Getting this one in a bit later than planned, but here it is all the same! And look out, there be angst ahead...

Chapter Six

Tom lifted his head and looked back at William, surprised that his angelic friend didn't have any questions, or anything immediately to say after this revelation.

He was greeted by a large smile that only seemed to grow with every second that passed. "So you did it then?" William murmured at last. "You told her how you felt."

Tom blushed by nodded…and soon found himself smiling as well, his heart warming at the sweet memory of that first kiss, and all the kisses that followed between the two of them. And then sadness filled his heart, as he remembered that he would never kiss her again.

"How long has it been since you've seen her?" William softly asked.

Tom swallowed the emotional lump in his throat and took a long, steady breath before replying. Too long. "Not since February," he answered.

William simply nodded. "Do you stay in contact? Does she write to you?"

The sadness in him grew. "Aye, we…we did," he whispered. He used to receive a letter from her every week, sometimes twice. Now…it had been so long. Three weeks…

"Tell me about that summer," William asked him. Tom glanced at his friend, but William showed no sign that he was aware of Tom's melancholy.

"Um…well, just…as I said, Thursdays were my half-day, so every Thursday, I would go to Ripon, take the bus to York, and…sometimes she was there to greet me where the bus stopped, other times I walked to the college and waited for her outside, and…other times, we met someplace. There was a pub she liked only two streets away from the hospital where she did her training…" he chuckled as he remembered her first taste of whiskey, how she coughed but was determined to have some more, to prove that "even posh girls could drink". In the end, whiskey was not her beverage of choice, but she did like cider, and she also grew a fondness for fish n' chips, something she had never tasted until York.

The friends she made at the school knew about him, but they knew him simply as "Sybil's beau", and if they were aware of his position when he wasn't visiting her in York, they never said anything. But sometimes her friends would join them at the pub, and they would all laugh, drink, and eat…and sometimes there would be dancing, and without any inhibitions, he and Sybil would hold each other and dance, before slipping off to some secluded corner to kiss and wile away the hours until he was forced to leave her side to catch the last bus back to Ripon.

He took her to the pictures, she took him to museums; on nice days he would go to a park and have a picnic. Things weren't always perfect, of course; sometimes she would have a shift that she couldn't trade, and so he would learn not long after arriving that they couldn't spend time together. Or one time, Pratt had gotten ill and Tom was forced to stay to drive the family if they needed driving (and they hadn't), but forced to stay he was. And like all couples, they sometimes fought, they sometimes groaned and rolled their eyes at each other and spoke harsh words out of stress and frustration, but every time…before he left to go back to Downton, one of them if not both would reach for the other…and after a moment of silence had passed with their hands touching, the reason for that argument would slip away…and they would murmur apologies, whisper words of love, and part with a kiss and a smile and a sigh that they couldn't wait until the following week.

All in all, it was a wonderful summer, and both of them were eagerly looking forward to the end, as well as dreading it. Because the end of summer meant that she would be back at Downton, and they wouldn't have to settle with only seeing each other once a week but every day again…but of course, it also meant that the freedom they had enjoyed while she had been in York would be gone as well. He couldn't simply don one of his two good suits and just be "Tom Branson, Sybil's beau", and she couldn't simply be "Sybil Crawley, a nursing student". They would have to play their parts again, and that he knew would be agony.

"How did you manage?" William asked, genuinely curious.

Tom lifted his eyes to his friend. "Manage?" he repeated, though he already knew what William was asking.

William nodded his head. "After the summer you spent, how did you manage with her back at Downton, and no longer being able to be as…open…as you were, while courting in York?"

Tom sighed and looked back at the ground. "It wasn't easy," he admitted. "It was damn difficult, to be honest."

William did smile at that and even chuckled, though his next question took on a much more serious tone. "Were you ever caught?"

Tom stiffened at the question. He turned and looked at William, and in an icy tone, asked back, "what do you think?"

William looked at him for a moment, shifting his weight a little and tilted his head, as if assessing him. "…Well, you're here," he murmured.

Aye, he was there. He was in the British Army, fighting in a war he didn't support, in the name of a kind and country that wasn't his own. It wasn't difficult to put the pieces of the puzzle together to try and understand how a man like him…came to be in a place like this, especially after the truth he had revealed about his "forbidden romance" with Lady Sybil.

"When did it happen?" William asked, his voice so soft Tom thought at first it was the wind, howling somewhere far in the distance.

Tom swallowed. "Near Christmas," he answered.

William's eyes widened just slightly. "So…roughly then, a year ago?"

Tom nodded turned his face away from his friend to the cloudy horizon, wondering if he was facing northwest, the direction to Yorkshire, to Downton Abbey, where his beloved remained, where she was waiting for him…and where he would never see her again.

"Tell me about it, Tom…please," William whispered.

He didn't want to tell him; he didn't want to remember that night and everything that transpired upon it, but because he had never discussed it with anyone, and because there was a deep longing in him to purge that night from himself, he opened up and began to tell William the whole, sad story. How his happiness was stolen from him, and he was forced to make a terrible choice…

December, 1916
Downton Abbey

Was under the Renault when he heard her footsteps (and judging by the sound of them, she was angry about something). He slid out just when she entered, slamming the garage door behind her. "Honestly! Mama can be SO INFURIATING!"

Tom rose to his full height and grabbed a nearby rag to wipe his hands, watching as Sybil paced back and forth. He knew her well enough to know that she would tell him what it was that her mother had done, that he just needed to be patient and wait. He looked at her and despite the state she was, couldn't' help but smile in admiration, finding her lovely in all the frocks she wore, but there was something about seeing her in her uniform that always caused his heart to race a little more (and for his blood to heat up as well).

"Mama spoke to Dr. Clarkson…" Sybil finally began, and Tom felt his chest deflate a bit as he had a feeling he knew what this was about. "She rang the hospital to try and 'talk him out of keeping me so late'," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "And that was how she learned that my shift wasn't until midnight like I had told her, but that it ended at seven, which of course means I can be here for dinner, instead—"

"Instead of going to the pictures," Tom finished for her, putting the rag down.

Sybil did pout at that. "Yes," she muttered. "And I was looking forward to our evening out."

"As was I," he sighed, before sitting down on the bench and patting his knee, smiling as Sybil came to him, pout and all, and took her place on his lap. "We'll find another time," he murmured, trying to remain positive, though he understood her disappointment. Their opportunities alone were few and far between.

Sybil was still fuming, and Tom knew it was more than just the disappointment of losing a chance to be together. "I still can't believe Mama did that, though! How humiliating; I'm a grown woman, my own person! This is my work, not something frivolous!"

He ran his hand up and down her back, which did help with soothing her. She looked at him and her expression softened. She leaned in then and he smiled as finally, they shared a kiss for that day. "Thank you for putting up with my complaints."

"Not at all, love; I do understand and I don't blame you for being upset."

"It's all because of Evelyn Napier," Sybil sighed again. "He's coming to Downton tonight for dinner—bringing some army friends, apparently. Mama wants all of us there."

Tom just nodded. "Do I need to go to the station to drive them back?"

Sybil shook her head. "No, Evelyn has his own car and he'll be driving. I confess, while Evelyn is a good friend of the family's, I'm already bored to tears at the thought of tonight," she looked at him and a smile began to creep up at the corners of her mouth. "Well…I'll leave early; after dinner is finished, I'll mention a headache and come see you then."

"You don't need to do that; I mean, don't get me wrong, I would love it, but I don't want you risking anything for my sake, either."

"Our sake," Sybil emphasized, though she did seem to understand what he meant. The truth was, they had had several close calls and really did need to be more careful. But it was difficult, much more so than Tom had originally thought, both in keeping their courting a secret…as well as keeping their passions contained.

While such things hadn't really been spoken, Tom did hope that Sybil knew that when he told her that he loved her, he didn't just mean "for now", but "for always". He wanted them to build a life together; he wanted to marry her, to share his future with her. He hadn't proposed, but he knew that he would. But he also knew that Sybil was very much enjoying her new "freedom", working as a nurse, and she was very good at her job, a blind man could see that. He'd not "pluck her up" from that yet, and he knew she wouldn't want to think about such things yet until the War was over (though when that would be? Who knows).

"What's that?"

Tom looked at her, and then glanced behind him at the large, cream envelope that had gotten her attention.

"Nothing," he told her, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Sybil lifted an eyebrow at that. "Have you opened it?"

"No," he answered honestly.

"Then how can you know it's 'nothing'?"

He was "saved" in having to answer that question when footsteps approaching the garage could be heard outside. Sybil leapt off his lap and quickly moved to the other side the garage, making it look as if she were in search of something, while Tom crouched down by a tire, as if inspecting it. It was one of the hallboys, who didn't even glance at Sybil, just made some mention about Lady Edith needing the car, before returning to his duties. As soon as the hallboy was gone, Sybil sighed and said, "Edith will probably want you to drive her to Ripon so she can find a Christmas present for Sir Anthony."

Tom cocked his eyebrow at this. "That serious?"

Sybil smiled at that. "Apparently; though she doesn't say so, I think she's hoping for a proposal come Christmas."

"And Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew?"

Sybil did laugh. "Perhaps them as well, who knows? Perhaps both my sisters will be greeting the new year as engaged women." Her smile did fade a little at that, and Tom felt his face redden slightly. Maybe he should take this moment now and propose to her? Though it would be daft; he didn't even have a ring! Still…he loved her and was willing to wait forever for her—

"I…I know that it seems like such an impossible thing to wish for, but…" Sybil paused and looked deeply into his eyes from across the garage. "But I do envy their freedom of being out in the open with the men they fancy, while we must hide and pretend otherwise."

Tom looked down. "Sybil, I—"

"Oh Tom, forgive me, I…I'm being selfish," she dismissed, blushing deeply. "I don't like deceit, yet I know we depend upon it so much right now. I'm being unfair."

"No, love, I do understand…and…and maybe…maybe I can try to find something else? A different kind of work? And once I do find something, I can hand in my notice, and then we can tell your family—"

"Branson?"

It was Lady Edith's voice; she was growing impatient and had come around to the garage. Both Tom and Sybil muttered a curse, before looking at each other, leaning in for one more kiss, and then parting and once again, going back to their roles of "Lady and Chauffeur" just as Lady Edith entered.

That afternoon, Sybil went to the hospital to work and he drove Lady Edith to Ripon, just as Sybil had predicted. It was half-past five when they returned, and Mr. Napier's car was already parked in the garage by the time they returned. Lady Edith retreated into the house, and Tom returned to the garage, knowing he would have to face that envelope at some point, but hating it all the same.

Parliament had passed a law in regards to conscription; men were now being recruited whether they wanted to go to war or not. He had little doubt that was what this envelope contained…

Now what? Now what was he going to do? Tom flung the letter aside and glared at it angrily as his brain tried to decide what the next best course of action would be?

Yet his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of slippered feet running along the gravel outside, and he bolted upright and rushed to the garage door, opening and staring wide-eyed at a pale-looking Sybil who didn't' stop running until she was safely inside the garage. "Sybil?" he shut the door and turned to face her. "Sybil, what's the matter—?"

She crashed into him, and he didn't hesitate, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close and tight. "Love, you're trembling," he whispered, and without another thought, he reached over and grabbed his livery jacket, bringing it up around her shoulders, and wrapping her in that as well.

Was she crying? He heard sniffles. His hands moved to gently cup her face, to look into her eyes, but he didn't see tears there, though he did see a mixture of anger and fear. "Sybil, what happened?"

She took a few deep breaths before finally managing to answer. "Larry Grey is here."

Tom felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. It had been a long time since that name had been mentioned, and he would have died a happy man without having to hear it ever again.

"I…I don't understand, how…why…?"

Sybil buried her face against his chest. "He came with Evelyn; he's a major now, and they're in the same unit," she groaned. "Mama and Papa had no idea he was coming—I did tell them last year, after he kissed me? I did tell them about what he had done, but…Papa doesn't want to appear 'rude' to our guests," she muttered in angry disgust, an emotion Tom returned very much. Far be it for the fine name of Downton to be looked down upon than for the Earl of Grantham's daughter to be made uncomfortable by the presence of that snake!

"When I saw him, I…I honestly thought I was going to be sick. I told them I was ill, and it wasn't a far stretch of the truth. But I couldn't do it; I couldn't face him, sitting across from me and…and just…"

"It's alright love," he murmured, tightening his arms around her. "You don't have to face him if you don't want to."

She seemed to appreciate his words, and she snuggled all the closer to him…though he did feel her stiffen suddenly, and he opened his mouth to ask her if something else were wrong…and that was when he realized she had seen it.

The envelope. The letter.

She grasped his shoulders and stared up at him, her eyes wide and her face pale. "Tom?" she whispered, searching his eyes for an answer.

He sighed and nodded. "I've been summoned."

One of Sybil's hands flew to her mouth, and the tears that hadn't fallen earlier began to descend quickly. "Oh God—"

"I'm not going."

She looked at him with confusion. He couldn't blame her; he was still trying to make sense of his decision, too. But he knew himself, knew his heart and prayed she would understand.

"I'm not going," he repeated again. "I refuse to fight in a war I don't believe in, or for a king and country that I don't regard as my own. I'm going to be a continuous objector."

"But they'll put you in prison—!"

"I'd rather prison than lose my life in some muddy trench."

"But you'll have a mark against you for the rest of your life!"

"At least I'll have a life," he muttered, though he knew it was easier to say that now, when he wasn't locked behind bars. "Besides, they'd have to catch me first."

That had not been something he had thought of carefully. In truth, it was a thought that had just come upon him now.

Sybil's eyes widened even more. "W-w-what?" she stammered.

He looked down at her, and even though he knew it was terrible timing, he couldn't stop himself by saying, "come away with me."

"What? Tom, what do you—?"

"Come away with me," he repeated. "Marry me; be my wife. We'll go leave this place, we'll leave England!"

"But they'll look for you in Ireland, surely?"

She sounded more cautious than doubtful; and she hadn't said "no", which he took for a good sign.

"Not Ireland," he told her, his heart breaking a little at the thought of possibly never seeing his family or stepping foot on the soil of his homeland again. But he knew he could face anything if she were with him. She was his strength; she had been for so long. "We'll go to America…I have a cousin in Boston, and you have your grandmother in New York…or we could go anywhere, really? But l will make something of myself, I promise—and…and I know you love what you do here, and I know I'm asking so much of you, to…to leave that all behind here, but…but remember what I said in York: bet on me…and I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."

She stared up at him, and he held his breath. What was she thinking? It's too much, far too much. Maybe he should go back and rephrase things? Tell her he would go on ahead, and then when the War was over, she could come to him; it would be just like when she was in York, only they would have to depend on letters to sustain them during the absence, but they could do that…couldn't they?

Of course, unlike York, there wouldn't be "weekly visits" to look forward to. There wouldn't be kisses to sustain them during their absences, and the thought of not being able to kiss her, even if it were only once a week was sheer agony. But they would do what needed to be done…but none of that mattered if she didn't' say "yes".

He swallowed and saw that she had closed her eyes, as if concentrating very deeply on what to say next. You fool, it is too much! Go back and rephrase, assure her—

"Yes."

It was so faint, he had barely heard her. But when she opened her eyes, he saw the very essence of her answer gleaming back at him.

"Sybil?" he whispered, not daring to hope.

But hope did flood him, especially when her smile broke across her face. "I'm ready to travel, Mr. Branson. And you're my ticket."

A groan of relief left his lungs and Tom wasted no time, his mouth finding hers in a deep, desperate kiss, and Sybil clung to him, eagerly returning it and moaning her pleasure as their kiss deepened all the more, one arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, while the other hand cupped her head, his fingers threading into her hair, the pins falling out, causing her hair to cascade down her shoulders. If she cared, she didn't say anything, she just clung to him even tighter, and like so many other times, their passions threatened to burst. He had her pressed against the car, and she wouldn't let him go. They kept kissing, more and more, completely lost in each other…and not hearing the door open until it was too late.

"GET YOUR GRUBBY HANDS OFF HER!"

Tom was ripped away from Sybil, her scream filling his ears as Larry Grey's fist made contact with his face.

To be continued...