Chapter Song - I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz

' I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make.'

. . . . . . . . . . .

It was a Thursday. Of that he was sure. Maybe. Well, the reporter had introduced the evenings news as Thursday's. But how long ago had that been? Minutes? Hours? Days? No, it was Thursday, definitely Thursday. And it had been one, no, two weeks since he had last seen her. Two weeks, a fortnight, a painful, agonizing fortnight...

"No, no!" Throwing himself to the sofa, Tom wrapped his fingers in his hair, closed his tearing eyes tight and continued to scold himself. "Don't, it's not worth it, not worth it."

After another ten minutes, rolling and writhing on the sofa, Tom sat up and spat unapologetically onto the carpet. He was glad, actually, when he did feel wrong for having done something so disgusting, because wiping it away would give him a distraction, no matter how brief, from looking at the door. The door concealing his next euphoric fix, waiting for him, calling for him...

"Cloth, cloth, get a cloth." Stumbling slightly on the cushy carpet, Tom slumped into his kitchen and roughly tore off a sheet of kitchen roll, his elbows holding his full weight on the cold counter. "Go clean it up, go clean it up."

Staggering back to the small pool of sticky saliva, Tom fell to his knees and began vigorously rubbing the carpet, cursing as twirls of tissue flecked into the red rug. Then, satisfied his carpet was clean, Tom threw the damp tissue aside and flopped gracelessly back to the sofa, lolling his head toward the ceiling.

He was exhausted, drained, dehydrated again, tetchy, anxious, weak. Had been, infact, ever since the last comedown. He played the mistake again in his mind, the most stupid mistake. Sybil had gone, he was in tatters, he took heroin in hand, took the cowards way out. The first week he had managed to convince Carson he had indeed fled the Poker Ball in an enemy pursuit that lasted longer than expected, but even after his bosses acceptance he had run home and taken the cowards way again. Four times that week he had smoked that dirty, vile, evil stuff. Each time vowing not to go there again. But it was not till the second week that he had finally begun to listen to himself. Because come the second week, he had yet to see her, yet to seek her out, and if he was ever to do so he must do so with a clear head.

In theory, it all seemed logical. The drugs, or the love of his life? Simple. Her, every time. He had made a mistake, and if his desperate struggle out of it poved his love he would take it, was taking it. But that wasn't how it was, and that was what was killing him. Because it wasn't his love that needed proving, it was hers, hers, the one who had left, had walked out, and had not yet returned. Oh God it hurt...

"No, no no no!" He ran back to the kitchen then and shoved his head beneath the tap, the gush of cool water running like ice over his mumbling lips. "Oh Jesus Sybil, why?"

o o o

Sybil plucked at each finger of her glove, blowing an icy mist into the February air as she pressed her black clad body against the stone wall. South Kensington was far enough from her nights burglary to feel safe from the police, but half the area was Satan's Servants territory, and for that her guard remained up. Yet she had to be here, she just had to.

Her worry at not having seen Tom, gradual at first, had recently snowballed. Now she could barely sit still, could barely eat or sleep, had barely been able to concentrate on any job since they had parted. She had been waiting, waiting, for him to come to her, and had gone to his home over and over. But he never showed, and he was never in. The house was always dark, an answer never came. Everyday she waited for the Lords and Ladies news that a Servant had been thrown out, or hurt, or worse. But nothing. Until tonight. Tonight there was a light on.

"Tom! Tom it's me! It's Sy-!"

"Sybil?"

"T-Tom? Are you-?"

Before Sybil could finish her sentence, Tom had dragged her into the hallway of his grand apartment and slammed the door shut behind them. All at once they were bathed in darkness; the light she had seen must have been the lounge light, but the brief moonbeam had revealed something about Tom wasn't right. His skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes seemed to be unable to focus on one point and his body was tensed yet shaking all at once.

But her analysis of his physical state had been brief, and to be fair, their time apart and quick separation had probably been draining to her also. So when she felt his hands snake around her hips and pull her into an embrace so tight she could barely breathe, she matched his fervour and pulled him closer.

"I thou- I didn't think you were coming back." Sybil felt the warmth of Tom's words against her neck, staggered slightly by a few kisses to her skin.

For a moment she didn't reply, for her mind was once again wandering to the idea that something was off about Tom, but then her voice returned to her, as did her indignation. "Not coming back? Tom I've been over here four times, you've never been in! And you haven't been looking for me ha-?"

"You've been over four times? But I never-? Oh..." The shock in his voice told her he wasn't joking, and it also told her how honest his earlier confession had been; he really didn't think she still wanted him.

Pulling out of his hold, though she noted with a small smile his hands still held loose her hips, Sybil raised a hand and ran her thumb over Tom's lip. "Of course I was coming back. I promised you. The other night wasn't the end, I thought you understood that? I said I loved you." She watched, eyebrows joining, as Tom ran a shuffling palm through his hair and slumped back against the wall. "Tom, what's going on?"

And just like that, he changed. Suddenly he wasn't agitated and distant, now his eyes blazed with something she couldn't quite grasp, purpose maybe? But she had little time to think on it as suddenly Tom's hand was firmer at her waist, pushing her toward the door. "Syb, you can't be here. Not right now. I'll- I'll come find you in a few days when I'm sort- when things are sorted."

"Sorted?" She shouted rather loudly as she tried to resist Tom's force. "What needs sorting? Tom I've come here to tell you something. And it's important! Tom, stop!"

Both breathing heavily from the struggle, Tom and Sybil stared at eachother across the dark hallway. But when Sybil made the attempt to edge into the living room, she felt herself restrained once again. "You can't come in Syb, please, just go home."

She would have snorted in disbelief had her heart not suddenly decided to stop on her; as if she was going to leave. So, pulling her arm slowly from his grasp, she reached behind her, not taking her eyes from his, chips of blue in the darkness, and flicked the switch. All at once she knew her instincts had been right, something with Tom was just- not- right. "Who's in there?"

"What?" His tone may have been questioning, but Sybil's trained eye told her his slight movement toward the door meant he was hiding something. She felt a little sick.

"Tom, who- is- in- there?" Her clenched jaw, a reaction to the swirl of worry building in her gut prevented her from further speech, but when Tom didn't answer she took a deep breath and continued. "Is there someone in there?"

She wanted him to say yes, to say that there was a Servant in there, that she was in danger. But deep down she knew that he would never have let her past the front door had that been the case. So when he did say yes, she almost really was sick. "Yeah, there is, I have a- uhh a friend over, you can't be seen."

The sweating skin. The darting eyes. The shaking body. The guilt? "You- you've been cheating on me?"

Nothing, not a fifty foot wall, not a barricade of armed police, not a cavernous hole burning with lava could stop Sybil pushing past Tom. He tried, but she was having none of it, her veins on fire with a substance she could not name. She could hear Tom shouting, could hear his steps thundering along behind her, and even in her cloud of fury she did not fail to notice how those steps and shouts heightened the closer she got to his bedroom. But then, as her trembling fingers reached out to push against the last barrier to the answer, the commotion stopped.

Sybil didn't look at Tom, but his voice came from further away than she expected; retreating maybe? "I'm sorry Sybil, I should have been stronger."

She opened the door. She flicked on the light. She took a breath. She tried not to see. She tried to blot it out. "Oh Tom, tell me you didn't?"

o o o

"-and then I realised that I had to stop. That I couldn't put myself through this again. I only broke once this week, I swear, it's been two days since I touched the stuff." Tom wished more than anything that Sybil would look at him, but whatever his bookcase had to say was apparently far more intriguing.

Three full minutes passed before she spoke, her clenched fingers pressed to her lips. "So right now, you're not high, you're on a-?"

"A come down." He winced a little at the phrase. "Well, not so much a come down, more a withdrawal period."

Two minutes this time. Progess? "And the stuff I saw. You've only been taking it that way?"

"Yes, God, I swear, I only smoked the stuff." He rubbed his sweating palms on his jeans, his legs jiggling as though electrocuted. "I haven't injected anything."

Thirty seconds. Yes, this was progress. "You promise? And don't lie to me Tom Branson."

Didn't she realise how much it killed him to lie to her? How much it had hurt to try to cover up his deception? She would only ever get the truth from him now, he couldn't hide anything from her. "I promise, Sybil I swear to-" He got up from the armchair to crouch on the floor beside the sofa and took her hands in his. "I swear to you, all I've told you is the truth."

For a long moment he stared up her, silently relishing the way her warm fingers seemed to still all the shakes in his body. Her eyes however remained on the shelf of books, though not moving in any indication that she was actually focusing on any of them. But he waited, and soon his patience paid off. Because when she eventually looked down at him, her big, blue, sad eyes seemed to crinkle in a way he feared he would never see again. It wasn't a smile, no, but it was encouragement. He kissed her fingers, one by one.

"Have you been drinking?"

"I- No-"

A little butterly broke free and fluttered in his stomach as Sybil gave the faintest smile, sighing as she shook her head. "Not drink drinking, I meant water. Have you been drinking water?"

He nodded his head but gave a contradicting answer. "No."

"Right, so you have-haven't? That's interesting." He almost fell backward when she swept up from her seated position and sauntered into the kitchen. But he was right, her touch had stilled his body, for now, and he managed to keep his balance before rising. He was on the verge of following her when her voice rang back to him. "Sit down would you? Oh actually, go grab the spare room duvet first, and a hoodie."

Stumbling a little, not from weakness but eagerness, Tom made good of Sybil's request and returned to the living room being swallowed by an armful of duvet. At first he didn't realise she was tugging the material cloud from his grasp, but when she managed to relieve him of it he could barely contain his smile at the sight infront of him.

His coffee table was laden with a jug of water, and multiple full glasses, a bowl of crisps, a loaf of bread and one steaming mug of tea. Her mug. A late new year gift from him. A teddy bear mug with ceramic ears. He had thought it looked like Isis.

He ran a fluttering palm across his SS stamp. "Syb-"

"Don't say anything and just sit down would you. No, not the armchair!" He froze at her warning and waited curiously for her explanation. "How are we both supposed to fit in an armchair?"

"Aye aye Nurse Crawley." Murmured Tom stepping back from the armchair as though it were a wild animal.

Before him, Sybil slipped off her jacket and top, replacing it with the offered hoodie, then shimmied out of her tight black jeans. He refused to blink the entire time. "Move over."

Everything seemed to be moving so slowly. Sybil tucking into his side beneath the duvet. Him winding an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Her leaning forward and bringing a glass of water to his lips. Him spluttering from the force of her insistence. Her cursing him then forcing him another glass. Him downing what he could then reaching for her tea. Them huddled together, her snuggling, him shaking, her sleeping, him sighing with relief that he had been spared drowning in his own living room. This was love. He had let her down, really let her down, and here she was, taking care of his loser self when she could be anywhere, with anyone.

A few hours passed, a time filled with little speech but much movement; more drinks, tighter embraces, the odd shared slice of bread. But then Tom remembered something, and his voice came almost silent in the very much silent room. "You had something to tell me? Something important?"

"It doesn't matter right now, just have another slice of bread would you?" It sounded like a request, but Tom had little time to move before a wad of white was pushed into his mouth.

He just about grumbled through. "No, please don't give me an easy time. I'm already better having you here, I've barely thought about, well you know." This was a lie, but a white lie, so that was okay. In the short space of time they had been together he had thought about his small stash of heroin numerous times. But each time Sybil seemed to have subconsciously sensed his unease and used her touch to calm him. A stroke along his jaw. A caress to his foreaem. A soft kiss on his shoulder. "So come on, tell me, I want to know."

"Well alright, your shaking has definitely calmed a little." That's because you're with me. Well, that's what he wanted to say, but Sybil was in medical mode right now so as far as he was concerned; it was all the bread and water that had been the slayer of his shakes. She shimmied against his side to look into his eyes. "Do you remember that house we were looking at, the one in Ballsbridge, in Dublin?"

For a moment he didn't, but then it all came back to him. A stolen Sunday morning flicking through Rightmove on his laptop. "Yes, I do. The townhouse?"

"I bought it."

To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. "I'm- I'm sorry? You bought it?"

"I did. Just last week. I was sat around thinking to myself, why aren't we moving faster? I mean, you've been making contacts, and I know that you've got a couple of your old mates all ready to go. And I just thought I needed to help. Oh actually, that reminds me, I'm going to France in a few weeks. Remember the wife of the Terreur boss? Well I'm visiting her famous brothel, and getting a personal tour of the city. She's actually an incredibly interesting woman. Honestly, her husband won't admit it of course, but she does as much for the business as he does."

When Sybil took a brief breath, Tom stopped nodding his head like an excitable dog and managed to squeeze out a few words. "Syb, the house?"

"Oh yes, so I thought, we need to get going with this. So I bought the house." Apparently for Sybil this was explanation enough. "I know it's a big decision, but why should all those be left up to the men?"

"Well, I-" He thought of the door, of his bedroom. Sybil curled her fingers around his suddenly trembling ones. "We have a house together?"

"Yes, we do." A silence followed her words, not uncomfortable, but definitely considering. Every step they took made what they were doing so much more real. So much more dangerous. "Is that okay?"

"How much was it?" Tom jumped slightly when Sybil pulled the duvet up over her head and began to giggle, the sound muffling her answer, but he managed to hear enough. "Two million? What a barg-"

As he sprinted for the bathroom, Tom heard Sybil padding along after him, calling his name. He would have sighed with relief when he reached the toilet if not for the flood of vomit pouring from his mouth. He winced with each retch, the bile burning the back of his throat. Many times he tried to shout, to tell Sybil he was sorry and that she should go, but she sat there, stroking his back, scolding him for running when he should have just thrown up on the floor, she would have cleared it up. He almost laughed at that, such a nurse thing to say, but then his body convulsed over the toilet again.

"Right, cumon, up you get you fool." The bathroom swirled infront of him he stumbeld to his feet, a wad of wet tissue against his lips and was led to the living room. "Now sit and drink this while I get you some more water. And- hold on- where- ah here they- eat some mints."

Surprised at his quick reaction, Tom managed to reach out and grasp Sybil's hand before she walked away. "Syb, I'm just going to the bedroom to get something okay?" Her eyes angled dangerously down at him, and for a moment he was reminded of the violent gang woman she could be. "Trust me."

o o o

Answering Mary's question felt wrong to say the least. "Yes I'm at T-Tom's. He'd been working. No of course I haven't told him about the burglary! For fucks sake do you really think we discuss LL or SS business? Look, tell Grantham I got the will copy and that I'll deliver it personally tomorrow, alright? Yeah, it went a lot- a... lot...- Mary, could I call you back?" Pressing the end call button with a clumsy thumb, Sybil set her phone down on the hallway table. "Tom, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He replied, shifting for comfort in his knelt position.

"You're ill, y-you're high, you're disorientated!" With each syllable Sybil's hands came to her mouth then back to her side again.

For Tom's part, he simply smiled, his eyes wide and apprehensive. "I'm not ill, I'm not disorientated and you know I'm not high. We had that conversation, remember, a few hours ago? So let's have a different one shall we?"

She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. "A different o-? Look Tom, now, we-we should- Come on, come drink some more water."

"Let's not."

Usually, Tom's smirk would make her melt, though she never let him know it. Now however, it made her mad. She had been keeping so strong, so held together, so cool and collected whist having to watch her lover in turmoil, and now he'd decided to get down on one knee and completely disarm her? She felt stripped back, unprepared, backed into a corner, and for a woman who had spent the last three years making her victims feel the very same; she didn't like it.

And so, storming past the man still knelt on the floor, ribboned box in hand, Sybil swiped off his hoodie and threw up the sofa duvet in an attempt to find her vestop. "I can't believe you've just done that to me!"

Steps could be heard coming up behind her, hard and loud. "What, attempted to propose? How fucking awful of me!"

Swinging around, just slipping her head through her bundled top, Sybil watched as Tom threw the pale blue Tiffany box to the sofa where it bounced and fell to it's side. "You're just doing it because I'm helping you out! Because you got all messed up on drugs again and needed someone to mop up your sick! For Gods sake Tom, you're just doing it to be nice!"

The entire time Sybil had spoken she had had to restrain herself from hitting out at Tom; for he was now leant against the wall, arms crossed, smirking again, all smug. "To be nice? To- be- nice? Fucking hell, I'm a bloody decent bloke aren't I? Jesus, if that's what I did everytime I was being nice to someone I'd be fucking engaged to half of Britain! Sybil, my darling, you're just scared I've pounced on you, and I wouldn't bother talking to me until you own up it!"

Sybil drew a deep breath at his words and gradually drew her eyes from his. If he didn't want to talk to her, fine, she had done all she could for him tonight. So, collecting her jacket and slipping on her shoes, Sybil swept past Tom without looking at him and sped down the hall to the door. As she stomped toward her exit, she considered going on her next job for Grantham, a good old fashioned threat job, perfect for her current state of mind, but when she reached the door, quickly smacking out a hand for her phone, her anger seemed to melt away from her.

What if she hadn't reacted that way? What if she had been the gushing fiancée to be, smiling and laughing as Tom asked her the big question? What if, for just this once, she didn't try to over analyse everything?

Fuck. She hated being proved wrong. "Tom?"

"Yes?"

Having almost hit the ceiling in surprise at Tom's direct presence behind her, Sybil let her jacket fall to the floor. "When did you buy it?"

"Oh this?" He held the pale blue box out in his palm. "Just before the Poker Ball. And I can assure you, I was not high, or grateful for your ahh services? Nope, I just thought it might be nice to ask the woman I love if she'd like to marry me."

Tensing her jaw and trying not to seem the fool she felt, Sybil went for a tactic she knew was beneath her, but she needed some sort of dominance. "You're shaking Tom. Do you want to sit?"

"No." He shook his head and Sybil saw his fingers twitch a little around the box. "I'm not shaking because of that. Well, a little, but mostly I'm just really starting to feel the nerves now."

"You're nervous?" Her resolve was slipping, she could feel the little strings of a grin tugging at her lips.

"Well, I can hardly say this has all gone to plan can I? I tried looking past the non-romantic setting, I thought since I felt it was the right time, it was the right time, but to have the woman I'm proposing to leg it from the room, well... Not my plan."

"I'm sorry." Her palms were sweating now, and from the way the ring box had changed hands, she knew Tom's were too.

"Doesn't matter. I can always try again." The ring swapped hands again. "Yeah?"

The light, bearable level of tension that had descended upon them suddenly became stifling. She knew Tom had been trying to keep things calm, but his last question had brought back that feeling of being cornered once again. This time though, she stopped to consider the offer. Here before her was the man she loved. A man of violence, a man of power, a man who's kind had been the enemy of her world for longer than she could remember. A man with a dark past, a man with a dark present, a man with an even darker future. A man of risk, of sacrifice, a man who was willing to go through it all, through everything, to have her.

She nodded her head. "Yeah."

Suddenly unaware of what to do with herself, Sybil began twiddling her hair as Tom knelt to the floor, untying the box to reveal a sparkling, rainbow emitting platinum diamond ring. She knew her eyes were bulging slightly, but by now the strings of her smile had been pulled tight and she could barely breathe. "Sybil Crawley, I don't really know how all of this is supposed to go, but I do know I love you, it fucking kills me sometimes, probably kills you too, but I can't help it, I'm in love with you. We come from completely different worlds, worlds that aren't ever going to make things easy for us, but somehow I know we'll manage, that we can fight back together. And because of that, well, will you marry me?"

Say yes, say yes, it's not hard, just one little word, why oh why was this suddenly so hard? She wanted to say yes, God she did, but it was like her voice had abandoned her. There was so much pressure, so much promise in one little word. Speak, for fucks sake, spe- "Yes, yes I'll marry you!"

"Bloody woman." Tom laughed, but the relief was written all over his face as he stood and slipped on the ring; it fit perfectly, and he obviously noticed her look of awe. "I measured your finger one night. Nightmare I can tell you. You fidgeted so much I nearly had a heart attack, and this is coming from a man who's best friend is his gun."

Sybil blushed the colour of a rose when she giggled like a school girl, but then her lips were sought by Tom's and any pretence fell away. His hands on her ribs pulled her so close she was forced to bend backward, but as she clung to his neck she felt the cool metal of her ring press against her finger and gripped a little tighter. Their kissing was little short of ferocious; a gap of a fortnight and a marriage proposal could cause feelings like that apparently, and it wasn't long before she was up against the wall, her legs wrapped around her fiancé as he pushed himself against her.

The haze of passion however was not enough to stop another bout of giggles erupting from Sybil. And as Tom's lips wandered to her throat, she gripped her legs tighter and extended her left hand over his shoulder to admire her rock, or rocks. "It's so beautiful Tom. How much was it? And don't try to cover it up, I'll only Google it later!"

With a final tongue stroking kiss to her neck, Tom gave his answer into her hair. "Well, Tiffany Legacy rings that evoke the glamour of the Edwardian period don't come cheap." She pulled back to look at him, her eyebrows curved, her lips also. "It's what the woman in the shop said about it, my description on the other hand would have been twenty grands worth of sparkly shit."

"Really? Twenty grand? Fuck me sideways!" When she started kicking her legs like a tantrum consumed child she wasn't surprised that Tom let her feet fall to the floor.

"We can try that later if you like, but for now- Syb- Do you mind if we do get that water?" His eyes suddenly wouldn't meet her own; even now that awful stuff was digging at him.

She grasped his hand, purposely letting her platinum band sink into his sweating skin, and tried to make her smile bigger in comfort. "Of course, of course. I'm sure we can't be the only couple to have celebrated their engagement with bread and water, right?"

"Ha, yeah, surely not." He gripped her hand a little tighter than was probably necessary and grinned like a fool before walking back along the hall.

Just as Sybil made to follow, her mind filling with thoughts of cold cloths and fat pillows, she glanced down at her new ring, her engagement ring. For a moment she simply titled the diamonds back and forth to watch the twinkling blues, pinks and greens, but then she realised that she could only do so for the next few hours. After that the glistening collection of gems would be torn off and stashed away, hidden and secret. Just like her love for Tom.

With a half yawn, Sybil twisted the band of promise and followed her fiancé down the hall, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she did so. Tom wouldn't sleep tonight, so neither would she.

Please Review (can't believe I'm now at 200, do you know I love you all?!) ^^

Right my lovely's, Pixie is excited! And why? Well, the Highclere Awards for Downton Abbey fanfiction have now set up a website for you to nominate all your favourite Downton fics! I've already been nominating crazy, so for some of you S/B authors reading, chances are you've got a Pixie nomination! And of course, I would be incredibly ''flattered'' if I were to find me or my stories had been nominated also!

So to vote for all your favourite Downton fics, go to
www .highclereawards. com
and get voting!

www .youtube (dot com /)watch?v=B430drQGtzo - Another stunning vid by Btvs. Honestly, so spot on for this chapter!

Bis nächste Woche!
(Thanks lilabut, was feeling creative this week!)