Clearly, as this is an AU, I'm playing around with certain things that happened in S2, meaning playing around with *when* certain things happened, i.e. William and Matthew's injuries took place much earlier, than when they took place on the show. Just sharing that so things will *hopefully* still make sense! Thanks again for reading!


Chapter Four

"…So you didn't kiss her?"

Tom was shaken by William's question, or rather by the bluntness of the question. He wasn't used to hearing William be so forward.

"No," Tom answered, a little affronted that he would be asked such thing after telling his story.

"Didn't you want to kiss her?"

Lord in heaven! An ironic phrase, he quickly realized. Tom closed his eyes and lifted his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. No point in lying; not now, not anymore. "Aye," he finally answered.

William nodded at this. "…So why didn't you?"

Tom's eyes widened in surprise. How…how could William ask him that? Hadn't he just heard his story? "She was upset! And after what happened to her, it would have been the worst time to…to…"

"What did she say to you?"

Tom looked at William in confusion. "What?"

"When you told her you thought that 'the man who kisses her will be a lucky man'…what did she say? How did she respond?"

Tom felt his face burn brightly at the question. He looked down at his feet on the muddy ground. "She didn't say anything, she…blushed, smiled, perhaps murmured 'goodnight' once again, and then…then she was gone."

William simply nodded his head, and looked as if he were deeply contemplating something. He then turned back to Tom and asked, without preamble, "Were you in love with her then?"

As much as Tom had missed William and was glad to see him once again, he wasn't sure he liked this new side of him, where he had no inhibitions about what questions to ask.

"Well?"

Isn't it obvious? Tom sighed and nodded his head. "Aye," he whispered, and then remembering what he had said to Mr. Carson, to Lord Grantham, he lifted his head and stuck his chin out and repeated, "Aye." I have no shame; I have great pride in the love of that young woman and I shall strive to be worthy of it.

William smiled at that. "And…do you still love her? Are you still in love with her?"

Tom's face softened and tears began to blur his vision as he thought of his sweet Sybil…and how he would never see her again. "Aye," he whispered, just barely swallowing the lump in his throat.

William nodded again. "So then what happened? Did Lady Sybil tell someone about the odious Mr. Grey?"

Tom sighed. "I'm not sure; I like to think that she did. He didn't come back to Downton for a long time."

At this William lifted an eyebrow. "But he did come back?"

Tom's jaw tightened at the memory. "Aye," he all but growled.

Again, William just nodded, as if he already knew this, before continuing, "Well, before we discuss that, tell me…what happened next?"

What happened next…

Tom looked back at William and a deep sadness filled his eyes. William blinked and then made the realization. "Ah…that."

Tom nodded, though he couldn't help himself with also adding, "That, and…and my cousin."

William frowned. "Your cousin?"

Tom nodded. "He was killed during the Easter Rising; shot by soldiers because they thought he 'was probably a rebel', even though he didn't have a political bone in his body," he bitterly spat. "He died a few days before…" he glanced at William and lowered his eyes.

William simply nodded his head in understanding. "Tell me about those days…please?"

He didn't really want to, but what else was there to do? This was Purgatory, and all anyone could do was…wait. And he was supposed to be helping William with "guiding him" on where next to go, though at this point, Tom wondered if it mattered at all.

Even heaven would feel like hell without Sybil…


April, 1916
Downton Abbey

God, his head hurt. His entire body was stiff and sore from having fallen asleep in the rickety kitchen chair, the table holding a brunt of his weight, the empty whiskey bottle still clutched in his fingers. He ached and hurt all over, but nothing compared to the pounding in his head…

No…that wasn't his head that was pounding…that was someone at his…door?

Tom squinted his eyes as he looked out a nearby window. It was early morning judging from the birds singing, but it was still dark. Too dark for anyone from the big house wanting him to drive them somewhere (and just as well, since he was in no condition to drive) but…had something happened? He rose, stumbling practically, not caring that the kitchen chair had fallen backwards, and stumbled towards the cottage door, taking a brief look at his appearance to make sure he was "presentable" if it were Mr. Carson, then without further thought, turned the lock and opened the door—

Tom's eyes widened at the sight of the person standing on his doorstep. Suddenly, he became very self-conscious of how he looked. "M-m-m-milady," he stammered, looking at Sybil.

She was…good God, she was standing there, in her dressing gown! Was this is a dream? Surely it was; how many times had he dreamt of her coming to him like this? Or finding her in his cottage, her arms outstretched, telling him she loved him, begging him to kiss her, take her to bed, make love to her, marry her—

"I'm sorry to wake you," she apologized, bringing him back to the present. "But…you weren't there and you have a right to know."

A right to know? And what did she mean "he wasn't there"? His head was foggy from drink and the pounding had returned with a vengeance. "I…I'm sorry, milady, I don't understand—"

"We received a telegram," Sybil interrupted. "About Cousin Matthew."

Tom stiffened. He could only imagine one outcome.

"He's not dead!" Sybil was quick to add, though despite the hope in her voice, he could see worry and fear in her eyes. "He's…he's been injured, but to what extent, we're not sure. But he's coming back to Downton, and…and so is William, at least I believe William is coming back…I hope he will…" her voice started to trail off, sounding more and more doubtful.

Tom was confused. "William? Why…why is he…?"

"We don't know the details," she continued. "The telegram didn't say much, but…but I believe William was injured as well…" she bit her lip and Tom thought he saw something shimmer in her eyes. "I…I fear it's very bad."

Very bad; that could mean anything. It could mean that he lost an arm, a leg, a hand, an eye…it could mean that he was permanently scarred or he would never walk again…it could mean any number of things…

It could mean that he was dying.

"I thought you should know…I didn't see you amongst the staff when Carson brought them into the library, and I know that you and William got along fairly well—"

"Aye," Tom whispered, feeling completely drained. "Thank you."

Sybil studied him for a moment, causing him to squirm uncomfortably. "…Branson, is everything alright—?"

"Fine," he muttered, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check. She tried to look past him, but he purposefully moved his body so as to block her view of the kitchen that just lay beyond…and the empty whiskey bottle he had left there.

…And the crumpled telegram he had received from his brother.

"Branson, I…if there's anything I can—"

"Best be getting back, milady, before someone sees you out here."

His tone was cold and a bit harsh, but right now he wanted more than anything to be left alone. He was sad for William, yes; he was even sad for Mr. Matthew. But he knew the bad news in regards to them would overshadow anything personal. And why wouldn't it? Who was his cousin to the rest of them? Just some unknown, unnamed stranger. And Tom had learned long ago that when working in service, one's personal life (and troubles) always took second place to what was happening connected to the family one served, and the house which they served.

She mumbled something to him, but he didn't hear. He simply nodded his head and then shut the door, before returning to his kitchen and gazing down once again at the crumpled telegram. Two wars were raging on either side of Britain's shores. One was larger, and involved a great many countries and armies. That was the war he was completely against, a war he wanted nothing to do with, yet he couldn't escape it. Everywhere he went, there signs of that war's existence, be it the form of posters calling for Englishmen to "do their part for king and country", or wounded soldiers, coming in and out of the hospital…a place that the car was driving to a much more frequent basis, as he was taking Sybil there quite often. She was volunteering and trying to help Mrs. Crawley quite a bit, needing—desiring to do something more, than simply what was expected of "earl's daughters" during such times.

And then there was the other war, a smaller war, but one that he would argue had been raging for far longer. The battlefields for this war were on a smaller scale, and it was between two lands, not multiple ones, but unlike the greater war, this was one he did support, one he wished—yearned for, even, to be a part of, in some way. And yet unlike the other, there was very little news about it, and hardly any signs of its existence, unless you looked very carefully, and even then, it was completely one-sided…and not for the side Tom wished to know.

Why are you still here? Perhaps now, more than ever, you should hand in your notice and return to Ireland, to be a part of her struggle and do your part!

But if he left, he knew he wouldn't be coming back. And…that would mean having to say goodbye…to her.

Was he ready to do that?

He was wrong, there were three wars happening right now, and this third war wasn't between nations or governments, but it was completely inside himself. And yet it seemed to rage the loudest, as one part of him argued that nothing would ever happen, that she was too far above him, that he was mad to even think she think and feel the same way as he did, while the other part of him screamed that he hadn't even tried; that he needed to tell her, that he needed to let her know what was in his heart and just…take a leap of faith.

But it didn't matter; all that, everything, was going to be overshadowed over the next few days and weeks as the house and everyone inside it, focused on William and Mr. Matthew's return.

And he wasn't wrong, because that was exactly what happened. Two days later, both men returned to Downton, Mr. Matthew to the hospital while William was brought back to the house.

Their injuries were indeed, very bad. Mr. Matthew had suffered some sort of spinal injury, and the odds of him ever being able to walk again looked extremely slim. During the days that followed, it wasn't Sybil, but a different Crawley sister to whom Tom drove back and forth from the hospital, as Lady Mary became a sort of "permanent nurse" to Mr. Matthew. Sybil stayed at the house, taking on the position of a nurse for William, doing everything she could to make sure he was comfortable and feeling as little pain as possible, because…because that was all they could do for him.

Everyone was quiet and somber around the house, waiting on tenterhooks for the sad, inevitable announcement of the former footman's passing. Tom was sad for William as well, but when Mrs. Hughes found him in the Servant's Hall, staring down into a cold cup of tea, silent tears running down his face, she patted his shoulder and said, "I know, lad, I know; he's dear to us all, our sweet William."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't William who he was crying for, and he felt wretched that he wasn't, as William was there, under the same roof, while he hadn't seen his cousin for years. And in his own way, wasn't William "family" too? But he was angry that he couldn't "properly" mourn for his cousin, or at least he felt that he couldn't. And so he thought it best for everyone, himself included, that he just stay away, keep to his cottage, and only emerge for the purposes of work, but that was all.

The following day, the inevitable finally happened. And it was Sybil again, who came to deliver the message.

"…Branson?"

He was leaning over an open bonnet when he heard her voice. He lifted his head and saw that her cheeks were pink, puffy, and wet.

"William?" he whispered.

Sybil nodded.

Tom didn't say anything...he silently nodded his head, but didn't say anything. He didn't trust his voice, to be honest.

They both stood in silence for a long moment, each of them looking at some spot on the floor. And then, without warning…sobs began to rack his body. Because even though William was his own person, for some reason, his death felt like the loss of his cousin all over again.

He turned his head away, but she had seen already. She gasped and he even though he wasn't looking at her, he heard her move towards him, and murmur, "Branson—" but he moved away, around the car to keep some distance between them.

"Go away, milady," he gasped between his sobs, his hands reaching out to grip the edges of the Renault's bonnet.

"You don't need to feel ashamed—"

"GO AWAY!" he roared, startling them both because he hadn't shouted like that at anyone in a long time. He looked at her, immediately feeling sorry for having raised his voice, but he couldn't help it, nor could he stop crying. How could she—how could anyone understand what he was feeling right now? This mix of shame, guilt, sorrow, anger, this longing to be left alone to grieve on his own, while at the same time he yearned for a touch of human kindness and a sympathetic ear to hear his troubles? And despite the words he had roared, he managed to gasp at last, "my cousin is dead."

Sybil's eyes widened. He half expected her to look upon piteously, or to say something that most people would say in such a situation: "oh I'm so sorry…" But instead, she asked, "When?"

"The Easter Rising," he whispered, after taking a deep breath. "He was walking down North King's Street when he was shot." The sobs threatened to burst all over again. "He…he…he wasn't even fighting!"

His body bent over, and his shoulders shook as he cried anew.

He hadn't realized she was there…until he felt the weight of her body pressing against his back. He stiffened momentarily as he realized…she was holding him. But she didn't loosen her arms, he kept them wrapped around him, and just held him, not saying anything further, not filling his ears with the sympathetic words, just…being there, as he grieved.

And he did grieve. He grieved for both his cousin and William, and he grieved for all the men who had lost their lives in both of these wars. And she grieved with him. And how long they stood like that, he wasn't sure. But after that day he knew he couldn't leave Downton, not without saying something to her, not without telling her how he felt.

War continued to rage in Ireland and on the Continent. But the war within himself was over.