Happy Valentine's Day Mosteyn!

Here's the prompt: About 10 years into their marriage, Tom decides to cook dinner for Sybil for a valentines day surprise whilst she is working at the hospital, but his plans unravel as his children play up, he overreaches his cooking skills and general chaos ensues :)

Personal connection: My headcanon is that Tom and Sybil always wanted lots of kids, and since I come from a big family, it's easy for me to write. I'm the second oldest of six children. My dad used to watch us while my mom worked full-time at the hospital (while she was pregnant) and so this is close to my heart. The little distraction with Oisín was actually a story I get teased about to this day. So enjoy!

Quick pronunciation guide: Oisín = Oh sheen (Ocean with an eee vowel), Aoife = E-fah (think leaf) (They have four children, Rebecca, Oisín, Aoife, and Daniel.)

"Family meeting!" Tom called. 3 pairs of feet padded down the hall to where he stood in the kitchen, holding their littlest one, Daniel.

"Do you know what day it is today?"

Oisín and Aoife looked puzzled, but Rebecca nodded and raised her hand politely. Tom chuckled as he called on her; her school habits had carried over. "Yes, dear?"

"It's Valentine's day. It's the day where we celebrate St. Valentine."

Rebecca was their oldest, and she looked just like Tom. Though she looked just like he did at that age, she was very demure. She was almost nine, a fact she reminded her parents of constantly, and she was the only one of their children that talked with a proper British accent, probably a result of their living at Downton while she was becoming verbal.

"Yes, Becca, very good. Do you know why he's important?"

She chewed on her lip. "Teacher said that the Ronan emper didn't want young men to get married because he wanted soldiers, so he made it illegal. St. Valentine helped young mommies and daddies get married."

He ruffled her hair. "Very good!" He addressed all of his kids now. "Did you know that when Mom and I got married, Donk didn't come? He didn't want us to be married, so we had to go get married in Ireland. Now he's happy with it, but Valentine's day has always been very special to us. In fact, it was on Valentine's day that we decided we wanted to have Aoife."

Aoife pulled her fingers out of her mouth and smiled. She was four.

This was almost too long for Oisín to sit still and he started to fidget and play with his sister's hair, but at a look from Tom he stopped.

"Tonight, I want us to plan a special dinner and clean the house. Each of us will have a different job so that when Mom gets home, she can rest. We want her to take it easy since the baby is due in a month."

Rebecca raised her hand. "Yes, Becca?"

"Once the baby is born will Mom stop working as much?"

Tom certainly was counting on it. Sybil had very difficult pregnancies, and when she was home she was very miserable and couldn't stand the smell of anything. A lot of nights Tom had slept on the couch because with her heightened senses she couldn't come within a 10-foot radius of Tom or the children. Somehow at work she could make it through okay, and they had decided together that it would be better for her to be at the hospital full-time. Tom had trained Rebecca to help with Daniel and they managed. Besides that, the hospital gave a paid maternity leave and when she worked full-time beforehand, she would get fulltime pay over her leave. The hospital was very progressive, to which Sybil and Tom were extremely grateful. As she was reaching the end of her pregnancy, she was starting to feel better, but Tom was looking forward to the end of it.

"Yes. She'll be home. Now for the jobs. Rebecca, you're in charge of Daniel. Just keep him out of anything dangerous or messy. You can take him up to your room. While you have an eye on him, can you tidy up so it looks nice?"

She nodded and held out her arms to take her brother. Daniel eagerly went to her. "Dissa!" he called.

"Oisín, you'll need to shovel the walk. Don't forget your boots, gloves, and hat. Gotcha?"

Oisín had inherited his mother's dark hair and stubborn nature, which combined with his father's obstinancy was a dangerous blend in a boy just barely seven years of age. He was energetic and destructive, so shoveling the walk was a perfect job for him: It would get some energy out of him and keep him away from siblings that were easily teased.

"Aoife, you'll help me in the kitchen. Alright? Can we do it?"

The kids all sounded their agreement, and Tom sent them off to their various destinations.

It was going splendidly at first. Everyone was focused and eager to work hard. He kept an eye on Oisín out the window, who was already making good progress on the snowy walk. He and Aoife put some potatoes in to boil on their modest gas stove he had found and started on a hearty soup. He chopped a couple of vegetables they had saved from their garden that year: nothing fancy, just some carrots and onions and fried them in oil. He heard Daniel babbling to Rebecca upstairs. His words were incoherent to all but her and Sybil, and somehow they were able to determine through a series of grunts that he was hungry or cold or wanted a sweet. He was two and a half, but still progressing fine.

Tom decided to get a little more ambitious. The soup was all made, it was just a matter of time and waiting for it to boil. He remebered a recipe for toffee that just required butter and sugar, which they had plenty of. He put the ingredients in a saucepan and had Aoife stand on her chair and stir. About this time he heard a shout from upstairs, a bonk, and a simultaneous cry from Daniel and a scream from Rebecca. He gave it a couple seconds, usually Daniel would get right back up and attempt to recreate whatever stunt had injured him in the first place. After four children, Tom had often found it best to let them sort it out themselves instead of coddling them. After a few moments, Daniel hadn't stopped, and Rebecca was now yelling for him. He gave Aoife careful instructions and dashed upstairs.

There was blood all over the floor of Rebecca's bedroom. His heart faltered for a minute as he thought of the worst case scenario. Rebecca was holding Daniel closely, whispering comforting words in his ear, while he howled away, blood gushing from a cut on his head. He was still crying, so the head injury couldn't be too serious. Tom grabbed his son and cradled him against his chest as he rushed to the small bathroom. He found a washcloth and gently began to clean the blood away. There was a lot of it, but as he examined the cut, it wasn't serious. The blood had frightened him more than he cared to admit, but in all reality, it was just another scrape. He would have Sybil take a second look at it when she came home, but by the time he had cleaned it up and put a temporary bandage over it, Daniel's quivering lip was the only after effect. Rebecca was crying harder than he was.

"Is D-daniel going to b-be okay?" she whimpered. "It's m-my fault, I told him he c-could jump on the bed and h-he hit the dresser."

Tom scooped them both into a hug. "It's alright, Becca. Daniel's going to be fine." He held them both tightly for a moment, then set about cleaning up the blood on the floor, Becca's room, and the hallway. He hurried, anxious to get back down to the meal as he had left Aoife in charge of the kitchen. He left Daniel and Rebecca in the now clean room and ran back downstairs.

Everything was alright. Aoife was in the same place he had left her, stirring the butter and sugar which had turned into a promising golden brown color. But the pan full of carrots and onions had been emptied.

"Aoife, do you know what happened to the carrots?" She shrugged her shoulders at him. He looked around the doorway at the living room. He didn't realize how much mess had been made that afternoon, and he quickly rushed in to tidy things up, hanging wet clothing near the wood-burning stove, collecting up the several mugs of tea that had accumulated next to Sybil's rocking chair, and putting the loads of books they had back onto their proper shelf.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaoooooooooowwwwww" he heard from Aoife in the kitchen, and he ran in, panting. She had abandoned the toffee and had her finger in her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Seeing her rescuer, she cried out, "Da, I burned myswelf."

"Oh Aoife, I am so sorry." He grabbed her fingers and ran it under cold water in the sink. Two injuries in twenty minutes. At least they were both going to be okay. He glanced at the clock. Sybil was due home in ten minutes and things were still a mess.

A burning smell reached his nostrils. He left Aoife at the sink and stirred the soup, which was bubbling but not an issue, checked the potatoes, which were a little soft, but fine, and realized that it was the toffee. The brief minute or two that they had left it had proved fatal, and now it was hardened and black at the bottom. He groaned loudly, and scraped the remains of it into thescraped the remains of it into the trash bin. How had he not noticed the wet footprints on the floor? And more importantly, how had they gotten there? Oisín was probably the culprit, but he didn't bother with it. Instead, he started to become concerned. The burning smell still remained. It seemed to be growing stronger and stronger. And it seemed to be coming from the living room...

Tom muttered a few choice words in Irish that he hoped his kids would never learn and sprinted into the living room. An old shirt of his that was nearing the end of its life had been placed too close to the wood stove and had caught on fire. He ran to it, wrapping it over itself to smother the flame. Rebecca and Daniel came to watch, frightened but fascinated. When the flame still didn't subside, he ran to the front door, pushing the kids aside and threw the shirt, now beyond rescuing, into the frigid winter air. He felt like crying. Dinner was ruined, the house was a disaster, and two of the kids had been hurt.

His feet felt wet beneath his thick socks, and as he looked down he saw that the walk was buried under two inches of snow. Where was Oisín? What had happened to him? And why hadn't he finished shoveling the walk?

He buried his face in his hands. His face felt hot despite the frigid air. As he stood there, a car pulled up. It was Nurse Blackford, a colleague of Sybil's that often gave her rides home. Sybil clambered out of the car, wished Nurse Blackford a Happy Valentine's day, and carefully made her way across the snowy walk.

"Tom, why are you wearing socks? Let's get inside." Tom offered Sybil his bare arm to help navigate the slippery walk. Oisín was nowhere to be found.

"Are you alright?" she whispered in his ear.

"It's been a trying evening." They passed the remnants of his shirt and Sybil wisely said nothing.

They stepped into the house. Tom shed his wet socks and promptly stepped in a muddy footprint. He groaned, but Sybil kissed his cheek. "It's alright. I'm just glad to be home with my family." They walked into the kitchen, dodgin muddy footprints. The burning smell still remained. Tom checked the soup and potatoes.

"The potatoes are too soft, they won't do. The soup is burnt at the bottom. The vegetables disappeared. The toffee was a disaster. Not to mention the state of the kitchen."

She smiled and greeted Aoife, who ran to her. "We can mash the potatoes, the soup will still taste fine. Oh, Aoife, I'm sorry. Your finger hurts?"

"It got bworned." Sybil promptly kissed it better. They walked into the living room. Somehow scraps of paper had been scattered all around, and a pile of books had been pulled off the shelf, definitely the work of Daniel. Sybil just smiled and headed upstairs to change out of her nursing uniform.

The hallway still had drips of blood, but Daniel ran out and greeted them. Tom explained the injury and she picked him up and held him against her shoulder.

"My poor baby.." She whispered in his ear. He appeared to be completely recovered, and other than the presence of a large bump and a scab, seemed none the worse for it. Sybil pronounced it fine and kissed it as well.

Rebecca shuffled out of Tom and Sybil's room, looking guilty. "Daniel wanted to jump on your bed, and since he had just gotten hurt, I let him do what he wanted."

Tom threw his hands up. "Sweetie, he got hurt jumping off a bed! I think he's had enough today."

Sybil hushed him and hugged Rebecca. "That's perfectly fine. Daddy's just having a rough day." She went into the messy room and changed into a comfortable outfit. She came out looking radiant with her blossoming belly. She kissed Tom. "Let's go see about dinner."

He nodded, still feeling beat up. They were stopped in the living room by Aoife and Rebecca. "We made you Valentines!"

Papers were scattered all over from their valiant efforts. The Valentines were crude but cute, and despite his heavy heart, Tom couldn't help but feel his spirits lifted at the effort they had put into the decorated hearts.

"How lovely!" Sybil exclaimed. She carefully examined and praised each one before handing them to Tom.

Rebecca stepped forward, a stoic look on her face, and presented them with a chocolate bar. "I bought it from the store. I wanted to make it special. I only ate a little bit."

Sybil unwrapped the half-eaten bar and grinned. "What a wonderful treat! Thank you so much." She hugged her three children tightly, then frowned. "Where's Oisín?"

At that moment, the door opened. "Mama!" came a cry from the dark blur that raced toward her and hugged her tightly, taking care to be gentle of her large belly. He still had his snowy boots on.

"Oisín, my darling!" She exclaimed.

"Look what I made for you!" He tugged her hand tightly as he led her outside, leaving her almost no time to put on her shoes. "See?" he demanded.

Tom heard his wife call to him. "Tom, come look at what Oisín made!"

Tom padded outside in his bare feet. He was cold and tired and irritated and stressed, and honestly, he didn't really care what Oisín had done, because it had kept him from doing his job. He caught his breath as he rounded the corner. The mystery of the missing vegetables was laid at rest. There, next to a beaming Oisín and an admiring Sybil stood the most dilapidated snowman he had ever seen. The middle sank over, the head was out of proportion to the rest of the body, and the sticks that made up the arms were crooked beyond measure. There was no doubt that its maker was a seven year old. But instead of traditional black buttons or eyes made of coal, Oisín had substituted fried onions. The nose drooped a little, since the carrot was cooked, but all in all, the snowman was downright charming. It spoke of the creativity and thought of his son. He smiled broadly, the evening not seeming so horrid when he saw this beautiful little snowman.

Sybil hugged Oisín tightly. "I love it! Thank you!" Oisín met his father's eyes and looked guilty.

"I thought Mom would want a snowman more than the shoveled walk." he said quietly. Sybil looked at him, amused.

"Of course I do. This was a wonderful surprise."

The Bransons gathered together outside under the falling snow, happy. The house was covered in mess and the dinner was meager, but the love that he felt for his family at that moment seemed to overshadow all of his other feelings.