A Hard Sacrifice
By: piperholmes
A/N: (This is a long one) Several months ago, magfreak posted a drabble on Tumblr about Tom and Sybil secretly marrying, which got me thinking about what if they did secretly marrying during the War and Sybil fell pregnant. As a bit of a lark I made a few photos showing Sybil pregnant throughout series 2. The reaction was overwhelmingly supportive and encouraging and so I wrote a few drabbles based off that premise. And the response was even more amazing. And thus it has now turned into an actual story. I owe a huge thank you to so many people, it's been a collaborative process, though I'm not sure they realized that. Angiemagz made some awesome gifs on Tumblr which led to a great deal of the drabbles being written. Scarletcourt's absolutely phenomenal attention to detail provided me the framework and timeline so I could write this. Magfreak for the inspiration. A special thanks to Repmet, who beta'd this for me (and dealt with my mild panic as I worked to make this good enough for you guys)! This is rated a strong T, and will most likely be upped to M at some point.
This story is dedicated to the S/T fandom. You inspire me to create, for which I am truly grateful, but even more than that you are some awesome people who I am thrilled and delighted to call my friends! Enjoy!
November 1918
It was too soon.
That's all that went through his head, a calm thought, just moments before panic gripped him, driving out all reasonable thought.
"Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes huffed. "Are you listening to me? Go and fetch the doctor. Now!"
It made no sense. Her words had meaning, meaning he understood, but the implications ran too deep, choking out his ability to respond.
Without thought, without preamble, he ran, dashing up the stairs that were forbidden him.
"Mr. Branson! Where do you think you're going?" the housekeeper shouted, surprised by his actions.
He paid no mind as he continued his flight, up higher and higher, continuing on up the grand staircase, ignoring the gasps of the servants as they bustled about their work. He knew where she was, where to find her.
Without hesitation he ran down the hall leading to her bedroom, not stopping until he found himself outside her door, face to face with her father.
"Branson!" Lord Grantham snapped. "What the devil are you doing up here?"
Tom's already frantic heart seemed to want to beat out of his chest, but fear and love were powerful motivators and a defiant mask slipped into place as he ignored his Lordship and pushed his way into her room.
"Branson?" he heard Lady Edith cry, her shock reflected on the face of her mother, Lady Grantham, though a bit less so on Lady Mary's. But Tom had no patience with any of them, his eyes immediately falling to the figure on the bed.
"Tom," she sobbed, all inhibitions lost. "It's too early...the baby…"
He fell to his knees beside her bed; his large hand engulfing hers as the fingers of his other hand tenderly smoothed her hair.
"Shh," he soothed gently, "I'm here."
He heard movement behind him, heard the silent judgment and recrimination. Slowly he turned his face to Lord Grantham's, saw the lowered brows of uncertainty just moments before the older man's wrinkled skin smoothed as realization dawned.
"No," Robert whispered. "Dear God, no."
Tom had no hope to give the man, merely answering with a hard, unflinching stare, confirming the Earl's suspicions.
Unable, or perhaps simply unwilling, to deal with the repercussions, Tom turned from him, once again focusing on his wife, her miserable, sad expression enough to break his heart.
Their whole world was about to come crashing down on top of their heads.
"Oh Tom," she moaned.
March 1918
"Oh Tom," she moaned as he held her pinned against the wall with his body, moving in and out of her quickly. Her hand cradling his head, her fingers stretching and clenching, scraping through his fair hair, her other hand frantically clutching the back of his uniform, bunching the starched material tightly.
His head lowered to hers, his lips capturing and scraping, as he shifted her a little higher, the skirt of her nurses uniformed gathered about her waist, her legs wrapped tightly around him.
She broke the sloppy kiss, her head falling back, a hiss escaping as he plunged into her again, the force pushing her firmly against the wall.
Tom whimpered, his body longing for release. It had been a month since they had managed a moment to be together like this, a month since the sweet ecstasy of her body linked with his. It wasn't the slow, soft love-making he preferred, but hidden in a linen closet of Downton Abbey, quietly and desperately driving each other to completion, was just as thrilling. He wasn't often allowed in the house, tonight having been invited—along with the rest of the staff—to watch the show the Crawley sisters were putting on for the convalescing soldiers, affording him the opportunity to enter the grand upstairs, and he'd excitedly sought for some glimpse of his wife.
He'd managed only a small yelp as two hands had grabbed him, pulling him into the closet, plunging him into a world of darkness and sensations. He knew her by her smell, her touch, her kiss, and eagerly he'd responded.
"We have to hurry, the concert is going to start soon," she'd whispered harshly, as she'd pulled at the belt on his uniform.
"Yes m'lady," he'd answered, deftly sweeping her up against the wall, stepping between her legs, each trying to smother the contented laughter with kisses, shifting clothing, and absolving the pain of a too long absence.
He felt it now; building, gathering.
"Sybil," he panted, his thrusts growing erratic. Her legs tightened around the back of his thighs, refusing to allow him to pull away.
"Not yet," she pleaded huskily. "Almost there."
She buried her face in his neck, her breath hot on his skin, her hips grinding and driving against him.
"Sybil," he tried again, warning her. He had to pull out, his body moving beyond his control.
"Please," she begged. "please...so close." Her arms held him against her, tightly pressed, her heart pounding against his chest.
Tom's hand moved between them, his fingers seeking her intimately, massaging frantically, pushing her to her release, knowing his was just moments away, thrusting as hard as he dared.
"Yes," she whispered, her breathing growing fractured. "Oh Tom, yes."
He heard a final gasp before her body went rigid, arching against him, grasping and pulling, her hold on him almost painful. His control slipped completely away, his own body tightening, his muscles stiffening as waves of pleasure washed over him, through him, and with a final thrust he released into her, unable to suppress a quiet groan of satisfaction.
He felt her sag against him, her legs slowly lowering to the floor, grateful to her as his arms weakened. They were silent, the sound of their harsh breathing filling their ears.
Tom moved his forehead to rest against hers, still keeping her cocooned with his body, even as he slipped from hers.
He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he chanted, his eyes tightly closed, even though the darkness made it nearly impossible to make out features. He simply couldn't stomach the possibility of seeing her disappointment. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I was so selfish-"
Sybil's hands immediately moved to cup his face, warm against his cheeks. She shushed him, moving her lips to graze gently against his, barely there kisses enough to still his words.
"It's alright," she breathed, her chest rising high and fast as she tried to calm her still racing heart. "It's my fault. I was the selfish one-"
"Sybil," he interrupted, his tone communicated his self recrimination.
"Hush," she commanded, a bit more harshly than she intended, and softly repeated, "hush."
Her thumb stroked the pink of his lips.
"Let's not ruin this moment together by worrying."
"But if there's a child-"
"Then we'll handle it," she answered. "This isn't the first time we've been here. We always knew it would be a risk. Our only sure option would be to abstain and we agreed that neither of us wanted that. Besides, I think we should be alright."
Tom nodded, hoping she was right.
Sybil wrapped her arms around him suddenly, and Tom sensed a desperation to her hold that she rarely allowed him to feel.
He hugged her close, his hands moving from where they held her hips, her skirt falling back into place as he wound his arms about her.
"I love you so much," she said, her lips close to his ear.
"And I you," he answered. He knew he couldn't pretend, like they did, he couldn't ignore what was there, and knew she was growing to be like him, merely needed help and promptings at time. "Still no word about Mr. Matthew?"
Her fingers dug into him as she shook her head.
He gave no empty promises, both knowing that war had a habit of making liars out of even the best of them, he instead just held her as long as he could, knowing soon their absence would begin to draw attention and forced himself to step away, reaching for his handkerchief. Her hand swatted his out of the way as she took the small piece of material out of his pocket, before wiping them both clean.
In silence they righted their clothes, helping ensure the other was properly buttoned and tucked in, both wishing it didn't have to be like this, so secret, so worried, so suppressed. Tom reached out to her, instinctively knowing, and grasping her hand in his, their fingers entwining and gripping. By mutual agreement they came together, their lips embracing one last time in a tender, hopeful kiss.
Whispered commitments of love were shared before she slipped from his arms, sneaking out the door through a small crack of light.
After nearly 18 months of marriage, of hiding and keeping sacred their promise to each other, no discussion or planning was needed. They were adept at finding these stolen moments. So he waited, listening for any sound, before finally making his own escape.
He blinked several times, acclimating his eyes to the light, as he strolled towards where everyone was gathering. Excited chatter filled the air, servants, soldiers, and Crawleys alike doing their best to forget the war and enjoy an evening of music and entertainment. Tom slid into the back of the room, immediately finding her, watching as she helped a soldier take his seat.
As others milled about, his mind went back to what had happened, memories of her body and their time together tugged at the corner of his lips. It's true; they had made a few mistakes in the past. Preventatives weren't the easiest to come by, Sybil snagging one from the army surplus when the opportunity allowed. But she admitted to him she didn't like doing that, so it was up to him to find them, sometimes making a trade with a soldier in the village, but it wasn't often that happened. Sybil told him when they could be together, explaining to him about a woman's body, but he lacked her medical training, his cheeks pinking at her explanation, leading him to just nod and mentally vow to simply do as she said.
He wanted a family with her, more than anything, but their decision to elope in secret meant certain sacrifices had to be made. A child was too big a risk right now.
He watched proudly as Sybil shook her head at the offered chair, choosing instead to walk back to where the staff and nurses stood. Her eyes met his for a moment, a small smile shared, before she took up her position to watch the show. Tom loved watching her. He loved how caught up she got in every performance and the way her head would tilt as she listened or watched. He remembered the day they married, as she listened to the vows he made to her, that same tilt, that same sweet smile.
He remembered too the first time he'd spoken to her, really spoken to her, his heart beating fast, his words playing over and over in his mind, rehearsing what he'd say, hoping his instincts about her weren't wrong, that she wouldn't chastise him for his impertinence and familiarity. He'd waited until they'd left the village before he'd handed her the pamphlets, before he dared opening his mouth and speaking his mind, on the road to Ripon, that day she'd met with Madam Swan about her infamous "new frock." She admitted to him one night as they lay in bed, tightly wound together, that it had been their conversation in the car that had given her the last boost of confidence she needed to defy her mother and convention, and order the harem pants.
And there she stood, Lady Sybil Branson, who always fought to get what she wanted, for what she believed in. His heart sank as he thought about the day when she would have to fight for him, for them. But fight they would.
Tom was pulled from his revelry, by movement at the door, Lady Mary's singing abruptly stopping, followed soon by Lady Edith's fingers pausing their dance across the keys of the piano.
Silence stretched as Tom watched Mr. Matthew and William step fully into the room. He heard a small gasp and knew, knew his wife had quietly expressed her joy and delight. They were all so controlled, and at times so foreign to him. He wanted to swing her up, hear her laughter ring out as she smiled and rejoiced in her cousin's return. It was not the way of the English aristocracy, and he was learning that marriage, especially theirs, was compromise, forgiveness and understanding.
As Matthew and Mary began singing, the entirety of the room joining in, he noticed her back moving closer, in nearly imperceptible increments. He could hear her raspy voice join in the chorus of the song and felt the small nudge as the little finger of her hand wound tightly around his, hidden between them.
A garden of Eden just made for two
With nothing to mar our joy
I would say such wonderful things to you
There would be such wonderful things to do
If you were the only girl in the world
and I were the only boy.
Thank you for reading!
My goal is to update every Sunday.
And please allow me to say, one more time, thank you to everyone on Tumblr for the support. The messages and suggestions and ideas and general support has been truly overwhelming. We've been through a lot in the last year but that hasn't destroyed us, rather proved the cliché true: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I really want to list everyone who has been so encouraging but I'm terrified I'll miss someone, so I hope you can all accept this story as my thanks!
See you next Sunday (with a much shorter Author's Note I promise)!
Coming Next Week:
Sybil's hand slid into his as his arm wrapped around her. They maintained the proper distance, their frame strong, faces neutral, gazes diverted. But still she couldn't help but feel that they all saw, that somehow they could tell. The warmth of his hand on her back seeped through the gauzy material of her dress, sending a shiver down her spine. The skin of her cheeks tingled and she knew they were betraying her, coloring her awareness of him.
The music started, and she felt him hesitate, the fingers of the hand that held hers tightened slightly. Sybil risked a glance, saw the uncertainty in his eyes.
"Just as we practiced," she whispered, her own fingers subtly tapping the beat for him.
She felt him relax some, felt a pressure as he carefully pushed her back, leading her into the first step as they began to dance.