Not From Me
Author's Note: This is missing scene fiction for the first part, the next installments I hope will be entirely original from the second series which is currently airing in the UK.
Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey I use these characters without permission, but make no money for my efforts.
"They won't hear, not from me."
The words seem to hang in the air between them. He stares at her intently, his eyes that conveyed so much passion and conviction moments before now looking sad and defeated. If you look even closer the passionate gleam in them has been replaced by the barest sheen of un-shed tears. The words though, they seemed to have both saddened him more than the original rejection and bolstered him simultaneously.
He won't be sacked, but could he really hold out the two months of her course and then live with seeing her again everyday, reliving her rejection every time he drives her into Ripon or into the village? He's a wilful man, he knows that, but is he a masochist? No, no he's not.
"I'll carry your bags to your rooms, milady." He bends forward and picks her luggage back up and walks into the next courtyard only a few meters ahead of them.
"Branson, Tom... it's not necessary." Sybil's voice carries over the cold stones surrounding them, as she follows him into the empty courtyard the clicks of her heels on the stones of the corridor still echo as she steps down. She's never called him by his given first name before, but the rules of propriety have been shattered with his declaration and proposal, she may as well tear down the barrier even further.
He stops his movements, putting the bags down and letting go of the handles whilst looking up at her, his sad eyes taking in her equally sad expression.
"I will miss you," she says. She has the inexplicable urge to reach out and cup his cheek in her hand, but all she can muster is to tightly wring her hands together, the fine leather gloves she wears rub against each other smoothly.
"You don't have to say that... Sybil?" He says her name as a question; because it is, he's asking if it's truly all right to call her that, she's been Sybil in his head for so long. He literally cannot count how many times he's had to remind himself not to call her that and force out the proper milady, when addressing her. For him she always felt like someone who wasn't above him or below him, she was always just Sybil - the woman he fell in love with. And now the woman who has rejected him.
"But it's true, Tom. I will miss you... everyday," She's looking him right in the eyes, trying to communicate without the words what she feels for him truly, but she just can't say them, not yet. As much as she likes to parade about with her forthright and precocious modern ways, feeling the way she does about him - those feelings frighten her almost as much as the war its self.
He seems to be weighing his options as he looks her over, it feels like it could be the last time he ever does this.
"Whatever happens, promise me when I've finished here that Edith won't be the one driving the Renault alone to take me home. That it'll be you." She boldly, or desperately takes a step forward, invading his personal space, trying again without words to tell him her feelings.
He takes off his hat again and tells her, "I'll do my best," his mouth hangs open after the last word, like he's gathering the courage to utter her name for the last time, the second time ever actually, "Sybil." There he's said it.
She smiles up at him, they're close enough now that she can just barely feel his breath on her face, and his body heat. She takes in a deep breath, trying to capture the scent of him in her lungs, he has such a unique scent. She remembers the first time he ever drove her anywhere, she was with one of her sisters she remembers, Taylor was such an old codger, she never really paid all that much attention to him, he simply did his job. Branson though, that first car trip with him at the wheel, she sat in the back-seat and smiled out the window relishing in the fact that Taylor had been replaced by a very handsome young man. That trip though, she sat looking out the window and breathed in deep and caught the scent of something she had never smelled before. It was a pleasant smell, but it wasn't coming from her or her sister or from outside. She breathed in again and followed her nose taking in that the heady, musky scent was coming from Branson. It was then that all those bits in novels she'd read in the past, about the masculine scent of a man, and the effects they could have on someone of the opposite sex was finally understood. She blushed into her gloved hand, and realised that she was fiercely attracted to the chauffeur. A couple of days later her attraction grew, for he turned around and addressed her while they were alone in the cab, he talked with her and handed her those first pamphlets. Tom Branson single-handedly changed her life - for the better she now knows.
"I should say good-bye now... Sybil." His mouth seemed to savour her name.
"Yes..." She takes a step forward again. She's so close now that she can tell that he'd shaved very closely this morning indeed, and that one of his eyes is a slightly lighter shade of blue than the other.
Like that summer afternoon so long ago, he takes up her hand - only no one who knows them is around to scold them with their gaze, and later with their words.
"I don't suppose..." She says mirroring the words he said that afternoon, but then was interrupted by Mrs. Hughes. He stops her, cupping her cheek in his gloved hand.
"I don't suppose anything... I only hope." He says, his thumb gently grazing her cheek.
They move closer, and she can't stop staring at his mouth. His eyes dart back and forth between her eyes and her mouth as well. She knows it's going to happen, she wants it to, she knows he does as well.
His breath is warm on her face, and his hand is still cupping her cheek. He leans down, and just as she feels the barest touch of his lips on hers a door slams to their right and a man in a green army uniform comes walking toward them. His eyes rake over them still standing too close, but not touching as Branson has dropped his hand. She breathes in rapidly, as does he. The man in the uniform passes them without a word and goes through the corridor they just walked through.
"That may have been for the best." He says finally, taking a step back and putting his hat back on.
"I'll never think that." She counters quietly just as woman in an impossibly neat nurses uniform steps out of the same door as the man in the army uniform had.
"I think it really is time for us to say good-bye." He says, his gravely voice going down an octave or two with the conclusion of their situation.
"I unfortunately agree." She says as yet another nurse comes through the door destroying any illusion they had of privacy.
He takes a step back and another stepping up into the corridor.
"Good-bye, Sybil." He manages to get out while walking backwards one, two steps more back, refusing to break their gaze.
"Good-bye, Tom." He turns after that and walks almost to the end of the corridor.
Something comes over her and she has the overwhelming urge to stop him. She shouts his name, and he turns on the spot. She dashes forward leaving her bags in the yard. She meets him where he's turned, his eyes widely looking on her, as she breathes out "write to me." Then gently leaning up she kisses him on the cheek, she'd have kissed him full on the mouth but the group of men doing their exercises in the other yard could see them quite clearly.
"I will," he says, stepping down into the yard, "You have my word." Then he turns and walks away, squaring his shoulders as he walks, she can tell it's taking everything he has to keep walking forward and not rushing back to her. She watches his figure get smaller and smaller and then he rounds a corner and he's gone.
She goes back to her bags and lifts them up with some effort, this is what she signed up for, independence and she'll not complain once. She walks forward and waits for yet another nurse to walk out of the door that had been the opening for so many disruptions. She enters it and finds a well kept looking woman with light brown hair sitting at a desk going over some papers.
"Hello, I'm Sybil Crawley, I'm checking in for my slot in the nursing course."
The woman nods curtly, and looks over what appears to be a list of names.
"Ah, yes, Crawley, Sybil, here you are. Please come with me?"
And that's how her first day away from Downton reached the halfway point.