But don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darling,

Save the last dance for me

"Save the Last Dance For Me" by Michael Buble

Six Months Later

With a smile and perhaps a bit more of a flourish than was necessary, Sybil pressed down the glued corners of the last photograph before sitting back to look at her work. The table before her was scattered with gluesticks and bits of construction paper and stickers, all surrounding what had been her project for the last few weeks. The final product, a scrapbook containing all the photographs from the eventful, nearly disastrous weekend that had heralded Mary and Matthew's wedding, was finally finished—which, thankfully, meant that the new bride could stop hounding Sybil about it. Sybil chuckled and shook her head, flipping back to the beginning of the book to admire her handiwork. All in all, she thought she had done a fairly decent job of it—even if it was a few months later than she had promised her sister.

In her defense, she couldn't exactly help it. The last six months had been a whirlwind of activity following the wedding reception, for everyone involved. Sybil and Tom had ended up staying at Downton Abbey a few extra days, trying to make up for the time that had been lost when they had been fighting and enjoy the rest of their holiday together. Upon their departure, Tom had shaken hands with Robert and Matthew and hugged Mary and Edith goodbye as if he had known them for years, and had even accepted a somewhat papery kiss on the cheek from the Dowager Countess, surprising everyone. "You're a proper part of the family now, Tom!" Martha had crowed triumphantly at that, and Cora had winked at the young couple and told Tom that he was always welcome at Downton. Immediately upon their arrival in London, Tom mustered up the courage to formally ask Sybil out on their first proper date.

He'd taken her to the same pub where they'd had their first real conversation after the car accident that had started this whole thing. They stayed until they were the only two customers left in the restaurant, talking animatedly as waiters cleaned off tables and put up chairs, oblivious to everything around them as they finally got to know each other the way they had been pretending to know each other all weekend. Finally, they were told in no uncertain terms that the pub was closing and they needed to leave sooner rather than later. Tom paid, but only after presenting such a compelling argument to his cause that Sybil, impressed, had stowed her wallet away in her purse and promised to get the next one. He had walked her home, her fingers entwined tightly with his as they wandered the summer night. When they'd reached the door of her flat, Tom had suddenly become nervous, stumbling over his words as if they hadn't kissed a thousand times already. It had been Sybil who had taken the initiative to kiss him goodnight…before unceremoniously pulling him through the door and into the flat to spend the night, eager to know what it felt like to be with him when she wasn't stark-raving drunk. Tom had not protested.

Two weeks later, he had moved in with her for real. He had been there ever since.

After that, time had seemed to pass in a blur. Tom spent most of his days, when he was not writing his column, frantically editing his book, wanting to send it out to another round of publishers before the year was over. Mary and Matthew returned home to Downton from their honeymoon, while they would be staying until they found a place of their own—although Sybil was sure that if her parents had their way, the newlyweds would never leave. Daisy, shocking everyone, quit her job as Sybil's assistant in order to move to Yorkshire to be closer to William, who she had finally started dating. Sybil had thrown her a massive going-away party to show her appreciation for all that Daisy had done for her over the years, which had been attended in force by all of their friends. The last Sybil had heard, Daisy was working as an assistant manager at an independent children's bookshop in Ripon, and had never been happier.

The same could not be said of Larry Grey. Following an unfortunate incident where he had shown up at work still drunk from the night before, his father had given him an ultimatum—either get himself straightened out and stop pining over Rose MacClare, or find himself cut off from the family fortune. Larry had taken an indefinite leave of absence "for his health" and left for America the very next day, hoping to get a fresh perspective on life by taking an extended holiday overseas. Sybil hadn't heard anything about him since, for which she found herself grateful.

Rose, too, was slowly making a comeback. Her relationship with Sybil was still rocky, as had been demonstrated when they had all gathered for Mary's birthday party in September, but slowly they were getting back to where they had been before all this started. Sybil knew that deep in her heart she would probably never be able to forgive her cousin entirely for what she had done, but it was nice to know that things were on their way to being normal again between them.

Of course, the biggest bombshell in the last six months had been dropped only recently. At the end of October—the day before Halloween, no less—Edith and Anthony had announced the most shocking news of all: that Edith was three months pregnant. They were not married, and had no plans to change that in the immediate future. Their plan might not have been exactly conventional, but then again, nothing in their relationship had ever been. They were happy with the way things were right now, and would certainly get married somewhere along the line, but for now they were just going to focus on being a family in their own way. The news had been met with mixed reviews. Sybil and Mary had been overjoyed—if a little shell-shocked at first—and Cora, once she'd gotten over her initial shock, had openly cried with joy at the thought of being a grandmother, but Violet had stormed out of the room in disgust and Tom and Matthew had leapt up from their seats, ready to restrain Robert just in case he decided to strangle Anthony in his anger. He still glared at the man whenever he saw him, although slowly but surely he was coming around to the idea of his daughter having a child with a man twice her age, and out of wedlock. He would probably never entirely support the idea, although they were all hoping that once the baby was actually here, Robert would finally be won over.

"After all," Tom had said, wrapping an arm around Sybil, "He didn't like me very much when we first met, did he? And look at us now. You'll see, he'll love that baby…it's got one advantage that I didn't have, that's for sure."

"And what's that?" Sybil had asked him.

Tom had winked cheekily at her. "I'm not nearly as cute as that baby is going to be. Trust me. Your father won't stand a chance."

Edith had squeezed Anthony's hand, giving Tom a grateful smile before looking up at her boyfriend. "I hope you're right, Tom," she'd said softly, unable to keep the hope out of her eyes.

Between work and the preparations for the arrival of Edith and Anthony's daughter—the sex of the baby having been confirmed by an ultrasound the first week of December—there had hardly been a spare moment to breathe, much less work on the scrapbook. In early November Tom had been seized with a fit of inspiration, finishing the edits of the new manuscript in time to send off to a handful of publishing companies by the end of the month. Sybil counted herself lucky that she had gotten the scrapbook done before Christmas, now only five days away. She smiled as she flipped through the pages, grinning down at a shot of Mary and Matthew cutting the wedding cake, followed by one of Matthew and Tom, each with an arm slung over the other's shoulders, proudly showing off the badges of honor they had earned from the fight with Larry. It almost seemed impossible, that they all had gotten from there to here in the span of only six months. Matthew and Mary were now happily married, Edith and Anthony were expecting, and Sybil and Tom—

Well, things had never been better with them. They had only had a handful of fights since Tom had moved in, and none had come close to being as explosive as their first one at Downton had been. Every day they seemed to fall in love even more, and as the autumn had worn on and the nights had grown colder, her family and friends had begun to wonder whether or not Tom was going to pop the question any time soon. Sybil's mother and sisters seemed to be the most interested, hounding her with questions the week before when they'd come down to London in order to register Edith for things for the upcoming baby shower, which would occur early in the new year. As they had wandered through Harrods and Debenhams, weaving around the Christmas shoppers and clutching the gift registry guns –and, at Sybil's suggestion, using them to pretend to be in a James Bond film when their mother wasn't looking, both Edith and Mary had found ways to bring up the subject. Sybil had blushed and brushed it off, saying that it was still far too soon. They had only really been 'together' for six months, after all, surely that was far too soon for an engagement ring to be in the picture. Tom hadn't been dropping any hints the way that Mary said Matthew had done for a few months before he'd proposed, and Sybil wasn't sure if she was supposed to be disappointed or relieved by that. "Give him some more time," she'd said as she scanned the barcode of a beautiful changing table to add it to Edith's gift registry. "There's no rush to get married, after all."

"Depends on who you ask," came Matthew's teasing voice. He had come along on the trip at Mary's insistence, although he had been promised that Anthony would be there as well, a promise that had been broken when the latter had been called into work unexpectedly. Matthew was making up for his disappointment by trying to register Edith for as many ridiculous things as possible and seeing how long it took them to notice and correct the mistake. He grinned as he waved the registry gun towards a particularly horrid-looking lamp, but Sybil swatted his hand away just in time. "What do you mean?" she asked, sticking her tongue out at him.

"I happen to have fifty quid riding on this, Sybil, so your boyfriend better not let me down."

Sybil's mouth had dropped open. "You're betting on when my boyfriend is going to propose?!"

"Of course we are! It's a pool, to see whether or not he proposes before Christmas or not. You want in on it?" he teased, nudging her with his shoulder.

She swatted him again. "No I do not! Who else is in on this pool of yours, Matthew?"

"Let's see, there's me, Edith, Anthony—it was his idea to start it—your grandmother—"

"My grandmother?"

Matthew grinned. "Martha, not Violet."

"Oh." That made much more sense.

"Listen, it's just for fun. You're not—"

"Darling, are you telling her about that ridiculous bet?" Mary interrupted, coming up behind them and setting a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Stop torturing her. Tom will propose to her when he's ready…although you should prepare for it, Sybil…"

Sybil wasn't sure if anything could ever prepare her for that. She had imagined it a thousand times, yes, but the thought of it actually happening—

"Hey!" came Edith's voice, and they turned as one to see her standing at the foot of the escalator, one hand resting gently on the rounded curve of her five months-pregnant stomach, her face glowing with happiness. "We're heading upstairs now, you lot. Don't get left behind."

"And if you could tell Tom to get a move on," Matthew whispered as they began to follow Edith and Cora up to the next floor, "I would really appreciate it…"

That had been a week ago, and as it turned out, Sybil's family wasn't the only one interested in whether or not there would soon be a rock on Sybil's finger. A few days ago they had attended her company's annual Christmas party, held in an upscale London art gallery, and Sybil had had to endure the same round of questioning from all of her work colleagues as well. All throughout the ride home that night she had watched Tom carefully, wishing she could know just what was going on in the head of the man she loved. When he had pulled her into his arms upon entering their flat, his fingers automatically going for the zipper on her dress as he murmured in her ear a detailed list of exactly all the ways that it had driven him crazy with want that night, she found herself wondering just how he would propose—in the heat of the moment after sex, sweet and romantic and passionate? At a restaurant, as public as public could be, as diners abandoned their dinners to watch as he knelt before her with the ring in his hand? Or would he plan something completely different?

They had never been a traditional couple, after all.

But days had passed without any sign, and Sybil had forced herself to move on, telling herself that it would happen when it happened and no sooner. Now, she sighed contentedly as she finished flipping through the scrapbook and closed it carefully, now ready to present to her sister on Christmas morning. She stood up, stretching her arms up over her head as she yawned. The sun was just beginning to go down over the snowy streets of London, but Tom wouldn't be home for another hour or so. She started to make her way to the kitchen, intending on making herself some hot chocolate and settling down in front of the telly, when her cell phone suddenly rang. She frowned, recognizing the number as belonging to her boss. I'm on my holiday…what could he possibly want? "Hello?"

"Hello, Sybil. I was wondering if Tom was around? I tried his mobile but I couldn't reach him."

"It might have died. He never remembers to charge it," Sybil said helpfully. "Is there something I can help you with? I can give him a message from you."

"All right. I might as well tell you, you'll find out soon enough anyway. It's in regards to his book…"

Twenty minutes later, Sybil hung up the phone and slipped into her boots, hardly able to contain her excitement. Her plans for this evening had just changed dramatically, and she ran to put on her coat and grab her purse, hoping she could get what she needed before the shops began to close. A celebration was certainly called for…

"Sybil?" Tom called out about an hour later as he let himself into the flat. A gentle snow had begun to fall from the sky above, making tonight even more perfect. His heart hammered out a staccato rhythm inside his chest, reminding him of what was to come. He fumbled into the pocket of his jacket, making sure it was still there. The last thing he wanted was to look like an idiot when—

"Sybil?" he called out again when there was no answer. The flat was warm and smelled delicious, like she had been cooking, and the only lights came from the Christmas tree. He stomped his feet to knock the snow off as he came into the house, closing the door carefully behind him. "You in here, love?"

"In the kitchen," came her response as Tom hung up his coat and scarf on the hook by the door, making sure to transfer the box from his coat pocket to one in his trousers for safekeeping. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, unsure of what was going on, but eager to find out…

He came to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen, staring open-mouthed at the sight before him. The table was lit by a pair of holly-green candles, illuminating an array of takeout from their favorite restaurant. Two glasses of champagne bubbled happily, the bottle sitting nearby for easy access. And in the midst of it all stood Sybil, a radiant, exotic goddess in her Jasmine costume, the very one that he had been begging to see her in since the day we met. Tom stared, open-mouthed, his eyes roving over the pale blue harem pants, the way they hugged her curves and exposed her pale stomach. She grinned devilishly at him, apparently loving the effect it had on him. "You-you're wearing it."

"I sure am."

"You wouldn't even wear it for Halloween."

"Because there was no way I was showing up to my parents' Halloween party as Aladdin and Jasmine. I never would have heard the end of it." Tom had begged her, but to no avail. They had ended up attending the party as Captain America and Peggy Carter, instead—and as a result had just narrowly beaten out Mary and Matthew, who had come dressed as Maria and Captain Von Trapp from The Sound of Music, in the costume contest. "Now, though…" she grinned cheekily at him before doing a little spin, letting him take in the costume in its full glory. "We finally have a reason to celebrate."

"You look beautiful," Tom breathed, finally stepping into the kitchen, standing before her and placing his hands on her bare waist. She shivered slightly under his touch. "What's the occasion, though?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Consider me surprised," Tom whispered, kissing her softly, his mind entirely on the surprise he had in mind for her a little later on. He had been planning on doing it right away, but now…He kissed her again, grinning against her lips as Sybil sighed softly into his mouth. "Just what are we celebrating, love?"

"I got a call from my boss today."

"And what did he say?" Tom asked, already grinning in preparation for news about a promotion, a bigger office, a new assistant or a bonus…

"They've agreed to publish your book."

Tom's breath caught in his throat.

"And to let me write the introduction, but that's not important. It's finally happened, Tom! You're going to be a published writer!"

"Theyre…" Tom whispered, trying to wrap his mind around all of this at once. "They're really going to publish it?"

"They really are," Sybil whispered, cupping his face in her hands, her eyes shining with so much pride she felt as if she could burst. "They're going to publish your book, Tom. The world is finally going to know the story of your family in the fight for Irish Independence…they're publishing your book!"

Tom stared at her a minute longer before something finally snapped inside of him, like a dam of emotion breaking to pieces. With a cry of joy, he picked her up in his arms, spinning her around with her legs dangling in the air. "I'm going to be published!" he cried, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but they didn't care. The neighbors had certainly heard much worse coming from this particular flat.

Sybil shrieked with laughter as Tom spun her around, hugging him fiercely. She wasn't sure whether she had ever been more proud of him than she was right now. After so many years of hard work, of research and interviews and writing and revising and rejections, the book that Tom had poured so much of his heart and soul into was finally going to be published. Sybil wasn't sure she had ever been happier than she was in this moment.

Tom set her carefully back on her feet, kissing her until they were both breathless. "Thank you," he whispered when they broke apart. "I love you so much, Sybil…I couldn't have done this without you…"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Sybil said with a smile, giving him one more teasing kiss. "I'm sure you could have managed it…" She grinned up at him before kissing the tip of his nose and turning away to grab the champagne, eager to get the rest of the celebrations under way. "I think this calls for a toast—"

When she turned back, Tom was kneeling on the floor in front of her with a ring in his hand, looking up at her expectantly.

The champagne flute tumbled out of Sybil's hand, landing on the floor and soaking the tiles. Sybil didn't even hear it. Now it was her turn to stare, mouth agape, as Tom beamed up at her. "Tom—"

"Sybil Crawley," he said, his voice shaking a little but still confident. "These last six months have been the best six months of my life. I never thought I could ever be this happy, this in love, until I met you. I love you so much, Sybil—and I fall more and more in love with you with each passing day…"

Tears were already starting to blur Sybil's vision as he reached for her hand with his free one, gazing up at her with so much love in his eyes that she almost burst just looking at him. "I love you, Sybil Crawley, and I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness. Sybil…will you marry me?"

Sybil didn't remember moving, but in the next instant she was kneeling in front of Tom, wanting to be on the same level as him. Tears were spilling down her cheeks as she nodded, too choked up to speak. In the end, she had been right—all the imagining in the world could never compare to how the real thing felt.

Her blue eyes met his, still begging for an answer, and Sybil realized that she still had yet to speak. "Yes," she whispered, and Tom's eyes lit up. "Yes, Tom, yes…"

A tear fell from Tom's eye as well as the ring was put onto Sybil's finger, a perfect fit just as he had known it would be. Then his lips were on hers, kissing her passionately and as if he never needed to come up for air again, his tongue slipping into her mouth to explore it even though he already knew every inch of her by heart. He had been wrong before. This was definitely the best, happiest moment of his life. Nothing else would ever be able to compare to this, the moment when Sybil Patricia Crawley had agreed to become his wife.

As he pulled away, there was only one thing on his mind. "That car accident was the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered against Sybil's mouth before pulling her in for another kiss, his hands wandering her back, never wanting to let her go.

"Me too, Tom," she replied with a blissful sigh, running her fingers through his hair as she pulled him closer. "Me too."

THE END

Author's Note: And that's it! Thank you so much for sticking with this story to the end, and I hope you've enjoyed!