Getting this one in just before midnight on Christmas night. Sorry for the delay, but also thank you to those who have read and reviewed, and mimijag, I'm glad you like it so far-I hope you will continue to enjoy it :o)

Chapter Two

Tom blinked. William? William Mason? William, who he had worked beside at Downton, William, who he had shared long talks with, who would ask him various political questions, and who he would listen to sigh about his unrequited love for Daisy.

William…who was…was…

"You can say it," William assured, his smile soft and understanding.

Tom swallowed. "I…I don't know if I want to," he answered honestly.

William chuckled at that. "Well, if it helps, I'm not a 'ghost'."

It didn't, really. What would help is Tom being assured this was all some dream, some whiskey-infused hallucination combined with a hard knock to the head. But how would that then explain his surroundings? And really, if this were a dream, why would William be the one to come visit him?

He felt his stomach start to sink…

"Don't be afraid…" William murmured, taking a step towards him.

Tom took a step back. "W-w-where…" he coughed to calm his voice and looked around. "Where am I?

William looked around and then shrugged his shoulders, before turning his eyes back to Tom. "A trench."

Despite his growing fear and worry, Tom did roll his eyes at William's answer. "I know that, but where is everyone? And…" icy fingers of doom began to crawl up his spine. "…And why is it so quiet?"

William took a few more steps towards him. "War doesn't exist here," William answered.

There was a tremble in Tom's voice when he next asked, "W-w-where is h-here?"

William gazed at him for a moment with a slight tilt of his head. "Let's go back to a previous question, one you didn't ask, but one that was clearly written across your face." Tom wasn't sure he wanted to hear those answers, not to mention he wasn't sure which question William meant, because there were a great many that had been flying through his head.

"I'm not a ghost," William repeated, then paused and took a deep breath. "In fact, I'm…an angel."

Tom blinked just as he had done before, assessing what he had just heard.

An angel?

"Like Gabriel," William continued. "Though not as 'majestic looking," he chuckled.

An angel. William was…an angel. Though there was nothing "different" about his appearance; he still looked the same as when Tom had last seen him (and weren't angels supposed to have wings?)

However, who was he to deny William's word? After all…the man was dead! And yet here he was, in the flesh…talking to him! And that only could mean one thing…

I'm dead.

"Easy, Mr. Branson, easy…"

William was suddenly by his side, his hands on Tom's shoulders, kneeling to keep Tom from sinking into the mud.

Tom looked at the mud around them, and then looked at the bleakness of the trench and the rest of his surroundings. This couldn't be heaven. Oh God, did that mean…?

"No, Mr. Branson, this isn't that," William assured, reading his thoughts.

But that didn't do much to comfort him. If this wasn't hell, and he still very much doubted for it to be heaven, then there was only one other answer, one that had been instilled him by the nuns and priests who ran his school when he as a boy.

Purgatory.

"Mr. Branson…" William's voice brought him out of the haze of his thoughts and somehow managed to hold his attention. "I'm here to guide you."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Guide me?"

William nodded. "That's what we do, angels. We're messengers, but we also provide guidance when it is needed."

I needed guidance long before today, Tom thought to himself. "I don't understand…guide me how?"

"Well…that depends on you."

Tom's head was spinning. Depends on him? What did that mean?

"Mr. Branson—"

"'Tom', William," Tom corrected. "Please, this isn't Downton and…and I think at this point, we can dispense with such formalities."

William smiled at that and nodded his head. "Tom," he began again. "Explain to me why you're here."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Why I'm here?"

William nodded. "I know we rarely talked about the War, and Mr. Carson kept such talk at a minimum so as not to distract us from our work, but if and when the topic did arise…I have no memory of you ever speaking in favor of it."

Tom swallowed, unsure how to answer at first, simply because the sad truth was that this war, which William had been so eager to join and fight, was also responsible for claiming his life. Still, even now as he faced the reality of his death, Tom wasn't ashamed of his beliefs (even if he was a walking hypocrite), and knowing William valued honesty, he sighed and nodded his head in agreement. "No, I never spoke in favor of the War. I think it's a rich man's fight, one group of powerful men trying to show their dominance over another by sending boys to fight their battles."

William's eyebrows rose at this, but he didn't say anything to contradict Tom or argue otherwise. "So it's safe to assume then that you were conscripted rather than volunteer?"

The lump in Tom's throat felt even bigger than before. How do I answer that? Yes? No? I was conscripted, but…at the same time, I did volunteer?

"What led to this moment?" William asked, tilting his head patiently to one side. "What brought you, Tom Branson, to this war?"

Tom's throat now felt suddenly dry and he shifted on his feet a bit uncomfortably. "Don't you already know? Being an angel I would think you…well, that you know everything."

William did chuckle at that. "Not exactly, no," William laughed. "I know…enough; but I don't know everything, and I would like you to tell me."

"So you can help 'guide me', is that it?"

William simply nodded.

Tom let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. Where should he start? How much should he reveal?

"Start at what feels like the beginning," William patiently answered.

The beginning. What feels like the beginning…

And suddenly he knew exactly where…and when…it had all begun. Or if he had to pick an exact moment (because he honestly believed it had been coming along gradually even before then) this would have been the time and place…

January 5 (Twelfth Night), 1914
Downton Abbey

Music and the sounds of laughter and conversation carried down the corridor to Downton's library, the fire the only light filled the room. Still, it was enough to provide Tom with the light that was needed to examine his Lordship's collection.

Nine months he had been working in service at Downton Abbey, and he still couldn't get over the offer Lord Grantham had given him to borrow books from his library. Maybe the Earl was much more progressive than Tom had expected? Not that his Lordship didn't strike Tom like a "bad employer", far from it; Tom had been working in service since he was fifteen, and he had encountered several "bad employers" in that time, men and women would never dream of allowing someone like "the chauffeur" (or any servant, really) into a fine room like a library, much less borrow books. And based on the way his colleagues spoke about his Lordship, it was clear they admired the Earl and thought highly of him (and not simply in the way servants were "expected" to think highly of their employers). There hadn't been much of a chance, but Tom hoped that perhaps, he and his Lordship could engage in some political discussion? Perhaps on a drive to Ripon or York? Not that Tom was lacking for someone to speak to on such topics…

A smile curled at the corners of his mouth as he thought about her. She certainly was a surprise, and a very pleasant one at that. Her curiosity, her thirst for knowledge was both contagious, as well as exciting. Tom loved recommending books for her to read, getting pamphlets or ripping out newspaper articles for her and passing them along when he had to drive her somewhere. And recently, during the autumn months, Lady Sybil began to visit him in the garage, popping in while he was working and just…sitting on a vacant bench, casually asking him a question about the task he was working on, before eventually leading up to something interesting she had heard spoken or read, and wanting to know what he thought.

Tom felt he had made friends at Downton amongst the staff, but…if he were honest with himself, the one he felt closest to was his Lordship's youngest.

He smiled to himself as he recalled her entering the Hall that night, dressed in her famous (or perhaps "infamous") frock which he had caught a glimpse of back in May, just after he had started working there. He chuckled as he remembered the shocked faces of her family as she moved down the stairs, her chin lifted proudly and her eyes gleaming with mischief. It was the first time for many of the staff to see Lady Sybil in her "famous frock", and if it were possible…she looked even more beautiful tonight than she had when he had first seen her in it.

Of course…that was nothing compared to how she looked when she was smiling and laughing as she twirled and danced practically every dance, making sure no hall boy was without a partner. And he watched from where he stood, purposefully hiding off to the side, torn between the desire to join her and be her next partner, and the fear of the fool he would make of himself if he even tried. In the end, it was his fear that got the better of him, and so when he was certain no one would notice, he snuck down to the library, and here he found sanctuary amongst his Lordship's books. He was much better at reading than dancing anyway.

"Oh! Here you are!"

Tom whipped his head at the sound of her voice, practically jumping out of his skin in surprise. "Jesus!" he swore, his face burning red as he realized what he had said and to whom he had said it to. "Sorry, I…beggin' your pardon, milady, I…I didn't mean—"

"Oh gracious, no, no, I'm sorry," Lady Sybil apologized, though she was giggling too, and looking a bit sheepish. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Tom swallowed and then found himself smiling (it was impossible not to smile around her). "It's alright," he murmured…and then for the sake of good humor added, "just please don't tell the others; I'll never live it down."

Lady Sybil giggled at this, and then glancing back down the corridor, fully entered the library. "Why are you in here instead of at the ball?" Based on her tone, he could see she was genuinely curious and not trying to make fun.

"Um…" he felt rather embarrassed to admit this. "I um…I'm not much of a dancer, to be honest."

Lady Sybil's eyes widened at this. "What? I find that hard to believe."

She was teasing him, but it was light-hearted and if anything, she seemed to take "offense" at his lack of faith when it came to his dancing abilities.

"It's true," he chuckled. "Two left feet. And I'd be even worse with all those 'posh dances' you're having out there."

"'Posh dances'?" Lady Sybil repeated. "The orchestra played music to popular Yorkshire country dances—"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Well that's all well and good to anyone from Yorkshire, but being an Irish lad, it's all 'posh' to me."

Lady Sybil pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, as if she were assessing a challenge. And then with a smirk that caused Tom to gulp, she marched right up to his side and without any preamble, took his right hand in her left, and placed her right hand at his waist!

"It's not as difficult as you think," she told him. "I'll lead, you follow."

Tom still hadn't gotten over the shock that Lady Sybil was…well, that she was touching him in a much more intimate way than ever before (the only time they ever touched when was he helped her in and out of the car, and even then they wore gloves). But here she was…standing just a few inches away from him, holding his bare hand in hers and pressing her other palm against his waist.

"Ready?"

No, Tom thought to himself. But Lady Sybil simply nodded her head in time to the music that was playing down the corridor, and then started to move, instructing Tom on which foot to move. "Don't think too hard, just follow! You'll catch on easily enough," she assured him.

He would? He wasn't so sure. Especially when there were other things to distract him, like…how close they were standing to each other, and the scent of her perfume…and the way the fire made her dark hair glow a rich auburn color…

"I…I don't think this is such a good idea, milady," he mumbled.

"Of course it is! You're doing so well!"

He doubted that. They had only moved in a small circle, and he thought it was a miracle that he hadn't stepped on her feet. "No, I…not that I object to you leading…you're a natural when it comes to that," he teased, which did make her smile, as well as blush. "But…well, how does this help if I'm supposed to the one leading anyway?"

Lady Sybil did pause then, her hands dropping away, and Tom couldn't deny, he missed her touch.

"Hmmm, you're quite right," she murmured to herself. Then, once again without warning, she gave a little shrug of her shoulders and this time took his left hand in her right, and guided his right hand to her waist, before settling her left on his shoulder and bringing herself even closer than before. "Alright, you lead."

If he had been tongued-tied before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

"M-m-m-me?" he stammered.

Lady Sybil nodded. Lord, how could she be so calm? Of course, she had been dancing the entire night with different partners and that was all he was, of course; just another partner…

"Branson?"

He looked down at her and felt his breath catch. He had never realized just how blue her eyes were…

"Just remember what I did and try to repeat those steps."

He swallowed and nodded his head, more as a way to break himself from this strange stupor he had found himself in, but after taking a deep breath…began to do as she instructed, leading the dance and trying his best to follow the steps she had shown him.

"Ouch!" she gasped when he stepped on her foot, but she shook her head when he started to apologize, and gripped his hand and shoulder a bit tighter to prevent him from stepping away. "It's alright…as I say to Gwen, no one hits the bullseye with the first arrow." She smiled at him and encouraged him to continue…and as if in a bit of a trance, he did…holding his breath and counting in his head to the rhythm of the music, looking down every so often at his feet and watching them as they shared their strange little dance around his Lordship's library.

As the music neared its end, Tom did feel himself grow in confidence. He had managed not to step on her feet or lose his balance or anything so embarrassing.

"See?" Lady Sybil beamed. "You can dance!"

Tom wasn't entirely convinced, but still, he appreciated her faith. "Well, it helps when one's teacher as the patience of a saint," he teased. "I don't think I would even do half as good with any other partner."

His words were a simple compliment, and yet her cheeks grew very pink and her lashes fluttered down in a bashful manner, and Tom felt a strange swirling in his stomach, like a million butterflies all flapping at once.

It was Lady Sybil who spoke first. "Come, we should return to the ball; I would like to have at least one 'official' dance with you," she cheerfully ordered, and it wasn't until much later that Tom realized they were still holding hands at that point (it had just felt so natural…)

And he would have missed the little surprise that was hanging over their heads in the library entrance if Lady Sybil hadn't caught sight of it and gave a little, "Oh look!" drawing Tom's attention to the mistletoe that hung above their heads.

His face reddened as he looked back at her, and Lady Sybil was blushing too, but also grinning innocently, before surprising him more than he thought was possible (though really, with Lady Sybil, that was easy to do), when she leaned up on her tiptoes and again, without preamble, brushed her lips against his cheek.

He stared back at her, completely dumbfounded. Later he berated himself for how he must have looked; no doubt his mouth had been hanging open, making him resemble a codfish. And his reaction no doubt caused her to bite her lip and then look down at the ground, before putting on a smile in an effort to hide any embarrassment. "You don't have to kiss me back," she quickly told him under her breath. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I apologize. Just…well…the Christmas season…" she tried to explain, though her face was growing redder by the second.

Was it his desire to spare her from this embarrassment? To spare them both from this moment of awkwardness?

Or was it simply because when she said he didn't have to kiss her back, he wanted to shake his head and assure her that no, despite the fact that this would be deemed "most improper", kissing the daughter of his employer, and was by all means a case for dismissal and quite possibly imprisonment…he really wanted to kiss her.

And he did. In a similar manner as she had done, leaning down (though perhaps a bit slower than she had done) and letting his lips brush her cheek.

…Was it his imagination? Or…had she sucked in a breath as he had done so? Not out of fear or discomfort, but…desire?

No, no, he mustn't think like that, he really, REALLY shouldn't think like that!

"Merry Christmas, milady," he murmured, breaking the silence at last, and purposefully easing himself away from her (more to avoid the temptation of leaning in and kissing her again…and not just on the cheek).

Lady Sybil opened her eyes, her lashes fluttering as she looked up at him, and her breathing, he noticed, slowly returning to normal. She continued to blush, but she did smile and murmur back, "Merry Christmas, Branson."

Yes, as Tom would recall in the months and years that followed…if he had to pick one moment, it would be that one.

That was the night he realized as he lay down on his cottage bed, with visions of Lady Sybil dancing and laughing in her "famous frock", that not only had he given her a kiss on the cheek, but he had also given her his heart.

To be continued…

QUICK NOTE! It was never really mentioned (as far as I can remember) when the servant's ball took place at Downton, and since we only have the S2 Christmas Special to rely upon, I just remember it was sometime early in the new year, so it just seemed to make sense to hold it on an evening like Twelfth Night.