Disappointment
By: piperholmes
A/N: So I'm trying an episode oneshot here, my first. I wanted to get this done earlier but I've had a sick baby so it's a bit delayed. I was rewatching the S/T scenes—as were most of you—and the scene where Tom puts his hand on Sybil's as they are talking to Martha, I was really struck with how tired, and bit spaced out Sybil seemed. She was kind of staring off just before he placed his hands on her. Which made me wonder what was going through her head. This is what I decided. I haven't slept a great deal in the last few days (See the aforementioned sick baby) so I feel a bit delirious. I'm hoping this doesn't come across as mindless ramblings. This is DEFINITELY not beta'd.
Sybil was exhausted. So tired in fact, she was struggling to pay attention to her recently arrived grandmamma, a woman who seemed to personify the term whirlwind. Conversation moved on around her, but she paid little heed. Her head felt stuffy and heavy, her eyelids begging to close. The thought of her nice fluffy pillow, and the comfortable bed that called to her.
It had been a long night.
"Listen everyone; Mr. Gray has given my brother-in-law something to make him appear drunk," Mary announced to the table.
Sybil's heart, which had already taken permanent residence in her stomach, seemed to only plummet further at her declaration. It wasn't enough that they ridiculed him for his clothes, and station in life, now they had to physically humiliate and hurt him. Her beautiful husband.
"Sybil, take him upstairs."
The words pulled her from her heartbreak and she jumped up, moving around the table quickly, ferociously. He fidgeted, seemingly lost and unsure what he was doing. At her gentle touch to his hair, he turned to her, struggling to find the balance to stand. Yet even in his inebriated state he did his best to keep his weight off her, knowing he could hurt her or the baby or both, if he fell.
Heat flamed in her cheeks as she watched her husband stumble slightly. She was so focused on him she had lost track of the conversation but then she heard it, and she knew he heard it.
"—he's only a grubby little chauffeur chap"
The room erupted, but he just stopped, she felt his shoulders drop and she reached out to steady him.
Lord Martin was shouting something, but truthfully all Sybil could focus on was the haggard breathing of her sweet husband. Her hand rested on his side, willing him to stay standing because the last thing he needed was to fall in front of these people.
"I apologize for my son Mr. Branson, unreservedly. I only hope you recover before the wedding." Lord Martin pronounced sincerely.
At this Tom nodded, an acceptance of the apology, and Sybil's admiration of him grew. He had been made a fool of, mocked, belittled, but still he bore a dignity that had little to do with the station he was born into.
Matthew stood by him, declaring Tom his best man and an eruption of a different kind took place, and the hope that blossomed in her chest was a balm to the burn of ridicule.
"Do you really mean it?" she implored
She heard the same quite reprieve mirrored in Tom's voice. "Honestly?"
Matthew was all smiles as he confirmed his commitment to have Tom as his best man.
Tom swayed slightly and Sybil gave him a small push forward. They moved slowly out of the room, away from the chaos and noise, and accusations. She declined Matthew's offer for help since Tom still wasn't leaning too heavily against her, which was a good sign, and she wanted to spare some of his pride.
As they entered the hall she stepped more fully around him, wedging herself under his arm, supporting him.
"Tom, I'm so sorry," she tried but he shook his head, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, knowing they would soon have stairs to try and navigate.
By the time they reached their room he was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat clear on his clammy skin. She worked quickly, depositing him on the bed, loosening his tie, stripping off his jacket, all the while asking him questions.
"How do you feel my love?"
"Like I've just humiliated myself in front of an entire room of British Aristocracy," he mumbled.
Sybil frowned, feeling her eyes begin to fill. To cover her emotions she knelt to untie his shoes. Swallowing hard, not looking up from her work, she asked, "Do you feel like you're going to be ill?"
She heard Tom snort. "Since we got here," he finally answered.
Sybil's vision blurred and her fingers fumbled on the strings. She sniffled, and tried to cover it by clearing her throat, still staring at the messy knot.
She felt his fingers rest atop her head, then stroke down along her hair and a tear escaped down her cheek, caught by his wondering hand as he grazed her cheek.
"Sybil?" he said softly. "Sybil look at me."
She did; her sadness, regrets, and love clearly upon her face. She had stopped long ago hiding from him, it wasn't how they were.
She knew how she looked because she saw her emotions reflected on his face.
"Don't cry Sybil," he begged, "I'll recover. I'm not made of glass. Even an arse like Larry Gray can't hurt me for too long."
She knew he was strong, knew he would be able to overcome all this, but she also knew it hurt more than even he was willing to admit. Abandoning her efforts with his shoe, she launched herself up, wrapping him in her arms tightly, holding him to her.
She stood a bit straighter, peppering kisses on his brow then allowed him to lean forward further, resting his cheek against her rounded belly. His own arms came around her then, the honesty in his movements more powerful than any words he could ever use.
She clutched him to her, shame and disappointment poisoning her mind. "I'm sorry Tom. I'm so sorry," she offered, her voice horse and raspy.
He pulled back to gaze up at her, his eyes glassy and red, confused. She knew he was going to protest and part of her was ready to play the coward, to let him bury her remorse in a lie of omission, but that wasn't who she was, wasn't who Tom loved so desperately.
Her hands cupped his cheeks, ensuring he was looking at her. "I disappointed you tonight Tom, and I disappointed myself. I didn't want to admit it because I felt so justified in wanting my family to love and accept me again. I wanted them to love and accept you, us. And I don't think I was wrong to want that, but I recognize now I was letting it blind me. I should have known something was wrong tonight. I know you can be an opinionated snob, letting your passion sometimes burn hotter than a situation may call for, but you've never acted like this."
Tom's brow's knitted together, but he thankfully remained silent.
"Except, instead of standing up for you, finding out what was wrong, I tried to tell you to be quiet, because…well, because I was angry with you. I felt—embarrassed for you," her voice broke on that confession and a pained look fleeted across his face just before he dropped his eyes down.
Silence stretched between them, neither moving, still holding onto each other. She knew there were any number of perfectly valid excuses for her behavior, but she also knew that those excuses didn't change the hurt it had caused. They had promised each other they would stay who they were, Mr. & Mrs. Branson; not Lady Sybil and Mr. Tom Branson. That promise that had seemed so easy to keep across the sea, far away from Downton Abbey. What a trick they had played on themselves.
Tom suddenly shoved away from her, startling her, but she quickly caught the frantic look on his face as he scrambled backed, grabbing the first thing he could. An unfortunate vase of flowers bore the brunt of his attack as he was violent ill.
Sybil was in full nurse mode as she dashed to him, trying the help him as best she could as the contents of his stomach left his body. When he was done she took the vase, setting it away from them and grabbed a damp wash cloth. Tom had collapsed on the bed, his body shaking. She sat next to him, using the cloth to wipe away the snot and tears that had come as a physical reaction.
She soothed him with nonsense words, even adding, "I know that wasn't pleasant, but hopefully it means that dreadful stuff Larry gave you is working its way out of your body."
He kept his eyes closed throughout her ministrations, and Sybil was beginning to believe he had fallen asleep when he surprised her, grabbing her hand in his.
He opened his blue eyes, eyes she had spent hours staring into, and smiled at her.
Caught off guard, she asked, "Why are you smiling?"
Clearing his throat, causing Sybil to realize a glass of water would probably be helpful, he croaked, "I think we've made a right mess of things," he swallowed. "And… I've made a right mess of that vase."
Sybil scoffed. She truly loved a ridiculous man. "You're concerned with the vase?"
Tom gave her a small, half smile, before shaking his head. "I just like seeing your face make that expression, the one that tells me you recognize what a fool I am."
She pressed her lips together, refusing to smile.
"Because I am a fool," he continued. "I let it get to me. I let them get to me. You weren't the only one being blinded Sybil. I've been so defensive; I've wanted to see everything as black and white. I showed up ready to fight. That's unfair, especially to you."
His words were beginning to slur a bit, and she could see his eyelids bobbing.
"Hush now," she chided gently, "we'll talk more when you feel better. Just close your eyes and sleep."
Tom seemed to do just as she asked, but again his eyes flew opened. "Your dress," he cried out.
Sybil's own brow wrinkled together as she glanced down in confusion to her frock, the only frock from her previous life at Downton that had enough give around the middle to accommodate her growing child.
The effort of his exclamation had left him drained, and his eyes had closed again, but that didn't stop him from uttering, "I've always loved that dress."
Images of her sneaking into the garage, being swept into his arms for the first of many kisses as they celebrated her decision, standing up to her father, her family, boldly declaring their love and commitment to each other. All of those memories were woven into the fabric of that dress.
A sense of clarity returned, as if she had pushed through the early morning fog to the light of a new day. The doubts and confusion of the last few days dimmed. They had stumbled. It was true, and it was ridiculous to think they never would. She was hurt, and so was he, but that didn't mean they had to continue to bleed. That would be the failure.
A soft snore pulled her from her thoughts, and with a practiced ease borne of all her hard work to accomplish her goals, she set to undressing her husband and tucking him into bed. She then moved to clean up the mess that had been made; throwing away the now much wilted Lavender.
A soft knock grabbed her attention and, opening the door, she found Mary on the other side.
The two sisters stared at each other. Mary quirked an eyebrow, while Sybil gave a small smile. There was so much to be said between the two sisters and a silent promise to soon discuss those things solidified.
"How is he?"
Sybil sighed, "It was a bit rough, but he's sleeping now. I think he should be feeling much better by morning."
"Good," Mary said, and her sincerity nearly brought Sybil to tears again, she mindlessly stroked her belly, giving credit to her changing body for all the tears that had found release recently. "And how are you darling?"
"I…" Sybil trailed off, she knew what she needed to do, what she wanted to do. "I need a favor actually."
Mary nodded for her to continue.
"Would you mind sitting with him for just a moment. I'm sure he'll sleep, but I don't want to leave him alone, just to be safe."
Mary's eyes widened slightly. She was happy to work to have Tom accepted into the family, but wasn't sure she was quite ready to sit in his bedchamber and watch him sleep.
Seeing the doubt on her older sister's face, Sybil rushed, "Please Mary, it will only be a moment I swear. There is something I have to do. Please."
And there was nothing Mary could do but acquiesce.
Sybil soon found herself back in the dinning room, more accurately hesitating at the door. She had never barged in on the men as they drank their port and smoked. It felt forbidden somehow, only Sybil had become quite the master at confronting the forbidden.
With a deep breath she threw open the door and stepped in. Surprise registered on the men's faces, but almost without thought they all stood.
"Sybil?" her father said simply, but she could hear the thousands of questions peppered behind her name.
"Excuse me gentleman," she announced to the room, then turning her gaze to Larry, added, "May speak with a moment."
Rolling his eyes, the young man groaned, "Oh for heaven's sake."
Lord Martin sent his son a withering look. "Sir, please show some decorum; a lady has asked to speak with you."
"Could have fooled me," she thought she heard him murmur be he resignedly put his drink down, and followed Sybil out of the room.
Once free of the stares, she turned to him. "I don't care what you think about me, my husband or our marriage, but I will not allow such behavior towards my husband because he may have been born to a working class family but he is more of a gentleman than you will ever be. You, Mr. Larry Gray, are what my husband would call an ass, and I have to say I quite agree."
The heavy frown and slight widening of eyes conveyed Larry's shock, but Sybil didn't care, nor did she care to hear his rejoinder, so she left him, ignoring his sputters of indignation.
She relieved Mary from Tom's bedside, asking only that her sister help her get out of her dress before Mary rejoined the group. Once she was in her own nightclothes she found herself too worried and wound up to sleep. Instead she watched over him, worked on a pair of booties she had begun to knit, read, and watched over him. When sleep finally claimed her it had been a tentative hold, she awoke throughout the night checking to ensure he was well.
When morning came her own eyes were puffy and red, while he seemed much recovered.
She felt a pressure on her hand and looked to see her husband giving her a loving smile, which she eagerly returned. She pressed his hand between her own, delighting in the feeling of his thumb stroking her pinkie. She realized Matthew was explaining his relationship to the family, though she was unsure how the topic had come up.
Refocusing her efforts, and ignoring the imploring look her husband was giving her, she listened as Martha gave Matthew a hard time. It was almost as if they had stepped through the looking glass when moments later her grandmamma seemed so ready to accept and praise Tom while giving Matthew so much grief.
The pleased smile on her husband's face was enough to forever ender her grandmamma to her heart.
"I know Sybil is looking forward to getting to spend time with you ma'am but if you wouldn't mind excusing us, I believe my wife's delicate condition leaves her more tired that usual," Tom observed as diplomatically as possible.
"Oh, yes dear, you go and rest. I well remember those days. I was so tired my husband would say the Union Pacific could run through our foyer and I'd never know it," the older woman laughed.
Tom helped Sybil stand, but she pulled away from him to give her grandmamma a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're here," she commented sweetly, mindful of her father's looming presence.
She then allowed Tom to lead her from the room, her arm wrapped around his.
"You're tired," he said dryly. "More tired than I even thought, if you're not arguing with me about takin' a nap."
She leaned her head against his shoulder and laughed. "I suppose I am."
"Did I tell you thank you for taking care of me last night?" he asked her, knowing full well they hadn't discussed the previous evening.
Sybil only shook her head.
They moved to the stairs and Tom remarked, "Well that is an oversight on my part because I am very grateful to you…for you."
She allowed his affection for her wash through her.
"Even if you did call me an opinionated snob," he grumbled good-naturedly.
"Now I really think I need to repay the kindness," Tom decided loudly, sweeping her up into his arms. "I'll put you to bed, and watch over you this time."
Sybil tried to contain her squeal, tried to remember she was at Downton, where the servants gossiped and eyebrows were raised, but in her husband's arms it was so easy to forget all that stuff.
"I think that sounds perfect," she admitted.
His handsome face broke into a full grin. "Good, because I even have a bedtime story for you. You won't believe what your grandmother and cousin forced me to do this morning…"
The end
So, there is my first attempt at an episode oneshot. Hope you enjoyed! And as always, thanks for reading! Oh, and PS: I couldn't tell what Sybil called Larry Gray's father, it sounds like Lord Martin, but I really can't be sure so if I'm wrong just pretend I'm right ;)