Who: Sybil, Frodo and Tom. What: Tom starts meeting the family. When: Early November. Where: Frodo's home. Rating: Low. Status: Complete.
Frodo was trying to put some distance between himself and the Ring. The small gym on the basement level was perhaps the least frequented room in the house, but he was attempting to test the adage that it was possible to exercise away tension and stress. Hobbits weren’t known for keeping in shape and it showed by the way he was huffing and puffing. But Frodo wasn’t one to give up easily. He’d work until his mind cleared… or at least until he decided to take a nap on the floor.
Sybil was still planning on inviting Tom to dinner to meet everyone, but that picture--especially with dreams of Downton on the mind--was a bit daunting. Sybil decided the wisest course of action would be to invite Tom over to meet her beloved uncle alone. Frodo was one of the most easy-going people Sybil knew, and she was certain Tom and Frodo would be quick friends. Perhaps that would make dinner less stressful, if Tom felt Frodo was already on his side.
She'd invited Tom over, and was waiting outside to meet him.
It was daunting regardless, but Tom hoped that didn’t show on his face. Meeting the parents - or, relatives, he supposed - was always nerve racking for the best of them. He’d made sure to leave work early so he could scrub up good, and put in the extra effort to be punctual (not that he ever wasn’t). Seeing Sybil certainly eased his mind a bit, though.
“Good afternoon,” he told her, grinning a bit as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Sybil giggled as he kissed her cheek, delighted with any reminder that they were dating now. It was disgusting to watch, she was sure.
"Come on," she said, grabbing for his hand and running along the side of the house, bypassing the front door and Carson. Her uncle was probably in his little 'underground tree house', as her aunt called it.
On the way by, Tom gave Carson the quickest of waves and was not at all surprised to get a raised eyebrow of suspicion in return. He actually nearly laughed at it.
“Are you that eager for me to meet your uncle, then?” he asked, looking amused at their speed and Sybil’s haste. “I guess better to get it over with quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.”
"I'm excited that you're here," she answered, smiling back over her shoulder at him. And she was pleased with her little plan. She knocked on the round door of Bag End before pushing it open and... finding it empty.
"Hmm, he must not be out here." It was surprising. She'd checked her uncle's study and the dining area before Tom arrived, and Frodo hadn't been there, either. She was sure he'd be out here.
Tom blinked a bit, and then figured that any person who had that sort of a place as a hideout might not be so bad after all. Then he cracked a smile, teasing Sybil by saying, “Maybe this is his way of deciding he doesn’t want to see me after all.”
Maybe it was his way of giving them some privacy. No, that was much too scandalous to say aloud, even if the thought did cross her mind for a second. It was a nice little place... Focus, Sybil.
She shook her head. "Maybe Carson knows."
“My favourite person,” he quipped. “Come on, let’s go see, then.” Tom turned to go back the house, taking Sybil’s hand again.
Sybil spared one last glance toward the little Hobbit hole before following Tom back to the house. "I'm sure he hasn't had time to get too protective of me yet."
The kitchen door was closest, so Sybil headed that way. "Carson?" she called as they walked inside.
Carson looked up from the kitchen island, where he was getting some work done organizing various things that Frodo typically overlooked because weren’t edible. “Ah, Miss Sybil. What may I do for you?”
“We’re trying to find Uncle Frodo. Do you know where he is?” Sybil asked.
Carson stiffened his jaw, looking upward as he thought about where the young Master Baggins might be--yes, he still thought about him as young Master Baggins. “I believe I heard his workout pants swishing about… so you may find him in the gymnasium.”
Sybil blinked a few times, trying to make sense of that. Not only was it odd to think of her uncle working out, but "...We have a gymnasium?" She blushed, wishing Tom weren't standing next to her. Not only was the house big enough to have a gymnasium; it was big enough for her not to realize it had a gymnasium. One of these days she would have to admit she was a one percenter.
“Indeed,” said Carson. “Shall I take you to him?”
For his part, Tom stood there in a way that he hoped didn’t give off a bad impression. He felt as though he had to maintain some level of properness in front of Carson that was more befitting of Edwardian times, and that was a hard feeling to shake. Fortunately, Sybil got to do all the talking, and Tom even managed not to laugh at her question about the gymnasium. Instead, he just gave Sybil’s hand a little squeeze.
"Oh," Sybil's blush deepened a bit. Her sensibilities had shifted a bit toward the dreams, too. The idea of intruding on a man's workout seemed terribly improper. But surely if Carson was suggesting it, it couldn't be so bad. It wasn't as if her uncle exercised in the nude! "Only if you're sure he wouldn't mind," she said.
Carson dusted off his hands as he walked around the island to join them. He poured a glass of water along the way. “No, it’s about time for me to check and make sure he hadn’t injured himself…” He was half serious, but there was still a slightly smirk on his lips.
The path to the gym began with a stairwell beside Frodo’s study. The walls and carpet were a crisp white, like much of the rest of the house, but the lights grew brighter as they descended below ground. At last they came to a door with a window, through which Frodo could be seen, mopping his forehead as he rested on the stationary bicycle.
Sybil waited for Carson to enter first with the water for Frodo. She still wasn't entirely sure she should be down here. "Uncle Frodo?"
Frodo tossed the towel over the back of his neck as he looked up. “Ah, Sybil. And…” Was this the famous Tom he heard so often about? He got up to greet the currently unknown visitor. (Frodo wasn’t wearing shoes, by the way, which meant he was riding the bicycle without them. His feet were larger than they had been only a few weeks ago ...and quite hairy.)
Tom, by good fortune, had the mind not to look and stare. Though he could probably make a joke about being used to it, coming from an Irish family, but maybe that seemed poor taste. So instead he just smiled and held out his hand.
“Tom. Tom Branson,” he said, unknowingly answering Frodo’s silent question. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Really.”
Ah, so this was the famous Tom. Famous around the Baggin’s house, at any rate. Frodo walked over to shake his hand. “I’m Sybil’s Uncle.”
“I didn’t realize you were busy, Uncle,” Sybil said apologetically. “I was still hoping we could all have dinner together with the family, but I thought I might introduce the two of you first.” Frodo was sort of the American stand-in for her father, in a sense. Though a much easier barrier for Tom to get past.
Much easier, Tom thought. There was something about Frodo that made him more at ease than he would have seeing Sybil’s father. Maybe it’s the dream backstory. It could also be that, from what Tom knows about Robert Crawley, is he’s an intimidating sort either way.
“I hope we’re not interrupting. Or that I’m not imposing,” he added, giving a slight laugh.
“No no,” said Frodo, who was still in the process of catching his breath. “It was time to stop, anyway.” He dried his palm with his towel and held to out to properly welcome Tom. If he lived long enough that his own daughter--should he have one--brought home a boy, he might have been slightly less open-eyed and friendly. There was some difference when the girl was your niece. Then again, Frodo was friendly by nature. “Dinner sounds lovely.” It always did.
Sybil smiled and looked over to Tom. "Uncle's always rather fond of dinner," she confided, smiling warmly back at Frodo. "Better with company, though." And Tom would get to see Carson serving dinner without any footmen. She hoped it would go well. Her biggest worry should probably be Mary, but Frodo's fondness might convince even her.
Tom can’t help but feel like he’s been caught in some sort of master plan, but he’ll hold that thought until later when he could tease Sybil about it. “As it happens, I also happen to be fond of dinner, so it does seem quite lovely, after all.” As long as he didn’t have to wear a jacket.
Frodo looked directly at his niece. “Well, Sybil, why don’t we invite Tom to dinner?” he asked with a jovial smirk.
Sybil blushed. She sort of already had invited Tom to dinner, and was just now realizing perhaps she had overstepped. But no harm done, it seemed. "Tom, would you like to come to dinner sometime?"
And then she had another idea of how the two men might bond, though she felt a bit awkward bringing it up. "Tom, do you like classic cars?"
“Well, how could I refuse,” Tom said, laughing a bit. But that certainly perked him up, and after he gave Sybil something of an amused smirk, he glanced at Frodo. “I love them. Do you have many, then?”
“Do I?” Frodo replied. “Sybil hasn’t shown you my garage, then?” He stepped further into the hall. His collection was quite massive, with just about twenty cars inside, many of them antiques, all of them classics. “My uncle was the original collector, but I’ve been keeping them running, and added a few of my own. A lot of them are British: Aston Martin, Bentley of course. Lotus, I have an Elan that’s a family favorite.”
The funny thing was, he wasn’t bragging. Sure, Frodo sounded quite proud of his collection, but when he spoke about it, there was a fondness in his voice that was too human to be mistaken for anything else. It was his uncle’s passion. His uncle had raised him. And Frodo’s affection was quite apparent.
"Oh, it would be much better if you showed him, Uncle. I'm afraid I'd be a terrible guide." Sybil could imagine it now: 'Here's a red one. And this one over here is silver.'
“You’re kidding,” Tom said. He looked more and more delighted as Frodo went on. It sounded like a dream garage. “Do you take care of them yourself? Sybil, I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
Frodo waved them down the hall and jogged back up the stairs. “I do what I can,’ he replied. “I know a few tricks to keeping them in shape. But I also employ a chauffeur to tune them…” His voice trailed off, as it came to mind that while he could manage the cars, he still couldn’t drive them. Legally. Since Samwise’s birth, he’d been even more nervous than before about getting behind the wheel. His little secret.
And that was what Sybil was afraid of; that Frodo would bring up the chauffeur. On top of Sybil's embarrassment about their wealth, it seemed too reminiscent of their dreams. "Surprise?"
Honestly, Tom almost had a laugh about it. But he saw Sybil’s face and opted not to say anything at all, for now. “Well, if you ever need an extra hand with them, I know my way around a car or two. It’d be no fuss on my end.”
From where they were in the house, it was a very short trip the garage. Frodo opened the door and turned on the light--or rather, it was more like a chain reaction of lights that came to lift across the space. The garage itself was enormous.
“By all means,” said Frodo, “Have a look around. Take your time. You are more than welcome to take one of them out. Except the Elan. That’s… Well, it never leaves the property.” Not since it had been stolen.
Sybil had to remind herself that this was exactly what she wanted. She wasn't sure just how serious she and Tom were, but her feelings for him were certainly strong, thanks in part to the dreams. She wanted him to get along with her family, and they would both need to get comfortable with the wealth issue. Tom seemed to be handling it better than she was.
Tom let out a low whistle. It was a pretty mind-blowing collection, and if he didn’t feel a bit awkward before, now he did. He couldn’t even dream of owning a car half as expensive as some of the ones he saw. “I suppose it’s an all right set,” he said, at least, obviously teasing. Humour was a good way to diffuse most situations.
Frodo had unconsciously stopped to stand right where there was a small but indelible brown stain on the cement, the site of his attack so many years ago. He covered it with his feet. “Like I said, it was my uncle’s passion. I’m little more than the caretaker.” It was the way he felt about a lot of what he'd inherited.
It was probably a sin that Sybil hadn't taken any of the cars out for a joyride. She still hadn't adjusted to the way the roads worked in this country, and wasn't enough of a car fanatic to push herself to learn. "I haven't spent much time in here," she admitted.
“Well, either way, it’s great. Your uncle had fine taste, at that.” Tom smiled, unsure if the mood had shifted or not, but feeling oddly like it had. “And they seem to be well looked after, if a bit ignored by some people,” he added, nudging Sybil gently with his elbow.
Frodo mopped his brow. He was still sweating. Clearly, he needed to work out more often. “Well, I should shower, I think. I’ll leave you kids to explore. Wonderful meeting you, Tom!”
Sybil smiled, waving to her uncle as he left. That seemed to have gone well. She leaned back against an Aston, glad to be alone with Tom again. “Well, see any you’d like to try out? Maybe go necking?” she grinned, deliberately using the anachronistic slang.
“It was nice to meet you, sir,” he said, because he wasn’t really sure how else to refer to Frodo. Once he’d gone, Tom looked at Sybil and raised an eyebrow before laughing. “I see you’re feeling cheeky. Come on, it’s best we go find other places to spend our time if that’s how you’re going to be.”