Behind him was the great house, halfway to being completely leveled by the fire that had been set earlier that evening by the others. In front of him was the chaos of an entire city population under fire, men, women and children scrambling for cover, mothers shouting for their children, husbands shouting for their wives, older siblings crying out frantically for their younger brothers and sisters.
Chaos.
He was looking for someone too- Sybil. He knew he had to find her, had to get her to safety, her and the baby. He'd gone to the flat already, and she hadn't been there; their neighbor, old Mrs. Brady, told him that she was still working at the hospital, but he knew that wasn't right. Sybil never worked evening shifts. She always worked from eight to five, so she would get home with some daylight left and so they could have dinner together.
"Sybil!" he called, trying to keep on the edge of the crowd as best he could, rising onto the balls of his feet, even jumping a little- anything to catch sight of his wife. "Sybil! Sybil, where are you love?"
Where was she? Where was his wife? He knew she was here somewhere, struggling with the rest of the crowd- he could sense her- but why couldn't he see her? Everyone else seemed to have found whoever it was they were calling out for, so why hadn't he been able to find her?
"Sybil!" The smoke from the burning estate had found its way down his throat and his voice came out hoarse, as if he'd been screaming for longer than this. "Sybil!"
"Tom!"
At the sound of his wife's voice, his heart lept, and he searched frantically for her, looking for her kind, dark eyes and the pale purple scarf that she always wore out. He needed to know she was safe, that she and their child were safe.
"Sybil love, where are you?" It hurt to speak, his breath grating against his throat like skin against sandpaper.
Behind him, the house was almost completely burned to the ground, smoke rolling away from it like morning fog across the hills, finding its way down his throat and stinging his eyes. He needed to leave, to flee the scene before the authorities came and decided he was the man responsible for this tragedy, while the real culprits had left hours ago after setting the fire, leaving him behind without warning, but he also needed to find Sybil.
"Sybil? Sybil!"
No reply.
Where was she?
She'd been there a second ago, where had she gone?
Had she been swept up in the chaos, trampled underfoot in the panic?
"Sybil!"
She had to be here somewhere, she just had to be, and God have mercy on anyone who hurt her, because Tom knew he wouldn't.
The crowd had cleared, as if Moses had come through and struck a divide between them as he did the waters of the Red Sea. Mothers held their children to their breasts while husbands searched the bodies that lay in the streets for any missing loved ones. Tom hated to think that Sybil could be among the fallen, but he went to look nonetheless, taking care not to step on anybody, regardless of what state they were in.
It didn't take him long to find Sybil, who was wearing her dark grey nurse's uniform, though her hair wasn't hidden by a scarf, like he remembered it being. Her hair was beginning to fall out of its careful knot in long curls, which framed her face like a halo, something that he would consider beautiful if she hadn't been lying, half-conscious, on the pavement.
"Sybil!"
He ran to her as quickly as he could, scooping her up in his arms, just like he had the day of the by-election, the day he realized that he was, of all the impossible things in the universe, in love with Lady Sybil Crawley.
"Sybil, love, can you hear me?" he asked, brushing strands of hair out of her face as soon as he was able to find an out-of-the-way enough place to sit with her in his arms. She was breathing- always a good sign- but her eyes remained half-lidded, as if she was very tired.
"Tom?" she asked, her eyes opening further, like a kitten's did when it was old enough.
"Yes love," he said, relief flooding his voice. "I'm here, you're safe."
"Tom, where-" She was cut off as her whole body seemed to tighten with pain, her back arching upwards and her eyes closing tight in pain. "Tom!"
"Sybil?!" His mind raced. What was wrong? Why was she fine one moment, and in so much pain the next? "Sybil what's happening? Sybil, listen to me love, listen to me!"
"Tom?" She sounded confused and afraid, and oh, in so much pain it hurt Tom to listen. She fell against his body again, eyes still screwed shut and jaw clenched tight, and when she cried out again, tears sprung to the corners of Tom's eyes.
"Sybil love, it's okay. I'm here. You're going to be okay. Just listen to me love, listen to me. Think about our baby- I bet she'll look like you. I know she will, actually. Maybe we'll name her after you too. Sybil Branson. How does that sound, love?"
No answer.
"Love?" He shook her gently, afraid that he might wake her. "Love?!"
Still, no answer.
Tears sprung to the corners of his eyes, and he went in search of a pulse, only to find nothing. "Love...please don't leave me love. Don't leave me."
But, as it seemed to always be the case, he was too late.
She'd left him.
"Tom? Wake up Tom, it's okay."
Sybil's voice.
But how?
Sybil was dead. He'd seen it. He'd been there when her body had seized with pain in his arms, her face twisted in agony that he never thought he'd ever see.
"Tom, you were having a nightmare."
His wife was shaking him gently, one hand gripping his arm and the other slid between his face and the pillow. She kept saying his name with the same measured tone he'd heard her use when speaking with the officers who suffered from shell shock during the war.
His eyes flew open to behold Sybil's dark eyes peering down at him, her brows knit tightly together with concern. He could feel his heart racing dangerously fast, and he wasn't quite sure if he was breathing normally or not. He rolled onto his back and felt a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face, and he closed his eyes against the light of their bedside lamp.
They were at Downton, and Sybil had only returned to his side that morning, after a sleepless night spent alone, wondering what horrors had befallen his wife as she made her way from a chaotic Dublin to Liverpool, and from Liverpool to York, heavily pregnant with his child.
"I was?" he asked, his voice hoarse, just as it had been in his dream.
She smoothed back his hair, a tender smile appearing across her lips. "You were," she confirmed, withdrawing her hands and sliding them beneath the covers.
He turned to face her, and she pulled him into a gentle embrace. "You died," he said, his voice hollow.
"Excuse me?"
"Y'were lost in the crowd, but I found you...I found you an' y'were barely conscious, like y'were at the by-election, and...And y'started having...convulsions of some sort, and when they stopped, I kept saying your name and sayin' your name, but y'didn't answer."
"Shh Tom," Sybil said, caressing the side of his face with her delicate, yet incredibly steady, hand. "It was just a nightmare. Nothing happened to me, or to the baby, and nothing's going to happen. We're here now, at Downton, and we'll have the safety we need for me to give birth to our child and raise her. Everything will be fine, I promise."
"But you died. You left me."
"Listen to me, Tom Branson." Her voice was astoundingly firm as she spoke, gentle too. "I am never going to leave your side. "Til death do us part," remember?"
"And after death?"
"Well, I hope to die with you, like this- just us, side by side, loving each other as much as we did yesterday, as much as we do now, and as much as we will in the morning. I'll never let you go anywhere without me if you don't want to, and I hope you feel the same."
"That's an awfully big promise to make," he remarked, moving so their foreheads were touching.
"Well I have every intention of keeping it," she assured him, reaching to kiss him on the lips, a soft, brief kiss, like a kiss from a ghost.
"Do y'swear to it?"
"On the grave of every Crawley woman before me, yes, I swear to it. I, Sybil Branson, promise to never let you out of my sight or out of this life, unless I can follow," she said, an impish grin on her lips. "Your turn."
He couldn't help but smile. "I, Tom Branson, swear on the grave of every Branson man before me, that I will stay by your side and love you and protect you until the day we both die."
"There," she said, drawing him close, as if she could possibly shelter his sturdy frame with her slight one. "Now get some sleep. We'll have to face Papa and Mama tomorrow morning, and I don't think that's a good idea if you haven't slept well. I'll be here the whole time, so don't worry."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this, and thank you so much for reading. This was supposed to be solely fluff for crystabelshalott, but it ended up being a little but more angsty than planned (plot bunnies lead you down dark rabbit holes sometimes), so for that I am sorry.
Anyways, please read and review, let me know what you think if you have the time.
Thank you!