"The Proposal"

Prompt by mimijag (and as a birthday present! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIMI!)

Prompt: the York proposal retold...where SYBIL is the one who initiates it

Rating: K

"I envy you, milady…"

Sybil looked up at the family chauffeur and the man whom she had come to think of as a very dear friend, her eyes curious at the words he had spoken. "You do?" she asked.

Branson nodded, smiling as he looked around their setting, taking in all the buildings, the old stone, the ivy growing and twisting on its walls…

"I always wanted to go to University, but never had the chance," he sighed.

Sybil blushed and found herself looking down at her feet. Sometimes she forgot about the differences of their upbringings and backgrounds, and the certain "luxuries" that men of his class were denied.

But they shouldn't be luxuries, they should be rights!

"Perhaps you'll go someday? After the War?" she murmured, her voice full of hope. She still remembered that first conversation between the both of them very well. Indeed, he wouldn't always be a chauffeur; she had always believed that.

"Maybe…" he answered, though he didn't sound as convinced. She frowned at this. She hated hearing discouragement in his voice.

They passed through several stone arches, him carrying her suitcases for her as they searched for the building that would be her dormitory. Along the way they passed a group of soldiers who were going through a basic calisthenics routine, however Sybil was quick to notice that these were men recovering from various injuries…some without eyes, some without limbs. Yes, stepping away from Downton she truly was witnessing the atrocities of the War and the effect it was leaving on the men who fought, both physically, and mentally. All the more reason she was determined to not live the sheltered life of a "Lady", but to do something that would make a difference, to do "real work", and thanks to her cousin Isobel, she had found an answer, by coming up to York to train for the next two months as an auxiliary nurse.

Still…despite that determination, she was still feeling rather nervous.

After all, this was a huge change for her! She had never gone somewhere completely on her own, where she didn't know one person from another. She had never shared a room, she had never had to look after herself without the help of a housemaid, and she had never gone to school, either. All of her lessons had been taught by governesses, and those lessons had been rather pitiful in Sybil's eyes. Yes…now as she and Branson found the archway that would lead into her dormitory, it all suddenly hit Sybil about how quickly her life was changing.

…And suddenly those thoughts she had been wrestling with for many months now, came crashing back.

Two months. You'll be away for two long months! You should say something, you need to say something!

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry these upstairs for you?" he asked, setting her suitcases down. They weren't that heavy, but at the same time he didn't want her to struggle up the steps and dragging her suitcases with her.

"No, no, I'll be fine," she murmured, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Tell him…TELL HIM!

"Are you nervous?"

She looked up at him and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Is it that obvious?" she blushed.

He chuckled, that wonderful warm, rich sound that always seemed to soothe her whenever she heard it.

"You'll be fine, milady," he said with a smile that was even warmer than his gentle laugh. "If anyone can do this, it's you."

Sybil felt her heart melt a little at his words. Did he believe in her the way she believed in him? He certainly seemed to be the only person, outside of her cousin, that supported her wish to train to be a nurse.

"I know it can be difficult at first," he continued. "Letting go of that 'last link of home'," he chuckled, pointing at himself. "I felt the same way when I was saying goodbye to my brother in Liverpool, just after coming to England."

He was always so good to her; trying his best to ease her anxieties, speaking to her as his equal, not his "superior". She loved that about him, loved the friendship she had with him, loved how they could talk to each other, she loved…she loved…

She loved.

SHE LOVED!

"Will it be hard for you?" she interrupted his monologue, her eyes desperately searching his.

He looked confused. "For me, milady?"

"You said it would hard for me, to let you go as you are my 'last link of home'…but…but I'm curious if it will be hard for you? To let me go?"

He looked down at her, she prayed that he could read her emotion in her eyes. These were not new feelings; these were emotions she had been battling for a long time, perhaps going so far back as to when he first gave her those pamphlets about women and the vote. The truth was, for many years she had been harboring a crush on the Downton chauffeur. They had grown close, the two of them, from discussing politics, to sharing favorite books, to him even going so far as to show her how an engine worked, especially after her sister Edith began taking driving lessons. They had shared stories about their childhoods, stories about each other's families, and Sybil soon found herself daydreaming of Ireland, of sharing a home and building a life with the Downton chauffeur.

She was in love with Tom Branson. And she needed him to know.

"Milady?"

She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and gazed up at him with wide eyes. "Tom…?"

His own eyes widened at the familiar way she spoke his name. Indeed, this was the first time she had ever spoken it.

"You'll think me mad, but I pray that you'll hear me out," she began, trying to ease her nerves before taking a deep breath. "The thing is…I…" she glanced up at him and held his gaze. "I've told myself and told myself, over these past few years, that…that such things aren't possible…because society sees me as being 'above you', but…but the world is changing, Tom!" She reached out for his hands and grasped them in her own. "I've always believed in you; I know you want to be more than a chauffeur and I know that you will be! You'll achieve whatever you wish, be that attending University some day or going into politics! And you won't be alone! Because I'll make something of myself too—"

"I know you will," he interrupted, and Sybil's heart felt so warmed by his words that she rushed through the rest.

"Then bet on me!" she laced their gloved fingers together, not caring if anyone saw them.

Tom's eyes went even wider. "Milady—"

"Sybil, please," she insisted, although she could feel her courage slipping away. Oh God, the way he was looking at her, the graveness in his eyes.

"Sybil…" he indulged her by saying her name, but the way he said did little to lift her sinking spirits. "What about your family?" he asked her, his eyes lowering to the ground. "You honestly think they'll support the idea of you…and…and me…?"

So he did realize what it was she was asking of him. "I…" she tried desperately to regain some of that courage she started with. "I'm not afraid," she told him, squeezing his hands. "I mean…" she hated saying this, but it was in fact, a possibility that needed to be spoken. "I mean…even if they do cast me off for following my heart, it won't be forever! They'll come around, I know it! And…and even if they don't, I…I…" he was looking at her again, and she thought her heart might break at the pain she saw in his eyes…and felt his hands slip from hers.

He's going to reject me.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she spoke the next words in a shaky whisper. "And I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness…"

Nothing. Her words were met with silence.

You're a fool; he doesn't love you. He was kind to you, he may have even thought of you as his friend, but he doesn't return your feelings. He thinks you're a foolish girl, a foolish posh girl who's going through a phase right now; who's young and naïve and full of ideals, but not enough common sense! And maybe he's right! Because if I did have any common sense, maybe I wouldn't have laid my heart out there for him and the world to trample on, right here…in an archway in York.

"Please don't say it," she whispered.

He lifted his eyes, his brow creased with confusion. "Say what?"

Oh please don't make me say it…

"That you're 'terribly flattered'," she muttered under her breath.

There was another pause, before he asked, "Why would you think I would say that?"

She sighed and shook her head, wishing the earth would swallow her up. "I don't know," she muttered. "Maybe you wouldn't; it always seems to be something that 'posh people say' when they're getting ready to say 'no'."

The corners of his lips began to curl up at her explanation, but she lifted her eyes to his and that smile quickly faded.

"Please don't make fun of me," she whispered, trying to control her tears, even though it was no use. She could only imagine how swollen and pink and puffy her cheeks and eyes and nose looked. "It may seem hard to believe, but…but it's cost me all I've got to say those things…"

She sniffled several times, closing her eyes and trying to keep her sobs at bay. Oh what a fool she was. What a stupid, little—

"Sybil…"

She felt her body freeze at the way he spoke her name. It was unlike the last time, when he had spoken her name and it sounded like he was simply doing so because she had asked him to. But this time sounded much more…genuine. Still, that didn't mean—

A quick intake of breath escaped her lips as she felt his gloved hand touch her cheek. Now she had to open her eyes and look up at him. And when she did, the look she saw on his face was quite the opposite of what looked so pained and hopeless a few minutes ago.

He had removed his cap…and his leather-clad fingers were tenderly stroking her cheek. There was still something uncertain in his gaze, but at the same time, he looked…pleased?

Am I imagining things? Is this simply what I want to believe? Because earlier he didn't say anything; he just stood there and…and…

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her, his voice, soft and kind, interrupting her thoughts.

Sybil's eyes studied his face so closely, her own blue gaze locked deeply with his own. "Because…" she took a deep breath. "Because you're my best friend, the only person who seems to completely understand me, and whether it was over a conversation about politics, or while watching you work in the garage, but…somewhere in the midst of all those conversations and times spent together, I…I…" say it! "I fell in love with you," she murmured the words at long last. "And I can't imagine spending my life with any other—I know that I couldn't. And…and…and I know it's sudden, and I apologize for that, but I assure you, just because my announcement is sudden doesn't mean my feelings are! They have been growing for quite some time, but…but standing here just now, I…I had to tell you, because…because I want to, and I can't bear the thought that something may happen before I return; that you'll be called up and I'll never have the chance to tell you what's in my heart!"

She found herself leaning into his touch as she felt his fingers tenderly stroke the skin of her cheek.

"It won't be easy," he murmured, and Sybil felt her toes curl, both at the way he spoke, and at the hope that was rising in her heart. He hadn't said no, he wasn't saying no! "I'm just a working class lad, an Irish republican, a Catholic—"

"I know, and I love that about you," she urged, taking a bold step forward and placing her hands on his chest, hearing a sudden intake of breath go through him at their new closeness, as well as her intimate touch. "And I'm an aristocrat, an Englishwoman, an Anglican…but, Tom, it comes down to whether or not you love me! That's all, that's it! The rest is detail."

Details. That was what the world would look for in trying to tell the both of them that this was wrong, that such a relationship shouldn't exist between the pair of them. Those naysayers would miss the bigger picture, the obvious reason why she and Tom Branson were perfect for one another: because they were equals, to sides of the same coin, so to speak. He was her second-self, the other half of her heart, mind, and soul. He was her love.

"What if I ask for you to wait?" he asked after another pause. "Just be sure? What if I ask for you to wait for me to make my decision?"

"Then I'd wait," she answered without hesitation.

"It could be a while," he warned her. "I may ask you to wait until the War is over…"

She held his gaze. "I'd wait forever."

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes moving back and forth from hers, to her lips, which were parted in hopeful anticipation.

"I'm not asking for forever," he murmured to her, a small smile spreading at the corners of his mouth, and Sybil held her breath has his head descended…and she felt the gentle brush of his lips against her brow.

It wasn't rejection, though he hadn't given her an answer. But it was far from rejection. If anything…it was hope. He was giving her hope. And she loved him for it.

"You should best be going inside," he told her, his eyes moving to the door just over her shoulder.

Yes, she knew he was right, but she didn't want to leave him. "Will you write to me?" she whispered, her voice shaky as she tried with all her might not to start crying again.

He smiled at her question. "Only if you write back."

This earned a smile from her and she nodded her head…before bending down to retrieve her own suitcases, and looking back up at him, committing his face, his eyes, everything about him to memory, to help her get through the long weeks ahead, and to give her strength when she needed it.

The training course was not easy. And there were days when she found herself wondering if perhaps she had been foolish to come? But in those dark moments, a letter from Downton, bearing Tom's name always seemed to arrive, and he would bring her news about the house, as well as tell her how he was thinking of her, knowing that despite the hardships she faced, she would overcome them and prove to the world what she was capable of. His faith in her gave her strength, and she would tell him so in her own letters, while also proudly sharing with him all that she was learning, and how, more than ever, she was certain that the life she had grown up in was not the life she wanted to have a future in.

And then finally, the day came when her time in York was over, and she had "graduated" with a certificate of appreciation and high marks given by all her teachers and hospital superiors. And after she gave hugs to the friends she had made, she stood with her suitcases on a lonely cobbled lane, chewing her bottom lip in anticipation, waiting for the Downton chauffeur to arrive, her heart beating faster and faster with each passing second.

…And then the car appeared around the corner.

And Sybil felt her throat go dry.

Despite the letters they had been exchanging, what if things had changed? What if the hope he had given her was no more? What if he didn't want to remain at Downton, but return to Ireland because he missed it so, as he had sometimes told her in her letters?

The car stopped in front of her, and he leapt out and greeted her with a warm smile, before going about the task of loading her suitcases as he would do because it was his duty. There weren't many people around them, but still…perhaps he didn't want to say anything now to her?

She swallowed and climbed into the car, and Tom got behind the wheel and started it up once again, turning over his shoulder and asking her to tell him about all that had happened between now and the last letter he had received. Sybil swallowed and tried to do her best, telling herself not to be disappointed, that this was good that they were talking so easily. And she had meant what she had said all those weeks ago: she would wait forever.

They had just left the city when Sybil realized that the car was slowing down. Was something wrong? "Tom?" she asked, leaning close to speak over his shoulder, concern in her voice. Was it one of the tires? Was it—

Her thoughts were lost when he suddenly turned, and before she realized what was happening…he was kissing her, his hands reaching for her cheek, one curling behind her neck, cradling the back of her head, while the other stroked her face, his lips urgent and smooth and warm and wonderful…so, so wonderful…

Sybil was gasping when the kiss finally ended, her eyes hazy as she looked up at him in surprise.

"I love you too," he moaned against her cheek as his brow came to rest against her forehead. "And…whenever you're ready to travel to travel, milady…I'll be your ticket."

Sybil's eyes fluttered open as his words washed over her. "Even if it means waiting until the War is over?" she asked.

"Even then," he assured her, his nose brushing alongside hers. "I'll not give you up, milady."

She found herself grinning at that.

"I do want to make something of myself," he told her. "And…I've been thinking about writing…"

Her eyes widened slightly, but her smile spread even further. "Writing, like politics, is a fine ambition, I think."

He smiled at that and ran his fingers along her cheek. "Oh Sybil…" he sighed, and as before, her toes curled at the sound. He loved her. He loved her just as much as she loved him. And he wanted to be with her, to spend the rest of his life with her, just as she did too! They would forge this new path together, she as a nurse, and he as a writer. They would turn their dreams into realities.

She tilted her head just so, yearning to feel his lips again. However, he paused and Sybil opened her eyes to look up at him. "There's just one slight problem," he sighed.

"Oh?"

He nodded, and she blushed at the teasing light she saw in his eyes. "We'll have to wait until everything is settled."

Her blush grew even darker at his meaning, and a warm rush spread throughout her body.

"So…will you be satisfied with just kissing for now?" he teased.

Sybil wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling him closer. "For now, Branson…God knows it's enough that I can kiss you."

He was still grinning as his lips once again met hers, and the two of them melted together again.