Goal: As much as I love DA, and Julian Fellowes' writing, I've found the transitions from one Sybil/Branson scene to the next incredibly frustrating; both the time and emotional jumps are so great, I find myself wondering how the characters could possibly have gotten from one place to the the next! This story is the first of a series I hope to write in an attempt to fill in the gaps in a truly believable manner. My goal is to be totally true to the characters as we see them in DA; in other words, I'm not trying to change their personalities to be different in any way; hopefully, what I've written could be imagined coming directly out of the mouths of the characters as created by JF. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I own nothing...

The Declaration

"No, don't do that!" The words springing so emphatically from her lips startled Sybil as much as they did Branson, whose eyes widened with surprise and something else she couldn't quite name. She had been genuinely taken aback and dismayed by his declaration, yet when he said he would leave Downton and be gone when she returned, something like panic threatened to overwhelm her. "They won't hear," she assured him in a calmer voice. "Not from me."

"Are you saying..." Branson hesitated, and the hope in his eyes was almost painful to see.

"I'm saying…" Sybil stopped. Looking at him confused her, and she couldn't seem to form her thoughts into words. Branson was always so honest and straightforward when talking to her; it was one of the things she liked best about him, and he had just accused her of being flippant, so it was terribly important to her that she respond to him in the proper manner now. She turned to look out over the courtyard where the men were standing in rows, performing a series of exercises, but her eyes did not see them. Branson was quiet, giving her time to gather her thoughts, and after a moment she drew a deep breath and turned back to him.

"I'm saying I value your friendship – more than I can say; I depend on it, and I honestly don't know what I'd do without it. You're the only person at Downton who has encouraged me to try and do something meaningful with my life, and one of the few who genuinely supported my decision to come here. And now - here I am," she continued with a short, humorless laugh, waving a hand to encompass their surroundings, "and I'm absolutely terrified. I'm going to be here for eight weeks, taking care of myself, and I've only just learned to make tea, for heavens sake! I've had people waiting on me hand and foot my entire life; I'm not sure I can even dress myself and fix my own hair without help." The words were pouring out now and, agitated, she didn't notice the small quirk of amusement that had appeared at the corner of Branson's mouth.

"And you've tasted my cooking! If I have to feed myself, I'll most likely starve!" Sybil suddenly felt on the verge of tears, so when Branson gave a tiny, involuntary snort of laughter, she glared at him reproachfully.

"Don't laugh; it's appalling!" she exclaimed.

Branson stopped smiling. "You're right," he agreed seriously, "it is appalling," but there was both amusement and affection in his expression.

Sybil flushed and looked down at her clasped hands. "Well, it is," she insisted, "I'm practically useless."

"You are the least useless person I know, Milady – at least to me," Branson said quietly. Sybil couldn't look up at him, but just the warmth in his voice made her blush. "I guess I thought you always knew... that surely you must realize that I've been madly in love with you ever since I first came to Downton."

The breath seemed to leave Sybil's body in a rush as her eyes flew to his; the tenderness she saw there was overwhelming and she was struck speechless. "I hardly know what to say," she said breathlessly after a moment. "You've taken me by surprise."

"Not entirely by surprise, surely," he said gently.

Her discomfort deepened as she remembered the garden party. Their excitement at finding out that Gwen had gotten the job had been so overwhelming; they had been standing so close one another, talking to Mrs. Hughes, that their hands were brushing against one another. Sybil honestly could not have said which of them had moved first to take the others hand; she only knew that suddenly she was aware that they were holding hands, and it had been both disconcerting and exciting. Both of them had looked down at their entwined hands, then at one another. Sybil's heartbeat had quickened, and she had looked questioningly at Branson; he started to say something to her, but Mrs. Hughes had interrupted, and embarrassed, Sybil had unobtrusively slid her hand from his, and with one last backwards glance, walked away.

For many days after that, she had avoided Branson, entirely at a loss at how to act around him. She was 17 he was 23, and she had absolutely no idea what she felt about him. He seemed to sense immediately that she didn't want him to pursue anything beyond friendship, and fortunately, within just a short time, their friendship had resumed its easy familiarity. Sybil supposed she was terribly backwards, but she honestly had never been as interested in forming a romantic relationship as the other girls her age she knew. She had her friendship with Branson, and there were meaningless, intermittent flirtations with boys at the few balls and parties she was required to attend, and that was enough. She knew that, all too soon, she would be expected to "marry well" and settle down into the same ridiculous lifestyle all young women of her age and status lived, and she was determined to put it off as long as possible. And so she had more been happy to pretend that the garden party incident had been an accident, and meant nothing. It was true that sometimes she caught him looking at her in a way that made her stomach feel as though it were doing flips; then he would look away quickly, and she would pretend she hadn't noticed. But he had never purposely been anything less than proper in his behavior to her.

"No, not entirely," she admitted reluctantly.

There was moment of silence between them; the voices of the men in the courtyard could be heard faintly, but Sybil was oblivious. Finally, she continued earnestly. "You're 26; I'm just 19. Well, actually, if you just consider life experience, I'm about 12," she added with a short derisive laugh. "I have so much to learn about the world and my place in it before I can think about - well, about anything other than just getting through the next eight weeks without going absolutely mad." She drew a deep breath and looked up at him directly. "I'm going to need your support when I return to Downton - more then ever. You know better than anyone else the resistance I'm going to face from my family over the work I want to do. And then I'll need time to think about... everything." Sybil's blush deepened, but she managed to hold his gaze as she continued shyly, "I can't offer you anything more than my friendship right now, and… and since you obviously want… more… I know it's dreadfully unfair of me to ask it of you - but I am asking. Please don't abandon me."

Branson was so very still. His jaw was clenched, and after a long moment he just gave a barely perceptible nod. "All right, Milady."

Sybil released the breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding, and closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you," she said simply.

Branson reached down to pick up her valise, and his voice was entirely expressionless as he said, "Let's get you to where you belong."

Sybil reached out quickly to touch his arm, and he stilled immediately. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand back. "No," she said gently, "I'll take it myself from here." Branson straightened and nodded without looking at her.

Sybil looked down at her hands again. Before she could even think about the wisdom of it, she said hesitantly, "You know, if you should have the time – and if you would be willing – it would be a great kindness to me if you would drop me line now and again, to let me know how… how things are getting on at Downton."

Branson was silent a moment, and Sybil was suddenly terrified that he would refuse. But after a moment he said quietly, "I would be very pleased and honored to do that, Milady."

Sybil looked up quickly then with a shy smile, but his expression was serious and unreadable. After a second he touched the brim of his hat briefly, nodded, and with a final, "Milady", he turned and walked off quickly. Taken aback by the suddenness of his leaving, Sybil turned to look after him.

"Tom!" The name slipped out involuntarily, and she gasped, her face burning; she had never called him by his first name before, and had no idea why she had done it now. He stopped as suddenly as if he'd been shot, then after a moment's hesitation turned to look at her. Even from a distance, the look of wonder on his face was so clear it nearly took Sybil's breath away, and she found herself smiling in spite of her embarrassment. "You do promise you'll be here to take me home in eight weeks?"

''I promise, Milady." And grinning, he turned and walked away.