A/N: The beginning of the Downton Sundays. (waves flag) Now. School has resumed for me so stories will be even more occasional. But I will be writing a story per episode fingers crossed. Now, how lovely to have Downton back! I must admit, my star of the episode was Edith - although she wasn't fixated on - our little plain Edith in the car scene was hilarious. Now. Just to whine. M/M? B/A? SYBIL + BRANSON? I was left a little romantically drained. But, since this is the first episode, I expected no less. All I'm going to say is thank God it came back. And thank Goodness for Matthew in a uniform (how dashing, was he?). Oh, and of course William. Dear, William. How adorable was he and Daisy? Oh the War. It is rather mad.

Just a simple one here. A S/B one. Sort of.

Flattered

The silence - it boiled. It was a painful reverie - prickly and simmering.

He examined her. Eyes absorbing every part of the idol that had brought him the most joy. He could barely hear her - his heart thundered too loudly in his chest. The heat in his body reached its peak and he could feel the cocktail of feelings pulsate through him like wildfire. He had said it all; every word that had built up inside of him - every suppressed sentiment that had tormented him for so long. He had pronounced it with the most feeling - the most honesty - the most love he had ever pronounced anything in the universe.

She was flattered. And parting from that, there was little more to say.

That one word. It highlighted everything he had ever feared. Every worst-case scenario melted into one word.

Flattered. And now, she wanted him to stay at Downton? What for? If she was to say nothing; who cared. It held no purpose to him. Now he should do what he was meant to be doing.

Leaving.

"Very well." He uttered stiffly, lowering his gaze, "I shall -"

"Don't hand in your notice, Branson." Sybil ordered him, her eyes equally fixated on the floor, "It shall be an unwise decision."

"Fine."

The shadows of the archway concealed the paleness of his features. He always went pale. Nerves. Fear. Pain. Large, blue eyes slowly lifted and a trembling hand reached to the top of his hat as he politely tipped it in farewell.

She was staring at him now.

"Goodbye, m'lady." He murmured, "Have a pleasant stay."

"O - okay," She proffered softly; her eyes were wide. The position they attained when she was confused. It always made her look so - innocent. Beautiful, naivety. Her pale, soft lips opened - stammered anxiously to protest - "Branson I - you must understand -"

She was attempting to make it better. A small, thin plaster on an open wound.

He interjected swiftly.

"No, please m'lady. S- Say, no more. It shall..." A broken heart and no job... "only make matters worse."

Branson knew it had always been foolish - to think. To believe. But it was not to be - never meant to be.

"Fine," her voice was condensed to a mere whisper now.

He nodded back.

"Fine." Nausea wavered through him, "then again, I bid you a pleasant afternoon."

"And you."

Foolish. Foolish, chauffeur.

Sybil's eyes met his. And for a brief, senseless moment Branson almost thought she had something in there. Something that differed from her flattered. He had been so convinced! So deluded that somewhere beneath - she was different. And she was. She stood out from everyone else he had ever met. But he had thought blood meant different to her. That something like this. Someone like him. Could - it could - But she looked away and it was his cue to leave.

Defeated, he averted his gaze. His head was light as he left the archway.

"You will make something of yourself, Branson."

Her final words reached him and he pivoted. Flattening the front of his uniform, he offered a weak nod,

"I know," he answered, eyeing her coldly, "but now... there is no need."

Bowing his head, he directed his steps towards the car. Never looking back.

Knowing there was nothing, he could ever look back on. He knew his luck had dispersed the moment she spoke. She hadn't meant to mock him - perhaps it had been a mere gesture to diffuse the situation.

But it had pained him in more ways than she could have ever pictured.

A quivering hand covered his eyes as he brushed off what could have been tears. He wasn't entirely sure at that point.

Get a hold of yourself Branson, his mind cruelly reprimanded as he continued to walk forwards - something mounting inside his chest that was making his lips tremble - Stop it. Get a hold of yourself...

He was stronger than this. He wasn't sentimental. That was how he lived. He was confident. Bold. A socialist. And -

You always knew that it would end this way.

"Yes, I did." He managed, swallowing as he took a breath. Why he did it. How he did it. It didn't matter now. What mattered was that he did.

Stupid. "Foolish," he cried out, stopping as he curled his fists and hissed in outrage, "foolish, foolish boy."

Love. It was like politics. A win-or-lose game. In the end, Branson played his cards in a game he never could have won.

And now, he was going to pay every single sliver of the price.

Enjoy. And see you next sunday. Reviews are lovely but as usual, never required. Have a pleasant evening/morning.