So I suppose I would call this chapter "pivotal" for this story. It was certainly a big enough deal that I broke my own rule about keeping it around 500 words! Ah well, I think it works in the end, being a tad longer than the others. This chapter takes place immediately following the last. Also, this one does get a little dark, and I will say there's a trigger warning here, so just be aware. Interested to hear what you guys think! Thanks for reading!

The Opposite of Grateful
October 1912
(The Next Day)

He hasn't even reached the breakfast room before he learns what has happened.

The Turkish fellow is dead.

Larry will never look at Mary Crawley the same way again.

He supposes he should offer Lord Grantham his services, see if there is any way he can help, although he has no idea what he could possibly do. Thankfully Mr. Napier has stepped forward and seems to have everything under control. And why not? The Turk was his responsibility anyway! Let him deal with the mess. So instead of trying to find ways to aid Lord Grantham, he chooses to retreat to the gardens, and see if he can provide a different sort of aid to someone else.

She's not crying like that time he saw her after Patrick died. But she is sitting by herself on a bench under a tree, an open book on her lap but instead of reading it, she's looking off into the distance. And looking very troubled.

He approaches gently and quietly, as he would approach a spooked horse. "Are you alright?" he softly asks.

Sybil gasps and lifts her head, surprised to see him standing there. He offers her a smile, and he can't help but admire the plumpness of her lips.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, turning her head again. "But I'm worried for Mr. Napier; and what this could mean regarding the Albanian talks."

Larry frowns. He has no clue as to what she's talking about.

"Poor Mr. Pemuk…" she sighs.

He snorts at this. The foreigner doesn't deserve her pity. "You didn't even know him," he mutters.

She looks up at him and frowns. "That doesn't matter! How can you be so heartless?"

Heartless?! After what he did for her last night?

Without another word she rises from the bench. "Where are you going?" he calls after her.

"Back inside. Mary was quite upset; I should go and see to her—Oh!"

He didn't mean to startle her by reaching out and grabbing her arm, but he couldn't help himself! She looked so beautiful last night, and all he's been able to think about is her; those sapphire eyes, that glowing skin, those plump lips, not to mention her breasts, oh God, her breasts!

"Larry?" she looks up at him, a mixture of confusion and apprehension. She's tugging on her arm, but his grip only tightens.

Without a second thought, he does it; he pulls her to him and bends his head, capturing her mouth.

"MMM!" she whimpers, and he groans. God she tastes divine! His tongue tries to push past her lips—

"STOP IT!" she manages to cry, her hands shoving against his chest so hard, he stumbles backwards.

She's panting, her breasts rising and falling hypnotically. He only realizes then that it's not desire in her eyes…but fear.

And it pains him to see.

He attempts to reach out for her, prepared to apologize, but she darts away from him, just out of his grasp. "Sybil—"

"Is everything alright, milady?"

Larry turns around to see the intruder, frowning as he locks eyes with the chauffeur, the little mick he had seen touching Sybil in this very garden several months ago.

"Yes, Branson, everything is fine," she answers, her eyes on the ground. "In fact, Mr. Grey was just leaving."

Larry stares in disbelief and opens his mouth to say something, but the bloody chauffeur steps in front of him, blocking his view of Sybil!

"Then I'll bring the car around," he answers, his eyes never lowering.

How dare he! The little mick has the audacity to stare back at him!?

…And Larry doesn't like the way he's looking at him; as if he's challenging him.

"Good day, Larry," she dismisses. "I'll give your regards to my family."

Ungrateful bitch. Why if she had any idea—

"Don't bother," he growls, before turning and marching away.

Sybil Crawley and her Irish wolfhound can go straight to hell for all he cares! So help him, he'll never darken Downton Abbey's doors after this humiliation.