Stripped

By: piperholmes

A/N: Thank you again for the reviews! Sorry of the long delay between chapters. I'm grateful people are willing to stick with me on this story. I'm just exploring different aspects of the struggles I see that would arise with Tom and Sybil being stranded at Downton and how that would affect their relationship. This chapter is another flashback, but I think gives a little more insight into where both Tom and Sybil are coming from. You guys know the drill: unbeta'd. Also, I've been dealing with pain and pain meds so I apologize if this is a bit rambly or chaotic. I would really like to be asleep right now but it's not in the cards for me. So I took the chance to finish this chapter.

Part 7: how they glowed, remember, in the eyes gazing at you

Tom gazed up at the ceiling, now too familiar to him. He remembered that first night at Downton, feeling so uncomfortable, so unwanted, sleeping in her bed, upstairs, with the Earl and Countess down the hall. It had seemed so big, and now it was the routine.

Sybil shifted against him, breathing deeply as she sank further into sleep. Tom was glad to see her rest, but envied her slip into oblivion. For him the memories were too loud.

His feet ached, his shoes wearing thin, heavy with mud. The late afternoon sun beat down on him, the rim of his hat soaked through, droplets of sweat rolling down his neck to into the collar of his shirt.

The rocks crunched under his feet as he made his way towards the abbey, moving to walk a path he'd traveled many times before. His legs wearily pushed him forward towards the servant's entrance. He'd risen long before the sun, knowing how long it would take to walk to his destination, and unwilling to ask for use of the Earl's car,nor for the funds to take the bus. He'd been raised poor. He knew walking cost him nothing. Yet he felt drained.

It hadn't gone well.

He hadn't really expected it to, but still he'd hoped.

Defeated, he pushed the door open, ignoring the hustle of servants working to get dinner prepared. His stomach growled; the apple he'd snagged that morning having long since been eaten.

"Mr. Branson?" Mrs. Hughes called, still surprised by his presence. "Thank heavens."

Tom blinked at her, caught by the relief in her voice. "Mrs. Hughes?"

The older woman frowned at him, her eyebrow raised, her lips pressed tightly together. "You'd best go upstairs m'lad."

Tom felt panic in his chest, his own fatigue immediately forgotten. "Sybil? The baby?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head, taking pity on him. "Lady Sybil is fine, or at least I'm sure she will be now that her husband has turned up."

Tom's eyes lowered, and with a nod he obeyed.

As he exited the stairs, he came face to face with the butler.

The scowl on the older man's face brought Tom up short, though it was gone nearly as soon as he saw it.

"You're needed in the library...sir," Mr. Carson ground out.

Tom nodded, his emotions swirling about, mixing and stirring, causing a heavy weight to settle in his stomach, pushing out the hunger.

He knew he looked rough, dusty and travel worn, dashing his hat from his head, cringing to think of the sweaty mess underneath, but he quickly made his way to the library, his concern for his wife and child predominate in his mind as he followed his former colleague into the library.

"Mr. Branson," Carson's voice boomed, announcing Tom's arrival.

"Tom!" Sybil's voice called out as he made his way around the butler.

She scrambled to pull herself up from the seat, her swollen belly forcing her to slide forward and try to push off with her hands.

Tom moved quickly, reaching out to her, cupping her elbow and helping her stand. Her hands gripped his upper arms, holding tightly, taking him in.

"You're alright?" she breathed, her eyes darting over him.

His eyebrow lowered in shame and guilt. "Yes."

"There, you see?" Lord Grantham said as he stood, pushing away from his desk. "I told you he was fine. All the worry for nothing."

Matthew glanced from his father-in-law to his brother-in-law, his eyes communicating how little he thought of Robert's tone. "We were worried Tom. No one knew where you were, and Sybil was quite concerned. We were about to call the police, convinced you'd had some kind of accident."

"I'm sorry for the concern. I'm quite well I assure you." Embarrassment snap at him, his words met with silence.

"Well then," Lord Grantham said, breaking the uncomfortable stand-off. "Now that's settled, shall we finally dressed for dinner? Carson it appears we will not have to push dinner back."

"Very good m'lord."

The Earl spared Tom no more than a cursory nod before leaving, the butler close behind.

Tom looked to Matthew, meeting the concerned and confused man's gaze. The Irishman realized the concern was truly for him.

"I'll leave you two," Matthew finally said. "Glad you're safe Tom." And he too left.

Tom turned to his wife, who still held so tightly to him.

"Where were you?" she asked softly.

"I'm sorry," he gave by way of answer. "I didn't mean for you to worry. I had hoped to be back by afternoon tea-"

"Where were you?" she asked again, her hands lowering as she stepped away.

Tom wasn't ready to admit to his humiliation. "It doesn't matter now-"

Sybil suddenly turned from him, barrelling towards the door.

"Sybil," he called, resisting the urge to simply let her go.

She gave no answer as she moved to the staircase.

He hurried to catch up with her. "Sybil, I'm sorry I made you worry. I just...I just needed to find out something. I didn't mean to cause problems. I'm just not use to having my every move observed and commented on. I didn't think to give Carson or your father a full accounting of my day."

Sybil scoffed, stopping to turn to him.

"You go about as if you're the only one hurting," she accused, the anger in her flaming. "But you're not."

She stalked up the stairs, leaving him to follow...or not. It was his choice, and she wouldn't look back at him, she wouldn't beg. The baby kicked and pushed, making her back ache and her patience thin. She needed a lie down and sought for the solace of their bedroom.

He caught the door before she could shut him out, his face stern.

"You were the one who insisted we stay here," he shot at her, the door closing loudly behind him, his own anger being sparked by the heat flying from her.

"Yes, for our child's sake, for our family's sake," she barked back, her voice rising.

"Right, because of the safety and peace Downton offers," he mocked. "What peace Sybil? I hate it here. You hate it here. Or have you forgotten how ready you were for a new life? How eager you were to get away from here? Was it not what you thought it would be? Was is so hard that you're ready to return to this life of dressing for dinner, and tea parties, and privilege?"

"How dare you!" Sybil erupted. "How dare you stand there and belittle me, and our life together. I loved my life in Dublin. I loved our life there. I don't want to be here anymore than you do. Yet you go about acting like I'm the enemy. I didn't burn that house Tom. I didn't bring us here. You did. You did that. I don't deserve your anger."

It was a if she'd slapped him, the sting of her words turning the skin of his cheeks pink. "Don't act like you didn't know what you were getting into," he ground out.

Sybil let out an angry gust of air. "How can you say that to me?" she demanded. "I don't blame you for fighting for Ireland Tom. I married you with open eyes. I love you because of the man you are and how strongly you believe in fighting for what's right. I haven't broken any vow to you. But you? You accuse me of knowing what I was getting into when you were lying to me."

Tom faltered, embarrassment causing his defenses to rise. "I wanted to protect you."

"You lied to me!" she cried.

"It's not that simple," Tom answered back. "I didn't tell you about those meetings because the fewer who knew the safer it was. The less you knew about what we were doing the safer I could keep you."

Sybil scoffed. "So which is it Tom? I came into this knowing what was expected and could be trusted to be my own woman or I was kept ignorant to be kept safe and coddled by you. You can't have it both ways. And you don't want it both ways. You didn't keep it from me to keep me safe. We'd been through too much together. You showed me time and time again that you trusted me as my own person. You've never sought to hide the truth from me in order to protect me. That's not how we are, we've never been like that. You promised me we'd never be that way."

Tom made to interrupt but Sybil refused him.

"No. I don't want to hear it. You didn't tell me about those meetings because you knew I would tell you what you didn't want to hear."

Tom turned from her. "Think what you want Sybil, you're clearly not interested in hearing anything I have to say."

He moved for the door, made so far as to turn the knob and pull it open before she dashed around him, slamming it shut again.

"Hurts doesn't it?" she charged, her face close to his. "Hurts when your partner isn't interested in including you or hearing from you."

Tom refused to look at her but made no move.

"You didn't tell me about those meetings because you knew I would tell you that it wasn't you. That burning a house down wasn't the kind of person are. You don't want to hurt people Tom. You've never wanted to hurt anyone. I would have told you that there are other ways to fight. That these violent tactics would destroy you." Her voice had grown softer, her anger simmering.

She reached out, taking his chin with her soft fingers, forcing him to look at her. "But you didn't want to hear that because you knew I would be right. And for some reason you have it in your head that it makes you weak."

He winced. It was overwhelming.

"I am weak," he whispered, his voice breaking as defeat washed over him. "I've failed."

He stood before her, broken and shamed. His will to fight drowning in the tears of his eyes. Sybil felt the broken parts of her heart reach for his.

His words stumbled over each other as his careful hold faltered. "I've lost us everything. I've lost Ireland...our home...our freedom. I've robbed you of that life...my darling, I'm so sorry." He slipped, further and further into himself, his tears wet and messy on his cheeks. His hands reached for her, even as his eyes stared firmly at the floor. "I've failed you."

And in that moment Sybil knew what it meant to have a mother's love for someone. As her belly grew, her skin stretched, and the baby pressed and moved, she had begun to experience an inkling of what unconditional love was, but as she watched her dearest and closest friend, her lover, and husband, reach his lowest point, she felt what it meant. Somehow, along the way, when she hadn't been paying attention, when her life was busy and messy, her love for him had matured. Her own pain burned in her, broke her heart and left her sad, confused, shattered and lost, even angry, but it all became bearable in the face of his own. She loved him beyond herself.

She had wanted to hurt him, the way he'd hurt her. The last few weeks she had withdrawn from him, withheld herself in small ways, in the ways that had always meant so much to him, to them. And watching him now, she knew she'd succeeded. But there was no satisfaction, no relief. His humiliation was hers.

She was humbled, realizing his only saving grace was her forgiveness and her repentance.

It was no small feat; to swallow her pride, her righteous indignation, to put his feelings above her own. But Sybil lived her life in big accomplishments; and for this man, for her family, she would stretch further than she thought possible.

She felt so very tired, so very incapable, but there was strength in them, a reserve of depths they were only beginning to understand and realize.

"Where were you today?" she asked again, now ready for the answer.

She saw him wince, watched as a tear rolled off the tip of his nose from where his head hung.

"Tom, my love, where were you?"

He glanced up at the endearment, caught by the change in her eyes.

"I…" he swallowed, then cleared his throat, trying to regain control. "I walked to Newburgh Priory."

"What? Good heavens Tom that's nearly to Thirsk!" Sybil could only stare at him.

He shrugged, knowing what she would ask next.

"Why Tom? Whatever could have made you walk that far?"

He shook his head, his arms raised in surrender. "They are looking for a chauffeur."

His admission was quiet, steeped in rejection, cutting Sybil. "Oh Tom."

Her own anger now fully deflated, she reached for him but he refused her comfort, pulling away.

"I don't know what to do," he confessed. "I wake up here, and I don't know what I'm suppose to do with myself. The baby will come any day now and I have nothing to give. I have no job, no purpose, no country. I'm living off your father's charity...I have nothing to give."

"And you thought you would find something as Sir George Wombwell's chauffeur?" Sybil pressed, understanding his desperation but wanting him to see there was no success in it. She grabbed his hands, forcing him to feel her. "We will move forward from this Tom."

"It doesn't matter. I didn't get the position. Turns out news of our marriage spread a bit further than I imagined."

She stared at him, her thought too jumbled and frantic.

"You've no need to look at me so. I wouldn't have forced you to live in a chauffeur's cottage. I realized I could never take you to live there. I just needed something to feel hopeful about."

Sybil ignored his comment about the chauffeur's cottage, picking her battles. "I understand Tom. I understand the need to work. Please stop acting as if I'm the enemy. I need you here with me right now. We will figure this out, but please, let us be a family. Let my family be your family. Even if only for a few more weeks. I know what it is costing you, what it is costing up both. You have to know I wouldn't ask this if I didn't need it."

Tom held her gaze, two lost people anchoring to each other. "Please, no more disappearing. Please talk to me, share your plans with me. Together we are strong, we can withstand this, all of this. But apart we flounder, and we owe it to this child to be our best, to be our strongest."

Her hand moved to his cheek. "I give you my forgiveness Tom."

Tom's face crumpled just before he buried his face in her neck, sobbing out the cancer of doubt and fear.

Sybil felt her own cheeks grow wet as she held him, her fingers stroking his hair. "You must forgive yourself," she whispered to him.

Tom's fingers now stroked her hair, mimicking her actions months previous. They'd not joined the family for dinner that night. Choosing instead to shut the world out and to discuss the difficult things, to weed through weeks of rejection and displacement, finally giving Sybil the peace she so desperately longed for, the safety she sought to bring her child into the world. Tom had felt more calm and focused, less afraid. The baby had come three days later, welcomed by two eager parents.

But still Sybil's words haunted him.

"You must forgive yourself."

Thanks for reading!

More to come.