September 15, 1916

Making her way from the kitchen Anna shook her head, marveling at the fact that the staff she and John had hired (which in and of itself was a marvel for a woman that had been a maid a few years ago) to make their lives easier somehow managed to make it all the crazier thanks to their drama. Not that they were stealing things or setting fires or drunkenly racing horses through the village. No, nothing like that. Merely that their own personal lives, and the… excitement… they brought, had made things far more complex for the Grantham Arms and the Bates family.

'I wonder if Mrs. Hughes felt the same headaches when dealing with us?' Anna thought as she passed by Mr. Smithers, the woodworker, who was finishing his late lunch. He gave a small nod and a smile but left her to her thoughts, which she was thankful for. 'Daisy being blind to William's interest, Branson's political idea, John and I dancing about each other… oh, how all of us must have driven her to distraction and madness!'

Their cook, Mrs. Lester, was currently dealing with two different suitors, both of whom lived on farms on opposite sides of the Crawley landholdings and who loved to come in and pitch woo to her when she was supposed to be cooking, forcing Anna and John to chase them off. It never caused Mrs. Lester to be late with a meal, as she was far too dedicated to her craft to let some soft words about her beauty drive her to distraction, but it was annoying to find one of the two men sitting at the counter begging Mrs. Lester to leave her life behind. Then there was Peter, the miller's son who was their part-time handyman. He had enlisted early on only to return within a month, never revealing what had happened but claiming that he was needed in the village. John thought the man had scrubbed out (as while a bit handy with a saw and a hammer he got winded easily and couldn't run even if the hounds of hell were on his heels) but everyone else was convinced Peter was a spy or on a secret mission and thus pestered the Bates about what they knew.

And then there was Imogen, the current source of drama at the Grantham Arms.

Anna and John had hired the young girl (and she was young, having only turned 13 a few months ago) nearly a half year into running the inn, having finally grown comfortable enough to bring in outside help. Mrs. Lester had been their first hire and Imogen next. Where the cook had experience, having worked at another inn about an hour north of the village, Imogen had never worked before but needed to learn a trade, as she had been cared for by her Aunt and Uncle ever since her mother had died and couldn't rely upon them forever. It was similar to how Anna had begun working at Downton and Imogen had been around Anna's age when she had started working at the great house, so the Bates family had assumed that Imogen would be a perfect fit.

'When it comes to the actual tasks she is,' Anna thought as she began to climb the stairs, taking it nice and slow; while she was recovering well from childbirth she knew she needed to take it easy if she wished to return to full strength. The doctors in London had told her as much. 'Quick learned and has taken to everything I've thrown at her with utter ease and never a complaint. If that was all that mattered then she'd be perfect. But Imogen isn't me… she's Daisy at her worse.' Anna snorted. 'She's worse than Daisy.'

The problem was that Imogen was utterly naïve when it came to the outside world. Her job? She could handle easily. Just give her a list of directions and she followed them easily. Religiously even. But everything else?

The girl had been tricked into taking stale bread from the baker because she'd believed she had made it go stale by staring at it too long. Anna had given the woman a tongue lashing over that and when Mrs. Hughes had been informed word had quickly spread throughout the village and the baker had finally begged Anna and John to forgive her so she wouldn't starve. A traveling salesman had nearly convinced her to pay him a week's wages for a rock that could fend off tigers; John had beaten the man and retrieved the money AND the rock before passing him off to the constable for fraud. Anna was sure that if she sent Imogen out into the rain and told her to look up she'd drown before she remembered to close her mouth.

Today she'd been pulled away by Mrs. Lester to deal with a bedridden Imogen who had been sobbing that she was dying. It had taken 10 minutes before Anna finally realized that the girl had just had her first period and had no idea what it was. Anna had then spent nearly half an hour talking with the girl before Mrs. Lester had, thank goodness, agreed to take over and explain all the girl needed to know about the changes she was going through. It was a conversation Anna hadn't wanted to have for YEARS and especially not with someone who repeatedly asked if Anna was sure she wasn't turning into a vampire.

Normally she wouldn't have minded helping out the girl, as Anna knew if she didn't the poor dear would probably chase after a butterfly and end up in the Orient by accident, but today she had other things to occupy her focus. General Allen Lothrop had come for a visit and Anna had been forced to leave their discussion when Mrs. Lester had fetched her to deal with Imogen. She'd promised that she'd only be a minute but when the problem had been revealed a moment had become nearly an hour and Anna feared insulting the man by being away for so long.

'None of that,' she thought to herself. 'He'll understand. The General isn't like most army men, needing to be coddled and their egos stroked all the time. He is understanding and polite and-' Anna walked into the small room that served as her and John's private dining area and found an empty table and three abandoned cups of tea. '-gone.' Her shoulders slumped. "Great," she muttered.

"Anna?" John said, his tone loud enough to get her attention but soft enough to not disturb anyone. She blinked and turned out of the room, spotting John standing across the way. "We're in here."

Hurrying forward and already knowing with growing dread what she was going to find, she pushed past her husband and fought the urge to smack the smile off his face as she stepped into the nursery to confirm that yes, one of the most important generals in all of Brittan, the man whose pen ensured thousands of soldiers were fed and clothed, was currently standing at the changing table fussing with her son's nappy.

"I tried to stop him but he said I was doing it wrong," John said with a shrug and a smirk.

"You were," the General said without even glancing back at either of them. He'd tossed off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, a bowl of warm water and a washcloth sitting beside him as he carefully undid the pins holding the diaper in place.

"General, you-" Anna exclaimed, stepping forward with her hand extended. But the General deftly held the front of the diaper up to prevent the stream of urine that Anna had known was coming from getting anywhere close to him.

Once he was sure the babe was done the General leaned down and whispered, "I raised two boys, little one… you aren't going to get me that easily."

"He is better than you," Anna said to John who merely shrugged with a weak smile. He'd had more shirts stained from the baby deciding to deliver a 'surprise' during a nappy change than he'd had during his entire career at Downton doing a hundred other tasks.

"I might be a future lord but when my children were little it was just me and Cat. We wanted to save our money and not waste it on another woman who would care for our little ones." He tossed the stained diaper into the hamper that was nearby and set about dipping the washcloth in the warm water and cleaning the boy's bottom.

"I can do that…" Anna said, once more stepping forward only for the General to wave her off.

"I've had my hands buried in other men's guts, my dear. Have you ever felt a man's intestines squishing between your fingers? Not just living men either… men who were dead for hours, their organs bloated and putrefying in the desert sun. Once fell face first into a chap who had been torn apart by hyenas and was covered in maggots; saved my life actually as the patrol that stumbled upon me thought I was dead too. Had to hold my breath for a while… anyway, a little baby poo is nothing I'll get squeamish about." He leaned down again and said in a cheery voice, "And you curse less than those men."

The baby let out a gurgle and smiled.

"You don't need to do this, General," Anna said before smacking John's arm to stop him from stating he was welcome to do as much as he wanted. "We can…"

"I want to do it," the older man said. "And it's Allen, please."

"Forgive her, General," John said, limping over to the changing table. "You know how the military is, how hard it is to break habits? Service is even worse."

"Hmmm… I wonder what the Boers would have thought had I marched into battle with an army of maids and cooks. Probably would have wet themselves in fright." Anna moved to join them, handing the General a diaper which he easily placed on the freshly powdered infant and pinned in place. John quickly took over getting the babe dressed while Allen walked over to a pitcher of water and another bowl, Anna pouring so he might soap up his hands. "Besides, this war has made it all the harder to see my grandchildren so getting time to spend even a few moments with your little one is a balm for my soul." He flicked his hand so that droplets of water fell into the bowl. "And if you want to change his name to Allen…"

"We'll stick with Noah," she said, handing him a towel.

"You never did tell me where you came up with that name," the General asked, watching as John took a moment more to cuddle with his son before placing him into his crib. Anna knew that most men spent little time with their children but John had never expected to have a child of his own and thus treated Noah like the most precious treasure in the world. It wasn't uncommon for her to walk into the nursery to find him hovering over the crib, watching their son sleep. "It wasn't one of the ones Mary was trying to push on you, was it?"

"No!" Anna said with a soft laugh, her voice dropping as John began to hum to the baby to encourage him to fall back asleep. "Thought she didn't make it easy on me. We hadn't settled on any names when he was finally born and I told John I didn't want a single name Mary suggested… she has a big enough head as it is."

"Thank you for that, she would have crowed throughout the entire house if you'd selected one of her suggestions."

"But once we eliminated all of Mary's names that left us trying to decide on our own and neither of us could come up with a decent one." She paused as John pressed his fingers to his lips then placed them on Noah's head before standing straight and taking his cane, hobbling towards them. The three of them made their way back to their tea cups and treats, the General settling down with a sigh before motioning for her to continue her tale. "John was also quick to say he didn't want the baby named after him."

"John Bates might be in a good place now but the last holder of that name went through a lot of trouble to get here now." He took a sip of tea. "We also ruled out anyone we knew well, both for bad memories and also to avoid claims of favoritism." He began to tick off names on his fingers. "So no Roberts, no Patricks, no Matthews, no Charleses, no Williams."

"No Thomases," Anna said with a slight smile. One of her favorite threats during the end of her pregnancy when she'd gotten into foul moods was that she'd named their baby after Thomas Barrow; that always got John to leap to action. "Then we began worrying about nicknames."

"Nicknames?" the General asked, selecting a piece of sweetbread from the platter on the table.

John nodded. "Take the name Robert. Rob. Bob. Bobby. Robby. Bert. Bertie."

"Ah. Yes, I can see how it would be annoying to go through life with a hundred different names being tacked onto you. One young jumpstart thought he could call me 'Al' after a meeting a few months back… I made clear the error in that choice."

"Mrs. Patmore actually helped out with it," Anna said. "She told me, 'Keep it unique but common, so they aren't confused for a thousand other people but also don't stand out like a sore thumb. And short enough now that you don't have to cut it down later'. Once we eliminated all the long names we were left with a few short ones and Noah was our favorite."

"A good name. Strong name. Biblical but not out of place in the modern world." The General smirked. "Allen is still better…"

"We'll stick with Noah," Anna said, knowing the man was teasing. The General was such an easy man to chat with. She'd met him a few times after her appointments, when she'd been forced to spend the night at the Lothrop House and make her way back by train in the morning, and he'd always been kind and polite. Interested in her life as well. Where others would have seen her merely as 'Mary's former maid' the General had taken a great interest in how the hotel was coming around, her work at Downton, and her time before she had become a maid. She got the sense that part of it was him wanting to remember that servants were people to, so that he never forgot when he became Lord Oakheart all those that had been on his level once. It helped that he and John had struck up a friendship after the General had met with him to apologize for all that had happened with Vera. The two didn't see each other as often as they would have liked, what with the war, but John and him shared letters, each letting the other see what the world was like from their corner of it.

She let out a small chuckle which quickly became a laugh.

"And just what is so funny?" John asked, setting down his cup.

Anna forced herself to calm down and take a breath. "I… I'm thinking about what my mum would say… if she could see me now. Having tea with a General… who just changed my son's nappy." She let out a snort against her will and that set her off again.

"I do aim to please," the General said sardonically.

John smiled as Anna gained control of herself. "I find it far more humorous that you had to abandon your plan when Anna came in." She turned, confusion clearly written on her features, and John elaborated even as the General glowered at him. "He won't admit it but he was hoping Noah would create a mess of some kind that would ruin his uniform and force him to rush back to London. And, I imagine, he'd just so happen to miss the train back."

Anna raised an eyebrow at that but the General merely continued to lightly glare at John, proving his words to be true. She shot the older man a disapproving look and he shifted in his seat like a little boy caught trying to sneak biscuits.

While he had come early to visit with Anna and John the two of them knew that they weren't the sole reason for his trip, though they also knew he wished they were. No, he had been forced to come to Downton because Lord Grantham had decided to throw a charity event for the army and every department at the War Office was expected to put in a personal appearance to show his Lordship that his efforts were appreciated. For Supplies that meant the General. Mr. Crawley was automatically out, for obvious reasons, and while under any other circumstance Thomas would have been a fine choice sending him back to Downton would have been problematic for him, what with how he had left. There were a few other men that the General could have sent but they had tasks and projects to complete. That left either the General personally going or sending a clerk and that would have been seen as utterly disrespectful to the likes of Lord Grantham. That left General Lothrop forced to enter a building he had no desire of seeing the inside of and dealing with a man that he utterly loathed.

Anna frankly was surprised the General hadn't taken Noah and bounced him until he spewed on him like a shaken bottle of champagne.

The rest of the army officials would be arriving by a private train later in the afternoon but the General had decided to make a visit with Anna and John, the former to offer his warm congrats on Noah's birth and the latter to actually meet the man face to face for more than a few moments and share war stories. Where the rest of the army officials would have taken over the Grantham Arms and expected the two of them to be at their beck and call the General treated them like old friends and only expected that which they were willing to offer.

"It won't be that bad," Anna said with a smile. She selected a biscuit and nibbled on it, her normal desire to be careful with what she ate tossed aside with the need for the boost the treat would bring. While Noah had begun to do better he still wasn't sleeping through the night and it was only her time at Downton, being used to going to bed late and waking up early, that allowed her to function at all.

"Perhaps, if I were in the mood for such games to begin with." The General set down his tea cup and let loose a weary sigh. "I just have grown so very tired of these pageants."

"I believe it is a musical performance. A string group," John told him.

"I wasn't referring to who was performing I was referring to the people putting it on." He gestured at himself, a look of disgust twisting his features. Normally when they saw him he was in a basic uniform, functional and to the point. Today he had to wear a dress uniform with all the flair and decoration that was required. "I must dress up like some bloody popinjay because I need to impress some gilded falcon who wants to believe he is actually helping the war effort. Never mind that it is taking me away from my actual work, the work that matters. Work that ensures the men fighting in the trenches, dying far from home in the cold muck, at least have a bit more comfort and ease. No no… I must set that aside so that Lord Grantham can feel special." He let out a snort and his lips curled into an ugly sneer. "They claim this is to honor us but make no mistake, my dear, this is all about honoring him. Him and all the lords like him that love to sit on their thrones and feel that a few pennies has earned them pounds-worth of praise." He shook his head in utter disgust. "He wants to dress up like a child and have all of us fawn over him. 'Oh Lord Grantham, how kind of you to open your massive home and buy a band to play some songs for us poor stupid military men. And you are giving a donation that is 1/4th of what you spent to put on this monument to your avarice!' Just… Gah!" He through his hands up into the air.

"…tell us how you really feel, General," John quipped.

The older man stared Bates down before he began to snicker, the other two of them laughing with the General. When one would begin to calm down they'd look at the others and set everyone off again, creating a cycle of laughter. Anna gasped, tears in her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath.

It wasn't even that funny of a comment. But it was the stress relief that they all needed. The War. The Crawley Civil War. The stresses of family. They all needed to just laugh.

Finally once they had settled down Anna dabbed her eyes with her napkin while the General rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling, a smile that was born more of frustration than joy formed on his lips. "I just don't know if I can do this."

John scoffed. "You have stood in front a patrol of Boer Soldiers with a jammed revolver and bluffed them into surrendering but an event at Downton has you concerned?"

"You're welcome to come as my guests."

"Not on your life," John spat out quickly before raising an eyebrow and shrugging. "Point taken."

Anna frowned at that. "I feels so terrible that such a great estate has become a thing of dread, even for those that once called it home." She paused, taking a sip of tea and ignoring that it had grown quite cool. "Except it isn't the house that's to blame."

"And that is where my problem arises," the General stated, much more calm now. "My loyalty is to those girls and Matthew, all of whom were so mistreated by Lord Grantham and now I am expected to walk into Downton and shake hands with the architect of their misfortune. I simply don't know if I'll be able to do it. I keep telling myself, "Don't punch him in the face, don't punch him in the face" because I fear if I stop he'll greet me with a smile and I'll greet him with my knuckles in his pretty teeth."

Anna wanted to defend his Lordship. To tell the General that he wasn't a monster. That he was only getting Lady Mary's side of things and that while Anna was friends with her she also knew how Mary could be. How she could be blinded to other people's views and see things only from her myopic point. How many fights had she had with Lady Edith where Anna had been a witness and seen how horrible Mary was and then stood there hours later and heard the eldest Crawley play herself as the victim and Edith as a monster? Was it not possible that there was a chance, no matter how slim, that Mary had done the same thing with her feud against her father and the General had only gotten one side of the sordid tale? That he was basing his hatred on faulty foundations? Did his Lordship not deserve the benefit of the doubt?

It was also something deeply ingrained in her from her years of service. You were a reflection of the family, yes, but the family was also a reflection of you. The Crawleys would defend their servants from slanderous false claims and the servants would always defend the Family. No false word or whispering piece of gossip was allowed to pass without heated rebuttal and rage. It was not to stand, ever! Mr. Carson had made it clear that an attack on the family must be repelled with all the ferocity of a lioness defending her cubs.

"His Lordship has given us all so much and it is our honor and privilege to stand before him as his shield wall. To defend him against those that, through avarice and envy, long to bring him down and cast him into the mud. We must drive such attacks back and stand forever a united front against any talk, as if it were against our own selves. For I assure you… in this house it is."

She could hear those words clear in her head, as if she were once more a nervous 12 year old being told her position in the house while the man loomed over her.

And yet when she tried to mount a defense of his Lordship, even in her head, all she could remember is how coldly he had made his goodbyes to her and John on their last morning. She remembered how he had stared at John with a look of utter betrayal, as if the idea that the valet finding love and happiness was just as criminal as the theft John had been framed for. She thought of how his Lordship had done nothing to assist them when a word from him would have seen the hotel established firmly the very moment they opened their doors. Anna smiled fondly at the memory of Matthew telling her that should she wish it he would put in a good word at his alma mater, so that Noah might have a step up in life while his Lordship hadn't even acknowledged the pregnancy. She looked at the General, a man who had only known them for two years, and how he had sent letters of congratulations to them both and now sat with them and had changed her son's nappy and who, Anna wouldn't be surprise, would offer his own assistance to see her son flourish in the world… and how Lord Grantham hadn't even sent a card of well wishing. Even the Dowager had written her and John a note, stating she prayed for Noah's success and happiness. It was stilted and clearly a standard card she would have sent anyone but she had at least DONE IT.

So instead she reached over and patted the man's hand. "You claim you want to strike him for Mary. But she wouldn't want you to do that." She smiled. "She wants that honor for herself."

The General snorted but some light returned to his eyes. "Aye, and she'll have my bloody head if I take the first swing." He paused. "I don't suppose I could borrow Noah for this? Can't punch with a baby in my hands…"

Anna laughed even as she denied him and the three lapsed into friendly chatter, the knowledge of the night to come drifting away.

Though not completely. For the specter of the General and Lord Grantham's meeting hung in the air. And none were foolish enough to believe it would come about peacefully.

~A~O~O~O~F~

"You know," Tom said, snatching a dinner roll and tearing a chunk off before dunking it into the hearty stew that had been placed in front of him a few minutes earlier. "I haven't been able to have a proper beef stew in ages. Not since-"

"Dublin?" Sybil asked, mimicking his actions. Before their move to London he would have thought she was merely trying to copy him, seeing how he was eating and assuming she had to do the same out of some misguided attempt to make him feel comfortable or to ensure she didn't stand out. But their weekly lunches had shown him that Sybil wasn't merely a rich girl playing at being someone she wasn't. Sybil was as down to Earth as he was… the proof alone being where they were eating.

She'd been the one to pick it out.

Because it was one of her favorite spots.

"No, Bray." He took a bit of his stew-soaked roll before continuing. "Never had a lot of money during my brief time in Dublin to enjoy a meal like this." While the people at Downton would have scoffed at calling the food at The Red Finch Tavern fine dining Tom had eating in shacks where the floors were compressed dirt, the tables weren't cleaned because the food just soaked into the surface, and when you were done you just set the dishes on the ground for the dogs and cats to lick clean as that was sometimes the only wash-crew the place had. And you considered yourself lucky that at least you could identify where the meat in your bowl came from. "Did you, in that..." he waved his hand about, not saying the words in case someone was listening in (as that was something you could never be too careful of in a place like this), "eat in Dublin?"

"Not often," she stated, grabbing a pinch of salt from the bowl on the table with her bare fingers and sprinkling a bit more on her stew. "Focused on saving money... but it was a wonderful treat when we... I had the chance."

"So more eating at home?" he asked.

"Yes, though no one was happy with it at first." He must have given her a look because she scowled and dabbed her dripping spoon in his direction. "The food was completely edible!"

"Sure," Tom teased.

"It was!" Sybil complained. "It just wasn't flavorful."

"What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Patmore taught me a little... the basics and such. And I learned more working as a nurse... one had to. Part of the duty of caring for soldiers is feeding them, and those that mend their ills, after all. And there were times where you couldn't afford a staff whose sole job was cooking so we had to take turns. But I learned only to make the blandest of foods, as my teachers and Dr. Clarkson stated time and again that spicy or strongly flavored foods could cause havoc for one's digestion. The body can not handle too much sugar or spice when it is on the mend and while a treat might taste good going down..." she didn't bother to finish that.

"So you got used to cooking bland foods," Tom stated.

"I did... took me a long time to break out of the habit and even then there would be times where the meals didn't have an lick of taste. That's why going out to places like this were such a treat... I remembered what real food tasted like."

Tom watched as she grew quiet, focused on her meal, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. It had been these lunches that had made him accept, finally and at long last, that what she was claiming was true. Not the past lives part… but the life she claimed she had lived. 'One can fake an accent or throw in some Irish curse words,' he thought as Sybil, her elbows propped up on the table and her face hovering over her bowl as she gobbled up her stew, 'but you can't fake this.' He'd seen the rich and powerful try and pretend they were like the common man, to 'slum it' as it were, and it was always painfully obvious. A tightness in the eyes as they tried to hide their displeasure. An awkwardness in their body as if they suddenly found the lack of rules on how one must sit and hold their spoon caused them to forget completely how to eat. A tension in their back as they didn't quite know how to position themselves. Movements slowed down as old fears of dribbling juice and sauce on their clothing flared up. But Sybil had none of these concerns. She learned over the table and ate like any working woman would, no different than the gals that were now manning many of the factories in London.

When Tom had first suggested they have lunches together it had been a way to placate her and, he'd originally thought, push away the rosy view she'd taken of their relationship. He'd become convinced that the Tom Branson she had known had been a completely different person than he was and that while a relationship between them in that life had worked it never would never be in this life, the only one that Tom knew. Sybil had admitted that many things had happened between the both of them to alter their world views. Tom had been her secret keeper when she'd become passionate about the vote and she in turn had defended him when things had gotten volatile there and her father had sought his head (and Tom still wondered how far that other Tom's head had been up his own ass to think it a good idea to take Lord Grantham's daughter to a rowdy political rally). Later on, during the war, he had been someone she could talk to about the horrors of being a nurse, for she had feared that admitting any of the negatives to her family would result in her parents and sisters snidely telling her that they'd warned her and she had been wrong. In turn he had allowed his frustrations over his inability to do anything meaningful and political to drive him to an act that, while a harmless prank in some eyes, would have seen him at best jailed and at worst shot. He wagered that the battering to his ego that he couldn't even pull off throwing filth and ink on a general had seen him humbled and more willing to adjust his views to match Sybil's.

So he'd agreed to the lunches as a means to prove to her that he wasn't her Tom and despite what she might have thought she was still Lady Sybil Crawley. He'd figured they have a few bites to eat but soon she'd beg off to go to fancier places, make more connected friends, and that would be the end of that. That she'd see that he, in that past life, had merely been the best of a selection of poor choices and now she had those options back once more. She would realize it and let it go.

Except she hadn't.

Sybil had loved the food at the first restaurant, a run down little place that Tom liked but would never have invited anyone from the paper too. She raved about them. And she'd fallen in love with the casual, "natural" feeling of the taverns and small out of the way restaurants that Tom had taken her to, to the point that when it was her turn to pick she'd commonly head back to them. It wasn't a case of pretending to like them just for his sake; no, there was a genuine delight in her eyes when she had a heaping plate of messy food placed in front of her that just couldn't be faked. It wasn't that she wanted to be merely with him either, though he knew that was a large part of it. Isobel had confided in him that Sybil had taken her several times to The Red Finch when they wished to get away from the hospital and feel like more than cogs in the war machine. Sybil didn't know Isobel was telling such stories.

And Tom had to admit that he too had found himself more and more looking forward to their lunches. It was a small piece of home, a reminder of who he was underneath the suit he wore. That one time he had worked with oil under his nails and soot smearing his face. That his workplace had not been filled with the ticking away as typewriters but the clattering of metal.

'Of course the company is wonderful too,' Tom thought has Sybil waved down a server to get a refill of water. 'We discuss politics of course... according to her in her first life that is what first brought us together. But it's more than that... I could listen to her talk about merely what she saw when she looked out a window and I would be entertained.' He smiled. 'It's what I love about her.'

He had taken three spoonfuls of stew before his last thought consolidated and he realized just what that meant... and how in that moment he knew it to be true. That everything she had claimed had been true. That he had fallen in love with her, that he had been willing to sacrifice everything for the dream of being with her. And not having her, in that life or this one, shook him to the core. The idea that she might be snatched away, that another man might move in and claim her because he dallied away and he'd never get to look into her eyes or hear the way she breathed his name...

"What?" Sybil said, giving him a funny little smile. "Oh! Do I have something on my face?" She grabbed the scratchy napkin and began to dab it along the corners of her lips. "Where is it?"

Tom shoved his chair back and walked around to her side of the table, pulling her up and pressing his hands to her cheeks before, like a descending angel racing towards the rising divine, he stopped fighting the pull that had been within his soul since he'd met her and allowed their lips to collide.

He felt her tense and for the briefest, tiniest moments he thought that he'd been so terribly wrong and that he'd missed his chance. But then she melted into him, her hands sliding along his waist as she melded herself against him and attacked back with just as much ferocity as him. And when they finally broke apart he looked down to find tears rolling down her face even as she smiled so brightly that in that moment the sun had become a mere match head in comparison.

"I..." she said, jaw trembling slightly before she let out a laugh. "I want to say so many things but they feel so small for this!" She hiccupped and laughed at the same time and it was the most beautiful thing Tom had ever heard.

And then Sybil's eyes darted over his shoulder and her smile went from the sun to a tempest.

"What?" Tom asked, refusing to let go and thus resorting to swinging around so that his right arm remained around her. He noticed a few patrons were trying not to look, staring at anywhere other than the two of them but there was one man, perched on a stool by the bar, who openly ogled them. He was tall with swept back hair and a clean face that was sunken in spots. He wore a black suit with a simple tie and when he smiled at them and raised his glass in a mock toast he looked more like a corpse risen from his coffin than something that belonged with the living. He dropped a few coins on the counter and made for the door, still wearing his rigor mortis smile, Sybil remaining tense until he finally was out of view. "Who was that?"

'Richard Carlisle," Sybil said, her voice no longer filled with joy but rather annoyance.

"The paper man?" Tom said. He awkwardly made his way back to his seat, knowing they were making more of a scene standing there like two lovers in a play, but he reached across the table and clasped Sybil's hand in his own, needing the contact. "I think Michael has mentioned him. And never fondly."

"He only dealt with him in this life time. But the last..."

"You met him?" Tom asked, wondering for a moment if Carlisle had been a suitor of Sybil's before dismissing the notion. Beyond what he knew of her first life and how busy it had been he also simply couldn't see the two of them together. She was like a sprite from a fairytale, weaving through the flowers and the glens while he was like some skeletal predator who slinked about praying on the innocent-

"He and Mary were engaged."

And suddenly all the pieces fell right into place.

"But wait," Tom said, holding up his free hand, realizing that the pieces didn't. At least not how he knew them. "What about Matthew?" He'd purposely made sure to find out as little about the previous life the likes of Matthew had lived, as he felt what small amounts he already knew were far too much. Life was meant to be lived without prior knowledge, to experience it so that every moment was fresh. It wasn't like a well-loved book where every twist was already known. So when Matthew had offered to tell him anything he'd wanted Tom had kept it to the absolute bare minimum, politely rebuffing anything else. Thus he knew that the war would end, he knew that tragedy had struck their family far too many times, and that was about it. Sybil had let slip information about her time as a nurse and tidbits of their married life but that had more been innocent mistakes than actually seeking to inform him of matters. As such Tom had little knowledge of what Mary and Matthew had gone through in their courting, only that it had taken far too long in Sybil's opinion.

Sybil sighed, shaking her head as she echoed that very last thought. "Remember how I told you that Matthew and Mary were rather childish with their romance."

"I remember you saying they were so addled in the brain you wondered if their nurses had both dropped them on their heads when they were infants."

"That does sound like me," Sybil admitted with a slight chuckle before continuing. "Everything that happened with Aunt Rosamund went far, far different in my previous life. I didn't find out until years later, during the war when Mary felt herself trapped with Carlisle and tormented herself with what might have been and needed to bare her soul, that rather than standing firm on marrying Matthew no matter what she… dithered."

Tom scowled at that. He'd gotten plenty of hints that Lady Mary had a heart of ice from the staff but by the time he'd come to Downton it had already begun to thaw. The idea that she would reject Matthew purely because she wanted a title… it didn't fit the Mary he had come to know.

'But I suppose that is the point… that Mary and the one I know aren't the same women. Not anymore.' Out loud he stated, "She rejected him because of the baby?"

"Not quite… she just put it off. But that was enough for Matthew. I can't say I blame him… I was wrapped up with Gwen at the time so I didn't notice but once he laid out what she did I understood completely why he broke things off with her. He went off to war and because he hadn't met Allen yet in that life he was on the Somme. He met a woman, Lavinia, and Mary became engaged to Carlisle." Sybil paused, anger flashing in her eyes. "From what I've come to understand the man had information on her… Matthew never said it aloud but I believe… it doesn't matter. The man found Mary at her most vulnerable and rather than support her he used it to ensnare her like she was a rabbit." She looked down at the table and sighed. "I'd thought we would be able to avoid him but it seems his focus will turn to you and I rather than Mary."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked.

"I am Lord Grantham's daughter living in exile… one who has made a name for herself at the hospital. You are my father's former chauffer and now a famous reporter and columnist for the man that bought up several parts of Carlisle's empire…"

Sybil didn't have to say anymore, as Tom could see just how juicy the gossip would be concerning the two of them. It would cause them nearly as many problems as it would have had they remained at Downton, neither of them making something of themselves, but it would still cause headaches none the less.

And that was why, even as they finished their meals, Tom decided that it might be wise to make an appointment to meet with Reichard Carlisle… and learn more about his new enemy.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And thus we set up two new bits of drama for the upcoming chapters: Carlisle becoming an annoyance… and General Allen Lothrop vs. Lord Robert Crawley.

Next chapter will see Robert meeting the General again while we'll also get more with Matthew and Mary concerning their dreams for the future.

And now time for our plot bunny. This one might seem rather shallow in terms of changes but when we dig into the options I do believe it could create an epic. The premise is very, very simple: What if Downton took place in New England in 1776?

Here is how I see it going: Robert's great great grandfather immigrated from England to the colonies because he received a royal decree from the king to take over a large plot of land and govern it. Thus Downton is born in the colonies, a massive estate that also oversees several towns and such. Robert is just the latest in a line of Lord Governors to rule over Downton and of course he is utterly loyal to the crown. Cora comes from a wealthy New York family that traces its line to New Amsterdam but who never held a lordly title (so still seen as Robert marrying for money rather than station). Mary is basically the same woman we know, as is Edith, but Sybil's interests are so much into women's rights as they are into Colonial Rights.

Bates is an old friend of Robert's, his aide during the French and Indian War where he received his wound. He was a famed tracker and is friends with many of the Indian tribes.

Now, this being set in the colonies one would be able to change some of the main characters, shifting them out for new characters who, and I'm going to be blunt, would be slaves. This would certainly add another wrinkle to the social standing in the house.

Things are shaken for the Crawleys when Patrick and his father die while sailing to England and Robert must turn to his last male heir, a lawyer from Boston named Matthew. Matthew would arrive with his mother Isobel, as well as his good friend, another lawyer named Tom Branson. Now, if I were doing it I'd also make another one of the cast Tom's sister… perhaps Gwen or Anna. Gwen might be best. Anyway, things would be basically the same until about half way through the first Series where we would learn the startling truth: Matthew and Tom are part of the Sons of Liberty. Matthew is the one believing that the colonies just need representation in the House of Commons while Tom is the one thinking they should declare independence.

Series 2 is where things would truly get interesting. The American Revolution. Robert, Mary, and the like as Loyalists, Matthew, Tom, and Sybil as Rebels. How would the families handle the war… both the ups and downs. And what would happen to Downton when America was free?