A Fool's Errand
By: piperholmes
A/N Thank you so very much for the reviews on the last chapter. It felt like a sweet home coming among friends! HUGS to you all! And Hello to those who have found this story for the first time. Your words of encouragement and observation on plot and characters are treasured! Onwards.
Unbeta'd
Tom Branson was a man who felt things keenly.
He could be rigid and cold, but only in an effort to hide how much he was truly feeling. He was an enthusiastic supporter of change and progression, but sought for it through justice. Joining in the war effort as an ambulance driver had seemed a way to live in two worlds: peace and war.
He had expected blood and death, but he hadn't expected how deeply it would stain him. He hadn't expected the broken cries of young boys who were afraid to die. He hadn't expected to see the laughter fade from their eyes. He hadn't expected the way their dreams and hopes for the future would haunt him, how easily he would forget their names and faces and how heavily that guilt would weigh on him.
"You're a lucky one," they'd told him when they pulled him from the rubble, the whistling of the shell still warning in his ears, and he'd nearly vomited.
Lucky.
He'd been ashamed of his relief at being sent back to London to recover. He'd not suffered the worst of war he knew, but he'd been on the edge of his endurance, and with the threat of losing his leg hanging over him, he'd felt a darkness gripping him, cutting all possible escape.
And that's when he'd met her.
She had been a spark of life in the graveyard of his world.
It wasn't that she was beautiful—she was, the most beautiful woman he'd probably ever met—but she had smiled at him, a full, bright, happy smile and he'd smiled back. She smiled at every one. There wasn't a boy on their floor that wouldn't perhaps overplay his pain a little in the hope that Nurse Crawley would fluff his pillow and smile at him, and speak words of comfort in her raspy voice.
Tom had met a few boys like her in the army, people who could witness some of life's worst and most horrific offerings, and still find something to hold onto, something to be happy about, something to believe in. It wasn't a quality Tom had ever held in much esteem, until now.
She was kind to everyone, and he'd known he wasn't anyone special, but he didn't care. He looked forward to her visits everyday, he relished their time together, to tease her into laughter or provoke her into passion—a passion that mirrored his own. But they had grown closer, she began spending more time with him, helping him to walk about and exercise, squeezing his arm encouragingly, sneaking him an extra chocolate pudding, but he'd never dared hope it would blossom into anything more than a friendship, a memory he would treasure and keep safe.
And then he'd married her.
He was mad.
A secret wedding to a woman he hardly knew who was pregnant with another man's baby and whose father was an Earl.
That shell must have scrambled his brain along with his leg.
He hadn't meant to get so angry with her but she had managed to get under his skin, scrapping at the wounds that had barely scabbed over. He hated war and he hated being reminded that he was in competition with a ghost.
"Tom?"
Her voice startled him, causing him to whip around, wincing at the strain he put on his leg before he realized the action was a reflex, that the pain didn't come.
"Your leg," she said, rushing to him, reaching to steady him.
"It's fine," he spit out, waving off her hands. He had come outside, the bitter wind whipping about them. He'd not bothered to grab a coat, being too hot under the collar, and had welcomed the biting cold, but he supposed he should have known she'd come looking for him. It was who she was.
"You're angry with me," she said finally, wanting to fill the silence that had fallen between them. "And that's understandable."
"You had no right to say those things to me," he accused sharply. "I know it makes me a coward, but I have no desire to rush back to war Sybil. Not now."
"Now?" she questioned.
He sighed. "I'd finally reconciled my fate in this war. Being pulled from the wreckage did something to me. It took away some of the fear I think. I came close to dying and it suddenly didn't seem so daunting. But then I met you and now everything is so much harder. You—you make me feel so damned happy Sybil, and it scares the hell out of me."
"You never said," she offered weakly.
"Well I'm saying it now."
"I don't think it makes you a coward," she said carefully, looking up at him through her lashes, "not wanting to die. I never should have said those things."
Tom merely huffed in agreement, his breath a smoky puff.
"I was angry and I'm afraid I took it out on you. Dr. Turner, he knows about the baby, Edna told him, and I've been dismissed."
Tom's gaze flew to hers, his eyes wide, his own feelings forgotten. "What? They've sacked you?"
She nodded, her eyes filling, but she continued, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Yes, effective immediately. But they ar—are allowing me to stay at the hospital if—if that is what—"
Her words faltered and Tom didn't hesitate, pulling her quickly into his arms. She was cold and shivering, despite the coat she wore, and he felt a heel.
The slight pressure on his forearms brought him up short as her hands moved to grip them, even as her control over her emotions began to slip. "No. Wait. I need to say this," she pleaded, her nose and cheeks growing red. "I realize I wasn't at my best earlier—"
"Not at your best?" He interrupted, surprised at how easily his anger and frustration with her had fled in the face of her distress. "Sybil, you'd had a shock, suffered a devastating disappointment. It's alright to say that you felt hurt and lost. It's alright to say you were angry. You don't have to try and pretty it up or lessen what you were feeling."
She hesitated, her glassy eyes reflecting the pale sunlight of the wintery day.
He tugged her behind a large tree that two weeks ago had been a seemingly insurmountable distance to his battered and aching leg, but she had walked with him, refused to let him give in, to give up. Her calm reassurance and patience had motivated him to keep going, and her delighted laugh had been his reward.
"Look," he began again, once they had been afforded some privacy. "You don't have to be so…so…"
"What?"
"So damned lady like all the time," he burst out.
Her eyes grew wide and he very nearly regretted his words until he saw a glimmer of amusement in her blue depths.
"Alright," she said slowly. "I was angry."
He almost laughed himself.
"Come on. You can do better than that," he prompted lightly.
"I was…furious." Her grip on his forearms tightened.
"Yes," he said simply.
"I was angry that Edna broke my confidence."
"What else?" he pressed.
She looked at him, but he could tell her sight was now inward, her breathing growing rapid as she looked deeply to what she was feeling.
"I was hurt that all my work and service was so easily dismissed," she confessed. "I know the rules, but a part of me had hoped that they would have fought harder to keep me. But they didn't."
Her shoulders slumped, her knuckles growing white as they clenched the fabric of his sleeve. He wanted to comfort her, but instinct kept him quiet.
"And," she started again. "I was angry at him."
Tom fought the urge to stiffen. There was no need to explain the him she referred to.
"He…he left me to deal with all of this," she said, her voice growing pained. "He took what he wanted and left me to pick up the pieces. He sent me a letter…a…damned letter!"
Her gaze sharpened on his and he knew something had broken free.
"I trusted him. I l—loved him; at least I thought I did. He said he loved me. He said we were going to be married. I cared for him, worried over him. I gave him what he wanted, not because I wanted to give it, but because I wanted him to feel better and then he sends me a letter? Is that all I meant to him? All the years we spent together, all the dreams we use to speak of, the past, the future, and he leaves me to face this alone? He leaves his child to face this? How could I have been so stupid?"
Her words were tumbling out now, the dam broken.
"I give my all and yet I am so easily dismissed."
Her last words were quietly spoken, but they sounded a bomb in Tom's ears.
"No," he breathed, pulling her more fully into his arms as a sob escaped her lips. This time she gave no resistance, her face burying against his neck. "No, no, love."
He cooed softly at her as the months of carefully concealed heartache bled out. He stroked her hair, made small circles on her back, doing anything he could think to bring comfort.
Her body began to still, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day, her cries slowing to a few shuttering breaths. Tom dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, turning her slightly so he could slide it up to her between them.
He felt more than heard her appreciation as she took it from him, pulling back so she could give a rather inelegant blow, wiping the evidence of her breakdown away.
"Please don't," he said suddenly, causing her head to come up.
Tom couldn't stop the wave of tenderness that swept through him at the sight of large, red eyes and tear stained cheeks. His hand moved to tuck her hair behind her ear as he took the handkerchief from her with his other.
"Don't be embarrassed," he continued, gently using the fabric to wipe her face.
She closed her eyes and Tom gave into the impulse to lightly kiss each closed lid. He continued to hold her close, his own heart aching for her.
"Tom," she said finally, her breath warm against his skin. "It's still no excuse for how I spoke to you."
He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. "You're forgiven love," he said plainly. "Besides, if you can't take out your feelings on your husband then who can you?"
"Is that what marriage is like?" she asked, her tone growing playful.
"I suppose," he answered. "I imagine there will be many more rows in our future." He gave her a squeeze. "As long as we always end up like this I think we'll be alright."
She hugged him back. "It seems odd, but I actually feel comfort in that."
"I guess that's what marriage is then: finding comfort even in the knowledge that we are going to have any number of disagreements" He teased.
He felt her lips move into a smile.
"But Sybil," he began, his tone serious. "I want you to know that I will never regret marrying you, and I hope that one day you'll know in your heart that I will stay true to that promise. You are an amazing woman Sybil Crawley. Your heart is so generous, your passion so strong. You challenge me to be a better man, and your belief in me is why I'm standing here today. I know you are going to be an exceptional mother and a source of goodness to all around you."
She blushed at his words. "Branson."
"Yes?"
"No," she corrected. "You said Sybil Crawley. It's Branson now."
"Ah," he laughed. "Of course, my mistake. Sybil Branson."
"Because we are in this together now."
She had meant to sound teasing, but he heard the buried fear.
"Forever," he promised.
to be continued
Note: My plan is for Downton to finally put in an appearance next chapter but we'll see if the muse decides to play nice!