For who mentioned this idea to me once (though I can't find where it is, do you remember this Rachel?). This was suppose to be a Secret Santa surprise but I'm a little late, sorry darling!, so I've turned it into a New Year's gift. Originally posted on Tumblr. Unbeta'd

No Going Back: Part 1 of 5

"Did you hear?" the woman asked her comrade. "They've arrested Branson."

Her friend's eyes went wide. "Are you sure?" she cried, her voice horse with shock.

"That's what Leary was saying."

"I can't believe it!"

"Don't," another voice interjected, and the pair turned to see an older man approach. "Because Branson's not been arrested, merely taken in for questioning, and you two should know better than to wag your tongues. There are ears all around. Leary means well, but he's got more stuffing than brains in his head."

"What's going to happen now then?"

"Nothing. Branson is smart; knows what to do. We all lay low for the next few weeks, let it blow over. We'll meet again once we have a better idea what to expect. Now get back to work."

"Yes doctor."

"There's a telephone call for you sir."

Matthew Crawley glanced up from his morning coffee expecting to see his father-in-law rise to answer the communique, however he realized that Barrow was looking at him.

"Of course," he said smoothly, setting his cup down. "Who's calling?"

The smile was subtle, barely there, but Matthew saw it and felt a shiver go up his back. "Mr. Branson sir."

"Branson?" the Earl demanded, he brow going down as he dropped his paper. "Tom?"

"Yes sir," Barrow answered. "I believe it's urgent sir."

The delight Thomas took in delivering the news was fed by the widening eyes of his employer.

Matthew knew there was a reason Tom would be requesting him, he stood quickly, intent on cutting Robert off from interfering. He rushed passed the under butler to the hall, where the telephone lay waiting for him.

"Tom?"

"Matthew?" the voice answered, sounding breathless.

"Yes? What's happened? Barrow said it was urgent."

There was silence, time playing tricks in the emotional panic, making it seem as if the answer would never come.

Then, "Yes, we're in some trouble and need your help…"

When his brother-in-law didn't continue, Matthew's brow lowered, his face expectant before he remembered Tom couldn't see him. "Of course, any thing you need, but Tom, what's happened?"

"It's Sybil."

The rain fell relentlessly on Matthew, his hat a soggy mess on his head, his clothes heavy and sticky, leaving him feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

It had been a difficult trip over, the weather causing the seas to rise and fall viciously inciting a feeling in his stomach akin to his army days just before he led men to their deaths.

He felt sick.

It had been agreed he wouldn't tell the Crawleys the truth. If the worse came then they would be told, but for now the lie he had conveyed had served its purpose, Mary being the only other person at Downton to know the truth, and he found himself finally stepping onto the Irish shore. Alone.

The late hour meant the area was poorly populated, a blessing since Matthew didn't feel at all inclined to battle a crowd, desperate to find his brother-in-law and change into some dry clothes.

The dimming light of day, along with the deluge, had him squinting as he looked about for the blonde Irishman. He really wished he had thought to bring an umbrella.

"Matthew!"

Turning at the sound of his name, the future Earl of Grantham couldn't help a sigh of relief.

"Tom!" he called back, waving.

The two men shook hands quickly, before Tom took his valise from him, indicating with his head for Matthew to follow. They dash quickly to where Tom had parked the old, exhausted looking Model N he'd salvaged a few years back and refurbished.

Matthew jumped in, the motor only offering a veiled attempt at protection from the rain, but still better than having to just stand in it and started in surprise when he saw three pairs of eyes blinking up at him from the back seat, huddled under a blanket.

"Sorry darlings, we'll be home quick as ya like, and we'll get dry and warm and some dinner," Tom soothed, sliding into the driver seat and sheepishly handing Matthew his bag back.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I had no where to leave them."

Matthew nodded, deciding to wait until they were on the road before pushing the issue.

He smiled at his nieces and nephew, greeting each of them. They were quiet but polite and Matthew felt his heart ache for them.

"Alright my lovelies," Tom spoke, getting the youngster's attention. "Sit quiet for a bit while Da talks to Uncle Matthew, Alright?"

A chorus of "Yes Da" sounded before the youngest, four year old Conor asked, "Da, does Mama know Uncle Matthew's here?"

Tom glanced back to his children quickly, throwing them a playful smile, trying to appear at ease, before turning back to the road.

"Of course son," he answered. "Don't you worry."

The child didn't respond and Tom didn't offer more information.

"They don't know?" he whispered.

Tom shook his head, his volume dropping. "Not exactly."

"Your Mother, is she not able to look after them right now?" he asked Tom, his curiosity piqued.

"She's a bit mad at us at the moment," he answered softly.

At Matthew's confusion he added, "She's a devout Catholic."

Matthew's brow went up before he gave a low whistle. "Did she have any idea what you were up to?"

Tom scoffed. "Of course not!" He ran a hand over his face, and Matthew took in his haggard eyes and wild hair. Lowering his voice, he began again. "Of course not. Look, Ma loves Sybil, but it took a long while to get there and now…well…there's another long road ahead of us. And anyway she's not talking to me, her last words were that we brought this on ourselves so we can deal with it on our own."

"That seems a bit…" he struggled for the most diplomatic word.

"Heartless?" Tom supplied, his aggressive tone communicated his frustration.

"Well I was going to say a bit harsh," Matthew amended, "Especially considering Sybil's condition."

"Ha," Tom gave a humorless chuckle. "Her condition is probably the only reason she hasn't been…ah…" Tom trailed off as he glanced again to the backseat. "I'm a lot like my Ma, we both explode a bit then cool off and calmer heads prevail. She just needs a little time."

They sat silent a moment, too much to discuss.

"Thank you," Tom spoke. "for coming."

"Of course," Matthew said without hesitation or resentment. "I hope I can be of help."

"It's not going to be easy," Tom conceded. "Sybil's not exactly…well…let's just say she's not exactly pleading for mercy."

Matthew smiled at that, a genuine smile. "I'd expect no less from Cousin Sybil."

Tom smirked. "We'll talk more once I get them in bed."

Once again Matthew just nodded.

Sybil was bored.

She gazed about the small, windowless room. She'd been alone for what felt like hours, with nothing to do but stare at the peeling pale yellow paint of the brick walls.

Her backed ached from the uncomfortable chair she'd been sitting in and her clothes felt grimy and stiff, her eyes cottony from the long night she'd had.

She missed her family desperately and worried for them, but felt surprisingly calm.

She did, however, very much want to go home.

She knew what they wanted. She knew why they were allowing her to grow tired, emotional, a bit desperate. The Gardaí who had come to pick her up had said as much.

They wanted names.

Sáirsint Gallagher had come in throughout the long hours, promising the send her home, to let her go to her family, just as soon as they could get a bit of information cleared up.

It had been nearly 24 hours since they'd come to her door, "requesting" she come with them to answer some questions. Sybil had refused, but they'd pushed through the door, ransacking their small home until they'd found what they were looking for.

Sybil had been grateful the children weren't there, the older two at school and the youngest playing with cousins. Her heart had been pounding, panic setting in, prompting her to call out to a neighbor, pleading for her to let Tom know what had happened before they'd put in the back of the motor.

She had been scared, not for herself, but for her family. Then as the questions started, the accusation flying, the threats, she felt herself growing angry, an emotion more violent, more driving then fear ever could be.

Men.

They thought to frighten her. To make her weak. To master her. To command her.

The harder they pressed, the stronger she became to resisting them.

Sybil had come to peace with her background, with the privileges she'd been allowed by no more than accident of birth. She had found ways to balance out who she was with who she wanted to be, and she'd stared them down with the skill engrained in a Crawley woman from the nursery. Her highborn ways meant a detachment that few could break through. Her icy glare and condescension had caused more than one man to falter.

She was a woman.

And she was fighting for women.

Her head came up as the door opened.

Sergent Gallagher had returned.

"Ah Mrs. Branson," he greeted pleasantly, as if a neighbor on the street. He looked refreshed, his uniform clean, his face shaved. He'd clearly gone home while Sybil had been left to sit in the chair.

"I'm so sorry for the delay in sending you home," he continued sweetly. "I hope you haven't been too uncomfortable."

"Not at all," Sybil lied with a smile, adopting the same air she'd seen many times from her own granny. "And it's Nurse Branson, if you please. But I am done with this nonsense. I want to go home. You have kept my children from their mother long enough. You will send for a car at once."

Gallagher smiled, making his middle-aged face appear quite boyish. "Of course Nurse Branson."

He moved to the chair that sat opposite her, sitting easily, though refusing to lean back, his body rigid. "Only, before you go, now that you've had some time to really think about it, perhaps you've decided to your duty to the law and tell me what you know about those breaking the law and sending the souls of women and babies to hell."

Sybil's eyes met his. "I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about."

This time Gallagher slid back in his chair, getting more comfortable. "Well that is a shame. You see I don't like those who break the law Nurse Branson. I especially don't like those who break God's law. And we know you've been breaking the law, don't we Nurse Branson?"

Reaching into his uniform jacket he pulled out several pamphlets. "Do you recognize these?"

She knew they had gotten them from her home, knew he was testing her. "Of course."

"Birth Control Review," he read before tossing the bunch onto the floor. "Filth." His eyes moved back to hers. "And illegal."

"They are only illegal if I intend to distribute them." Sybil pointed out, not ignorant of what charges she could face. "Which I do not. I am a nurse and as such merely seek further medical instruction and knowledge."

Gallagher's eyebrow went up. "That is a lot of copies for just your 'medical instruction and knowledge.'"

"I'm very thorough."

He scoffed. "Clearly…and what would you say if I told you I had someone willing to swear an oath that you were giving out this material?"

Sybil didn't blink, didn't flinch. Her only hope that he was bluffing.

"As you know Nurse Branson," he continued, not waiting for a response, knowing one wasn't to come. "Any woman found trying to procure a miscarriage is subject to the law. Any person found assisting a woman in procuring a miscarriage is subject to the law. And any person found giving information advocating contraceptives is subject to the law."

Sybil laughed, causing his eyes to narrow slightly. "I'm not sure I'm the greatest advocate for anything of the sort at the moment."

Her hands moved to her rounded belly, her eyes challenging him.

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable with reminder of her condition. "Indeed."

Standing, towering over her, his voice low, he said. "I am not a fool Mrs. Branson. You're tricks may work on other, but I assure you I know what you have been doing, and I will put a stop to it, but I also know there are bigger fish in the sea. No one wants to see a pregnant woman behind bars. You tell me the names of the doctors and nurses who you work with and I will make all of this disappear for you."

Sybil could smell the coffee on his breath, her stomach rolling, but she forced her face to remain still, unflinching.

The door opened, startling her, angering her interrogator.

"Hagan!" he snapped, walking towards the young guard. "What in the devil are you doing?"

"Sorry sir," the man amended quickly. "But there someone here to see you."

"I am in the middle of something, put them in my office and tell them they can wait or they can bugger off."

Hagan winced. "Sorry sir, but I don't you're going to want to wait to speak with them."

Tom paced nervously back and forth, his hat spinning in his hands as he turned it over and over again.

"I don't know if this is a good idea," he admitted pausing long enough to look his brother-in-law in the face. "Your lot isn't exactly welcomed around here."

Matthew gave a smile. He'd spent the last night talking through the options with Tom, trying to navigate a man's desperation with his convictions. It hadn't been easy but he'd finally convinced him to give it a try. He knew the Irish sentiments, but he knew that there was power in a name, in an idea and sometimes that was enough.

"We won't know if we don't try," he pointed out calmly, again.

"Sybil's going to kill me," the Irishman muttered, resuming his walking.

On that point Matthew was almost positive Tom was right.

Sybil was livid.

As a child she'd been pampered and coddled, the world's injustices hidden from her which only served to feed her ire now. Her skin wasn't a thick as her Irish counterparts. She'd not been raised on a steady diet of disappointment and dictatorship. Her own prison had been one of comfort and illusion, seeming magical at times. This world of starvation, humiliation, and subjugation left her raw.

"I still can't believe it," she fumed, rubbing her lotion into her skin vigorously. "I just can't believe they would go this far!"

Tom watched her from his place on the bed, his own sense of right and wrong fed by the fire behind her eyes, but he wasn't as shocked by today's decision as his Lady wife.

"I'm not saying it's right Sybil, but it was obvious the law was going to pass."

She slammed the pink jar down onto the vanity. "Well that makes it all the more enraging!"

Tom shushed her, both parents stopping to listen, glad when the silence continued.

Sybil shook her head, moving to climb in next to him. "It makes me sick to think that men are so ready to rule a woman's body."

"That's been the way of things for quite some time my dear."

She scowled at him. "Probably not the best argument to use my working class Irish socialist husband."

Tom smirked. "I wasn't making an argument. I was making an observation." He turned to be able to face her better as they rested on their pillows, blue eyes on blue eyes.

"It's ridiculous," she challenged. "Now we can't even give out material about contraceptives."

"This is a heavily Catholic country," Tom pointed out.

"You were raised Catholic and I never heard you complaining about using such methods in our own love life," Sybil countered.

"Darling—"

"No," Sybil said sitting up. "We have three children, but if the law had it's way we'd have closer to 8. Can you imagine 10 of us in this house? 10 mouths to feed? 10 people to clothe? Wash? Care for?"

Tom pressed his lips together, waiting for her to finish.

"And what about me? What about the complications I had with Sybbie? Are we not to consider my health? Or perhaps you want to do things the way the church wants us to and we'll simply abstain from relations until we are ready for another child?"

"Hold on," Tom interjected, knowing things were headed into complicated territory. He too sat up, his hand coming to rest on her arm. "I'm not disagreeing with you love. I'm grateful we've been successful as we have with planning our children. More than you may ever know because unlike you I have very vivid memories of the night Sybbie was born."

He felt her rigid shoulder give some.

"I know you're frustrated and angry," he continued. "I feel like we've won the fight for freedom but are loosing the war on liberties."

"It's wrong Tom," she said softly. "I know it's your faith, but it's wrong. I agreed to have the children baptized, but first and foremost I want them to be people. I look at our girls and I want them to be women of strength and knowledge; not imprisoned by their gender, but respected. And this law, this law that keeps information and education away from women, tells our daughters one thing: that if a man wants sex but the woman doesn't want children then the man wins and the woman loses. By law she loses. Do you want that for our daughters?"

"Of course not," he answered her quietly. "I just don't know how we are going to change the law in this country."

"We've faced some tough odds in the past," she reminded him with a small smile.

His own lips spread as his hand slipped further about her body, pulling her down with him, snuggling into her. "We have indeed."

They lay silent, Tom beginning to believe Sybil had dosed off, when she spoke suddenly. "There are other daughters out there."

"What?"

"Other daughters, other women who are being told they don't matter." She didn't lift her head from his chest but he knew exactly what her face was doing, the way her eyes were gazing off as she thought of those suffering. "We had a woman die, well a girl really, just 18 years old. Her mother and neighbors had tried to help her do away with her pregnancy, and she died."

Tom closed his eyes as the sad story washed over him.

"And now we can't even talk to women about protection," his wife added sadly.

Lifting her head once more, she looked directly into him. "I won't just sit by and do nothing Tom. There are…people…nurses, doctors, like me, who won't sit by and doing nothing."

Tom nodded slowly.

"I need to know you're behind me," Sybil said, the first time he heard her voice break.

"It's a dangerous game," he warned, wanting her to have her voice but scared of losing her.

"Like fighting for freedom?" she said, her tone dry.

"Yes," he answered honestly. "I know you suffered a great deal of fear and uncertainty during those years of rebellion, and I know I was the source of that anxiety. Are you prepared to deal with all that, especially now that our family is bigger?"

It wasn't condescension; it was faith.

"I am." She spoke clearly, firmly. "I am prepared to deal with all of that because of them."

Tom nodded. "Then we'll do what has to be done."

Sybil smiled.

The door opened, pulling Tom from his memory, leaving him facing a rather surly looking Sergeant.

"I'm Sergeant Gallagher," the man spoke, his words clipped.

"Excellent," Matthew answered before Tom had a chance to open his mouth. "Sergeant Gallagher we are here to pick up Mrs. Sybil Branson and take her home."

Gallagher gave a laugh, sending a shiver of fear through Tom.

Tom never thought he'd be grateful for English toff in-laws, but watching Matthew command a room in all his former-solicitor-future-Earl glory had been a sight to behold.

He wish he could say he'd been brave, but the idea of losing her, to seeing her being punished for doing what she believed and felt was right, truly scared him.

It had taken Matthew a war of words and a backbone of steel, but he'd managed to get Gallagher to admit they had no solid witnesses against Sybil.

"Not yet," the sergeant had added staring pointedly at Tom. "But you can be assured we'll be watching."

A parting warning.

It had taken another 15 minutes before the office door had opened once more, admitting a tired but resolute looking Sybil.

All other thought fled his mind as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close against him, feeling so small even in her expanded state. He could feel the tension in her body; knew she was fighting to keep control. As she finally stepped away from him, he caught her hand in his, unwilling to lose contact.

Gallagher stared at them, his thoughts well hidden behind they eyes of a man who'd learned the hard way the dangers of of a vulnerable face. "I want your word Lady Sybil that you're going to stay far away from this business, because next time no amount of threats from and English lord will save you."

Sybil's eyes narrowed.

The soft knock at the back door of their floor level flat surprised her. Her eyes went to Tom's who was sat at the breakfast table, baby Conor on his knee doing a fine job of making a mess of both of them with his porridge. With a shrug and a frown, Tom shook his head, silently communicating that he had no idea who it could be.

Wiping her hands free of the flour she'd been folding into her dough, she peeked out the square red gingham curtain that hung on the widow of the door.

It was a woman.

Glancing to Tom once more before she opened the door.

"Yes?"

"Nurse Branson?" the woman said simply, being no older than Sybil.

Sybil nodded, before repeating, "Yes?"

The woman glanced about and Sybil took note of the way her hand rung together, her fingers shaking. "I was hoping you might have a moment to speak with me…Liza Jane Quinn sent me."

The skin of Sybil's brow smoothed as she realized why this woman had come. "Of course, please, yes, please come in."

The woman stepped in and froze as her eyes settled on Tom. "Oh…I didn't expect…I didn't think…I should go."

Sybil smoothly blocked her way, her smile easy, welcoming, the Crawley charm employed. With a pointed look, she sent her husband a clear message.

"Right," Tom smiled, following Sybil's lead, keeping things light and easy, nonthreatening. "This little fellow could use with a bit of a clean up. Can't seem to find his mouth all that well, unless it's something we don't want stuck in there, then he has perfect aim."

The woman's back remained stiff, but she smiled at Tom, her gaze resting on the blond curls atop Conor's round head. "Isn't that the way," she said softly.

With Tom and the baby soon gone the two women found themselves alone in the kitchen, two steaming cups of tea.

Sybil still hadn't asked her name, had no intentions of asking, leaving it up to the woman to give that information. With patience and respect the woman finally opened up, telling Sybil of her family, her five children, her husband, who was a good hardworking man.

"He's so good to us," she repeated,her eyes wet. "I don't want you to think poorly of him, but…I just can't have another baby. Please, I know there are ways to avoid falling pregnant, I just…I don't know what they are or how…I want to be a good wife, but I know we can't afford another baby."

Sybil listened carefully, patting her hand, nodding in solidarity.

She pulled out the most recent information from Margaret Sanger and went through it with her, walking her through her options, even the options Ms. Sanger disapproved of should birth control methods fail. It had been amazing to witness the change in the mother of five as she came to truly understand how pregnancy came about, and to see the frustration, the fear, transform into to hope and knowledge.

After the woman left, information hidden in her coat, a grateful smile on her lips, Sybil had searched for and found her husband, playing on the floor with the baby in their bedroom.

He looked up at her, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Everything alright?"

Sybil couldn't contain the smile. She felt good. She had helped a woman that day; the first of many.

"Sorry Sergeant," Sybil answered, her gaze unflinching. "I never make a promise I have no intention of keeping."

The end.