A/N: Just when you thought that was the end of it, there was this chapter. And there will be more chapters in the future.

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

Enjoy.

As Sybil made her way back up to the house, every word from the last five minutes played over and over in her head, and she let it, hoping that the repetition might afford her some clarity.

"We can't see each other anymore, m'lady."

His words had been cold, so cold that just recalling them sent a shiver through Sybil's body. She'd never heard him speak like that- even when he was upset, Tom's voice was always even, if a little clipped, but never cold, especially never when he addressed her.

And when he'd pried her arms from around him, resorting to gentle force instead of asking her to let him go, when he knew she would have more than willingly obliged, she felt her stomach twist with uncertainty, then drop. His movements, while gentle, were deliberate, frantic almost, as if touching her caused him pain.

"I don't understand."

It was true, that she didn't understand why all of a sudden he decided that their trysts had to end. Why? Did he think this was a game for her, and he'd been willing to play along if only to humor his employer's daughter?

She saw the look in his eyes, just like the one he'd given her when she'd said that England wasn't exactly at its best. It was the look that reminded her how very little she knew about the world he came from, where it was almost literally dog-eat-dog, especially compared to the sheltered life she'd been born into as the daughter of an earl.

"I thought you loved me."

He'd promised he would wait forever- that was how much he loved her. Against all odds, he loved her. Even though her "kind" was determined to keep his countrymen and his country underfoot, he loved her. Even though she was careless with her words more often than she was careful with them, he loved her.

And she loved him.

So why the sudden declaration that they couldn't see each other anymore?

No one knew about them, so there wasn't any danger. They were careful- no one would catch them, she was certain of it.

"Tom?"

Sybil hated herself for the impatience in her voice, impatience that reminded her of Mary's frigid demeanor and the supercilious attitude that was hers and every other lady's her age. Sybil and Tom were equals-all men were created equal in God's eyes, at least that's what Reverend Travis said- and they were in love. She would never dream of using such a tone when she spoke with him, because she had no reason to convey that she was somewhere higher in the world by miracle of birth. When they were together, the ground underneath their feet was even and firm, and even when he was the one driving her to the village hospital, they spoke as if they were standing on that equal footing.

"You shouldn't be down here, m'lady."

Oh, but she should! He'd sent for her by way of a note slipped into her apron pocket by one of the younger nurses, who must've offered to take it to her out of kindness or obedience- Sybil couldn't care less about which of the two had conveyed Tom's message to her- so surely she was supposed to be down at the garage. Why wouldn't she be? She couldn't very well meet him in the servants' hall, or in the parlor, or (and her father would have a heart attack if he knew) in her bedroom, could she?

"Dr. Clarkson'll be looking for you, I'm sure."

Ah, yes.

Dr. Clarkson.

Didn't Tom know her well enough to know that she wouldn't abandon her shift, not unless it was an absolute emergency? So why had he used the major (she didn't bother correcting Tom's mistake- she thought of Clarkson as a doctor and not a major herself often enough that it wasn't anything worth fussing over) as a way to get her to leave? Did he want her gone that badly?

"But Tom-"

He'd cut her off, so boldly too, and her heart ached at the increasingly apparent chill in his words.

"Mr. Branson, m'lady."

"M'lady" was punctuated with a subtle venom that tightened the knot that was her stomach, and Sybil had to do everything in her power to keep from crying. If that was how he wanted to play at it, fine, she would play along. She'd watched Mary enough to know how to play the part she had always thought of as the Snow Queen, like the Hans Christian Andersen story. It wouldn't be too hard.

"Of course."

The cold certainty she'd been aiming for came out cold and hollow- not really what she'd been going for, but it was something, wasn't it? Perhaps it impressed him, and this was what he wanted, to see that she could be uncaring, or at least act the part.

But why should she act for him?

Acting was lying, and lying was what destroyed precarious relationships like theirs.

Perhaps if she showed him the truth, and let him see how hurt and confused he'd made her, then things would be resolved.

But he saw a lady where she stood, and she felt she was obliged to convince him that what she wanted was indeed standing there before him.

He didn't want Sybil, or even Nurse Crawley- he wanted Lady Sybil, youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. That was who he was expecting, and she might as well deliver, if this was how she was going to be remembered to him.

"Forgive me for taking too much of your time, Mr. Branson."

Her words came out in her sister's high-and-mighty, clipped tone this time, and Sybil felt an odd strength surge through her, lifting her chin and holding back her tears. She was a lady, and ladies did not cry in front of chauffeurs, even if only five minutes ago, they had been a young woman and a man so desperately in love that they would take the stars from the sky and rewrite their destiny if it came to that.

She was a lady, and she would bear it as such, with grace, poise, and dignity. She would bear this encounter in secret, and continue on with her nursing duties, finally able to throw herself into her work more fully without Tom's constant objections to the war rolling around her head like marbles in a cup. She could fully commit herself to what she believed to be her calling in life- God's calling to her, if she was so bold to say so.

She could do it, she was certain- all she had to do was walk away.

And that's just what she did.

She turned on the ball of her foot, took a deep breath of the damp fall air, and began the trek back to the house.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this installment of Is It Written in the Stars? and I hope you take a moment to drop a review, let me know how much you hate me for the feels I am apparently causing a few of you, or just let me know if I'm doing my job.

I should've mentioned before, that this entire fic was inspired by the song "Written in the Stars" from AIDA (music and lyrics by Elton John), and I recommend that soundtrack to anyone who's looking for some good Sybil/Tom songs (or just pairings in general) to inspire them.

Thank you all so much!