I want to thank the Yankee Countess for looking this over for me. I was unsure about a few things, but she was very supportive. The inspiration for this story was a prompt I saw when reading fanfiction from another fandom. The prompt, which is below, stuck in my head and this story developed out of it. This is set within canon within S1 and S2 canon, though it's obviously an AU.
Prompt: Soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you'll know them when you meet them.
4 April 1908
Tom hadn't planned on looking at his tattoo the morning of his eighteenth birthday. At 18, he wasn't even sure he wanted a soulmate. He was far too busy working at the motor depot and educating himself in his spare time to be concerned with that stuff.
Besides, Tom had never met anyone who had married their soulmate. His mother Deirdre's soulmate had been a young man named Ruairi Ó Coileáin in her native Galway, but he had died of consumption six months after her 18th birthday and five months after they had met. Michael Branson's soulmate had been Peg Sullivan, a young maid on the Kilruddery Estate. Peg had been raped by the Lord's youngest son and sent away when she fell pregnant.
It wasn't that his parents didn't care for each other, or that they didn't love each other. They did, but they knew their hearts would never be fully the others. They weren't miserable, which was fine for them.
On waking up that morning, Tom's first task was washing up and shaving. As he was applying his shaving cream, a dollop fell off the brush and fell onto his Henley. He finished shaving, then removed his shirt needing to change. It was as he took off the shirt that Tom noticed the black writing on his chest. Looking in the mirror, he saw words etched over his heart. I suppose I do.
After that day, Tom rarely dwelt on his tattoo or his soulmate. Life for a working class lad was never easy and he had to work to help out his family. As time went on, he moved from working at a motor depot to being a chauffeur for an elderly widow. Finally in Spring 1913, Tom interviewed for and was offered the position of chauffeur at Downton Abbey. In truth, he didn't want to take the job. He had no desire to work and live in England. It went against his beliefs to work for an English lord. However, his father was ill and his parents and younger sister could use the money. The salary was significantly better too. At £100 a year, Tom could afford to send money home to his family and put money aside for himself. He was determined that this would be his last job as a chauffeur and that he would only work there for two years at the most.
14 May 1913
Tom sighed as he waited for Her Ladyship and the two youngest Ladies to return to the car. It was only his second day at his new job as chauffeur for Lord Grantham and he was still trying to decide what he thought of the family and the rest of the servants. His Lordship seemed nice as he gave him permission yesterday to read books in the Downton library. He already liked Anna, Gwen, William, Mr. Bates, Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Patmore, the latter two reminding him of his mother and Aunt Agnes, respectively. It took Tom all of thirty seconds to take a disliking to Thomas and O'Brien, easily identifying them as malcontents. While he didn't believe in the system he found himself working in and desired a life outside of service, Tom knew that people like them, no matter their class, wreaked havoc on others' lives without thought to consequences. Best to stay clear of those two.
He still wasn't sure about Daisy. She seemed like a nice girl, though a bit flighty. However, he noticed how she seemed attached to Thomas even though he didn't seem interested at all. She could be easily led astray, he thought. Mr. Carson seemed nice, but incredibly stern and more devoted to keeping with tradition than His Lordship.
As for the rest of the family, he had yet to meet Mrs. Crawley and her son Mr. Matthew. That meeting would occur later in the week. Tom had met Old Lady Grantham last night and thought the woman was tough, but in a good way. What I would give for her and my gran to meet! He had met Lady Mary yesterday and he was not impressed. A spoiled snob if there ever was one.
At that moment, he noticed Lady Grantham, Lady Edith, and Lady Sybil approaching. Tom quickly left the car and stood next to the door ramrod straight, waiting for them to reach him and the Renault. The closer they got, the clearer their conversation became.
"Why is Sybil having a new dress and not me?" asked Lady Edith petulantly.
"Because it's Sybil's turn," the Countess of Grantham responded evenly.
Lady Sybil beamed with excitement. "Can it be my choice this time?"
"Of course, darling. As long as you choose what I choose. Branson, you'll be taking Lady Sybil to Ripon tomorrow. She'll be leaving after luncheon."
Tom answered evenly. "Certainly, Your Ladyship." He, however, had not missed the disappointment on the youngest's daughter's face.
She lamented, "Poor old Madame Swann. I don't know why we bother with fittings. She always makes the same frock."
Lady Edith exasperation with her younger sister was evident as she asked, "What do you want her to make?"
He sister eagerly answered. "Something new and exciting."
The Countess, seeming to have ignored the exchange between her daughters, noticed the fading sun. "Heavens, look at the time. Not a minute to change. And Granny's invited herself for dinner."
Lady Sybil remarked, "Then she can jolly well wait."
Her mother replied, "So, women's rights begin at home, I see. Well, I'm all for that."
Tom chuckled at those words and began to drive his charges back to Downton Abbey.
However, he couldn't get their conversation out of his head for the rest of the day. That night, after driving Old Lady Grantham home, Tom decided to share several of his pamphlets with Lady Sybil. He spent a good half hour searching through his things before he found the pamphlets, as they were buried at the bottom of his trunk. He placed the pamphlets, mostly women's suffrage tracts he picked up in Liverpool but a few socialist ones as well, onto the table in his kitchen and went to bed.
The next morning, after dressing and eating a quick breakfast, Tom grabbed the pamphlets and placed them in the car. While he knew he wouldn't be driving Lady Sybil to the dressmaker's until after luncheon, he knew he had to change the oil in the Rolls that morning as well as perform other maintenance work. Not wanting to forget them, he brought them with him to the garage that morning along with his lunch.
It was after one in the afternoon when the hall boy Jack notified him that Lady Sybil was ready to travel to the dressmaker in Ripon. Tom quickly straightened up the garage and put on his livery jacket, doing up the buttons and hopping into the Renault. He drove up to the front of the house, got out, and stood by the door to wait for Lady Sybil. He was barely standing there for a minute when she hurried out the front door, obviously eager to be going to the dressmaker's on her own. Tom couldn't help smiling at her actions and quickly opened the car door for her. She nodded in thanks and gracefully glided into the car. Within two minutes, they were off.
They were driving past the village post office when Tom finally gathered up the courage to speak to Lady Sybil. "Will you have your own way, do you think? With the frock? Only, I couldn't help overhearing yesterday, and from what Her Ladyship said, it sounded as if you support women's rights."
Sybil was slightly taken aback, but answered. "I suppose I do."
Tom slightly jerked the car, stunned at the words that came out of Lady Sybil's mouth. I suppose I do. Feck me! My soulmate is a posh aristocrat!
He was completely speechless for a minute or two before he regained his senses. "Because I'm quite political. In fact, I brought some pamphlets that I thought might interest you about the vote."
Reaching next to him, Tom picked up the pamphlets and handed them to Sybil. She accepted them and began to look them over.
She gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you. But please don't mention this to my father, or my grandmother. One whiff of reform and she hears the rattle of the guillotine." Sybil paused for a moment. "It seems rather unlikely, a revolutionary chauffeur."
"Maybe. But I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary. And I won't always be a chauffeur."
Sybil grinned at his response. Finally, someone who doesn't think that my thoughts are foolish! She looked down at the pamphlets and began to read them. She was so taken in by the words that she didn't realize they were in Ripon and outside Madam Swann's until she heard Branson speak.
"Milady, we're here."
Her head bolted up and she blinked owlishly at him, before she regained her senses. Sybil beamed at Branson and bolted out the car before he could open the door for her. She marched into Madam Swann's determined to get a different frock.
Tom sat in the car shocked at the day's turn of events. As Lady Sybil read the pamphlets, his mind had raced with thoughts all converging at once. His soulmate was an aristocrat. Of course she would be. It just proves that I was right about the likelihood of ending up with one's soulmate. What girl would leave Downton Abbey for the likes of me? She's a LADY! Though she does believe in women's rights. And Gwen speaks highly of her. She's still a Lady!
His thoughts went on and on until an hour later when Lady Sybil left the dressmaker's, a grin beaming from her face and almost skipping with delight. Before he could stop himself, Tom smiled himself, her happiness being infectious.
"Did you get what you wanted, milady?" he asked.
He didn't know how it was possible, but her smile grew even bigger. "Yes. I got my own way, Branson."
With that, she entered the car and soon they were on their way back to Downton.
The Following Friday
Sybil giggled as she hurried down the stairs, eagerly anticipating her family's response to her new frock. Reaching the Drawing Room, she pushed open the door and blithely entered. "Good evening, everyone."
She gave a twirl to show off her frock, which wasn't a dress, but a jupe-culotte. Sybil beamed as she showed off her new outfit, striking a few poses as she did so.
Outside the house, looking into the Drawing Room, was Tom, taking in the audacious sight before him and smiling at the young woman inside. He stood there for a few minutes just watching when he noticed the door opening. Tom quickly darted away from the window.
Resting his head against the cool brick, Tom sighed. I'm screwed, he thought.
27 November 1913
Six months had passed since that day when Tom woke on Thursday, 27 November 1913 at half past six. He rolled onto his back and sighed. Today he would find out if Sybil was definitely his soulmate.
After calming down over the situation, Tom realized that just because Sybil said "I supposed I do" she was not necessarily his soulmate. He would be lying to himself though if he didn't wish she woke with a tattoo of his first words to her. Tom was quite smitten with the youngest daughter of the house. She was by far the most interesting, inquisitive, mischievous, sweet, caring, headstrong, and beautiful girl he had ever met.
Best to get moving, he thought as he forced himself out of bed.
Three hours later, Sybil woke in her room. After blinking her eyes a few times, she broke into a smile. Today was her eighteenth birthday and she would see her soulmate tattoo. Despite both sets of her grandparents and her parents marrying their soulmates, she wasn't sure if she believed the tattoos were accurate. Sybil knew far more people who hadn't married their soulmate than had. Despite this, Sybil was curious about what her tattoo would say. Have I already met him? Or is he someone I will meet next June in London? Is he clever and kind? Or is he dull and cruel?
Wanting to see what her tattoo said, Sybil hopped out of bed and hastened to her full length mirror. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and whipped off her nightgown. After taking another breath, Sybil opened her eyes and began to survey her body. Within moments, her eyes zeroed in on beautiful, scripted ink on her left hip.
Will you have your own way, do you think?
The words took Sybil's breath away. She was instantly transported back six months before to her first car ride with Branson. Branson. Branson is my soulmate. Branson the chauffeur! And he's known for months! Oh my God!
She grabbed her nightgown off the floor and hastily put it back. Then Sybil slowly sat down in the armchair, trying to process this information. Branson is my soulmate. Oh Papa will hate this! Now I understand why most people I know haven't married their soulmates. I mustn't reveal this to anyone.
With that thought in her head, Sybil rose and went to her wardrobe, pulling out a pair of cotton drawers and a cotton chemise. She quickly put them on and covered them with her white dressing gown. After inspecting herself in her mirror, Sybil felt confident enough to ring for Anna.
Several hours later, after a surprisingly quiet breakfast with her family, Sybil decided to take a walk along the grounds to clear her head. She was still trying to wrap her head around her soulmate revelation and thought the cool late fall air would help clear her head.
After twenty minutes of strolling and thinking, and not paying attention to where she was going, Sybil found herself standing outside the garage. Blast! she thought. She eyed her traitorous feet, but quickly came to her senses. Branson would know that she knew they were soulmates. Best to talk to him, Sybil thought and she quickly moved into the building.
Knocking gently on the door, she softly called out, "Hello."
Tom was under the Renault, in the midst of changing its oil when he heard Sybil's voice. He wheeled himself out from under the car and smiled at her. "Hello, milady. And happy birthday."
Sybil gave him a small smile, blushing slightly at his accent as usual. "Thank you, Branson." She paused for a moment. "May I ask you something?"
He nodded. "You may."
"Do you have a soulmate tattoo?"
Tom swallowed nervously and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I do."
She gently bit her lip, contemplating whether she should ask what she wanted to know. Plunging ahead, Sybil asked, "What does it say?"
He sighed at her question. Tom knew he could lie to her, but that wasn't the type of man he was. Taking a breath, he answered, "I suppose I do."
After that, there was silence. It stretched on unbearably for a minute or two before Sybil finally spoke. "So you are my soulmate."
"I am."
"Why didn't you say anything before?"
Tom rubbed his neck. "I wasn't definite that you were. After thinking it over, I realized it wasn't that specific of a phrase." He got a thought and smiled. "In fact, you're the only one who knows for sure that we are soulmates."
Sybil chuckled at his words. "My tattoo says 'Will you have your own way, do you think?' As soon as I read the words, I flashed back to our first conversation in the car."
He smiled at the words. "I will admit that as I got to know you these past six months, the idea of you being my soulmate grew on me. You're a very special woman, milady."
She blushed at his words. "Again, thank you, Branson." Sybil frowned then. "What's your Christian name? I'm ashamed to say I don't know it and I think I should know."
Tom smiled. "It's Thomas, but I prefer to be called Tom. My full name is Thomas Seóirse Branson."
Sybil beamed on hearing his name. "I like Tom. It suits you. My full name is Sybil Patricia Crawley."
He quirked his eyebrow at that. "Patricia, huh? Feminine form of Patrick the patron saint of Ireland." Tom chuckled then. "My middle name, Seóirse, is the Irish version of George."
She chuckled at that, their middle names matching so to speak.
As she stopped laughing, Sybil looked down at the ground and asked, "Where is your tattoo?"
Tom brought his hand up to his chest and answered, "Over my heart. And yours?"
"It's on my hip," she softly replied, her hand dancing over her tattoo.
She sighed. There was something endearing about Tom Branson. She walked over to a side table with a bench and sat down. "I'd like to learn more about you Tom Branson."
Tom gave her one of his half smirk smiles and sat down on the bench, a respectful distance away. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
7 June 1919
Sybil beamed as she stood in her bedroom in her new flat waiting for her husband to come in. Husband. Just thinking the words made her body buzz in excitement and joy. She sat down on the bed and sighed, her left hand dancing over the crisp, white linen sheets. Sybil heard footsteps approaching and smiled, her head instinctively turning towards the door.
He was standing in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his new gray suit, gazing lovingly at his wife. They'd been married for less than half a day and he couldn't believe how lucky he was.
Sybil stretched out her hand to him. "Tom, darling, come here."
Tom grinned and began to walk over to her. He took hold of her hand and pulled her up from the bed and into his arms. Wrapping his arms around her, he cheekily replied, "As milady commands."
She playfully swatted him, but as her hand came away from him, Tom grabbed it and placed a kiss on her palm. Sybil felt her heart burst as his sweet gesture. She reached up and kissed him on the lips. Both sighed at the contact and soon hands were wondering.
The newlyweds began to slowly undress each other. Tom helped Sybil take off her veil, then slowly removed the pins holding her hair in place. Once her hair was free, he assisted his wife in removing her wedding dress, taking every chance he could to kiss her as he did so.
When she was left in her lingerie, Sybil turned to Tom and uttered, "Your turn."
He grinned at her and removed his jacket, tossing it aside, not caring where it landed. Sybil took over then, hastily removing his tie as he removed his braces. Then she swiftly began to unbutton his white shirt. When it was undone, Tom shrugged it off and tossed it to the floor. He then removed his undershirt and threw it behind him.
Sybil blushed when she saw his tattoo, her mind going back to their conversation in Downton Abbey's garage nearly six years ago. So much had happened between then and now - the war, the rising, their growing feelings for each other, her nursing - all of which made it possible for her to give up her aristocratic lifestyle, for it had cease to be her lifestyle, for him and Dublin. In Sybil's eyes, she hadn't given anything up, but rather gained so much.
Gazing at the words she said to him six years ago, she stood on her toes and placed a gentle kiss on his tattoo. Tom closed his eyes and sighed at the gesture. He ghosted his hand against Sybil's left hip, his fingers dancing against her tattoo as he pulled her closer, not knowing how he got so lucky.