Surprise drabble! Again! OK, so when I wrote this and posted it on tumblr yesterday, I intended to post it here on FF as a one-shot even though it fit into this universe (five years forward from the last chapter). While reading it over again this morning, though, I changed my mind since it fits in so well with how I pictured the lives of this version of Tom and Sybil turning out.

I had been feeling a bit uninspired the last week, but coming back to this story has really helped stir the muse once again.

Anyway, here goes . . .

Five years later: "And Baby Makes Three"

"Are you OK?" Tom asked, looking over at Sybil anxiously as they both fought to catch their breath. "I should have been more gentle. It's been so long, I guess I got a bit carried away. I'm sorry."

Sybil laughed, her chest still rising and falling quickly from the exertion. "I believe I was the one yelling 'faster,' wasn't I?"

Tom laughed, too, looking up at the ceiling. The two of them lay side by side on their bed, after being intimate for the first time since Sybil had given birth to their son, Michael. She had been given the go-ahead by her doctor three days before, but Michael and the mutual exhaustion that comes with being parents of a newborn hadn't allowed them a moment to take advantage until now—morning naptime.

"Speaking of yelling," Tom said. You should at least try to keep quiet, he's only in the next room."

"It's all right. He doesn't sleep long, but he does sleep soundly."

"How long has he been down?"

Sybil looked over to the clock on her dresser. "Only twenty minutes! Wow, that was quicker than it felt."

"Sorry, love. I guess I'm out of practice."

Sybil laughed again. "Me too. How long had it been?"

"He's eight weeks old and the last time was three weeks before he was born."

"That's almost three months! I don't think we've ever abstained that long."

"I know we haven't."

Sybil laughed. "Well, that last stretch of pregnancy I was barely able to move, let alone anything else. And since the birth it was doctor's orders."

Tom looked over at her with a smile. "That and the fact that Young Master Branson-Crawley over there seems a bit of an attention hog when it comes to his mam."

"Mum."

He laughed at their recurring argument over which parental accent the newest addition to the family would favor. "Darling, you chose—in fact, you insisted we move to Dublin. That has pretty much sealed our son's fate as Irish through and through."

Sybil narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't think my English genes will manifest themselves with vigor?"

"Well, when you put it that way . . . there's no denying he'll certainly get a healthy dose of stubbornness from you."

This earned Tom a smack across the chest, which made him laugh. He grabbed onto her hand before she could pull it away and rolled over to kiss it.

"Do you suppose we have time for another go?" He asked playfully pulling her toward him.

"Maybe, but do you think we can make it in 10 minutes this time? My nipples are starting to tingle, and I'm likely to spill out at any moment."

"Have I told you how lovely they are lately?"

Sybil laughed. "Not in the last hour."

"Well, they are," he said, sweeping his hand lightly over her breasts.

"Darling, focus! Time is short!"

He moved himself so he was hovering over her with a mock-serious face. "Ten minutes, yeah? I'm up for the challenge."

Sybil's eyes widened and her smile turned into a grin. "Clearly."

Tom lowered himself to kiss her but stopped suddenly, hearing Michael whimper from the other room.

"Shhh," she whispered. "Maybe he'll go back to sleep."

They waited a few anxious moments without moving and sure enough his soft cry quieted down again. Tom's shoulders relaxed again and Sybil pulled him in for the kiss he'd been just about to give her. As their lips met, he felt her legs curl around him. He broke the kiss and brought his lips to the spot just below her ear he knew drove her mad, but no sooner had he placed a light kiss there, that he felt her tense up beneath him.

"What?" He asked concerned.

"That," she said looking doing to her breasts, which were now leaking milk.

Tom sighed, then opened him mouth to speak but before anything came out, Michael made himself heard first. And this time, it wasn't a whimper but a loud and very determined wail.

Sybil rolled her head back into the pillow. "Bollocks."

They looked at one another again and laughed.

"I'll get him," Tom said. "You get yourself cleaned up."

"Why bother," she said. "I'm sure he can smell it from where he is."

Tom hopped off the bed, found his shorts on the floor and pulled them up and trotted over to the nursery to find a very awake, crying baby, fists flailing. As soon as Michael felt his father's hands on him, he calmed, but his whimpering did not subside completely until Tom had brought him back to their bedroom, where Sybil had pulled herself up into a sitting position, and placed him on her chest. Michael's mouth immediately started rooting for her nipples and in seconds had latched on. Tom smiled and sighed, then he slipped back into bed, sitting behind Sybil and pulling her and Michael into him.

"What's that look on his face?" Tom asked.

Sybil laughed as she watched her wide-eyed son nurse voraciously. "One I'm very familiar with! It's one that used to grace your own mug whenever Larry made a pass at me."

"Oh?" Tom asked skeptically. "What does it mean, then?"

"She's mine."