Loved all the strong opinions after the last chapter! Thank you for all your thoughtful comments.

On the third day, Robert woke. There was no theatrical rise to consciousness, nor an evaporation of the family's fears. His eyelids had flickered intermittently during the previous few hours and the faint pressure from a finger which Sybil had previously sensed, was repeated on subsequent days. Universal relief prevailed but his fate remained in peril.

Although the bulk of her experience lay in oncology, Sybil was able to educate her family before overstretched nursing staff had an opportunity to do the same. The risk of a second heart attack to now heavily weakened muscle was immense. It was comforting to see him awake for short periods, but his life remained in jeopardy.

His consultant later lay out the cold, hard facts and made it clear that any potential recovery would be lengthy. "Now is not the time to start having powerful discussions about life and future plans. It's instinctive to start wanting to put things in order, but he needs to be kept calm and unworried until his body strengthens. Talk about the mundane, keep any larger worries to yourselves for the time being."

In the short-term it put pay to Sybil's desire to reconcile their earlier differences, but her father seemed pleased by her presence and for the time being, that had to suffice.

"I'm sorry to be such a nuisance, dragging you up here" he began before Sybil placed a finger on her lips and squeezed his hand.

"Don't be silly. I love you, I'd drop anything to make sure you're alright." The English half of their family were not prone towards declarations of devotion, but for once her father didn't flinch or appear embarrassed.

"Love you my darling" he whispered before closing his eyes and falling asleep. His moments of lucidity remained short and infrequent.

By Wednesday, Sybil felt accountable to her job and took the train back to Cardiff. Her Manager was sympathetic and generously offered further compassionate leave, but Sybil knew that her father's recovery, if successful, was going to be drawn out. She would be making frequent trips to Yorkshire and might yet need days off with very little notice.

Her telephone conversations with Tom during her absence had been perfunctory. Neither had made any effort to discuss what had taken place in Sybil's flat the previous Friday. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding that their future was on hold until after her return to Wales.

The going concern of the Downton estate was managed at least in the short-term by Mary, who employed a former colleague on a temporary basis to see them at least through the autumn and Christmas period. Robert had ambitiously planned and advertised an inaugural Christmas Fayre with sections of the house open daily for the general public from late November. Upon further investigation, his plans appeared rudimental and behind schedule so Mary was anxious to ensure that the event was a success and their reputation unharmed. The Earl of Grantham's poor health had been widely reported in both regional and national press and Carson had told of an influx of enquiries about the reliability of future events.

Sybil worked a late shift on Thursday and was deliberately evasive to Tom about her plans after finishing on Friday afternoon. In truth she was frightened of what any discussion might yield. She still believed that he had failed her on the first occasion she had asked for his support, yet was nervous of the outcome if she asked for future assurance. There was no doubt that she remained in love with him and deep down hoped that they could share a future. She accepted Josh's position within their relationship and that she would never have an exclusive right to Tom's affections. However, his fallibility at the time of her largest personal crisis meant that she had lost faith in his commitment to her. The thought of always being second best, irrespective of the circumstances, had shaken her conviction in their union.

He was sitting on her doorstep when she arrived home that Friday, hunched and staring down at his phone. It was early October and the first chill of autumn was in place. With little sun to speak of that day, he looked uncomfortably cold – shoulders raised to shield his neck and his other hand shoved inside an unsuitably light jacket. She stood watching him from the pavement for a short while, her heart instinctively lifting before she remembered what had taken place and felt her disappointment rise to the fore once again. As soon as the latch on the gate squeaked, his head jerked up and he got to his feet, pushing the phone into a pocket and allowing his hands to drop to his sides.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me so I thought I'd just take matters into my own hands. I'm hoping to persuade you to let me in rather than leave me to feebly beat at the door." He gave a half-apologetic smile, leaving it open for her to offer some form of conciliation.

She tipped her head and felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Well I don't want you making a scene out here in public. You'd better come in."

"Your upstairs neighbour, what's her name, is it Claire?" She nodded. "She obviously recognised me and said I could wait in the hallway, but I thought I'd wait to see you rather than take you by surprise like that."

Sybil put her key into the lock and shrugged. "It's a good thing I didn't stop at the supermarket on the way home, isn't it? You'd be freezing."

He followed her inside to the communal hall and waited while she unlocked the internal door. Samson ran forward to greet them, making his disapproval at Sybil's earlier absence clear with high-pitched mewing as he snaked through both sets of legs.

"Are you hungry?" she asked her pet in a gentle sing-song manner, grateful for the diversion. Tom remained silent while she made her way into the kitchen and refilled Samson's bowl, leaning down to scratch the top of his head and run a finger along his spine.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

There was no reply and she turned her head, wondering whether he had left the room. He was standing under the door frame, watching her intently, sadness evident in his gaze. Her stomach lurched with foreboding but before she had an opportunity to speak, he took a step forward, one arm outstretched.

"Can I just hold you?" he asked gently with an expression that made it clear he was half-anticipating a rebuff.

Sybil put down the tin she used to hold her tea and nodded. Somehow she understood that he wasn't trying to mask their division with an over-embellished gesture. This was not a movie in which the credits would suddenly appear, accompanied by a love song with elaborate string section, the story satisfactorily concluded. She wrapped her arms around his waist and let her chin drop gently on to his shoulder, feeling the strength of his forearms as they encircled her. He didn't attempt to kiss her, nor did he speak. She closed her eyes and took in his familiar scent, the reassuring solidity of a body she now knew almost as well as her own. The gentle curve of his waist, softly moulded flesh around his stomach, jutting shoulder blades which were not quite symmetrical. It was the embrace of two people who loved one another still, an interlude before the harsher realities of their future were laid bare.

He let her go first, taking a step backwards and clearing his throat. With a half-glimpsed smile, she returned to the kettle and carried it towards the sink.

"Is there any news from the hospital today?" he asked and she shook her head.

"Much the same."

"That's better than worse"

She gave a brief shrug. "I guess so. He could have another one at any time though, I daren't get complacent. I mean, they're monitoring him but his heart muscle's weak. We just have to wait and see."

There was further silence while she occupied herself with a familiar ritual. Warming the teapot, spooning in the tea - one teaspoon per person and an extra one for luck. It was an old fashioned ritual for a woman her age in which speed was usually a priority and teabags were the norm. But some traditions are worth holding on to and Sybil believed that she did some of her best thinking while preparing tea.

The subject matter hovered silently in the air between them while she gathered cups and milk, refilling Samson's water bowl as she waited for the pot to stand, watering the limp basil and oregano pots on her windowsill. Standing still might invite discussion and it wasn't yet time.

She carried a tray into the living room and set his cup and saucer on a small table next to an armchair. As soon as she sat down on the sofa opposite, he took a deep breath and she felt her stomach muscles clench with anticipation.

"I'm sorry that I didn't come with you, Sybil. I know you feel that I let you down when you needed me."

She swallowed deeply and nodded, glancing firstly at the stripped wood floorboards underneath her feet before meeting his gaze. He looked apologetic, but not repentant.

"I do, yes" she admitted, determined to be truthful. "Of course I understand how important your weekends with Josh are…"

"…it's because I only get to see him once a fortnight…" Tom interjected and she frowned, wanting an opportunity to conclude before he laid down his defence.

"I can't think of any other situation in which I might have asked you to change your plans with him. The possible death of a parent, or God forbid a sibling, I can't imagine asking you otherwise. I wouldn't ever ask for something trivial."

"I'd promised to take him to this castle you see. He's really into knights at the moment…"

"I understand that, but the castle will still be there in a fortnight's time."

"I don't want him to be disappointed in me. To feel that I've let him down."

She hesitated, wondering how best to express herself without widening the division between them. "You understand that one day you will, don't you?"

He didn't react, but she saw his eyes narrow a little and knew that he was displeased by the suggestion. Time seemed to stand still while she gathered her thoughts and awkwardly picked at the hem of her uniform. She cleared her throat. "I mean, every parent fails their children in some way, even if they try to be perfect. It's inevitable, they have different expectations. Surely that's part of growing up, don't you think? Isn't he old enough to understand the situation at least a little?" Her discomfort rose, she knew she was unequipped to offer parenting advice. "Josh knows me a little now, do you not think he might have understood if you'd said that Sybil's Daddy was very seriously ill and in hospital and that she needed somebody to be with her…" Emotion rose and she paused. "Because she was scared."

She heard her voice croak and tried to disguise it with an ineffective cough. Tom winced and she pressed on. This was not an attempt to garner sympathy.

"I know that Josh will come first most of the time, I understand that and I wouldn't be with you if I didn't accept it. But I guess it brought home that very occasionally I might need you to alter your priorities. It doesn't make you any less of a father…"

"He asked me if I was going to keep you company you know?" Tom leant back into the cushions of the armchair and spotting a lap now empty of hands or cups, Samson leapt up and made himself comfortable. He proved a welcome distraction and the silence seemed less charged as Tom rhythmically stroked him and they listened to his contented purr.

"He didn't suggest that I should have gone with you instead of to him, but he seemed to think that I ought to go straight to York from the ferry." He gave a wry smile. "I did try to explain that I had to go to work, but I felt duly chastised by a six year old."

Sybil felt her heart twist a fraction, grateful for an ally, no matter how young. "He's a sweet boy" she said truthfully.

Tom lifted a hand in the air and Samson gave a squeak of displeasure, turning his head to stare with implied intent until the petting recommenced.

"It did make me wonder…" he admitted "…whether he might have been okay, you know if I'd not gone over but been able to make it up to him in some other way. Well I guess I won't ever really know, but I'll admit that I didn't really stop to weigh it up properly when you asked me." Abruptly he winced and raised an arm in the air. "Christ, will you get your claws out of my leg!"

Sybil couldn't help but smirk. "Ah, he only does that for the very best stroking techniques, you must be very good at it." As she concluded, it occurred to her how the words could offer a perfect opportunity for a teasing double entendre to lighten the mood. She hesitated long enough to witness Tom's expression mirror her own, before he thought better of it and looked uncomfortably away. With an uncanny perception that he had now ceased to be a point of focus, Samson sighed deeply, jumped down to the floor and padded softly out of the room.

Silence pervaded, the conversation had stalled. She racked her brain for a new opening.

"You know, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. I know I've not known you for most of Josh's life, but to me you seem utterly devoted. More committed and reliable than many fathers who live with their children."

His smile was half-hearted. "But it's not enough really is it?"

"In what way?"

"You and I both grew up with two parents. He's missed out right from the beginning."

"Yes…" Sybil felt cautious once again, confident in her opinion but wary that it might be unwelcome. "…but that's all he's ever known so you could argue that you've provided the best stability for him, both you and Eddie. You've been consistent in your arrangements, he's never had any real reason to doubt either of you."

He nodded, eyes observing intently while giving nothing away. Emboldened she pressed on. "There comes a point at which you have to learn that your parents, well not just your parents, any important adults really, that they have other things in their lives too and sometimes you might have to make way for that."

Tom gave a light sigh and anxious not to divert from her point, she averted any reply. "I don't just mean romantic relationships, I mean friendships too, or a commitment to another relative, or a job or whatever really. I mean, I remember my mother flying back to the US when her father was terminally ill and leaving us all with Dad for ten days. We were all desperate to go with her because it was the school holidays but she needed some time alone with him before he died, without three girls clamouring for her attention all the time, so she left us behind. I mean that's a more extreme example I guess, but on a more minor level, at Downton…"

Tom interrupted her flow and by expression betrayed the internal anguish he was undergoing. "I feel like I've chosen this job over him." Sybil waited, appreciating that he was on the verge of confession, holding her breath with anticipation.

"I should be near him in Ireland really. I took this job because I wanted the promotion." There was a short pause and his voice dropped a level, as if he was afraid of anybody else being able to hear. "For the glory of it all." He held her gaze. "I crossed the sea away from my son for my own personal gain. That makes me feel pretty shite at times, I'm telling you. It doesn't make me feel like a good father."

It was all Sybil could do not to cross the room and take him in her arms, but she managed to refrain. Any reconciliation would have to wait until they had reached their respective conclusions.

"You are a good father. Don't ever think that you're not Tom, you shouldn't let your guilt outweigh what you do for him. You may not be there for breakfast and the school run but you devote your weekends to him. You talk to him, engage with him, you're interested in him! He's a very happy and secure little boy because he knows that he's got two parents who love him, want to spend time with him and will be there for him regardless. I know it's not perfect in your eyes but don't belittle what you do."

"I feel like I have to condense everything into approximately forty five hours a fortnight…" Tom looked away now, staring keenly at a framed portrait of Downton on the far wall. "…I don't have time to make any mistakes, or be a bit grumpy, or to read an article in the paper and tell him to go and play by himself for a while. I've got to try and be the best possible Dad in the shortest time."

Sybil nodded. "I can understand why you think like that, although you probably spend more one-on-one time with him than most fathers. But it's not possible to be perfect all the time, nobody is. I think you're setting unrealistic expectations – for yourself and for Josh."

"I'm scared of letting him down."

"Or are you scared of Eddie thinking you've let him down?" The words were uttered before Sybil had fully processed them - the consequences of her mind running in parallel to speech, rather than taking its usual more measured approach. She held her breath and waited.

"I don't think…" He spoke without haste, but the flash of irritation which passed across his face was unmistakeable. "…that you can really appreciate what a difficult balancing act it is to keep everything amicable between Eddie and me…"

Sybil already felt the weight of his reproach making its way across the room and tried to ward it off with a shake of her head. "I know I can't really, it must be very difficult."

He watched her silently, his thoughts unfathomable while Sybil wondered whether she had overstepped her position. 'Sod it' she thought 'If I'm going to be a part of this family in some way, then my opinion has to count.' There could be no discernible future for them if she was unable to express herself without censure.

"I'm just trying to say how it sometimes looks to me…" she began and Tom sat back once again, his arms firmly folded across his chest. "…I'm not trying to demean either of you, but from where I'm standing, the decision making doesn't seem fairly divided."

"In what way?" he asked slowly, his brows furrowed.

"You said yourself that she probably enjoys making all the decisions, she likes being the one in control. And she's with him day in, day out so to a certain extent, that's fair enough. But when it comes to anything out of the ordinary, your opinions should count equally."

"How do you know they don't? You've only met her once!" For the first time, his words were brusque and laced with annoyance.

"I know, I'm not judging her."

"Oh right, so what - you're judging me?" He gave a light laugh but there was no hint of associated amusement.

Sybil chose to side-step the question, having no wish to admit such an undefined opinion. "Last New Year's for example. You told me he was ill and Eddie didn't want him to travel. But you said yourself that he only really had a bad cold. He wasn't bedridden or anything, but you didn't fight your corner and insist that he came to Wales."

"He'd never been here at that point. She was concerned. Or rather, we were both concerned that he might feel insecure about it if he was under the weather. It would be different now he's familiar with the place."

"Okay" She wasn't going to disparage a set of circumstances she hadn't witnessed personally. "But I get the impression that you're fearful not of Eddie herself, but of her disapproval. As if it might have a bearing on how Josh might see you."

"I just want to keep things amicable. I don't want to argue with her because it won't benefit anyone. Most of all Josh."

Sybil lay out her hands, palms aloft, her conclusion reached without any further effort. "Well there you are, so she does get her own way. You're not prepared to challenge her, even if she's misguided or downright wrong."

"Look Sybil…" A heavy sigh escaped his lips and she watched him rub a hand through his hair in frustration. "…what do you actually want me to say here? Every set of circumstances is different. You might have a point to a certain extent, but that's not to say that next time I won't feel strongly enough to make a case. I can't predict what's going to happen in the future, I just try to deal with each situation as it comes along. As best I can, that's all."

"I want you to say that you'll fight for me if need be, that's all."

For the first time since their conversation began, Tom's expression appeared to soften. "Fight for you? I love you and I've told Eddie that. I'm not going to let her persuade me against you, if that's what you're worried about?"

"I'm not."

"You want me to promise that I'll come and support you if your Dad has another attack? I promise that I'll try, yes. I mean, I hope it doesn't happen of course, but I will look at the situation more objectively if it does, I swear."

"It's not just that really." Sybil's face twisted as she struggled to find the right words of explanation and wound a strand of hair so tightly around her index finger that it made her wince. "That's a tangible situation we've already faced once and you can now anticipate. I guess I want to know that you'd support me if some other kind of major crisis occurred. Something hypothetical that we aren't expecting."

Even as she spoke, she understood that her request was too complex and far-reaching to expect a wholly satisfactory answer. He couldn't provide the level of reassurance she yearned for without disregarding the needs of his son, something she neither sought nor expected.

"I'm sorry, I'm being too vague" she admitted and he offered a smile which made her stomach muscles dance to a tune yet undefined. It was sufficient to let forth an instinctive declaration. "I do still love you though."

His smile widened and with it, the first sign of merriment within familiar blue eyes. She gazed across at him, feeling a slow burn of desire travel the length of her body. It would override any feeling of dissatisfaction in the short-term, yet the chasm between them remained. For the time being, she could not wholeheartedly commit to their future.

"I love you too" he replied and got to his feet, never rising to his full height while he moved swiftly across the room and sat down beside her. She felt the weight of his arm as it rested across the back of her shoulders and he tipped his head to one side, as if trying to read her mind.

"Are we okay?" he asked gently. "Can we go forward from here?"

"I want to, yes."

Doubt hovered in the air between them and the muscles in his cheeks immediately began to tense. "There's a but coming isn't there?"

"I want to be sure of your commitment to me, that's all. I feel as if my faith has been shaken and I need it restored."

"And how do I do that?" He moved his lips towards her ear and ran the tip of his tongue along its rim, sending such instant shockwaves of desire through her body that she wondered there was any rational thought left within.

It took a momentous effort for her voice to sound in any way normal, but she was determined not to be waylaid by pure lust, at least not until her terms had been laid bare. "It'll just take time, I think. I don't want any more terrifying flights across the country. I just want you to prove that you love me."

Lips brushed against the back of her neck, a sensation of brushed velvet. "I can prove it."

Any attempt at resistance was on the verge of proving futile, but she offered a final petition. "Not by making love to me on my sofa, Tom. By proving to me that there'll be times when I come first. Not often, I understand that. But sometimes. If I need you."

Dropping a gentle kiss to a shoulder blade, Tom leant back, his expression earnest. "You're asking me to commit to doing something undefined, so it's very difficult to make a firm promise. But I swear that I'll try, yes. I love you and I want to find a way forward that keeps everyone happy." She saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before a half-whisper. "Is that enough?"

"For the moment, yes" she replied and ran her fingers through his hair, drawing him close again until their lips met. Only the passing of time could restore their equilibrium and provide the sense of stability she craved.

She drew her head back and lifted her eyebrows, adopting a more sultry tone. "And now, you may make love to me on my sofa."