Happy Downton Day everyone!

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As you could expect, this chapter is again from Sybil's POV. The next chapter will be once more Tom-focused.

Any feedback is much, much valued. I have some ideas for future oneshots, but it would be lovely to get some feedback or know what you would like to read about/what side of S/T would you like to see explored. Your comments serve as a source of encouragement and may be also an inspiration :) Guest reviews are enabled.

Dream

"Being a nurse and just getting on with it is the bridge between her [Sybil's] dreaming of Branson and actually being able to act on it." – Julian Fellowes

April 1913

She sits on the verge of the bed, trying to calm herself to sleep. Mama and Papa said their goodnights, planted tender kisses on her forehead, and left to their own bedrooms. Sybil reaches for the book at the bedside table – she earlier asked Papa to read her a passage from Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe". She secretly admires the character of Rebecca – a healer, not a lady of the castle. A woman who had to face society's prejudices, but was strong enough to deal with all the hardships on her way. She didn't win the hero in the end, that's true, but then Sybil finds Ivanhoe to be rather bland and uninteresting; he was best suited to his future wife, Rowena, a perfect example of a lady. A perfect knight and a perfect lady. She is taught to be a perfect lady, too. Of course, she is not expected to encounter a perfect knight on her way. But then, there is this concept of a "perfect gentleman"… Granny, Mama, Mary and Edith talk about it quite often. Sybil knows that Edith pities Rebecca for being rejected for a more conventional beauty and that Mary sees Ivanhoe's choice as simply the only reasonable one – a high-born knight should marry a lady, and they ought to live in a big castle together for the rest of their lives. The youngest Crawley girl also thinks that Ivanhoe should marry Lady Rowena – but only because he made a promise to her earlier, so he should stay true to her, both when it comes to his heart and marital choice. Papa, then, thinks that discussing this matter is pointless – it would be simply impossible for Rebecca and Ivanhoe to be together. Sybil does not understand what her father means, and he is not willing to explain it to her. "You wouldn't understand", he says and ends the discussion. This doesn't prevent his daughter from thinking about being like Rebecca before falling asleep. She would be a healer, helping people recover and ease their pain. As for a perfect knight or even a perfect gentleman – it certainly wouldn't be bad to share such a life with someone. But she isn't sure whether this person needs to be a "gentleman". Imagining this new kind of life, Sybil slowly succumbs to her drowsiness; the rain outside the window lulls her to sleep, while her mind gradually wanders to medieval forests, good and strong men, and a persevering, dark-haired female healer.

A loud thunder wakes Sybil up. She sits up in her bed, trying to see anything in the darkness of the room. As she is slowly regaining full consciousness, she lets out a loud sigh, So it was all only a dream. She isn't afraid to admit to herself that she has enjoyed it greatly. Everyone likes to feel like their little self from time to time. While trying to recall her childish dreams, the young girl smiles to herself. But what is problematic, she thinks aloud, is that I still haven't abandoned those dreams entirely. I would still love to be like Rebecca. I still find it fascinating to be a medieval healer. I still would like to have someone by my side who would understand and love me for who I am.

The rain stops falling. Sybil slowly rises from her bed and approaches the window. I'm sixteen right now, I should start to have realistic dreams. I'm not that 10-year old girl. I know now why Rebecca and Ivanhoe could never be together. But what are my dreams now? None. I'm not cynical and I love life, but what is life without any dreams?

Sighing, the young girl turns from the window and cautiously tiptoes back to the bed. She covers herself with warm sheets and closes her eyes; but she isn't able to fall asleep again this night.

1915

Despite the heavily falling rain, Sybil Crawley heads to the garage. She feels so, so lonely today. Mary has gone to London to visit Aunt Rosamund, Mama still hasn't woken up yet and Edith has decided to visit Granny. Papa then, is too absorbed in reading news from the front and various correspondences; but if she's to be sincere, they rarely talk these days because they do not see eye to eye with each other in most matters.

Just simply admit that you want to see him, whispers a tiny voice in her head. Sybil ignores it, and as raindrops start falling even harder, she quickens her pace and practically runs to the dry safety of the garage.

"Why have you come in such rain? Is everything all right? " Branson asks, leaving the newspaper he's been reading on the nearby chair.

"I just want to talk to someone, am I not welcome?" Sybil teases, though she feels that her cheeks start to burn and she doesn't understand either what causes it or why she's so scared of it.

"You know very well that you're always welcome, milady," Branson answers with a small smile.

Sybil tries to smile too, but this expression of happiness quickly fades. "I know that it's personal, but I think that you do treat me as a friend, not your employer's daughter, so… Do you have any dreams?"

"Everyone has dreams, milady. Even if one is not fully aware of them. How sad our life would be without any, even subconscious, goals? Towards what would we be striving then? One cannot do anything productive when there is no impetus, reason involved. There's always something, even in the back of our minds, that tries to constantly remind us against any better, reasonable judgement, that it is worth to keep living, not only resign ourselves to merely existing."

Sybil sees the fire in his eyes, those eyes that are always so honest and glowing. She has no doubt that he, as always, speaks his mind. Oh, how she admires his passion, his determination and dedication. And yes, his eyes are beautiful as well, she has to admit. The girl allows herself to look straight into them for a moment; she cherishes the short moment when her heart is all in flutters and her breathing short and quick. Is she imagining things or… is he really looking at her so tenderly?

She finally decides to put an end to this awkward moment. 'I must say that you are a person of great speech, Branson. It would be a real pity to waste such a talent. You should be a writer. A political writer. I know that I sound as if I was teasing you, but believe me, I'm completely sincere."

"Haven't I told you that I will not always be a chauffeur? I will try not to waste any opportunity for bettering myself. I certainly wouldn't mind being a political writer. But moving up the social ladder is not the most important thing for me."

Sybil's feels that her cheeks start burning again; is she again imagining something? His tone isn't exactly casual… but then maybe it is? She knows that she needs to say something in order to break the ensuing awkwardness once more.

"I don't know what my dreams are, to be honest. When I was younger, I knew what I wanted. But then I wasn't aware of any existing limitations. I didn't know that not everything might be a possibility. And now, with the war… I don't even know what the world will be like when it ends. I suppose that my only dream right now is a day without any bad news."

Branson nods, deeply lost in his thoughts. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I can only hope for the same. But it doesn't stop me from having some dreams or plans for the future."

Sybil doesn't know why she doesn't like what he's saying. She should be happy if her friend receives any opportunity for a better life, like she was when Gwen became a secretary for Mr. Bromidge; but somewhat she's sure that she will be far from ecstatic if Branson leaves Downton to start a new life.

"The last of my dreams that I was aware of was helping Gwen to get a job as a secretary," Sybil admits, trying to turn her thoughts away from Branson and his plans.

"I'm not surprised. It's so like you, milady. To think about others first, and only then about yourself."

Her cheeks have become hot again. This conversation too often takes a turn for the awkward; maybe it would be better to go home now. At this particular moment, she craves only some solitude and reflection.

"Thank you for this conversation and for being such a good friend to me. I really needed to talk to somebody."

"It's been a pleasure, milady. Take care," Branson says courteously and then reaches for her hand instinctively, in a purely comforting manner. As their fingers brush each other, he notices what he's actually doing and quickly withdraws his hand.

Sybil feels both comfortable and uncomfortable at this touch. Part of her wants to hold hands with him again, but another part tells her to escape immediately. In order to calm down that fearful part of her, she quickly turns on her heels and walks to the door. This reminds me of a cornered animal's thoughtless escape, she says to herself.

"See you later Branson. And take care too," Sybil finds strength to call as she leaves the garage.

The rain has stopped. The only drops of water falling on the gravel are Sybil Crawley's tears. She wants to find herself in her room as quickly as possible.

Once safe in the enclosed space of the room, the girl walks straight to the bed. She covers herself with sheets and sobs quietly into the pillow. She feels so terribly lost in everything, so purposeless, directionless. The worst thing is that she knows that deep down there are dreams that she terribly wants to be fulfilled. Yet, she don't or can't realize what they are. Even in her dreams.

The sobbing ends. The youngest Crawley sister's mind is finally at rest. But there are no healers or knights in her dreams this night - only one enormous wall of darkness with occasional glimpses of someone in a chauffeur's uniform.

May 1916

Sybil lies on her bed again during yet another painful evening. The chaos in her heard is intense once more; the chaos in her heart becomes even unbearable. She's seen him this evening to talk about what happened in Ireland. But he was so unresponsive. At times she felt as if he hadn't noticed her presence. Some time had passed before she heard him speak, It's all shattered. All dreams. All hopes. Destroyed. Gone. Forever. She had never seen him so resigned, bitter and doubtful about the future before. This realization hit her strongly.

What if he goes to Ireland now? Branson's a man of action; he isn't the one to sit and wait while his dreams are being crushed. But if he's gone, she'll lose the only light in the dark tunnel her life has recently become. Don't be silly, Sybil. He may even be called up at any moment now. He doesn't need to go to Ireland for you to never see him again.

Another painful realization hits her strongly. Her pillow once more becomes wet with tears.

Why do you care so much? Why does it hurt so much? Why do you feel that your own dreams are being gradually crushed too? He is your friend. Best friend. And yes, you've always had a… certain weakness for him. A crush? An infatuation? You can't feel anything more for him, you can't…

But you do.

This realization is yet another blow. And it is still followed by a new whirlwind of thoughts.

You do. You've loved for him for years, actually. You were first too young to realize this feeling, then you were too scared of the danger it entailed to realize it fully. It isn't just a crush or an infatuation as you sometimes kept telling yourself. It's love. You can't bear thinking that he may live and pursue his dreams without you… or go to war and…

In the chaos of her head, another thought slowly clarifies:

I've suspected for some time that he may feel something for me, too. It hasn't been too obvious before, but recently… I'm rather sure that he feels something for me. He sometimes acts and talks in a way that leaves little doubt about the reason for his behavior. What's more, he is always so direct, honest and blunt. Branson is really bad at hiding his feelings, I noticed this a long time ago. But now he doesn't even attempt to hide them. It seems that he in fact wants me to know what he truly feels. Maybe he'll even act on his feelings? Branson's braver than me, more decisive; he knows what he wants from life…

Suddenly, Sybil feels shivers running through her body.

But he can't, he can't do this! This cannot happen. The only thing I can do is to see less of him. To kill these feelings, to forget him. Yes, this is the only sensible course of action. I also can't allow to give him any opportunity for… voicing anything. Maybe if I'm lucky he truly decides to leave (but God let him be safe!)…

The thought about Branson leaving makes her feel terrible, internal pain. She feels so resigned, sick, confused and doubtful about the future. Her crying intensifies until she gradually finds relief in sleep.

In her sleep she sees a desolate, hopeless area, lashed by the heavily falling rain.

November 1916

They won't hear. Not from me.

It all happened so quickly. Sybil tried to stop him, but to no avail. Something that she had hoped would still remain unvoiced, was voiced. He chose this day of all days. The day when she's taking an enormous leap anyway. How could he imagine that she would be able to make a decision at this point in her life?

She's already unpacked herself and now sits on the verge of the bed in her nursing college. She casts a quick look all over her new room. It's all different, so very different to what she's accustomed to. It's the so-called real world, not Downton's gilded cage. Will she rise up to this challenge?

Why did you do it? I know that you've perhaps waited for long, but why did you do it today? It's impossible for me to give you any answer. It's even impossible for me to admit to you my feelings. I can't be yet committed to anything. I don't want to give you any false hope. I'm not as rebellious or sure about what I want from life as you perhaps think I am. I'm so confused and scared. What if had told you "yes" and it would all end in a disaster?

She suddenly rises from her bed. The youngest Crawley sister cannot explain this action rationally (to be honest – she rarely can explain most of her actions lately), but feels a strange impulse that pushes her to search for some comfort. She takes a book out of her suitcase.

As always, Ivanhoe reminds her of her childhood. She imagines Papa reading it to Mary, Edith and her. Sybil recalls their lively discussions and differing opinions. She smiles. We've always been so different. The young woman now turns her mind to her favourite character, Rebecca. A healer. A female healer. I dreamt of becoming one when I was younger. Her eyes wander around the room once more. Maybe I've been now given a chance to fulfil this dream. Not as a medieval healer, of course, but as a woman who helps the sick and troubled. For the first time this evening, a smile appears on Lady Sybil's (hopefully soon Nurse Crawley's) lips.

One of my old dreams has a chance of being fulfilled soon. What about the… other one? This one is so much more difficult to achieve… so much more difficult. I didn't understand why Rebecca and Ivanhoe couldn't be together back then. Now I do. I'm no longer that child. I'm no longer that naïve. Rebecca was rejected; I couldn't accept the man I love. Rebecca accepted her fate gracefully; she knew that what she dreamt of was impossible to achieve. But those were the Middle-Ages, now we have 20th century. Branson's right. Something is changing. But how big will that change be? What does he really have in mind? What if everything reverts to its previous state after the war? What will the world be like after the war? What will be her place in it? Is she strong enough? Is she able to do such a thing?

Questions keep running through her head until finally her eyelids shut, and her mind decides to take a good, comforting rest.

Maybe is the last word that her lips whisper before she falls asleep.

In her dream, she's a woman wandering through a green meadow during rain. She finds it hard to move through the wet grass and consequently walks with great difficulty, though with strong determination. Suddenly, she sees a man looming in a distance. Sybil starts to walk towards him.

Please don't go before I reach you,the future Nurse Crawley whispers into her pillow.

Dublin, 1919

Sybil Branson is awoken by the murmur of the softly falling raindrops which hit the windows gently. She turns lazily on her mattress, delighting in the warmth and safety of her bed. Their bed. Sybil chuckles quietly (and delightedly) when she hears Tom's characteristic snoring. At the time she was marrying him, she thought that she knew him very, very well, but he had never told her before about this annoying habit of his.

No, he's not a gentleman. Well, at least not in the sense her family and old acquaintances understand this word.

Sybil looks at him fondly and feels that a delicious warmth of contentment spreads throughout her body. She then lies on her side, watching him dreamily. The former aristocrat is now a proud nurse and wife, and most importantly - an incredibly happy woman.

The rhythmic lullaby of the morning rain invites people to sleep and dream about their sweetest desires, but Sybil Branson does not want to give in to this temptation. She prefers to bend over her husband's face and tenderly kiss his cheek, while softly whispering I love you directly into his ear.

She finally rises from the bed and approaches the window. Not caring about the still falling raindrops, she opens it and breathes in the fresh morning air. The woman looks admiringly at the bustling city in front of her eyes. Who needs wild medieval forests to get a taste of an adventure! It's time to prepare for work. New challenges await her as well as people who need her help and support.

Nurse Branson laughs again. Her own medieval forest. Her own healing power. Her own wonderful, wonderful knight.

On her way to the bedroom door, she gives the sleeping figure of her husband another brief, longing look. It's time to start the day. It's time to do something.

Because reality can be so, so much better than a dream.