Author's note

I had to come back to this, in the end - I've dreamed up a whole story based on what was meant to be a one-shot! That can happen sometimes. :) You may recognise part of this chapter from a drabble I posted a while back on my Tumblr.

Oh and yes - in case you were wondering, I'm playing around with canon timeline and scene order in this story. In particular, one significant event that 'should' have happened before this story began (in canon) hasn't happened yet... you will see what I mean below.

This fic's going to be very angsty - fair warning! But it's me - you can trust me to take care of our babies...


Sybil doesn't get a wink of sleep that night.

All she can think about is him. The feel of him, every part of him. His fingers tangled in her hair, his mouth ravaging hers, his body pressing her against the car. She can feel herself lighting up like a candle, sparkling in the darkness of her room, as she relives every moment of their kiss over and over.

And the words he'd said to her just before he kissed her. She'd known how he felt about her since their conversation in York, but hearing it spelt out in these terms had been... astonishing, thrilling, terrifying.

"I am yours, milady. Utterly, completely, forever. I love you, I love you so much..."

A reminiscent shiver runs down her spine as she closes her eyes. The memory of his words traces over her skin, caressing her as his hands had done.

She gets out of bed and wanders over to her window. The moon is full outside, dipping down from the sky so low she almost feels as if she could reach out and touch it.

I wonder if he is thinking of me right now?


At breakfast the next morning, Cora looks at her youngest daughter, concern on her face.

"Sybil, darling, are you quite well? You're as grey as your uniform. Should I send for Dr Clarkson?"

"Mama, no, please. Don't worry. I'm quite all right."

"Are you sure? You should go back up to bed and rest."

"No, I can't. I have work to do."

Cora subsides as Carson enters with the mail, and speaks to her father first, as he always does.

"My lord, some news. Mr Branson has been called up, I gave him his papers this morning."

The Earl of Grantham looks annoyed. "Damn it all, where will I find another chauffeur?"

Sybil puts down her toast. She can't eat - her throat is choked with tears.

"Papa, how can you be so unfeeling? This is a man's life we are talking about, not just an inconvenience to you!"

She stands up, pushing her chair back hard enough to make her father raise his eyebrows.

"Excuse me, Mama, I have to go."


"Carson's told Papa you've been called up."

Sybil can feel her heart racing in her chest, seeing him again. Branson's wearing the canvas coveralls he uses to work on the cars, and a strand of the hair he normally combs back so carefully has fallen onto his forehead, making her long to brush it back.

He looks broad, hard, strong. Strong enough to fight.

"There's no need to look so serious." His face belies his words.

"You'd think me rather heartless if I didn't."

He looks at her. "I'm not going to fight."

"You'll have to."

"I will not. I'm going to be a conscientious objector."

She can feel her throat choking up again, as it had at breakfast. "They'll put you in prison."

"I'd rather prison than the Dardanelles."

"When will you tell them?"

A beat. Their eyes meet and lock. "In my own good time."

"I don't understand."

"You will, soon enough." He turns back to his work.

"Tom, please..."

Hearing his name, spoken by her again, he looks at her. They are separated by the width of the car, but it feels as if they are just a breath apart. She stands still, arms wrapped tightly around herself, drawn to him by a force she can't resist.

But she does, barely.

"Milady..." His fathomless eyes are tender as they linger on her own. "It's better for you not to know."


A week later

Mary has been watching her like a hawk since their conversation about Branson's feelings for her. As Sybil walks towards the house, her sister appears round the corner, dressed in her riding clothes.

"Where have you been, Sybil?"

"Nowhere. Just for a walk."

"As long as that's all it is. Remember what you promised me." She walks away, towards the groom who is waiting with her horse.

Sybil watches her go, then approaches the front door of Downton Abbey.

Immediately she is caught up in the arrival of a group of officers from the hospital, and she slips back into the safety of her role as Nurse Crawley. Moving from man to man, a kind word here, a friendly smile there. She knows what to do, what's expected of her, when she is wearing this uniform.

She sees a young man in a wheelchair, clearly suffering from shell shock, and she rests her hand on his.

"Don't worry, you are safe here. Nothing can hurt you. It's all going to be all right."

He looks up at her. "Are you sure?" His voice breaks, and tears start in his eyes.

"Yes." Her voice is steady and sure. Unlike her traitorous heart, which is fluttering from exaltation to fear and back again with every beat.


"Are you waiting for Papa? Do you want me to go and find him?"

Sybil sees Branson's storm-dark eyes as she walks towards him, and knows immediately that something's wrong.

"It's come. I've to report to Richmond next week."

Her heart leaps up into her throat. "So... so soon?"

"They don't mess around, the British Army. They need cannon fodder for the meat grinder of the Western Front, and they will steal it if they have to, from countries they've no right to command."

"Branson, I... I don't know what to say. Are you..."

"I'll save you the trouble, milady. As I told you – I'm not going to fight." He clenches his fists without realising it, as if preparing for the future he's imagining.

"But, to go to prison?"

"Milady, my principles matter more to me than any punishment these English generals can order. I won't fight for a foreign power in a war with no just cause, and that's it. Come prison and welcome – I won't be the only Irishman in those cells."

Tears cloud her eyes, and she looks down to try to hide them from him.

But he isn't fooled. Instead, he steps towards her, and puts a finger under her chin. It's the first time they've touched since that night in the garage, and even through his glove she can feel his warmth on her skin as he lifts her face to his.

"Sybil... " Her name is a sigh on his lips, and she remembers the feel of those lips on hers as he speaks again.

"You know me, better than you think you do. You know I can't do this thing, that joining the British Army would kill me surer than any bullet Fritz might send over."

Even if she wants to, she cannot look away from the intensity of his gaze.

"Don't you want me to be true to myself? To think for myself? To stand up for what I believe is right, whatever the cost?"

She nods, as his hand slides beneath her chin and strokes her throat. His touch is gentle, soothing, and she can't help leaning into it. Into him.

"Yes, Tom. Yes, I do. And if, when, you go through with this..."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but we're going to have to step on it." Her father's all military bluster as he shouts through the open door of Downton Abbey.

Sybil jumps backwards, smoothing her nurses' veil, as he approaches. Luckily, the Earl of Grantham seems to be oblivious to what's happening between his daughter and the chauffeur. Such a conversation would be unthinkable in the world her father clings to, she realises, and therefore he can't see what's in front of his nose.

But she can.

Branson closes the door behind his passenger, then gets into the driver's seat. The look on his face is grim, determined. His eyes meet Sybil's for an endless moment, and then he is gone.

She feels as if her heart is breaking in her chest as she thinks about what's going to happen next. How can she bear it? How can he?

She hugs a thought to herself like a treasure as she goes back into the house.

Believe it or not, I will stay true to you.