A/N: I never received an update for the last chapter I posted so it might be advantageous to go back and make sure you've read that one before this. Just a head's up!

Timeline: Somewhere in 2x04 between Mary talking to Sybil before dinner and Sybil talking to Tom about an "us". This for me is an explanation of why Sybil wants to be with Mary at the hospital when Matthew gets in. It also is an indirect commentary on anyone who says Sybil didn't love Tom and she just went with him so she couldn't get out of Downton. After you read this I'm sure you'll know just what I think of those people.

Song: Terrible Love - Birdy

"Sybil?" At the sound of her voice she turned, immediately recognizing the tone as Mary's. Her eldest sister was leaning over the bannister at the top of the stairs whispering down hoping that the acoustics of the room would alert her younger sister of the urgency in her words without waking the rest of the house. "Sybil, darling, where are you going?"

Sybil looked down suddenly feeling all too silly. Her dressing gown wasn't made of silk the way Mary's was. It was a soft cotton, pooled at her waist with a thick belt that made her appear stout and plain. Her hair was pulled back into a braid that was then tucked into itself. It was frizzing the way it always did at the end of a long work day. She thanked Anna for the work she did every night trying to tame her curls all the while praying she could have been blessed with straight hair like her sister's. "Stay right there, I'm coming down!" Sybil played with the belt at her waist. It was more than insecurity that made her wonder if she should have thrown on her pumps instead of wearing her slippers out onto the gravel. "Where are you going?"

Sybil sighed, throwing the material of her belt down against her stomach. "You know where I'm going, Mary…"

"Sybil…"

"He doesn't know I'm going, alright? I just have to talk to him tonight. He needs to know that you know. I don't want him to worry…"

Mary touched a palm to her sister's cheek. "Of course you don't."

Sybil's fists balled at her sides. "Please do not make fun of me! I'm not a child anymore! I know what I'm doing!"

"I don't know that you do, Sybil. There will be other boys…"

She was whispering but there was passion behind her words. Mary feared that if they hadn't been in the main hall her words would have been much more loud and pronounced. "I don't want a boy, Mary! I want-"

"You want Branson? You can say it now. I know you say you don't know if you like him but I think I can answer that question for you. You do like him. You like him a lot. And by god Sybil I see how big this whole mess is now. Is he pressuring you into something?"

"No! He doesn't even know I'm heading out, remember?"

"And when you arrive, he'll invite you into his cottage?"

"Oh, don't make me seem like a sloven! Maybe he will! I don't know! He's a gentleman, really..."

"Sybil, you don't even know him…"

"I'm out there all the time. I know him quite well!" Sybil was quiet but she was doing her best to prove her point. It was a weird balance she was trying to strike, between convincing her sister that there was nothing going on while also trying to protect Branson's character. He deserved better than to be talked about like this. Mary didn't know him and Sybil doubted she ever would. He was her secret and her secret to keep. She'd protect him from this world if it were up to her.

Mary rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips. A silence had settled over the two of them, leaving Sybil to shuffle from foot to foot. She wanted to run. She always wanted to run. "I am just trying to figure this all out, Sybil. This man says he is in love with you and you say you don't reciprocate those feelings-"

"I said I didn't know!" Sybil spoke, immediately covering her mouth thereafter. She may have said she didn't know but her actions now spoke differently. She did know, she knew it all too well. Now, she was defending something she had not even acknowledged. It was like guarding a room full of the unknown. "I'm sorry, Mary." A beat and then: "But I will not apologize for my relationship with him. He is so much more than you know. He's not Matthew or Carlisle or whoever else but he's more than enough for me. I just don't know if I can ever give him what he deserves."

"Sybil, darling, you speak of him the way he should speak of you."

"And he does speak of me this way. I just need time to figure this all out...please don't tell Papa." Her voice was barely audible now. It stung her throat to ask her sister to lie to her father in this way but as Mary nodded the burn subsided. "I'll go to bed but I will speak to him tomorrow."

Mary touched a palm to her sister's shoulder, guiding Sybil toward the staircase. "Are you going to tell him? How you feel, I mean…"

"I don't know how I feel. And even if I did, he's not ready to hear it." Sybil inhaled sharply. "Actually, I think he may be more ready for it than I am." She breathed out. "I feel awful, Mary."

"I can't support you in this. I won't tell Papa but I cannot give you my blessing. You will be ruined, Sybil!"

"He won't ruin me. This place is ruining me, Mary. Don't you get that? Do you see how much happiness my work gives me and how I won't be able to have that once the war is over?"

"Are you reducing him to a job then?" Mary knew the answer but chose to ask the question anyway. She remembered being twenty and wanting things. Mary only wished she was as brave as Sybil to want things Downton could not offer her.

"I think I love him. Is that what you want to hear? Because I do…" Sybil bit her lip then looked up at her sister. "Maybe I always have." Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill out onto her cheeks. Sybil was better than that though and as they reached the top of the stairs she composed herself and headed for her bedroom.

Once inside she finally broke down, flailing her body onto the bed like some weak child in pain. She was in pain, though not the kind she would have wished for now. This hurt far worse than a stomach ache or a charlie horse. It was a throbbing in her head and a dryness in her throat that made even crying unbearable. She had had migraines before but this was much, much worse.

It was beyond what she had experienced at the hospitals watching wives mourn their slowly dying husbands. She knew then that they had accepted what was inevitably about to happen. For Sybil, she had yet to entertain the idea of Branson being anything more than a friend. She knew that was too dangerous and would only provoke her to think other things, like how every night before bed she thought of him, laying in the same bed she had seen when she ran down to his cottage to chide him for threatening the officer. She knew then though that she was yelling at him for things far removed from the war. Her real anger that night was hidden in the thought of him losing his job.

She imagined she'd still think of him and the more she thought about that fact she confirmed that she absolutely would. She thought of him often, especially at work. She hoped she was making him proud, and if she was feeling daring, she hoped that he found her having a job rather sexy. She knew that she often thought of him, in his livery, kissing her full on the mouth. The vision didn't stop there but she blushed at the thought of anything more. She had dreams sometimes, dreams of him lying aside her in bed, smiling as she curled into his side.

Sometimes when she was at the hospital she would put herself in the positions of those widowed wives and wonder what it would be like if Tom had been drafted and sent off to war. She wondered how they would have treated him if he was a conscientious objector, and an Irish one, at that. She had a dream that they had beat him in the streets and for as much as she hated that her mind went there, she couldn't help but grant it access. It was a fear she had, of him leaving or being dragged away from her at Downton, almost as if someone had discovered them. It was also a fear she hated herself for having, because she was fully in her own power to deal with the situation and face it much like Joan of Arc had faced the King. She should tell him and part of her thought that she had. Hadn't she told him all of those nights in the garage when she'd let her book fall to her side as she asked him about Ireland and his parents and his sister's children and the way his brothers never seemed to be able to settle down. Wasn't there a subtle secret told when she asked him if he wanted to settle down and he replied with a simple, "I do, m'lady" and then they'd move on to the next topic with smiles still etched across their features. Wasn't it said a million times before in the trips to Ripon or Leeds? She was sure she had said it by now.

Thank you for reading!

x. Elle