Merry Christmas to Yankee Countess! For her Secret Santa fic, she requested an AU in which Sybil and Tom return to celebrate for the Christmas depicted on the Series 2 Christmas Special. This shall be a two-parter, so a bit more to come yet.

Hope you enjoy!

"It feels like it's too soon."

Sybil turned her head toward her husband as the motor, driven by Pratt, made it's way through Downton village and toward the house, the same house that only months ago they'd left as daughter and chauffeur. The house they were returning to now as husband and wife.

"It'll always be too soon," Sybil said, taking Tom's hand with a smile. "I dare say papa is thinking the same thing."

Sybil watched Tom as his lips perked up into a smirk and he turned to the window, his eyes pausing momentarily on the back of Pratt's head. Meeting him at the station had been the first of what would likely be many awkward encounters with his former coworkers. Sybil knew well enough that Tom did not regret loving her and crossing the un-crossable line to be with her, but while she believed the ties of family would eventually win out in the estrangement between herself and the ones she had left behind at Downton, the friendships that Tom had severed—dear to him in so many ways—might not recover so easily.

He had expressed misgivings on Sybil's behalf about returning to Downton so soon after they'd left and so soon after her parents had snubbed her and declined to attend their wedding, but she knew that his concerns about how he'd be received did not end with how her family would welcome him. For that very reason, when Cora's letter arrived asking if they would come, Sybil felt an opportunity for both of them to mend fences. Her instinct to try to make things right came from her mother, who was always averse to conflict and whose words in the letter revealed a conciliatory tone obviously influenced by the hurt she still felt not only about her daughter's choices, but also about regrets regarding her willingness to be guided by Robert when it came to how to deal with those choices.

After the day of Sybil's wedding passed, Cora spent many months wishing she'd done differently and by the time Christmas neared, not even the husband she was usually so eager to appease could stop her from sending the invitation. Sybil welcomed the chance to be with her family again at a time that was, but for their absence, the happiest in her life, and she welcomed the chance to show everyone that despite how they might feel about the match she had made, she would not retreat in shame. There was also the matter of the secret she was keeping—a gift that she knew would remind everyone of what truly mattered.

As the car approached the house, Sybil smiled seeing the family and some of the staff gathered to receive them. Looking back at Tom, she said, "It'll be hard, I know, but I feel no shame in our choices. We're coming to see family for Christmas, that's all. If anyone chooses to make more of it than it is, that's on them, isn't it? I am not the prodigal daughter returning to repent. I'm coming to share in my joy. Don't you want to do that?"

Tom smiled at the sentiment and squeezed her hand, but cheekily said, "I doubt your father or Mr. Carson want to share anything with me."

"Well, it's Christmas so we shall call them 'Scrooges' and be done with it."

She turned back to the window again, and Tom couldn't help but smile. It would be a gauntlet, but he would endure much worse for her.

xxx

The welcome was cordial, if a bit awkward, and over quickly, a fact for which Tom was grateful. It felt odd hearing the family call him, "Tom," and he could see from their faces that it felt just as odd for them to be saying it. He eyed Carson on his way in the door, and the butler, solemn as always, offered only a nod in acknowledgment. Carson's expression was not so obviously indignant as Tom might have expected. Inside, the family continued to fawn over Sybil. Cora, Edith and Mary were as delighted to see her as she was to see her mother and sisters, and the happy smile on her face was enough to convince Tom that whatever nuisances and embarrassments the visit would bring, they would all be worth it.

As they arrived late in the afternoon, tea was waiting for them in the library. Robert, who had been decidedly less warm to both Sybil and Tom compared with the rest of the family, excused himself. Sybil wasn't especially put off by it and suggested to Tom that he could go on to her old room if he wanted to forego tea as well, so he'd have the chance to rest and unpack their suitcases (she knew he'd never let one of the servants perform the task anyway). Tom was only too happy to oblige and give her time alone with Cora, Mary and Edith.

He smiled walking into the room, having pictured Sybil here many, many times before he knew he'd ever have the chance to step into it as her husband. He walked up to the window and looked out onto the vast grounds, imagining a younger version of Sybil standing there dreaming about the places beyond the horizon. He knew she hadn't needed him to venture forth beyond what her eyes could see from this vantage point, but even so he was still proud of the new places he'd taken her to, including her new home in Ireland.

He'd only been standing at the window several minutes when the bedroom door opened. It was Anna.

"Oh! Mr. Branson! I thought you'd be at tea downstairs. I'm so sorry." She moved to leave again, but Tom spoke up to stop her.

"No, Anna, there's no need—I mean, you don't have to go on my account. It's nice to see you."

Anna smiled, though Tom could see that her spark had dimmed considerably since he'd seen her last, worries over Mr. Bates' fate no doubt weighing on her. "It's nice to see you too," she said. "You look well."

Tom looked down a bit self-consciously at his suit. "Well enough, I hope, anyway."

"Did you have a pleasant journey?"

"We did." He took a breath, then continued, "I . . . I'm sorry that we're not meeting under happier circumstances for you. Mary has kept us informed as to what's happening with Mr. Bates. I hope you don't mind that. I do wish there was something we could do."

Anna looked down and wrung her hands. "The trial is not until after Christmas. Mr. Murray seems to think things will fall in our favor."

"I'm sure waiting for the date hasn't been easy."

Anna shook her head with a rueful smile. "No, but the family's been very supportive."

Tom smiled sadly. "He's an easy man to like, Mr. Bates, so that's no surprise."

Anna smiled again. "I'm glad to see you, and I'm glad you've come back. They won't be easy on you—the lot downstairs—but also not as hard as you might expect."

"Thank you for that."

Anna nodded. "Well, I'll be going."

"Please do whatever you needed to do, really. I don't mind. Unless I'd be in your way, in which case I can make myself scarce."

"I was only going to open the wardrobe. Lady Grantham asked that I bring out some of Lady Sybil's old frocks while she was here. I'd set something out for her for dinner, but she was always of her own mind about what to wear. Can't imagine that's changed."

Tom chuckled. "She's of her own mind about everything." He looked down at his clothes again for a moment, then added, jokingly. "There's not anything in there for me, is there?"

Anna laughed lightly and looked at him for a long moment with her kind eyes. "I think you look fine." She walked over and pulled the wardrobe doors open, pulling out several pieces that Tom recognized and hung them on the doors so Sybil would have her pick. Anna pulled at some of the material as it hung to smooth it out. Once she was done, she headed for the door again. Before she closed it behind her, she said, "I suppose I'll see you in the main hall tomorrow."

"Oh? For what?"

"Have you forgotten already? The whole family is present when the staff receive their gifts, and, well, you're part of the family now."

"Right," Tom said quietly, the familiar scene, the memories, laying out before him in his mind.

Without another word, Anna stepped out of the room.

Tom walked over to the bed and sat down, his shoulders drooping.

You're part of the family now.

He let out a long sigh. "Crickey."

xxx

"What are you thinking about?"

Tom turned his head on his pillow and saw Sybil on her side, smiling at him. "Have you been awake long?" he asked. "You looked like you were sleeping like the dead only a few minutes ago."

"I was," Sybil said, stretching out her limbs toward him to pull him into her again. She snickered realizing that they were both still naked from the waist down.

Dinner had been torturous and long for them both, peppered with judgmental quips and eye-rolls, along with uncomfortable, if sometimes well meaning, segues that only served to highlight how ill at ease everyone at the table felt. Afterward, Sybil had to endure the thinly-veiled taunts of her Aunt Rosamund over bridge in the drawing room, while Tom took judgment from a different set downstairs, where he'd gone to say hello in an effort to remind his old friends he still considered himself one of them. Mrs. Hughes, like Anna, was happy to see him and even seemed proud, but Carson's eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him much more sternly than they had in the dining room while he'd been serving. It was one thing for Carson to have to treat Tom as a member of the family upstairs, but quite another for Carson to see Tom so eager to cross back over the un-crossable line and be chummy with the staff, as if he'd never left.

At the end of that first day, Tom and Sybil were both mentally and emotionally exhausted, but not so much so that they didn't enjoy making love on Sybil's childhood bedroom, a pleasure both had been looking forward to since they'd left Ireland, if for no other reason than to once again thumb their noses at a system that otherwise would never have allowed Tom to so much as set foot in that very space. Just before sleep overtook them, Sybil remembered that a maid would be coming in early to open the curtains. She pulled her nightdress back on, but only down to her waist, and Tom likewise re-dressed his top half, allowing their bottom limbs to remain deliciously tangled beneath the coverlet as they finally closed their eyes to the world.

As they snuggled together, with the light of the morning peeking in form the windows, Tom felt Sybil begin to doze off again. "You must be quite tired," he said.

"The journey really wore me out, and I never had any rest before dinner," Sybil answered, smiling to herself knowing that travel wasn't the only reason for her current level of energy.

"Which was its own kind of grueling marathon," Tom said with a smirk, settling into her. "I honestly thought we were stuck in a nightmare and the courses and the putdowns would keep coming forever."

"Me too," Sybil said with a sigh. "I'm sorry they were so impolite. The worst part is that papa likely thought we were rude for not dressing properly."

"You could have dressed for dinner," Tom said, pointing toward the wardrobe, now closed but still full of all the dresses Anna had retrieved for Sybil.

"And cast you to the wolves on your own on our first night back?"

Tom laughed. "I appreciate the solidarity, but as odd a thing to say as this may be, I do think you look very fine in those frocks. I wouldn't have minded seeing you in one of them—even if it would have singled me out."

Sybil smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Well, if I wear any of them, it shall be to please myself and you, but not them. Not papa or Aunt Rosamund, anyway. Mama is trying to meet us halfway and I appreciate that. Granny was at least kind enough to send the money for us to come. I am happy to be back for a visit, however little I missed the nuisances that came with life here."

"I would have missed this bed," Tom said, poking her side and causing her to squirm.

"It wasn't so nicely comfortable when I was sleeping in it alone."

Tom pulled her in for a long kiss, after which she laid her head on his chest and felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he let out a long sigh. "Must I really stand with the family when gifts are handed out? I could just stay in here—fake sick or something."

Sybil pushed herself up on her elbow and looked down on him, pushing his hair back off his forehead with her fingers. "Darling, I know this visit feels like one awkward encounter after another, but how different is it, really, from my first week in Ireland? We made it through that."

Tom couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Sybil smiled, happy that she was getting through. "You told me that letting your mother make me uncomfortable was like conceding that I didn't belong there, so now I will repeat what you said to me: We belong wherever we choose to be. We married because we loved one another, and we knew that the line separating us was an artificial one."

Tom lifted his hand to caress her cheek. "And we'll be crossing it everyday until we die."

Sybil nodded. She looked into his eyes for a moment and bit her lip, thinking of the secret she had yet to reveal to him. "But our children . . . they won't—they won't even see it."

Tom sighed, but Sybil could see a smile forming on his face. "Revolution is hard work."

"Harder in some ways than others."

"What do you mean?"

Sybil smiled slyly. "Well, you'll need to go down for breakfast soon, but here at Downton, married women get breakfast in bed."

xxx

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."

Richard looked around and all eyes were on him again. Robert's chin was up as if it had been him and not Tom, who'd had the last word. The same family that had turned their nose up at their daughter's choice of husband suddenly seemed to be standing behind the very son-in-law they'd once spurned. Richard laughed at the irony. "I admire your moxie, Mr. Branson and your ambition, if nothing else," he said. "Though if you want to end up where I am, you'll let go of your socialist notions now."

"As you're both standing in this library having Christmas tea with us, I do believe he's already where you are," Violet said with an arched brow.

Next to Violet, Robert examined the letter opener once more and then, looking over at Sybil, said, "This is beautiful, darling, thank you." It was as much as he'd said since she'd been back.

"You're welcome, papa," she replied. "I thought you might like it."

Violet, who had also just opened one of her gifts, said, "Oh, this is nice. This is—what is it?"

"What does it look like?" Isobel asked approaching her.

Violet fidgeted with the trinket. "Something for getting stones out of horses' hooves?"

"It's a nut cracker," Isobel said, seeming rather pleased with herself. "We thought you'd like it . . . to crack your nuts."

Tom raised an eyebrow at Matthew, who said with a laugh, "That was entirely mother's doing."

Tom smiled and moved to refill his teacup.

"Who'd have thought you'd be the one who'd put him in his place," Matthew said quietly.

"Well, there's nothing for me to lose, is there? Certainly not anyone's good opinion."

"I'd wager the tides are turning on that score."

"I doubt it."

Matthew looked past Tom, toward Robert, who was walking in their direction. "Stranger things have happened."

Tom turned to see Robert come up behind them to take another biscuit from the tray. "That was well stated," Robert said.

Matthew smiled knowingly as Tom nodded, a bit in shock at Robert's words.

"Though I won't say he's wrong about the socialism," Robert added.

Tom bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. "We can't all agree on everything."

"Is it true what you said about your wages and Sybil's?" Robert asked.

"Only partially true," Sybil said, joining their conversation. "The paper owes all the writers back wages. If Tom were paid on time, my wage wouldn't matter so much."

"Why not find another newspaper to work for?" Matthew asked.

"I work for a Republican publication," Tom answered. "None of us are there for the wages."

Robert stiffened slightly, but Sybil slipped her hand into Tom's in a show of support.

"So, who's coming for the shooting?" Edith asked from the other corner of the room.

"The usual guns," Robert answered. "Us three and some locals. You'll know all of them."

"Three?" Matthew said. "Aren't you shooting, Tom?"

Robert turned again toward Tom. "I assumed you wouldn't be interested. Was that wrong?"

"No," Tom said. "It wasn't. I have no interest in shooting for sport, and no rifles to my name in any case."

"You could both still walk out with us," Matthew said.

"Well, I have no interest in watching people shooting for sport," Sybil said, with a smile.

"What about Anthony Strallan?" Edith asked Robert. "Have you asked him?"

"I tried," Robert said. "In fact, I gave him three dates, but he said no to all of them. Perhaps he's given it up."

"But he was so keen before the war," Edith said.

"Perhaps he's had enough banging for one life," Violet said.

The talk of the shooting party continued, but Sybil stopped listening as she saw Mary excuse herself and step out. Sybil followed her.

"Is everything all right?" Sybil asked after they were both in the hall away from the others.

Mary turned toward Sybil, as if startled not to find herself alone. "Of course, why wouldn't it be?"

Sybil smiled. "No reason."

Mary smiled back. "You should thank me, you know."

"How do you mean?"

"Thanks to Richard, even Tom won't be the most disliked son-in-law in the family."

Sybil's smile faded. "It doesn't matter how mama or papa feel about it if you love him."

Mary looked away but said nothing.

"Do you?" Sybil pressed.

"I love you for worrying about me, darling," Mary said. "But you know that everything I do is my own choice. I'd never have accepted his proposal if I didn't want to marry him." Mary paused, then said. "I just need to go to my room for a moment. I'll be back shortly."

As Sybil watched Mary head up the stairs, she couldn't help but think to herself that Mary had failed to answer her question. Mary was less than happy—that much was obvious to Sybil, but Mary also seemed determined not to change course. That she'd choosen a man like Richard Carlisle didn't particularly surprise Sybil, who knew that Mary—like her father—kept "marriage" and "love" in separate boxes in her mind. Robert had been lucky in that a loveless match ultimately grew into a loving union, but Sybil couldn't help but wonder whether it would turn out so easy for her eldest sister.

With a long sigh, Sybil went back into the library, where Isobel and Violet had just handed Tom a rather large box to open. Sybil smiled with delight. Her parents and sisters had each given her a gift, and Mary and Edith had given Tom a plain leather journal, but neither Sybil nor Tom had expected anyone else in the family to have anything for him—which he was perfectly happy about, given the likelihood that whatever he received from the family might be impractical, even useless, back in Ireland, in a life very far removed from anything the Crawleys would be familiar with. Such was his shock, then, when Violet approached with Isobel holding the gift behind her.

"Granny!" Sybil said, coming up to them. "What a lovely gesture."

"Well, it's from the both of us," Violet said, gesturing to Isobel.

"I contributed as well," Matthew said with a knowing smile.

"Do you know about this?" Sybil asked her father and mother.

"Not a thing," Cora answered.

"I'm as intrigued as you," Robert said.

Addressing Tom, Violet said, "Do open it and put them out of their misery—though before you do, you must know that I shall be very insulted if you do not make use of it."

Tom smiled, and so did Sybil, seeing a bit of nervousness in him. "I'm very touched. I'll admit it. Thank you."

Violet waved her hand as if to urge him on, and Tom unlaced the ribbon around the box and, with Sybil's help, lifted off the top.

It was a set of tails.

Tom scratched his head. "I don't know what to say."

"You and Sybil are both so very practical," Isobel said kindly, "we know you'd never bother with purchasing something that's of no use to you in Dublin."

"It's awfully kind," Sybil said, "but you really needn't have bothered either."

"Sybil's right," Tom said, "I don't—"

"Oh, we didn't bother," Violet said quickly, eager to head Tom off. "This formerly belonged to Matthew."

"It's what I wore when mother and I first came to dinner at Downton," he said. "The only one I had at the time, I'm not embarrassed to admit. Living here, though, my wardrobe has grown more than I ever would have thought, so now I have plenty to spare. You'll only ever need just the one."

Tom swallowed what he'd initially intended to say about the silliness of such costumes and the oppression they represented, because whatever Violet's message might have been, Tom saw nothing in Matthew's intent but a gesture of friendship. Tom smiled sincerely as Matthew patted him on the back.

"There is the matter of making it fit," Violet said. "Moseley has told us he's the man for the job. He'll be by later this afternoon, and we'll be happy to supervise."

Sybil laughed. "What do you know of tailoring, granny?"

"I know how it should look. I dare say women are expert in that field in a way men will never be."

"Thank you," Tom said.

"Do you like it?" Violet asked pointedly.

Tom smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Sybil cut in, "Do you like your nutcracker?"

Violet pursed her lips in annoyance at her granddaughter's cheek. "My mother used to say it was bad luck to greet Christmas or the New Year not looking your very best. We're only trying to help Tom meet the New Year appropriately."

Sybil put her hand on Tom's shoulder and proudly said, "I happen to think Tom doesn't need much help in that regard, as he always looks very fine to me, but we appreciate it, nonetheless."

"Will you wear it?" Violet asked.

"I will," Tom said with a sigh, realizing it was useless to fight on this front, especially on Christmas.

Sybil knew what it meant for Tom to say those words. He was making a concession, but he was doing it for her, for her family. Without care to what everyone would say, she leaned in on the balls of her feet and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

xxx

That evening, as Tom and Sybil walked the stairs down arm-in-arm, she in one of her old frocks and he in such finery only for the first time, he said quietly, "I never realized getting dressed could be so painful."

Sybil laughed in his ear and whispered, "Well, you look very fine, and we will enjoy getting undressed ever more now."

Tom grinned. "I don't suppose your grandmother thought about that."

Sybil stopped halfway down the stairs to look Tom in the eye. "Merry Christmas, darling."

Tom leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, love."