And here's the third update for the day! Again, dedicated to darlingsybil, and also, a much LONGER update. But I don't think you'll mind ;o) and for those of you who were hoping to see a Larry vs. Tom confrontation? Well...I'm just going to leave this here for you :oP

ENJOY! And remember, if you haven't read chapters 28 and 29 (both published earlier today) please read them first! THANKS!

The Fight Before Christmas
December, 1916

Tom Bellasis is dead.

He learns the news only a few days before Christmas, in a letter sent to him in London from his mother.

It's a side note, but an important one, because apparently his death is what has driven Sybil to become a nurse!

Sybil Crawley, a nurse. A volunteer auxiliary nurse, to be specific, not a real nurse, though she did go to York to attend some training college for two months. Lady Grantham is rather distraught by all this, and has written to his mother about it, worrying that Sybil will not even come back for Christmas, even though the school is allowing them a short holiday from their studies.

Of all the mad things. Not that there is anything wrong with nursing, at least not that sort of nursing. She wouldn't be the first daughter of an aristocrat to make such a sacrifice. The newspapers are filled with such ladies, toiling away over the sick.

His stomach turns at the thought of his sweet Sybil in a hospital room, wiping the fevered brow of some mangled soldier. Hopefully Lord Grantham will make sure she stays far away from that sort of thing.

But again, she's not a real nurse, not in that way. Because when the War is over (and God willing it will be in the New Year), so too will her so-called nursing career.

But what is this nonsense that she will not come home for Christmas?

There is to be no New Year's hunt, just like the previous year, and one before that. But Lord and Lady Grantham don't see the harm in having a few friends join them for the holiday, including his family. But if Sybil isn't going to be there, what's the point?

He grinds his teeth and crumples the letter; fine, he'll go to York himself, if he must, and drag her back!

And that's exactly what he does. He packs his bags, takes a train to York, and hires a cab to drive them all the way back to Downton. Of course, first he has to fetch Sybil.

He thought it would be a struggle, finding her. He was prepared to scour the college, the hospital, the entire city…but he finds her standing outside on a curb with her suitcase, looking nervously down the road.

"Sybil!"

She gasps and her eyes go wide with shock. "Larry!?"

"Oh thank God," he groans, making his way to where she's standing. "So you are going back?"

"I…" she stammers and looks unsure on what to say, her eyes still nervously glancing down the road. "What…what are you doing here?"

"Come to bring you back!" he tells her, thinking it so obvious. Still, he smiles at the sight of her blushing cheeks. She has a very becoming blush.

She looks at him with confusion. "…Why?"

He can't deny; her question hurts. Still, he puts on a stiff upper lip and bends down to take her suitcase (though really the driver should be doing that, although the cab is waiting a street away).

"No, don't!"

Now he's looking at her with confusion. She looks pale, and positively panicked at his gesture.

"I…I have someone coming to fetch me," she explains, trying to calm herself, though she still sounds nervous.

Larry frowns. "Who? Your parents? Your sisters?"

Her blush returns and she lowers her eyes. "No…I mean, I don't think so, just…" she glances again at the street. "I just have other arrangements."

He's growing impatient. "Sybil, there's no need to wait. I have a car here, a driver that I've already paid to take us to Downton—"

"OH!"

She's not paying attention to him, in fact he sees her face come alive and positively glow…as her father's car is seen coming towards them.

But why is she looking like that? Why is she smiling so? From what he can tell, there's no one in that car save the chauffeur—

The chauffeur.

He looks at Sybil again, whose eyes are fixed on the approaching Renault, and she nervously begins to fidget, her hands smoothing her coat, moving up to fix her hat, her hair…

No…surely not…

"OH! Larry?" she looks up at him with wide eyes as he, without warning, grips her arm.

"Come on," he practically growls, starting to drag her away to go towards the cab he's hired.

"What? What are you…no, no, let me go!" she struggles, trying to wrench her arm free from his grasp, but he holds her fast, squeezing perhaps a little too hard, but he can't stand the thought that after all the trouble he's gone to…she would still rather return with him.

"Ouch! Larry, stop it! You're hurting me! STOP IT!"

But he pays her no heed; he's determined to get her away and keep her from making an even bigger fool of herself.

"LET HER GO!" roars a voice from just over his shoulder. He's barely turned to face his opponent, when there's suddenly a fist in his jaw.

"BRANSON!" Sybil gasps, the dirty mick looking ready to attack him again. He stumbles back and nearly falls, if not for Sybil now grabbing his arm to steady him.

Larry groans, rubbing his jaw and staring back at the Irishman with hateful eyes. "You filthy, little—"

"Stop it, Larry!"

"I said, let her go," the chauffeur snarls, advancing towards him with murderous eyes.

"STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!" Sybil practically screams. She's glaring back and forth at them, but neither he nor the chauffeur really notice; they're too busy glaring at each other.

"Larry, I…I thank you for coming, and I'm sorry for all the trouble you went through…but…but I think it best that I go back with Branson."

His eyes finally rip away from the Irishman and stares back at her as if she were crazy. "You can't be serious! With that madman!? Did you see what he did—?"

"It wouldn't be proper!" she attempts to reason. "Traveling together…without a chaperone."

It's a weak excuse, especially since she'll be traveling back with that paddy, also without a chaperone.

But he's just a servant. She wouldn't be THAT foolish, surely?

"Fine," he growls, releasing her arm at last. "But I'm going with you."

He doesn't give her the chance to protest; he turns on his heel to go and fetch his things, his blood boiling with anger at how this whole event has turned out. But he'll be damned if he lets her and that grubby chauffeur have the last word.

Or the pleasure of each other's company.