

“Lady Sybil,” she finally managed in correction.

Tom nodded but did not let go of her arm. “Lady Sybil,” he agreed. He was breathless too.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“Friends?” Tom could barely utter the word it sounded so foreign. He tried again. “Friends? What friends?” Somewhat frantically he turned to the space Sybil’s glance was glued on. There the same group of nurses stood sipping at wine glasses. “I don’t even know their names,” he admitted.

Sybil smirked. “The blonde is Catherine. The shorter brunette is Alice and the taller one is—”

Tom shook his head. “I really don’t care…”

“It seemed like you cared.”

“So you were watching me?”

Sybil quickly shook her head. “I didn’t need to watch. Anyone could hear with how obvious those women were being.”

“Obvious?”

“In their affection for you. You’d best get back to them. No sense wasting time with me.” She began to walk away again, but as usual she couldn’t get too far without feeling a pull back in his direction. Actually, her own feet slowed, barely leaving the floor below in preparation for their inevitable reunion.

“Wasting time?” Tom asked suspiciously. “When have I ever wasted my time on you, m’lady?” He half-expected her to correct him but her mouth was motionless. In response, Tom sighed. “I’d hardly consider affection and esteem to be equal emotions. They merely laughed at something I said.”

“Well was it funny?”

Tom paused. “I’m not quite sure. Does it matter?”

“You have made me laugh before,” Sybil pointed out in a rather matter of fact way.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. The more he was allowed to put all of this together the more offended he was. But then his mind took a sharp turn, creating amusement above all else. “Are you jealous?”

Sybil shook her head. “What is there to be jealous of?”

Tom crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Sybil mimicked him, resting all of her weight on a single hip. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you think I like those women?”

“I don’t think it matters what I think…”

“No, it does,” Tom assured. “Actually, it matters a great deal to me.”

–from “A (Two-Way) Road Paved With Jealousy” by elleisforlovee

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 17

Tom stopped in the doorway and tenderly smiled at seeing his wife busy kneading some dough. He quietly entered the room and went to her. He slid his arms around her waist and placed his hands protectively on her slightly rounded belly, where their late addition to the family was slowly growing. Sybil jumped.

“You scared me!” she laughed.

“Sorry. The kids wanted to know when you’d be done. They’re eager to decorate the tree now,” he said softly kissing her neck, then the secret place behind her ear.

Sybil shivered then chuckled.

“Well, if you want me to be quick, you better stop distracting me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he innocently answered, biting at her earlobe.

“Tom!”

“What?” he laughed.

“Just go away,” she said, bumping her elbow in his belly to make him stop.

Tom sighed loudly then broke apart reluctantly. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her. She had flour in her hair and on her face, and he found her even more gorgeous than usual. He loved it when she was becoming all domestic.

“You’ve been at it since this morning,” he moaned. “We’ll only be ten this year. You don’t need to cook a feast.”

“I want it to be perfect,” she said, hitting the ball of dough with her fist hard. “And I want to honor your family. Plus, I want you to be proud of me,” she beamed at him.

“I’m always proud of you,” he murmured, leaning to her to kiss her floured cheek.

Sybil raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Even the first time when your mother came and I burned the whole dinner? ”

“Well, it wasn’t THAT bad once the black coal had been removed.”

Sybil rolled her eyes.

“I won’t be long. I promise. Plus, it’s your favorite so stop complaining.”

“I’m not complaining and I love your cooking.”

“Well, maybe a little bit too much,” she chuckled, patting his belly with her hand.

Tom made an offended face before crossing his arms on his chest.

“I’m just showing you solidarity.”

“Are you calling me fat now?”

“No, I think you’re beautiful and you’ll be even more so in a few months.”

“All this flattery will get you nowhere,” chuckled Sybil.

“Really? You’re sure?” asked Tom, coming closer to her.

He then abruptly grasped her by the waist and turned her around to crush her against him. Sybil yelled and raised her hands over her head, not wanting to mess his shirt with her hands that were full of flour and dough, even if he was maybe deserving it right now. But how could she resist a passionate kiss from her husband?

Tom wasted no time and crushed his mouth against her, entering her mouth with his tongue, possessively. The kiss grew hotter and hotter; Sybil finally gave up her wish of not messing her husband’s clothes. The desire to touch him was stronger.

After a while, Tom ended the kissed and smirked at her.

“So, Mrs. Branson…I’ll just say that, despite what you said, it did get me somewhere…”

“You’re so full of yourself!” said Sybil, patting his chest, not really mad at him. “But now, I’ll let you explain to our children why you’re covered with flour.”

She stepped away from him and started again working on her dough. Tom looked at himself to see how messy his clothes were and then back at his wife, a Machiavellian smile on his lips.

“You are too.”

“I have a good excuse. Not you. And I don’t have flour on my back,” she laughed.

“Well, maybe I need to change that.”

He walked to her slowly, and Sybil’s eyes went wide when she saw him reaching for the packet of flour on the counter. Understanding what he was about to do, she stepped back, holding her hands in front of her.

“Tom, you need to set the example for the kids. Don’t play with food!”

“The kids are busy,” he answered, plunging his hand in the packet.

“If you do what I think you’re about to do, I swear that you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Don’t care,” he said, marching to her with a devil smile.

He then threw a handful of flour at her that hit her face. Sybil gasped then glared at his laughing face. Taking advantage of his inattention, she took the packet back from his hands and threw some flour at him. That was what started the flour war that followed, the couple chasing after one another, making a mess in the kitchen but not bothered about it and laughing like kids.

Tom trapped Sybil against the table, hovering above her with a big handful of flour, but careful not to crush her little bump.

“Are you surrendering, Love?”

“No way,” laughed Sybil liking, maybe too much, the feel of the weight of her husband on her.

“Then…”

He let go of the flour in his hand and it landed on her throat. He took advantage of her trying to wipe it from her to catch her hands and lift them above her head. She was now almost lying on the table, Tom on her, their breaths jerky, looking intensely at one another, waiting for the next move.

“I want you,” Tom finally said against her lips, gridding against her.

“I want you too but we can’t here,” breathed back Sybil. “The kids…”

She was interrupted by a knock at the main door. They both turned their heads to the kitchen door, half expecting the kids to walk in on them like this but neither of them moving an inch.

“I’ve got it!” called Saoirse’s voice through the house.

They heard running steps on the floor and Sybil turned back to face her husband.

“We shouldn’t let her open the door all by herself.”

“I know,” he answered, looking in her eyes. “It’s probably my mam. She said she would come to help set up the tree.”

“Then we better get up.”

“No!” said Tom forcefully, earning him a surprised look from his wife.

“Tom! We can’t let your mother see us like this!”

“I’ll be quick.”

He then kissed her passionately, letting his whole body caress hers, losing himself in her warmth and tenderness. They shut down the outside world for a short moment, forgetting about the knock at the door or the kids in the other room. They were alone in their own world. His hands were sliding under her skirt when someone cleared his throat from the kitchen door and they both abruptly stopped what they were doing, turning their heads at the same time to the annoying sound.

Sybil’s eyes went wide and Tom’s cheeks went red as they looked at none other than the Count and Countess of Grantham, looking back at them, mortified. The silence was thick, but quickly interrupted by the giggling of two kids, rather happy to see their parents seeming to be in trouble.

“I think that mommy and daddy have been naughty,” she said to Michael. “Look at the mess! You know, Santa won’t probably get you anything this year,” she added.

–from “A Branson Christmas” by mimijag

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments
Day 16