A Fool's Errand
By: piperholmes
A/N: Written as part of the Rock the AU, which for January was WW2. This was a drabble I wrote that was received well enough on Tumblr ( ) that I decided to add a few chapters to it. So this chapter was initially written as just a glimpse into an idea, which is why it just sort of starts and ends. But since I'll be adding to it, I decided to post it here. -As a side note I haven't forgotten about A Hard Sacrifice, nor will I neglect it forever. When the mojo returns I will update it! (Thank you for the encouragement!) AS usual, this is unbeta'd
London, 1941
He found her walking the hall of the hospital, her gaze distant, eyes red and glistening, her cheeks pale.
She didn't see him.
Clearly the letter gripped tightly in her hand had brought unfortunate news; as they so often did these days.
He didn't know what made him do it, she was clearly not in her nurses uniform, heading back to the dormitory, in the last few weeks of his recovery they had come to know one another, sharing in conversations, laughter, feelings and dreams, secrets, but he supposed she was that way with all her patients; giving a bit of sunshine in a dark world of war.
And yet he couldn't deny the way his heart beat faster, his lips curling up at the sight of her, his skin tingling, hoping her fingers would sooth his pain.
So, despite the awkwardness of their relationship, he called out to her; surprising them both.
She turned to him quickly, her hands moving to swipe away the evidence of her pain from her face, the wounded always so willing to hide the weakness.
Clearing her throat, she stood calmly before him, her voice even. "Branson? What are you doing out of bed?"
He gave her a small smile, warmed by her concern even amidst her own distress. "I'm suppose to be walking about," he reminded her, dramatically stretching his legs, working the muscles that had been so beaten when the ambulance he'd been driving had been hit by a mortar shell and flipped.
She nodded distractedly, Tom could see the skin of her throat tightening as she forced a swallow.
They stood silent for a moment, neither certain of what needed to be said.
"Are you…" he hesitated. "Is ever thing alright?"
Her nervous, humorless chuckle, a response born of nearly incomprehensible emotion, caused his stomach to clench.
"Of course," she answered brightly. "Nothing for you to worry about. Shall I help you back?"
He blinked at her, then shook his head. "I know…I know it's probably not considered proper, but I'm a good listener. Maybe I can help."
He saw her face begin to crumple, a fresh wave of tears coming before she pressed her lips together, forced a deep breath to regain her composure.
"That's very kind but—"
Impulsively he grabbed her hand, cutting off her words, as he tugged her lightly, leading her to an empty examination room, ignoring the shooting burn running through his leg as he walked faster than his limp allowed.
He shut the door, the bright white light of the noon sun filled the room, reflecting off the metal instruments, giving the room a false feeling of happiness.
Her eyes darted about, refusing to look at him.
"Nurse Crawley…"
Still she kept her blue eyes from him.
"Sybil," he tried softly, her name new to his lips but as easy as placing a final puzzle piece.
Her gaze collided with his, an energy buzzing about them as if the sound of her name had flipped a switch, filling the room with the constant hum of the electric lights.
"I've told myself and told myself that there is nothing between us, that you treat me just as you treat all the soldiers," he began, his eyes never leaving hers, even as his heart pounded in is chest. "But even if that's true, even if you've done no more than be the best nurse a lad could as for, I want to help."
He saw her begin to shift, resisting his attempts.
"Please," he said. "Just listen for a moment."
He saw her settle, her shoulders drooping wearily, surrendering.
"You've…you've grown to be someone I care about a great deal," he began. "You've given me the gift of hope. The things I've seen…"
It was his turn to look away. It was all too raw.
Her small hand rested against his arm suddenly, pulling him away from the horrors.
"I hope you will at least consider us friends," he continued, forcing the words passed the images of his former pals dead, blown to bits, crying out for their ma's. He forced his eyes back to hers. "Clearly something's upset you. Please let me a friend to you. I will help in whatever way I can."
Sybil pressed her lips together, hopelessness shining in her bright blue eyes.
"I don't thing anything can be done to help," she offered quietly, her fingers at her lips, forcing back the tears. He saw her hesitate, thought he saw shame.
"I'm pregnant," she whispered so abruptly it took him a moment to realize what she'd said.
Tom felt a slash of pain rip through his heart. He couldn't stop his eyes from falling stupidly to her abdomen, then her hand.
"Oh…I didn't…I didn't know you were married…"
She swallowed. "I'm not."
Tom forced his brow to stay put, resisting the urge to manifest his shock. "Oh," he repeated slowly.
He could only watch as she buried her face behind her hands, the crumpled letter still held between her fingers.
And it all made sense.
"Your letter. Has your…uh…the baby's father…has he…" he swallowed nervously before delicately asking, "died?"
Her bitter laughter surprised him, confusing him as he watched her hand fall helplessly to her sides before she balled the paper up into her fist.
"I was played," she said, her words sad. "I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted to marry me and when he left for war he begged me to give him a memory to hold on to and I believed him."
"I don't understand—"
"He's written to tell me he can't be a father, that he doesn't want to marry me any longer and that he can't even be sure the baby is his. It's his, I swear. He's the only man I've ever…been with—"
"That's disgusting!" Tom spat, his cheeks pink with anger.
Sybil stiffened at his words, wincing from him.
"No," he quickly amended. "Not you, never you love. Him. He's disgusting. To turn his back on you, on the baby. To accuse you of…to even suggest…" Tom's anger prevented him from speaking coherently. "My darling girl."
She shook her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do. My father is going to kill me. I begged him to allow me to be a nurse. You don't know…you don't know what it took to be able to leave his house, to come to London. To be free…and now I have to go back in disgrace and throw myself on his mercy. I'll lose my position. I don't know what I'm going to do."
They stood silent, each lost in thought.
"I'm sorry," Sybil said. "I didn't mean to unburden myself like that on you…I just don't know what I'm going to do."
It was the way her voice broke, shattering into a thousand pieces, cutting into him. He's always been impulsive; berated by his mother on more than one occasion. He'd joined up impulsively, moved by the plight of smaller nations being bullied. His time in war should have been lesson enough. Even now he could hear his mother voice in his head.
"Tommy, when are you going to learn to look before you jump headlong into something?"
But this was different.
This was her.
"Marry me."
"What?"
The words had shaken them both, but now they were said he felt eager, excited. He felt alive.
"People will figure out the baby came first, but surely your family won't cast you off forever if you show up with a husband. I'll give you, and the baby, my name."
"Branson—"
"Tom, my name's Tom."
"Yes I know." She gave a small smile of acknowledgement before sobering. "Tom, I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't ask," he pointed out.
"Fine, I can't expect you to do that. This isn't for you to fix. I've made my mistake."
"Except you didn't," Tom insisted. "At least not by yourself. This baby has a father; one who's not worthy of the title. I know I'm not much now, a broken soldier who will be headed back to the war soon, but if I survive this madness I'll make something of myself I promise."
"I know you will," she interjected quickly.
"Then bet on me. We can marry and I'll go back with you to meet your family before I report for duty in a few weeks. There's a very good chance I won't return—"
"Don't say that," Sybil interrupted, her face stern.
Tom took a breath. It was the reality; the reality he'd come to accept.
"Sybil, you and I know what awaits me. If my life is to be cut short then please allow me to do something great with the time I have left. And if I am so lucky as to return I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."
She shook her head. "I can't allow you to throw away your life for me. You hardly know me."
"It's true I don't know everything about you, but I do know you. I know your kindness, your passion, your faith and strength, your courage. And I won't be throwing my life away. I'm not being selfless here Sybil. I feel, I have very strong feelings for you. Maybe…maybe you could write me while I'm gone. I think if I had your letters to look forward to I might be able to endure this war. We can spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other."
"And what about the baby? Will you accept him?" she challenged.
"Or her," Tom smiled. "Any child you bear will be my child Sybil. On this I promise you."
He could see her waver, her brow knitted together as she considered his words.
"If I don't survive this war," he pressed, "then you and the baby will have the protection of my name. If I do survive and we find we don't suit then we amicably divorce."
Sybil's expression grew wary. "You're Catholic Tom, your faith doesn't allow for divorce."
Tom's face grew hard. "My faith is between God and me, and right now I'm not too concerned with what He thinks. Besides, simply marrying you is cause enough for the church to frown on me."
"My father—"
"Your father will be angry, yes, because it will seem as if we'd anticipated our wedding vows, but—"
"No Tom, you don't understand, I can't promise that my father, my family will ever accept you."
He frowned. "Because I'm Irish or Catholic…or both?"
She closed her eyes for a moment, her back straightening. "My father is an Earl."
For the second time Tom was left speechless.
"Nurse Crawley is not the first title I've had," she said slowly, allowing him to catch up.
"You're—"
"Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter to Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. That means you'd come back with me to the family estate in York."
"Estate?" he parroted dumbly.
"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought," Sybil offered sadly. "Perhaps you are regretting your offer. If I show up pregnant and having eloped with a soldier, there is still no guarantee they won't throw me out, and your sacrifice will have been for nothing and you'll find yourself burdened with a wife and child, a child who is not your own."
"I've already said if we wed, the child will be mine Sybil."
Slowly he moved to her, taking her cold hands into his. "And I could never think of you as a burden. If your family wants to give you up, that's their affair, and the more fool they are. But I would never be so easily convinced. I believe a life with you is no sacrifice, but if you insist on calling it that, then fine. Just know that I also a believe a future worth having comes from sacrifice."
Carefully he slid one hand up her arm, the contact sending a shiver through them both, before coming to rest against her cheek, his touch light as his thumb stroked tenderly.
"I'm willing to give this a try," he whispered, "and if you are too then the rest is detail."
She blinked up at him owlishly, her eyes searching his, her fingers clasping tightly to his hand.
It was crazy. Truly it was.
But did that make it wrong?
She doubted her family would ever accept such a marriage. And yet, as she took in his earnest, sincere face, she felt her heart warm. It was true, they'd only known each other a few weeks, but he had listened to her, really listened to her when she spoke of her dreams and aspirations. He'd challenged her on some of her beliefs, and happily accept any challenge she'd thrown in return. She'd never know such freedom, such liberation from the restraints of the expectations and limits of her position. Was that enough? She'd proven herself naive in matters of the heart. Was this another mistake?
No. This wasn't the same. She'd been lying to herself, trying to convince herself that the man her family hoped her to wed was the man for her. In truth she'd allowed him liberties in a hope to feel something stronger for him.
It was different with Tom. Easier. Exhilarating. It made her heart beat faster, her mind feel scattered and stretched, her insides tingle.
She was a fool.
And he was a fool to offer.
"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."
It was lunacy.
"My answer is…yes."
to be continued
Thanks for reading!
I created a photoset to go with this story, if anyone is interested, it's on my Tumblr.