A/N: Sorry this took me so long to post! I was preoccupied with coming home from college and then celebrating the Holidays and my birthday. In the meantime, I also posted a short one-shot (Angels) that had been stewing in the recesses of my mind for quite some time. I encourage all of you to check it out. It would be greatly appreciated.

This chapter is short. I don't know why some turn out this way as opposed to others. Where I'm at in the story these two are already in Dublin and the chapter lengths have nearly doubled. Just something to look forward to.

Timeline: The night after the dinner in 2x03. A bit of a re-write of the scene outside the garage in 2x04 although I'd still like to acknowledge the existence of that scene in this story...but we'll get to that later.

Song: It's Beginning To Get To Me - Snow Patrol

"Branson! Branson! Open this door right now!" And then, as an afterthought, her voice growing gruff, "Tom!" she yelled with all the energy she could muster.

"Go home, Sybil!" She heard from within. "You're going to catch a cold and get yourself sacked!" He opened the door nonetheless, buttoning the last few buttons at the top of his shirt in the process. If he truly wanted her to go home, he wasn't doing a very good job at stating his point. If anything, his mannerisms only invited her in.

With a sudden lurch forward, Sybil shoved at his shoulder with both of her hands. He stepped back but only out of reflex. Her tiny frame was weak against his broad words that followed, however, displaced him more than she ever could. "You are a stupid man, Tom Branson!"

"That general would have deserved every bit of what he got, Sybil, and you know it!"

"I don't know anything, remember? How could you be so dimwitted? You could have been fired!" She was screaming now, she knew that much. Her voice had gone hoarse and he wondered what had prompted her to run down here this late at night.

Her eyes were pink and puffy, he noticed that much. It made him soften, practically asking for him to step forward and wipe away a tear, should it fall from the corners of her eyes.

"Don't act so upset by the prospect, m'lady-"

"DO NOT call me that!" She stammered. "Listen, before dinner I wanted to find you and apologize about your cousin. I have felt awful about it all day and I hate how we left things but then you do this and-"

"I wrote you a letter. That's how Anna knew. She found it in your laundry…"

Another smack to the shoulder, this time sending him back toward his bed. "They could have hurt you, Tom! You have these beliefs and I respect that but you need to be smart. What would have happened if they sent you away? What then?" It was then that Sybil remembered where they were: in the confines of his bedroom, where he lived away from her in a rather quaint apartment off the back of the garage. The walls were a light green and the bed and the desk made out of a deep oak. It was all so very him for a room that she imagined Pratt would have once inhabited if he didn't live in one of the farm cottages with his wife.

His room was having a calming effect on her and the way he was staring at her without saying anything was only working to counteract that. She did feel bad and she wished that he had told her about his cousin. They were friends now, or at least as close as the two of them could be during wartime. He was right, and he had said it the day he had professed his love to her in York; the wall was gone now. Regretfully they were both forced to remember that the class divide would always exist, he in livery from the waste down with a plain white cotton shirt and her still in her dress from that night's dinner. It reminded him that perhaps she was supposed to be drinking tea somewhere with the very general he had tried to embarrass.

"You should get back. They're going to look for you and I'd hate for them to find you here. You really shouldn't have come in."

"You invited me in," she reminded, pointing toward him as she headed for the door. "I'm still mad at you."

"You're always mad at me," he pointed out. "That's how we work, right? I'm honest and too forward for your liking and you're uncomfortable and fine…"

"Fine?"

"Please don't make me repeat myself, Sybil…" Branson was exhausted. This was not a fight he wanted to have. He didn't want to argue with her over things that hurt him to say. He tried, really he did, to stop himself from saying things she wasn't ready to hear. They slipped out though, forcing him to forget ever trying to stop them.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, I just need you to be more careful. For me." She was soft too. Hell, she was always soft. Tonight was the first time Branson had seen her yell. She had been defeatist, and curious and upset but never had her emotions reached such a peak the way they had tonight. He liked this part of her though and he hated himself for thinking she was just as beautiful as she always was with tear stained cheeks, flushed lips, and frizzy hair.

"I can't promise you that…"

Sybil shook her head. "Of course not." She was at the door now. She left without saying goodbye, but not before smiling at him. He didn't smile back but she knew he wouldn't. Sybil didn't smile at Branson for that reason. To be honest, she wasn't sure why she caught herself doing it, especially lately.

She was told things would change with the war and she never doubted that. Things did change, but he didn't. He was still stubborn and willful and impeccably hard to get truly mad at. He was handsome too, something she'd only ever whisper to herself when in the fringes of her room before bed. But they were friends, just as they had settled on the night this all began. She hated the word and yet she found solace in it. It kept him close and allowed her to think that this whole thing was okay. It wasn't; she knew that much. What she didn't know was how much longer she could keep it up. It was more than lying about signing out his books or lying to her family. She was falling in love with him and lying to herself. Somehow that hurt more.

Don't hate me but am I the only one that wasn't as upset by the CS as I thought I would be? Mind you, my crying on my bedroom floor after seeing the first promo of Tom/Edna was probably good preparation for what in my mind turned out to be a pretty fair homage to the love between Sybil and Tom. I think this show has helped me through so much it's really hard for me to let it go. At this point it's a joke but I keep watching (and of course, writing FF).

Just thought I'd share.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter. I am also considering taking requests for missing moments as someone had mentioned wanting me to write something I have already left out.

x. Elle