A/N: Again, sorry these are so short! They really do get longer. *shleps off in shame*

Also, thank you for those of you who have reviewed my story! It means the world to me to get feedback on my work especially when this story and many of the other lovely pieces I read on this site and tumblr have become my canon.

Timeline: 2x04 (and then 2x05). Sometime after Branson and Sybil's argument about Sybil wasting her life away at Downton ("the rest is detail" scene) but right before the Soldier's Ball when we see Branson staring lovingly at Sybil. Dear god do not even get me started on that scene. So beautifully played.

Song: Edge of Desire - John Mayer

He liked the starched collar and the modest buttons at the top. He liked the color of it and how it was soft to the touch under a much harsher white apron. He wondered how she never got it wet or crinkled, or even bloody; how her care to patients was so in depth but the width at which she kept them emotionally was miles long.

"Can I please speak to you?" His words reminded him that he most likely should have asked for permission for far more things than he had in the past. It was a privilege and not a right to speak to her and he was convinced that if she didn't have feelings for him she would have never granted him access to her world and mind the way she did so diligently as of late.

Branson was in an alcove now, specifically the one that separated the soldier's sitting room from the main hall. People were moving all about and for a moment he wondered why he had come. He was a servant, he told himself. He was not supposed to be here, and he certainly wasn't supposed to reach out and grab her arm the way he wanted to. And now, the way he did. His hand was on her arm, his thumb stroking at the skin he was in contact with. It was harsh and gentle and it caught her completely off guard.

"Sybil!" She turned to face him, caught unaware by the boy she had grown to admire. Their faces were close as people pushed past them, edging their bodies further into the corner of the hallway. There, they went unnoticed as Tom remembered his favorite part of her nurse's uniform: the way she tied her hair back. He hated the way the other nurses wore the cloth headdress almost like a nun's habit. Sybil was younger than the rest of them and he wondered if that had influenced her decision. It made him wonder other things too, things he wouldn't dare speak aloud. He'd ask her someday though, that much he knew.

"You need to be careful, Tom! We're not in the garage! You can't just touch me like that. This is my father's house...people could see you." She was whispering now and her words were guttural. She wasn't being harsh though, and her tone made him smile, something that rubbed off onto her as he stepped further into her to whisper his next thought into her ear.

"At this point let them see. As long as you know I'm sorry."

"For what?" She was still whispering. Her hands were crossed over her chest and suddenly she wasn't a lady or a nurse but the same young woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

"For what I said before. I was-I was jealous, alright? It was nothing against your job...which you know I think is a fine profession." Sybil smiled, knowing that these particular words were hard for Tom to say.

She may have retorted to her sister about Tom being full of himself, but if she was being honest with herself, she rather liked the way he took charge. He was ambitious and prideful but he melted when she was around and suddenly none of that mattered. She saw what the rest of the world saw but he let her into other parts of himself as well. It wasn't that he was hiding anything, just that his most sensitive parts, the parts that made it all worth it, were reserved for intimate moments, ones he had few of outside the garage.

"Are you apologizing for the randy officer comment? Really, Tom we both said things we didn't mean..."

Now it was his turn to smile. She had called him Tom. Since the other night when the argument at hand had actually occurred, Sybil had neglected to call him Branson. Whether it was conscientious or a pure accident, he hoped it would continue, at least out of habit. "Well I need you to know I am sorry. Truly, really I am."

"It bothers you that much?"

"About the officers or upsetting you?"

Sybil looked up at him, then to a volunteer nurse who had just walked behind them with a stack of freshly folded linens in her hands. She kept her eyes trained on the nurse, watching her performs tasks that Branson was all too sure she should have been doing had he not pulled her aside. But she remained still, at his side, deep in a conversation both of them were having far too much fun with. "Well I know the officers upset you. They're all very respectable. I promise you that. And it's not them I care about, alright?"

Apparently he was staring at the nurse and had lost focus on Sybil, his Sybil, now staring up at him. Her eyes were saying things her lips couldn't and an urge shot through him, making him want to cover those same lips with his own. He lamented though, instead rubbing his hands on his pants out of frustration. It was a routine he had lately; something to do to distract his hands from their desired locations holding her own. "Right. I'm sorry."

"You said that," she whispered. Her eyes were focused on his chin now. Any higher and she'd lose her place in this home.

"I just don't like how they stare at you," he began again, suddenly not being able to let it go. It was as if letting their argument go was letting her go. Had he told her yet today how pretty she looked? The way Branson looked at it, if he didn't, someone else would because Sybil was pretty. She was also a lot of other adjectives he'd never let his mouth disclose. Not here, in her home. Or her father's home, as she had so clearly put it."And I know I have no right to feel that way but even as a friend. It's not right..."

Sybil nodded. Somehow it was almost as if she had lost her breath, like the wind had been knocked out of her by a force that remained unknown."Well thank you, as a friend, for looking out for me...is this all settled now? I really need to continue transporting everyone to the other room. Are you coming?"

She was moving now, away from the force and out of the hallway into a more well lit area. Maybe she didn't trust herself either, Branson thought with a smirk. "To the concert? I didn't know if you wanted me there."

"I always want you there." She stopped now, her hands on her hips as she eyed the room for the next patient to move. "Come. It'll be nice. Mary and Edith are singing."

He scuffed at the floor. "And you, m'lady?"

"Just supervising those randy officers you hate so much," she whispered with a wink before unlocking a nearby soldier's wheelchair, setting him in motion toward the great room. Over her shoulder, she felt Branson staring, a simple "Aye!" in contention shouted her way.

~!~

With the war coming to a very slow end, Branson was thankful these trips to and from the hospital in town would almost be over. He was also thankful he was driving around Sybil, and not the dead, though her silence that morning in the car had left much to be desired. They usually spoke about literature, or what her childhood was like. They never spoke about her family, though they sometimes discussed his. If they were lucky, and this was only lately, she asked him what Dublin was like and what he'd show her if she were to ever visit. In response he'd smile, mention something small, like his favorite pub, and then ask her if she'd like to see it someday. She always replied with a "maybe", until one day when she didn't. Then, somehow her silence meant more.

"I'm sorry I was so cold this morning."

Branson didn't turn around to look at her. He didn't need to see her face or that pout she always wore when she regretted something she had done or said. He had seen it many times before, especially lately, as his questions became more and more persistent and her own doubts of happiness at Downton became all the more clear. "You weren't."

Sybil nodded, swallowing. "I was though."

"Apology accepted, m'lady." That one earned him an eye-roll, one they both laughed off as they continued on down the road, past the Grantham Arms, past the farm cottages, and to the back of the property. Along the way he asked her where she wanted to be dropped off. She didn't respond, something Branson often heard as her asking permission to come to the garage with him. He'd never let her, not in the way they both wanted. Especially because it was harder for him than it was for her. She was far more obstinate than he could ever hope to be. She knew what she wanted but she also knew if and when to get it. If she hadn't, he had guessed they would be to Dublin and back by now.

Out of the silence came another confession: "She does love him. I mean, of course she does. How could she not?"

He thought back to the conversation they had had that morning about Lady Mary and Cousin Matthew. What he had asked her and then the words that followed. He felt bad and yet she was the one who was apologizing. Branson craved a time where they'd be able to say exactly what they were feelings about one another to one another. For a moment, he wondered if she yearned for the very same place. "I assume we're talking about Lady Mary."

"Mhm."

"It's a shame he doesn't know."

Sybil leaned forward, examining the way her fingertips filled out the gloves she had just slid on. "Oh, but he does, doesn't he?"

It was a pleasure to read this over, if I do say so myself. My mom plans on watching Season 3 of Downton tonight and somehow that's hanging over my head like a loaded cloud.

Thank God for fanfiction.

x. Elle