Pretty much picking up right where the last one left off (from before Christmas to now after). Thanks again for the response! I'm glad you liked some flirty!Bransons because you'll see a bit more of that (but also some impending plot too! Don't blink! You might miss it!) :oP Again, this is a bit longer than 1000 words *sigh* but thank you for putting up with it ;o) Hope you enjoy and thank you again for reading, following, and sharing your thoughts!

Prompt: "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"

January 1917

When she first came home for Christmas after spending nearly two months in York, Sybil had prepared herself for what she thought would be an onslaught of questions on how her courses were going, what it was like to be at the college, even questions asking her about how she was managing without the aid of a maid to help her get dressed.

But there was none of that. If anything, her family acted as if they were blissfully unaware.

This past Christmas, history repeated itself. While there were questions asking if she was alright, it was quickly established by her parents and grandmother that any talk about the brutality of war or what it was like simply being a nurse over there, was not welcome discussion (the excuse being that this was "Christmas", a time to focus on positive things, such as "peace on earth").

And just like that first Christmas when she came home from York…she finds herself glad when it's time to go back.

Her mother weeps and hugs her and murmurs into her hair over and over, "my baby, my baby!" before turning to Matthew and begging him to keep her safe, and only when he promises for a third time that he will, does her mother release her hold on her.

They mean well, she knows this. But Sybil can't help but feel, yet again, that they don't really understand her.

She prides herself on not getting sick when they make the return journey. And she's barely stepped off the lorry before Sister Agatha is shouting orders at her. Ah, it's good to be back.

Tom Bellasis is the first face she sees upon reentering the hospital tent, and she can't deny, a sense of relief washes over her at the sight of him.

"Sybil!" he gasps, and then coughs and corrects himself. "Nurse Crawley."

She smiles and greets in return, "Capt. Bellasis."

He grins. "How was your Christmas?"

She knows the details of her holiday aren't the real reason to why he asked that question, and so gives him the answer she believes he's been longing to hear. "I did pay a visit like you asked. Your parents are in fine form, and Imogen is engaged!"

His eyes widen in shock. "What!? To who?"

"Lord Calhoun," Sybil answers, and does her best to bite back her laugh at the face her friend makes.

"But he's ANCIENT!?"

"He's only fifty—"

"And Imogen is barely twenty!"

"She's twenty-one now, and from what I could see—"

"Wait," he stops her. "You met him? He was there!?"

Sybil nods. "Yes, and your sister seemed quite happy, if I do say so myself."

He looks back at her, still surprised by this recent bit of news and just shakes his head, before mumbling, "Well, one of us should be, I suppose."

Sybil's brow furrows at his words, but she's quickly distracted when she spies a nurse taking a crate full of supplies to the ambulance, and she immediately volunteers to carry them there for her, ignoring the questioning looks she can feel from both the nurse and Capt. Bellasis.

She's seen one Tom upon her return. And…she cannot deny, she is rather eager to see the other.

During her journey back, Sybil has been playing this reunion over and over in her mind: what she'll say to him, if she'll dare "flirt back" with him, and so on. As the ambulance comes into view, she starts to wonder about how he'll react at seeing her. Will he be happy? Will he joke and tease? Will he—

"I can't do this—I have to get out of here!"

"Calm down."

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE!"

She freezes at the sound of the voices (both with Irish accents), and presses her back against one side of the ambulance, not wanting to make her presence known or interrupt their "conversation".

"I know that they'll shoot you for desertion!" a voice hisses. Branson's voice.

The other Irishman is unfamiliar to her, and Sybil feels her heart breaking at the sound of his tears.

Branson's voice softens…and though she can't see him, she imagines him putting his hands on the shoulders of his companion in a gesture that's meant to be comforting. "Hey…we'll get through this…we will…just…" he sighs. "Just promise me, you're not going to do anything stupid!"

She can't understand the words that the other man mutters, but she does hear his footsteps, and so she quickly moves away from the ambulance in an attempt to not look like she's been there this whole time, eavesdropping on another man's conversation—

"Hey."

She gasps, and looks over her shoulder…and her eyes catch those of the man she was coming to see.

He's smiling at her…and she can't deny, her stomach does a little somersault.

"You're back."

She swallows and nods her head, wondering how red her face has become. "I…these are for you," she thrusts the crate towards him and he quickly takes it.

Their fingers brush, just for a moment. But it feels like an electric shock.

"Did you have a pleasant Christmas?" Lord, her voice sounds like a squeak.

His smile is strained. "As pleasant as it could be in a place like this," he mutters, but shakes his head and tries to sound lighter. "And you? Did you 'dance the night away' with the chauffeur?"

It's rather comical, imagining herself dancing with poor old Taylor. "No, there was no ball. Besides, he wouldn't have danced with me anyway."

He puts on a mocked expression. "Do you mean to tell me that Lady Sybil has two left feet?"

She gasps, and then actually reaches out to swat him, causing him to throw his head back and laugh.

"That's Nurse Crawley to you! And I happen to dance very well, I bet I could dance circles around you!"

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Is that a challenge?"

Oh hell.

"I'll have you know I was 'a favorite' at the various church dances."

Lord, he is frightfully full of himself. "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?" she groans.

"Nah, you're not getting away that easy, milady," he teases. "Come on, 'dance circles around me', or better yet," he offers her his hand. "Prove to me that you don't have two left feet."

Oh God…did he just…? Oh it would serve him right if she did just stomp on his feet, but…the thought of taking his hand, and being pulled closer to him, while his other hand wraps around her waist…

Her heart is suddenly racing.

"NURSE CRAWLEY!" Sister Agatha's voice booms, causing Sybil to jump. "Stop flirting with Branson! You have patients to see to!"

Oh why can't the earth swallow her up? She doesn't even dare to look at him; she just turns on her heel to return to the hospital—

"Nurse Crawley…"

Despite her better judgment, she does pause…and she does look over her shoulder back at him.

His smile is kind, and there's no trace of teasing. "It's good to have you back."

To be continued...