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!

Let's do it, let's fall in love

-Cole Porter

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."

To be continued…