Hi, sorry for such a long break, but for obvious reasons I needed time to be able to continue with this fic.

There will be spoilers for S3, but from 3x05 onwards it will be an AU story. Moreover, the whole story is written in accordance with the "Sybil lives" framework.

Car

1913

Tom Branson examined the car carefully – it was in a much better state than the vehicle that he had worked with at his previous place of employment. It was actually a better car overall. Maybe it won't be that bad, he sighed. Truth be told, he'd have preferred to stay in Ireland. But there was no talk about preferences when financial considerations were concerned – he needed to send some money to his Mam to Dublin (their material situation had worsened after the death of his father not long ago). Furthermore, Tom also hoped to save some money for what he called "a new life". "New life" meant doing something far more productive than driving rich people around – doing what he truly loved and at the same time contributing to improving people's lives. Poor people's lives, of course. In a way he did help to improve rich people's lives, though. But it's only temporary, he kept telling himself. I must now use my mechanic skills properly to use the other ones in the future.

The chauffeur's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of merry giggles. He turned around and saw three women approaching. It had to be her Ladyship and two of the Earl's daughters. The girls were quite good-looking, especially the younger one. This girl also seemed to be rather lively and cheerful. Pity that most probably she was also very spoilt.

Working for the Earl of Grantham was quite a challenge for Tom Branson. Mrs Delderfield was not even near as rich or as high-positioned as Lord Grantham. Nevertheless, it was only a challenge that he hoped to overcome soon. Tom Branson was not afraid of challenges; he in fact gladly took them on.

The ladies approached the car and Tom moved to help them get into the car. Out of the three women, only the youngest of them met his eyes when he held his hand out to her.

Maybe she isn't as spoilt as I thought, whispered a tiny voice in Tom's head.

Summer 1915

Tom tried to be fully focused on driving the car cautiously. It was always difficult, however, when Sybil Crawley was sitting in the backseat. It was simply incredibly hard not to turn his head back or even not to look into the car mirror. That was why he had an ambivalent attitude towards driving Sybil – on one hand, he was always happy to spend some time with her, but on the other hand he was afraid that one day he might become too distracted and put the woman he loved in a very dangerous situation.

"Branson," a quiet voice from the backseat interrupted his flow of thoughts.

"Yes, milady?"

"Can we stop for a moment?"

Tom was surprised by this request, but obeyed her wishes and parked the car at the first opportunity. Before he managed to get out of vehicle, though, Sybil had already left it.

She was staying at a patch of grass nearby, with her head directed towards the summer sky. Tom pondered for a while what to do and ultimately decided to approach her. He wasn't sure of his decision; not because he was a servant and Sybil a lady, but because she might have preferred to be alone for a moment. We're friends. She told me that herself, was the argument that finally convinced him how to deal with this situation.

When he approached his beloved, he noticed that her eyes were glassy; but she wasn't crying. She looked sad, but devoted all of her energies into not crying.

"Something's wrong, milady?" the chauffeur finally summoned the courage to ask.

The young woman hesitated with her answer for some time, but when she finally spoke, an uninterrupted flow of words came from her mouth, "It's just… I feel so powerless. More and more of my friends and acquaintances from before the war are dead. Everyone also worries about Matthew all the time. It's just… fear. I'm scared, Branson. So terribly, terribly scared. You know that I don't like things to be fixed or stable, but everything is changing too rapidly for my taste. Too rapidly."

Branson didn't know what to do or how to respond. He felt that she only needed to talk to someone and share her thoughts with a person whom she trusted. So he listened patiently and sent her signals that he heard everything that she had said. And when Lady Sybil decided to return to the car, he pressed her hand stronger than usual in an attempt to reassure the young lady of his constant support. She blushed in response, which yet again made him ponder the question that he was trying to answer for some time now, Does she feel the same about me as I feel about her? Could she be in love with me?

The car returned on the road, but its driver was again on the verge of falling into a thoughtful reverie. It was inconceivable to imagine how many times the Grantham's car was in danger of an accident because of its chauffeur's love life.

1917

It was late in the evening, but Tom Branson was still sitting at the garage instead of going to his cottage. Tom knew very well that no one would need a car at this hour, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts and his pain that he couldn't even make the smallest move. Besides, here at the garage he didn't feel so alone with his thoughts. Maybe it sounded odd, but the car was for him what dogs are for many people – a loyal non-human friend who understands but does not say anything in response.

The young man glanced into the car mirror and saw a tired, pained face. He saw a man tired of uncertainty and restlessness. The swirl of thoughts only intensified.

What should I do? Is it worth it to stay here and wait? Even if she does love me, will she ultimately go with me? Yes, I think that she does love me. I can see the clues that she's sending me. But at the same time she does not want to give me any concrete, definite answer. If she comes to me and says a definite no, I'll go. My heart will be broken, yes, but at least I'll be allowed to move forward. Now I'm in a limbo of uncertainty. Worse even, by staying here I may waste time that I could devote to some important matters… I do love my country so very much… but the truth is that I love Sybil Crawley even more. I cannot imagine my life without her. If there is even a tiny chance that she may become my wife one day… I won't waste it. My dreams and politics are important, but her love is even more important. If I have her by my side, I know that I'll be able to tackle anything; I'll be able to do anything with her at my side. It's Sybil Crawley who has motivated me even more than before to make something of myself… for her. It's because of her I'm more and more determined to pursue a writing career. Yes, I will stay here until Sybil tells me a decisive "yes" or "no"…

The last sentence was spoken loudly and directly to the unresponsive Renault. The vehicle might not have responded to its driver, but it was nonetheless a witness to Tom Branson's resolution and promise.

January 1919

The night was thankfully very, very dark; the moon was practically wholly covered by clouds. This fortunate development didn't make Tom any less nervous, though. What if they're caught? What if he is sent away to Ireland, while Sybil is persuaded to stay at Downton?

The flow of his thoughts was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. A few minutes later, Sybil Crawley appeared out of darkness. The manner of her walk was quick, but cautious. What made Tom happy, however, was that a broad smile was visible on her face even in the surrounding darkness. Finally, she approached him and ran into his arms for a quick kiss. The romantic moment couldn't last long; they had to act very quickly.

"The car is ready, milady," murmured Tom against Sybil's lips.

"Tom, really…"

"Shh, my darling, I'm only teasing you"

"I know, but it's not time for any teasing. We must go."

Tom knew that she was perfectly right. Suddenly, something urgent struck him; something that he hadn't thought of before.

"Sybil… well… Will you ride in the backseat or in the front?" the young man inquired in an oddly nervous voice.

"I will ride in the front besides you, of course," his fiancée answered nonchalantly; for her this issue didn't require any consideration and she was actually surprised that Tom brought it up. "Oh and I can get into the car myself," she added.

Tom responded with a small smile, "No. I want to help you. It will give me an opportunity to hold your hand once more."

Sybil nodded in agreement and held out her hand to him, grinning.

Soon Lord Grantham's Renault entered the road to a new life.

Spring 1920

It was such an odd experience – not only to ride in the Crawleys' car as a passenger, but also to ride in the Crawleys' car that wasn't his familiar Renault. He would have felt better if he had been carried by that old friend. He looked briefly at Sybil – she was nervous too, but at the same time excited and happy to see her family. He, on the other hand, wasn't excited or happy in the slightest.

The car finally pulled up and Tom got out first to assist his wife.

He saw the wedding band glistening on her finger. He saw her broad smile.

A sudden wave of warm comfort spread throughout his body.