It's been a long time (too long I know), but I'm happy that the muse for this story hit me BIG TIME earlier this week, and this story is one that I would very much love to complete in the near future, because really, there's only so much angst we can handle, right?

Anyway, if you remember (apologies if you have to go back and re-read) but this takes place right after the events of the previous chapter. I wanted to capture Sybil's feeling of desperation and helplessness, as well as touch on events that were happening in 2x06, which is when this story is set. I know it's a bit slow-moving, but I promise good things are coming (along with more angst...we're not out of the angst woods yet!)

Thank you for continuing to read and follow this story, and I do hope you enjoy (sorry again about the delay!)


Chapter Three

After her all too brief visit to Tom's beside, Sybil did go to the church as she had told her parents, and spent a good hour, possibly two, in prayer, before finally rising and walking back to the house (and fighting the urge to return to the hospital for another visit). By the time the house appeared before her, Sybil knew that it was nearing dinner. If the house weren't currently serving as a convalescent home, Carson would no doubt be ringing the dressing gong.

She had no idea what to expect; her family were famous (or "infamous", in Sybil's mind) for being "traditionalists" when it came to dealing with tragedy. Part of that whole "stiff upper lip" ideology, she supposed: put on a stalwart face and act as if nothing has changed, and somehow by doing so, you'll overcome the tragedy. No, it would not surprise her at all if, despite everything that had happened that day, her parents insisted on having dinner with all the usual "pomp and circumstance" that always accompanied the evening meal at Downton Abbey.

She had no appetite, and how on earth could anyone possibly expect her to just…put on some grand frock and act as if it were just any other night?

She considered perhaps going back to her duties; after all she was still in her uniform. Perhaps work would distract her? But she knew that it wouldn't, in fact it would only make everything worse. The sad truth was she was absolutely no use to anyone because the one person she wanted to be of use to, she couldn't.

If only she could slip inside unseen, and just…retreat to her room, shut the door, and be left alone with her fears and concerns for Tom's health and recovery? But she had no such luck; Mary was waiting for her.

"Sybil!" Mary hissed, rushing out the front door and hurrying down the front steps, catching her completely by surprise at her appearance. "Where on earth have you been!? Do you know how late it is? Mama is practically frantic!"

Sybil had actually jumped from her sister's sudden appearance. As she had suspected, Mary was dressed and ready for dinner, which meant everyone else was as well.

"You're back," Sybil found herself mumbling.

Mary's brow furrowed. "What? Yes, of course I'm back, I told the family last night that I would be back from London by dinner—Sybil, didn't you hear what I had said? Mama is frantic! She's been worrying about you, wondering what's been keeping you—"

"Did she tell you about what had happened?"

Mary paused and gazed back at her, her expression and voice softening. "Yes, yes, and…and it sounds absolutely terrifying—I'm sorry I wasn't there to help or see her at the hospital, but other than being quite shaken by the ordeal, she seems—"

"Branson saved her life," Sybil interrupted again, her throat tightening and eyes stinging as her vision began to blur once again. "Did they tell you that? Did Mama and Papa tell you that…that he pushed her out of the way just in time, but that he was struck and is now in the hospital—"

"Yes," Mary confirmed. Her voice was steady and clear, but her expression remained soft, something which struck Sybil. She knew her sister wasn't as cold as others or even Mary believed herself to be, but she also knew that Mary thought Sybil's friendship with the Downton chauffeur to be quite "inappropriate" (to put it politely). Yet looking back into her sister's eyes, Sybil could see that Mary did feel concern for him, or at the very least, pitied him for what had happened.

Sybil swallowed, forcing the emotion that threatened to erupt back down her throat, before numbly nodding her head. "Good," she murmured. "I…I had gone to the church to pray; I told Mama and Papa that was where I was going, didn't they tell you?"

Mary sighed and nodded. "Yes, darling, they did, but we all expected you back hours ago! And surely you must understand how sensitive Mama's sensibilities are right now, it was a miracle she released me long enough to come out here and speak with you," she explained. "The second I saw her, she clutched me and wouldn't let me go, and while we've been waiting for you, she's been clinging to both myself and Edith and kept asking after you—"

"I'm fine," Sybil sighed, quietly resigning herself to the obvious fate that she would have to endure dinner for her mother's sake. She felt a little guilty then for not having given her mother a second's thought after her parents had left the hospital. Of course she was concerned for her mother and grateful that despite the bumps and bruises she had endured in being pushed out of the way, she was safe and alright.

…But that was just it, her mother was safe and alright. Her mother was alive, but Tom…

"Sybil…"

Mary's voice drew her from her thoughts and she looked up at her sister, who was gazing at her with…concern.

And caution.

"Sybil," Mary repeated. "I…I know that you're…fond, of Branson—"

Sybil's eyes widened, and with a shake of her head she started to push past her sister.

Mary gasped and attempted to reach out to stop her. "Sybil—"

"Not now," she muttered.

"Sybil, stop!" Mary hissed again, this time succeeding in catching her elbow. She drew Sybil back towards until their faces were just inches apart so that she could speak in a hushed tone without fear of anyone who happened by the open door to hear. "Darling, I know you're shaken by all this, I know you care for Branson, but…" she paused and glanced towards the house as if checking to see if they were being watched. "…But I also remember what you told me, about how he…" Sybil felt her jaw clench at her sister's implication. She knew what Mary was trying to say without actually saying the words. She remembered all too well that conversation when Mary had cornered her and she had revealed (accident or not?) that Tom was in love with her (though the truth of the matter was, Tom had "accused" her of being in love with him…which, in hindsight, was absolutely correct). Mary had reacted as Sybil had feared (and suspected) she would—utterly appalled. Yet her sister had kept her word about not saying anything, so long as Sybil promised to not do anything "stupid".

"Stupid"…like telling an unconscious man that you do love him and that yes, you will marry him.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked her sister, her tone not at all kind. If Mary was actually implying that something "good" could be taken out of all of this, then Sybil wanted her sister to come right out and say it.

Mary blinked, and Sybil wondered if her sister recognized the challenge she had offered. Mary straightened her spine and lifted her chin, her expression going from soft to hard, and she raised a challenging eyebrow of her own before speaking. "As I said, I know you care about Branson, and I know that you're worried for him…but I am simply repeating what I had said to you all those months ago…" She released Sybil's elbow then. "Don't do anything stupid."

Mary turned then and began to walk back up the steps towards the house. Sybil watched her for a moment. Too late, she silently answered, before following.


Over the years, Sybil had experienced many dinners at Downton Abbey which were just short of excruciating. That evening's meal was perhaps the worst.

Upon entering the house, her mother seized her before bursting into tears, an emotional display that even caused Sybil some discomfort upon witnessing. She could only assume that the trauma from her mother's near-death experience had finally reached its peak. "Mama," she murmured softly, a hand rising to stroke her mother's hair. "Mama, you should be in bed, resting—"

"No, no, I'm fine," Cora Crawley gasped, leaning away from her youngest daughter and forcing a smile, before quickly taking a handkerchief to dry her face. "I'm just glad you're back," she continued.

Sybil glanced at her father, hoping perhaps he would insist that her mother go upstairs, but instead he cleared his throat, murmured something about "come as you are, Sybil," before gently taking her mother's arm to lead her into the dining room.

What followed was practically two of the longest, most trying hours, Sybil felt she had ever endured around that table.

No one seemed to know what to say, so the meal began in silence, which despite the fact that it was silent, sounded horribly and deafeningly loud. Forks scraped on china, wine sips sounded like slurps, and every chew echoed from one corner of the room to another.

It was during the third course that the silence was finally broken.

"So, Mary…" Violet Crawley spoke at last. "Tell us about your journey to London…I trust Sir Richard is well?"

"Oh gracious, yes!" Cora gasped after taking a sip of wine. "Oh darling, forgive me for not asking before. Yes, how is Sir Richard? Did you have a pleasant trip?"

Sybil had only managed to take a few bites, the food turning to ash the second it passed her lips. She sat at the table, spending more time staring at her plate than eating what was on it. Yet at these questions, she lifted her head to look at her sister, before looking around the table at the rest of the family while Mary politely answered.

Everyone, even Edith, were looking at Mary and listening to her as if were giving some great speech, all of them practically hanging onto her every word, pleasant smiles plastered across their faces, smiles that Sybil knew they were forcing for the sake of "normalcy".

She wanted to scream.

"…He said he wanted to drive up with his lawyer on Saturday; wanted to show him Haxby and go over a few things."

"Oh?" Violet lifted an eyebrow at this. "Do you still have your eyes on that place?"

Mary solemnly nodded her head. "It suits us both, yes."

Sybil put her fork down, her stomach refusing to accept another bite. She lifted her eyes to look around the table, wishing more than anything that Matthew or Isobel were there. Upon coming to the convalescent home, (and after ending his engagement to Lavinia) Matthew had gotten into the habit of taking his meals with the rest of the men who were staying there. Yet she wished Matthew were there, he would ask after Tom, he would understand her concern. And Isobel as well, both of her cousins would be voices of sense and reason, something this dinner table was lacking. She only prayed that perhaps the reason Isobel wasn't there was because she was at the hospital, seeing to Tom, assisting Dr. Clarkson—

"And have you given any further thought on what will you do in regards to staff?" her grandmother's voice interrupted her thoughts, carrying on the conversation with Mary about Haxby. Yet the words caused Sybil to stiffen, and much to everyone's shock and surprise, she suddenly bolted to her feet, her face looking frantic.

"Good heavens, Sybil, what on earth is the matter!?" her mother asked, her face paling with concern.

"The staff, has anyone spoken to them?" Sybil asked, staring with wild-eyes at her mother, then her father, before falling on both of her sisters.

"The staff?" Robert repeated, looking a little confused by her question, or the meaning behind him.

"YES!" Sybil all but shouted. Her voice brought Carson back into the dining room then, a wine bottle in his hand and a concerned frown on his face. Sybil looked at the Downton butler and practically seized his arm. "The staff, do they know? About Branson?"

"Sybil, release Carson this instant!" her father ordered, but Sybil ignored him.

"Are they asking? How much do they know?"

"Sybil!" Robert hissed.

Carson glanced at her father before turning back to her. "Mrs. Hughes has informed everyone, milady," he assured, before turning to the rest of the table. "And our thoughts and prayers are with Mr. Branson, of course."

Robert gave Carson a thankful nod, as well as offering a look of apology for his daughter's behavior. "There, see? Are you satisfied, Sybil? Now will you please release—"

Sybil whirled around and stared at her father with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Did you just ask me if I was 'satisfied'?"

"Sybil…" Mary's voice was one of warning, but as she had done with her father earlier, she ignored her sister and continued to stare back at her father, the frustration and worry and her personal feelings of guilt and helplessness were spiraling into a raging storm that threatened to burst from her heart at any moment.

"No, Papa, I am not satisfied…the man who saved Mama's life might be dying, and...and you're all just…sitting around this table, acting as if it were just any other evening!"

"Sybil!" her father growled, his face a mixture of embarrassment and displeasure. "Sit down; you're causing an unnecessary scene—"

"I think it is necessary!" she countered. "And I will not 'sit down' as you order! Branson is more than just a…a 'colleague' below stairs; he has friends—people I'm sure he sees as family, and vice versa I have no doubt! How would you feel if you knew someone to whom you thought of as family, could possibly be dying—"

"Sybil, that's ENOUGH!"

Her father had risen to his feet and was glaring back at her, looking both agitated and bewildered by her passionate outburst. Despite his warning, she wasn't ready to back down, however Mary had, at some point, risen from her chair and come around to where Sybil was standing (and shaking) and put a hand on her shoulder. "Dearest, please, calm down," she pleadingly whispered.

Sybil looked at her sister, and Mary's eyes met hers, a hidden knowledge in their depths as she was the only other person to know (to a point) about hers and Tom's closeness. You're raising suspicions, you need to calm down!

A trembling breath escaped her lungs and Sybil turned back to face the rest of the room, everyone looking back at her with more concern and confusion than anything else. "I…" she swallowed. "Forgive me," she mumbled, though she wasn't necessarily apologizing for her outburst. Yet naturally that was how they took it.

"It's alright, darling," her mother soothed, smiling sympathetically up at her from where she sat. "It's been a very trying day and we're all a little on edge."

Her grandmother gave a snort.

Sybil simply nodded her head. "Please excuse me, I…I'm not very hungry, and…and I think I need to lie down."

Cora's eyes widened at this. "Oh darling…shall I have Dr. Clarkson check on you when he arrives?"

Sybil stared back at her mother in complete surprise. "Dr. Clarkson is…is coming here?"

"Of course," her father answered. "He said he would come later this evening to see how your mother is doing."

Sybil looked back and forth between her parents, her hands gripping the back of her chair so roughly, her knuckles were white. She loved her mother…dearly, truly loved her, yet her mother was alive, her mother was here, her mother wasn't the one lying unconscious with every bone shattered in her legs and who may never walk as they used to (if he could walk at all).

She felt her anger and frustration at this sudden reality rising from the pit of her stomach, threatening to overflow and erupt like a volcano. Tom needed Dr. Clarkson, not her mother! Tom needed his help, Tom needed the surgery, Tom needed…

Her.

…And she needed him. She needed him very, very much.

"Darling—"

She moved then, shaking Mary's hand from her shoulder. Because she didn't trust her voice (or rather, the words she would say to her family), she turned on her heel and left the dining room, not bothering to look back or offer any further explanation. Let them think what they would, let them speculate, did it even matter if they suspected that she seemed "too distressed" by Branson's fate? She had finally spoken the words aloud, she had given him as well as the world her answer: yes, she would marry him, yes…he was right, she did love him, very, very much, and he needed to wake up, he needed to live!

"Will you wait?" she had asked him earlier that day (oh God, had that conversation truly happened earlier, all on this same day?) Then she had been asking him to wait until the War was over and her duties at the convalescent home were completed. But now, the question held an entirely new meaning.

As she climbed the steps that would lead to her room, she found her mind going back to that fateful day when he had first made known his feelings for her, in that archway in York. Upon receiving her "non-answer", he had swallowed and put his hat back on and with a resigning sigh, announced that he would return to Downton and hand in his notice so she wouldn't have to see him when she returned, to which she had promptly responded, "no, don't do that!" Because even though she couldn't give him the answer he had been hoping for in that moment, she couldn't bear to think of her home where he wasn't there.

And now she couldn't bear to think of her life where he wasn't there.

Don't do that, Tom, please, please don't die, don't leave me…please? Please? Will you wait?

"…I'd wait forever."

Now, she was asking for that very thing.


The knock on her door came much later than she had thought it would.

Like at dinner, when she could barely eat a morsel, so too now she could barely sleep a wink. Her body was exhausted but her mind was wide awake, awake and anxious. She didn't want to be there, she wanted to be at the hospital, by his side, waiting right there because…because what if he woke up? What if he woke up sometime in the middle of the night and didn't know where he was? He shouldn't wake up alone, someone should be there—she should be there!

She had been pacing when she first came up to her room, but now she was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring straight ahead at the wall, swallowing the lump in her throat and sniffling back her tears as the memory of Tom's still, silent body continued to play over and over in her mind. Please wake up…please wake up! I'll do anything—ANYTHING!

A gasp escaped her lips at the sudden sound of the knock.

At first she thought it might be Mary, or her parents. Then she thought it might be Anna, and her mind went back to what Carson had told her, that yes, the rest of the staff knew, but were they worried and frightened as she was? She should have gone downstairs instead of retreating to her room, she should have sought the housekeeper out, she should have—

"Sybil?"

Isobel!

In a flash she was at the door and opening it, startling her cousin a little. "Oh!" Isobel gasped, a hand going to her throat for a moment. But she put on a smile and nodded at her, before murmuring, "May I come in?"

Instead of stepping aside and letting her cousin enter, Sybil glanced behind Isobel and looked up and down the corridor, as if trying to see if anyone else was lurking about.

"Sybil?"

She looked back at Isobel then and gave a shake of her head. "Sorry," she mumbled, and finally stepped aside. "Yes, yes, please."

"I won't stay long," Isobel assured as she entered the room. "Your mother was concerned and asked that I check on you," she explained.

This did give Sybil a moment's pause. "You?" she murmured. "But…but Mama said Dr. Clarkson was coming to the house…?"

"Even if your mother hadn't said anything, I would have wanted to speak with you," Isobel continued, then frowned as she took in Sybil's appearance. "Oh my dear, have you tried to sleep? You look worn ragged."

"I…I'm fine," Sybil lied. She was still confused as to why Isobel had come in Dr. Clarkson's place. "Is Dr. Clarkson still coming?"

Isobel looked at her and must have taken pity on her then, because instead of avoiding her question, answered her. "No, he's at the hospital. I know he promised to come by and check on your mother, but I volunteered to do so, knowing that her injuries weren't very serious, and that way he could stay and help with Branson's surgery."

At this, Sybil's knees gave out beneath her, and she staggered back, landing on the bed. "He's performing the surgery?" she gasped. "Right now!?"

"Let's get you into your nightgown—"

"Isobel, please!"

She gripped her cousin's arm, digging her fingers into the woman's skin, causing Isobel to wince at the pressure, but Sybil made no apology for it, nor did she loosen her hold. She was desperate; she needed to know everything that was happening.

"Yes," Isobel answered, her other hand moving to cover Sybil's. "Yes, Dr. Clarkson is at the hospital and the surgery is being performed as we speak."

At this, Sybil's grip instantly loosened, and she closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh. At least one thing she had been worrying about was being taken care of at last. Tom's surgery was being performed, the surgery that would determine if he was suffering from any internal bleeding. Of course, this news brought anxieties of its own: what if he was bleeding internally? Could they stop it? What about his organs? Were any of them damaged? What if he needed blood? What if—?

"Dr. Clarkson told me you wished to help at the hospital while Branson was a patient there, is that right?"

Sybil looked back at her cousin, her eyes glazed slightly, but the question slowly penetrating her consciousness and she gave a quick nod of her head. "Yes, I…I did ask that," though not so bluntly, but clearly Dr. Clarkson had seen through to her reasons why. "Yes," she repeated. "I know I have duties here, but…perhaps I can switch with one of the hospital nurses? He said I should speak with you—"

"I know," Isobel assured. "And that was what he told me when I saw him at the hospital before coming here. And I don't think that will be a problem, my dear, I'll speak with the matron tomorrow, but I think that can be arranged."

Relief flooded her bones at this second piece of good news. Tom's surgery was being performed, and she would be able to serve at the hospital while he recovered. Oh please, let me be there for when he wakes up!

"Now Sybil," Isobel interrupted her thoughts. She had adopted a stern expression. "I know how fond of Branson you are—"

She blushed and looked down. She sometimes wondered how much Cousin Isobel did know? She was very observant and seemed to be several steps ahead of people around her. Did Isobel suspect anything between herself and Tom?

"—But you mustn't interfere with his recovery; I know you want to help, and forgive me for saying this, but you do need to understand and recognize your limitations; you're a volunteer auxiliary nurse, not one who has been trained to assist with surgeries or—"

"I do understand," Sybil interrupted, blushing and wishing not for the first time that she wasn't so limited in her experience and training. She knew that she had done more than most nurses of her kind would do, partially because Downton was desperate, partially because she herself insisted, but despite that desire to push her way through and be involved, she would hold herself back if it meant helping Tom. At least she would try to hold herself back.

Isobel smiled at her, clearly believing her words, and then with a nod of her head, reached for Sybil's nightgown. "Come on, let's get you into bed. You need your rest."

Yes, she did, because even if she wasn't one of the nurses to directly see to Tom's recovery, she needed to be alert and prepared and she couldn't be any of those things if she weren't at her physical, emotional, and mental best.

Without the help of her cousin or a maid, Sybil removed her uniform and undergarments, and took the nightgown Isobel was holding and slipped it on, before pulling back the covers and crawling into bed. Isobel smiled down at her, perhaps thinking as Sybil sometimes thought in moments such as this, that not so long ago she couldn't have changed or turned down her own bed without the help of another. It might seem like much to some, but truly, she had come a long way.

"Wait here at the house tomorrow; go about your duties here as you would normally do, and as soon as I receive word, I'll let you know when you can begin taking shifts at the hospital."

Oh Lord, please let her begin as soon as possible, tomorrow in fact, by mid-morning at the latest.

"So you will come back to the house tomorrow?" Sybil asked. "You'll come back and…and be able to tell us more about how To—Branson's surgery went?"

Isobel smiled kindly and nodded her head, before bending down and brushing her lips against Sybil's brow. "Goodnight, my dear," she murmured, before turning and switching off a lamp.

Sybil murmured her goodnights and sat in the darkness of the room as Isobel let herself out. Another long, shaky breath left her lungs, and she swallowed and gazed up at the darkened ceiling, as if looking for heaven overhead and wordlessly sending every prayer she could. Please let the surgery be successful, please don't let him be bleeding internally, please relieve him of any pain, but please don't let him die…

This was how she fell asleep at last, with a prayer in her head and Tom's name whispered on her lips.

To be continued...