Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

_Hello! This is my birthday present to **Repmet** (happy birthday my dear!). This idea came to me out of the blue, and I won't go into much detail now (don't want to ruin the twists!) but I will say that this fic (which I see being a *short* multi-chapter) is one of my more *angstier* pieces, and certainly starts off that way! So be prepared for a bit of an emotional roller coaster (but at the same time, remember it's *me* writing this) ;o)_

_This is a bit of an S2 AU, set in the midst of 2x06, taking place in the autumn of 1918, roughly 6-8 weeks before the end of the War in November. It begins during that famous scene in 2x06 where Sybil asks Tom if he'll wait, and he beautifully answers, "I'd wait forever..." _

_Anyway, I do hope you all enjoy and as always, please let me know what you think! Thank you again for reading, and again, happy birthday repmet!_

* * *

**Will You Wait?_  
_****_by The Yankee Countess_**

_Chapter One_

_J__ust go in there; just go in there and…and talk to him! You've always been able to talk to him, you can talk to him now! Go on, just go—JUST GO!_

She entered the garage with a determined step…only to realize he wasn't in sight. She frowned and searched the room with her eyes, positive she had seen him enter the garage just a few minutes ago—and then spotted his legs, sticking out from under the car just next to the door.

A little smile lifted at the corners of her mouth, and she opened her mouth to speak, and suddenly…what? What should she say? What could she say? Her throat went dry and her mind was at an utter loss, but she had to say _something_, because by now he was well aware that someone was present in the garage, standing just a few feet away from him, so...looking at the car to her right for inspiration, she suddenly found herself saying, "I wish I knew how an engine worked…"

She winced. _Oh Sybil, could you be any more obvious?_

Tom slid out from under the car then, his head bowed but…there did seem to be a little smile curling at the corners of his lips. "I could teach you if you'd like?"

Sybil blushed and shook her head. While it was thrilling, she couldn't deny, the idea of him teaching her to drive, at the same time she loved the excuse that if she needed the motor, he would be the one to drive her about. "That's Edith's territory," she murmured, still smiling…though it began to fade as he turned away from her, picking up a rag to wipe his hands.

"I thought you were avoiding me?"

She couldn't see his face I that moment, but she didn't have to; she could hear the sad resignation in his voice. She moved quickly, following him across the garage. "Of course not!" He turned then and she took a step back, her throat going dry once more. Her eyes fell to his mouth…his chin and then his throat…and they continued to move lower, taking in the sight of his unbuttoned collar, which provided her a peek of his chest (just slightly). Her cheeks grew hotter, and she wet her lips in an attempt to bring some moister back to her sudden parched throat.

"But you haven't come with an answer yet, have you?"

There was no doubt to the disappointment that she heard in his voice. She turned her head, feeling ashamed, especially when she answered what he no doubt expected, but also what he didn't want to hear. "Not yet, I'm afraid."

She swallowed before glancing back at him. She wasn't sure what the expression he wore said. On one hand, it looked resigned, but on the other…it did look a little…amused. But it was a sad amusement, like "gallows humor". They were quickly approaching the two-year mark; two years to when he first proposed to her in an archway in York. Two years to when he opened his heart and laid everything out and asked her to "bet on him", while promising to devote every waking minute to her happiness.

…Two years to when she had disappointed him by not giving him the answer he longed for.

Two years where…she hadn't really given him any answer, other than begging him to stay. Which naturally anyone with a half a brain would interpret as being that she _did_ in fact have an answer. The problem was…she was still trying to figure out what that answer was.

There was the answer she felt that she should give. And then there was the answer she _wanted_ to give. And heaven help her, both answers frightened her.

"I know you want to play your part in Ireland's troubles, and I respect that…" She knew all about Tom's feelings for Ireland, knew he wanted to be present when his homeland finally won its independence, that he wanted be a part of it, just as she wanted to be a part of the suffrage movement. But she also knew that the reason he hadn't returned was because…of her.

Or rather, because she hadn't given him a solid confirmation, one way or another.

"But I…" she paused for a moment and forced herself to look into his eyes. _Be honest with him, he deserves that at the very least._ "But I just can't think about it all until the war is over—it won't be long now!" she quickly added, though she hated herself for how pathetic her answer sounded, as well as how "repetitive" it was to all of her previous answers (and how it really answered nothing).

She had no right to ask him this. But there was a stab of fear that if she didn't…

"So…will you wait?"

She wouldn't blame him if he scoffed at her, or made some sort of sarcastic comment, or even if he thundered and roared at her, like he had done that morning a year ago, when he told her about his cousin who died in the Easter Rising.

But he didn't do any of those things. He looked at her…put down the rag he was holding, and turned to fully face her, drawing her eyes once again to his throat, his chest…across the expanse of his shoulders, down to his arms, noticing not for the first time since she had entered the garage how he had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, providing her another wonderful glimpse of his strong forearms.

Her breath caught in her throat as she heard him murmur, his voice sounding almost reverent, "I'd wait forever."

Coming from any other man, Sybil might have thought such a declaration not only sounded cliché, but also ridiculous. Yet from Tom…it was not something to be taken lightly, because she knew that he meant it. Such a simple sentence; but one that rang true. Tom Branson was not a man who made vows lightly.

"I'm not asking for forever; just a few more weeks," she murmured back. As heartwarming as she found his declarations, it pained her a bit to hear them…mainly because she honestly did not feel worthy of them. So while her words may have sounded dismissive, it was simply done to assure him that she _would_ give him an answer.

She just hoped that in those few weeks, she could.

A silent understanding seemed to pass between them, and Sybil felt her stomach somersault at the soft, tender smile he was giving her. But she didn't dare try to "dissect" what he was thinking, whether she had given him hope or whether he believed her…no, no, she wasn't going to analyze it, she would simply smile back, before turning and leaving and going back to the house and back to her duties—

"Mr. Branson?"

Sybil jumped at the sound of Daisy's voice and quickly stepped back, just as the kitchen maid appeared in the garage door. "Her Ladyship is asking…" Daisy's voice trailed off as she realized Tom wasn't alone. "OH! Lady Sybil! I'm sorry, I…I didn't realize—am I interrupting?"

Sybil was quick to answer; shaking her head perhaps a little more than was necessary. "No! No, I um…" she coughed. "I was just making arrangements for Branson to take me to the hospital later."

Daisy simply nodded her head, never dreaming of questioning any member of the Crawley family, before turning back to Tom and finishing her announcement. "Her Ladyship is asking for the car to be brought around."

Tom nodded his head and began to roll his shirtsleeves down. "I'll be right there."

Having completed her task, Daisy glanced at Sybil one more time, gave her a small, somewhat bashful smile, before turning on her heel and scurrying back towards the kitchens, once again leaving Sybil and Tom in peace.

Sybil pressed her lips together. "Duty calls," she murmured, her own eyes bashfully falling to the ground…though not without glancing at his fingers as they finished buttoning his sleeves, before moving to the buttons at his collar.

"That it does," Tom sighed, grabbing his tie which had been hanging over a nearby railing and making quick work of tying it.

She knew she should go; she had been preparing to leave just before Daisy's arrival, but now she was lingering, and her thoughts went back to the petite kitchen maid who had just been there. "How is she…?" she struggled with finishing her sentence, because to do so would bring back the sad memory of William, and his untimely (and unnecessary) death.

Tom didn't respond at first, but Sybil knew he understood her question. He sighed before picking up his livery jacket and shrugging it on. "She's doing as well as a person could in such a situation, I believe," he answered. It was straightforward and to-the-point, but she could see the sadness he personally felt reflected in the blue of his eyes.

Sybil opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Really, what more could be said? She personally hadn't been at "the wedding", but Edith had told her everything, how Daisy had looked, how everyone was gathered, the vows spoken, William slipping the ring on Daisy's finger, the little kiss that was shared when Travis pronounced them husband and wife…

How had she done it? Daisy was such a petite woman, and yet the strength she possessed to carry through and grant William his dying wish, making his final hours his happiest…

She coughed and glanced back at Tom, who had just finished buttoning his jacket. "I should go," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I um…I'll speak with you later?" She lifted her eyes to his, feeling her face grow warm again, and her breathing quicken at the handsome, crooked smile he returned.

"I'd like that," he answered, holding her gaze.

Sybil blushed and lowered her own eyes, before turning on her heel to quickly head back to the house and not delay him further. She could feel his eyes on her back as she went, and in her mind, his words kept repeating over and over: _"I'd wait forever…"_

_And he would—he will, _she thought to herself._ If he hasn't proven that to you yet, then you're an even bigger fool._

* * *

_"I'm not asking for forever, just a few more weeks…"_

Tom couldn't stop replaying her words over and over in his mind as he drove both Lady Grantham and Lady Edith into Ripon. It wasn't a "yes", nor was it a "no". But it was a promise that she would answer him, and while a more cynical man would roll his eyes and mutter, "I'll believe that when I see it", Tom _did_ in fact believe her. After all, like all those other times, it was _she_ who kept coming to him, _she_ who sought him out whether he was in the yard or working in the garage, _she_ who kept finding various "excuses" to come and speak with him. And today, it was Sybil who entered, telling him that she wasn't avoiding him, that she would give him an answer and soon, and asking if he would wait.

Again, a more cynical man would laugh and mutter something about "haven't I proven myself to you? Haven't I shown you that I would do that? Haven't I waited long enough?" But such a man would also be a right bastard, and while Tom could not deny that he did sometimes feel frustrated (he wasn't perfect), he also knew that this was a big decision…because a life with him would be _nothing_ like her life at Downton Abbey. And as much as he wanted her to say "yes", he also wanted her to be sure, to understand what she was saying "yes" to…because heaven help him, he didn't think his murmuring heart could survive such heartbreak if she later changed her mind.

"I honestly don't understand why you need me to come with you," Lady Edith grumbled from the backseat of the motor.

Lady Grantham sighed and from what Tom could see reflected in the rearview mirror, was trying to summon a great deal of patience. "Darling, you're spending far too much time indoors—you hardly ever go outside! The fresh air will do you good."

Lady Edith sank further into the seat and folded her arms across her chest. "Have you given Sybil such lectures?"

"Honestly, trying to reason with your sister is like trying to reason with a brick wall," Lady Grantham muttered, and Tom bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Lord that sounded like her…

He drove the car through the center of the village, heading specifically to the dressmaker's. "Thank you, Branson," Lady Grantham murmured as the car came to a stop. He quickly lifted the parking break and then hopped out, going around to open the door for the Countess of Grantham and Lady Edith. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice across the street, two men muttering as they looked under a car's bonnet, while another man sat behind the wheel, and kept trying to get the engine started.

"I don't see how going to the dressmaker's is the same as 'getting fresh air'," Lady Edith muttered, climbing out of the car after her mother. She took Tom's offered hand and glanced at him, and then bit her lip to keep from giggling as he gave her a little wink. During their driving lessons, the two of them had a developed a camaraderie of sorts, and Tom always believed that of all the members of Sybil's family, Edith would be the first to accept them.

"Well, I wanted to look at some material for Mary's wedding, and I thought you could help me! It's always better to have another pair of eyes—"

Lady Edith groaned. "Oh for heaven's sake, Mama, I can't believe…" her words trailed off as she looked across the street, distracted by the loud clunking sound made by the engine of that stalled motor. "Is everything alright?" Lady Edith asked, not looking at her mother but at him.

Tom frowned as he followed her eyes to the other car. "There's something definitely wrong with that engine—sounds like a coil has come loose."

Lady Grantham now glanced across the street, seeming to take notice of the other car for the first time. "Oh, Branson, we'll be a while, why don't you see if there's anything you can do to help?"

"Certainly, your Ladyship," he dutifully answered, shutting the door behind Edith and removing his cap in the process.

"I wish you would just be honest," Lady Edith muttered as Lady Grantham looped her arm through hers and they started to cross the street.

"Darling, whatever do you mean?"

Tom glanced over his shoulder and caught Lady Edith rolling her eyes and looking exasperated. "This is about Maj. Gordon—you're trying to keep me away from him!"

Tom's eyebrows rose at this. He knew enough about the man who was claiming to be Lord Grantham's heir, even if no one had told him directly what was happening. The advantage of being a servant sometimes meant you were confused as part of the background, and therefore things were sometimes revealed that a person would never dream of revealing in front of their "equals".

Lady Grantham looked a bit agitated at her daughter. "Edith, keep your voice down," she hissed.

But Lady Edith, who in Tom's opinion was often silenced by her family, refused to do so, and lifted her chin and glared back at her mother. "I don't know why you're all being so hard-hearted; at least give him a chance! I mean, don't you want Patrick to be alive?"

"Of course I do, darling, but we don't know if…" she sighed. "Look, this is all very complicated—"

"It doesn't have to be! You're making it that way—"

"It's not as simple as you seem to believe!" Lady Grantham hissed, before glancing around, looking quite embarrassed. "Edith…now is really not the time. Please, let's just go—"

"You go," Lady Edith turned on her heel then. "I don't believe I would be very good company right now, anyway."

Lady Grantham stared at her daughter's retreating figure. "Edith!" she hissed, but the middle Crawley daughter continued walking, moving away from her mother, as well as from the direction of the dressmaker's. Tom had paused midway through undoing the buttons of his jacket, wondering if perhaps Lady Grantham would change her mind in having him help the stranded motorists and instead go after her daughter. The Countess of Grantham gave an exasperated sigh and began to cross the street and go after Lady Edith herself—

The sudden roar of the stranded engine caused Tom and several others to gasp and whip their heads in the direction of the stalled motor…which was no longer stalled.

"JESUS CHRIST!" the man behind the wheel swore as the car lurched forward, causing his two companions to leap away in the nick of time. The bonnet was still open, and blocking the driver's view. The man was clearly in a panic, because instead of trying to pull the breaking lever, he was pushing down on the gas pedal, causing the car to speed forward even faster.

People on the street were screaming and scrambling to get out of the way. One scream in particular caught Tom's ears and his horrified eyes moved from the runaway motor to Lady Edith who screamed again, "MAMA!" and Tom realized then that Lady Grantham was standing directly in the path of the oncoming motor.

…He didn't even hesitate.

He flew from where he was standing, flew as if his boots possessed wings, his body a blaze of green as he sprinted from the Renault to the middle of the street where Lady Grantham stood frozen, her face pale and her eyes wide as she gazed upon Death in the form of a speeding car.

With arms outstretched, Tom shoved the Countess of Grantham as hard as he could, pushing her away from the oncoming car, sending her flying as Lady Edith's screams echoed around him.

She landed, hard, on the gravel of the street, but she landed safely out of the way of the car just in time.

The same could not be said about him.

The last thing he saw was the metal grate at the front of the car, before it slammed into his chest, hitting him so hard that his entire body went soaring into the air, the world around him a blur of light and color.

He had heard stories about men whose lives flashed before their eyes during their last moments. For Tom Branson, it wasn't his life that he saw, but that of another. And just before the darkness took hold of him, he gasped her name.

"Sybil."

* * *

"Nurse Crawley? Please?"

Sybil glanced up as an officer called out to her, holding an empty cup and looking expectant. She nodded and crossed the Hall to where he was sitting, bringing the kettle which she was holding and refilled his cup with fresh tea. He thanked her and Sybil murmured a simple, "you're welcome", before moving on and trying, not for the first time, to push away that comment Tom had once said in the heat of anger, mocking her work as nothing more than "bringing hot drinks to a bunch of randy officers".

Ever since he had made that comment, she couldn't help but feel a little more sensitive whenever she found herself walking around with a tea kettle. She sighed and shook her head, moving on to the next officer who was looking to have a refill, when suddenly a cold shiver ran down her spine…and she felt something squeeze the inside of her chest, almost making it impossible to breathe.

The tea kettle fell from her hands, and Sybil stumbled backwards, as if something had struck her.

Dr. Clarkson was passing through the Hall just then, but turned his head at the sound of the crashing kettle. "Nurse Crawley?" he called out, and then quickly moved to Sybil's side, grasping her arm and catching her just before she fell backwards. "Nurse Crawley? Lady Sybil?" he repeated her name several times, even going so far as to shake her. "Lady Sybil, are you alright?"

She was trembling, and her right hand held fast to the collar of Dr. Clarkson's jacket, the knuckles white from the way she was gripping it. "I…I…" her throat was dry and she found herself gasping for air.

Dr. Clarkson put his left arm around her shoulders and quickly guided her to a nearby chair, an officer rising and offering it for Sybil to sit on. "Easy, just take slow breaths," Dr. Clarkson instructed as he helped Sybil down on the chair. "I need some water!" he called out to another nurse, before turning his attentions back to Sybil. "Slow breaths, that's it," he repeated, kneeling in front of her and examining her face.

Sybil did as he said and took long, deep, slow breaths, but the panic that had suddenly seized her didn't seem to want to go away. What was happening? Why was she feeling like this?

A nurse appeared then, holding the water Dr. Clarkson had requested, and he carefully took the cup and lifted it to Sybil's lips. "Here, Nurse Crawley, just take a few sips…that's it…"

"Sybil?"

She and Dr. Clarkson turned their heads to the sound of her father, who was now approaching and looking at his youngest with grave concern. "What happened?" he demanded, looking directly at Dr. Clarkson for answers.

Sybil groaned and sat up, trying to ignore the cold squeeze in her chest. "I'm fine, Papa, I…I think I just became overheated suddenly, that's all."

Neither her father nor Dr. Clarkson looked entirely convinced. "Sybil, you work yourself too hard," Robert began to chastise, but he was stopped short by the rather frantic sound of footsteps coming from the other end of the Hall.

Sybil lifted her head and frowned as she recognized the figure who had just darted passed a very confused Carson. "…Edith?"

Her sister was looking every which way, reminding her of a frightened rabbit, but when Edith heard her name, her eyes locked onto Sybil and their father, and she moved quickly towards them. "Papa!" Edith practically wailed. "Papa…there…there's been…"

Despite the sudden weakness that had struck her mere moments ago, Sybil rose to her feet and stumbled towards her sister, her arms outstretched to catch Edith (or to have Edith catch her), and upon seeing her sister's face up close, that horrible squeezing she had felt earlier in her chest returned, only now it seemed determined to not only crush her lungs, but her heart as well. "What is it? What's happened?" Sybil demanded, gripping Edith's shoulders and trying to look into her sister's frightened eyes which were swollen and puffy from the tears she was still crying.

"I thought you had gone with your mother to Ripon?" Robert questioned. "Where is she?"

_ Oh God…_

Sybil looked back at Edith and barely managed to gasp, "…Mama?"

Edith must have understood, because despite panicked expression on her face, she shook her head and managed to say, "she's fine, or she will be; she's at the hospital—"

"WHAT!?" Robert gasped, reaching out and grasping Edith's arm, forcing her to look at him. "What do you mean she's at the hospital? What happened to her?!"

Edith's tears sprung anew. "She…she…she was standing…in the street, and…and…and there was a car…" she had to pause, her sobs making her impossible to understand. As for Sybil, she was trying to comprehend everything her sister had just revealed.

"What do you mean when you say 'there was a car'!?" Robert demanded, his other hand coming around to grasp Edith's shoulder and shake her to look at him.

Sybil gripped her father's arm. "Papa, she said Mama is fine, remember?" But her own head was swirling in confusion and apprehension. If there was mother was alright, then why was Edith crying like this? What was it that had upset her?

"How did you get here?" their father demanded again. "Did Branson bring you back? Who took your mother to the hospital? Where is Branson? CARSON! Get Branson in here now!"

Edith groaned, sounding as if she were in great pain at the mention of the chauffeur. And Sybil suddenly felt all the blood drain from her face…

"_She's fine, or she will be. She was standing in the street, and there was a car…"_

"Branson isn't here, milord," Carson answered, his own voice sounding grave and apprehensive. "Lady Edith came up the drive in the car…by herself."

"What?" Robert looked back at Edith. "You drove here by yourself? Why? Why didn't Branson drive?"

Edith didn't look at their father, but rather…right back at Sybil.

Her stomach was twisting into terrible knots. _No…no, please…_

"Mama was standing in the street…and…and a car went out of control…" Edith began, and Sybil found herself reaching out to grip something, anything, because she honestly couldn't feel her legs anymore.

"…Branson, he…he rushed forward—"

_No._

"—He pushed Mama out of the way—"

_Please no._

"—But…but the car struck him—!"

_ NO!_

"And…" Edith held Sybil's gaze, as her own voice became nothing but a whisper. "…And I think he's dead."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_HELLO! I know, it's been a while, so I apologize for the wait. This story seemed perfect to update for the theme day of "Angst" during Lady Sybil Lives Week, as I do think this is one of my angstiest pieces. We're in for a roller coaster of emotions, so to speak, but hang in there, as I always say! _

_Anyway, I know it's been a while since the last update, but if you recall, Tom and Sybil had the famous "conversation" in the garage as seen in 2x06, where she asked him if he would wait, and he said he would "wait forever". After that conversation, Tom took Edith and Cora into Ripon, but a runaway car threatened to hit and kill Cora, and Tom pushed her out of the way just in time, however he was then hit, and is now at the hospital. Edith went straight to the house, and Sybil (after experiencing a strange sense of foreboding) was told by Edith that "Branson is dead". And now...you'll find out what happened! _

_Thank you to all who read and reviewed and responded to this story! I apologize for the wait, but I promise I haven't forgotten it! And again, shout out to **repmet**, as this story was written for her birthday (which continues to be celebrated) ;oP Thank you again, and please share your thoughts. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter Two_

He wasn't dead.

At least he wasn't dead…_yet_.

That was what Sybil quickly learned when she, along with her father, sister, and Dr. Clarkson, burst into the hospital. The only difference being was that Edith and their father went directly in search of their mother, while she bypassed Dr. Clarkson to where patients in need of the most critical care were taken.

"Where is he!? Tom Branson! Lord Grantham's chauffeur! PLEASE!" She was on the verge of hysterics when she was stopped by one of the hospital matrons upon entering the wing.

"Doctors only," the woman tried to tell her, but Sybil was shaking her head, trying to get past her.

"I'm a nurse! I can help!"

The matron looked past Sybil to Dr. Clarkson, who reached out to gently put his hands on her shoulders. "Lady Sybil—"

She whirled around to face him. "Please, I need to see, I need—"

_"Nurse Crawley!"_

Both his firm tone and the use of her title (her_ true title_, as she liked to think) caused her to cease her struggles and close her mouth, though her eyes still implored him. _You must calm down; you're a nurse—Tom needs a nurse right now, not a hysterical earl's daughter!_

"Dr. Clarkson," she said after taking a deep, calming breath. "Let me be of assistance, I know I can help—"

"I have no doubt about that, Nurse Crawley, but let me learn what I can about Mr. Branson first," he answered, and though the words weren't spoken, she knew what he was trying to tell her. _"Let me learn if the man is beyond our help or not…"_

"You should go and see to her to her Ladyship; I'm sure she is quite shaken and would take some comfort from you right now."

Oh Lord, her mother. She had completely forgotten! Sybil lowered her eyes and nodded her head, knowing he was right, but at the same time, wanting nothing more than to push past him and see Tom with her own eyes. But she had to force herself to stay where she was, and remind herself that despite her need to see him, what Tom needed more than her panicked tears or nervous meddling was a calm, experienced physician, like that of Dr. Clarkson. He would be far more helpful to Tom than she right now.

Sybil stepped aside, allowing Dr. Clarkson to pass. He smiled, sympathetically, and murmured, "I promise to seek you out the second I learn all that I can," he vowed.

She did her best to return his smile, and watched with a pained heart as he moved through the doors that would take him to wherever Tom lay just beyond.

The sound of sniffling caused her to turn her head. Edith stood just a few feet behind her, her cheeks flushed from crying. "This is my fault!" she tearfully gasped. "I…I had been arguing with Mama in the street, and…and…and if I hadn't…Mama wouldn't have been in danger, and…and Branson…" she couldn't finish, and her hands covered her face as she began to cry anew.

Sybil knew her sister, knew she was genuinely upset and knew that she had also developed a close friendship with Tom, so to speak. She reached out and took Edith's trembling form in her arms, and hugged her tightly, both to provide her sister with some comfort, as well as to seek a little for herself.

"Hush now," Sybil murmured, stroking Edith's back. "Mama is fine and…and Tom will be too; he's not dead, Edith, it's not as bad as you thought…" She didn't want to think about how bad it could be. "Anyway," she blinked back her own worried tears and forced a smile on her face, trying to look strong for her sister. "Dr. Clarkson is seeing to him now, and will tell us everything once he knows more, but I'm…I'm very sure it will all be alright."

She was never very good at lying, but she thought perhaps if she believed the lies hard enough, they would become truths? And she desperately, _desperately_ wanted to believe that what she had said was true.

Edith swallowed the remnants of her tears and wiped at her cheeks, though she did look a bit puzzled at her sister. "Tom?" she asked. "You mean…Branson?"

Sybil felt the blood drain from her face at the simple question, but quickly lifted her chin, deciding that the revelation to how she viewed and spoke to the Downton chauffeur (as her equal and not her inferior) was the least of their concerns at the moment.

"I did—do, yes, but...well his name _is_ Tom, isn't it?" Her voice had a bit of a challenge to it, though she had to remind herself that this was Edith to whom she was speaking and not Mary…who knew far more than anybody else about Tom's feelings for her, thanks to her own big mouth. Sybil did what anyone in her position would do when trying to avoid further questioning or suspicion: she changed the subject. "How is Mama?"

Edith sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. "She's quite shaken, as you can understand. Papa is with her now…I think he wanted a moment alone with her," she explained, before leaning in and saying in a lowered voice, "Sybil…I…I've never seen Papa so upset. I mean…I don't even remember him crying when we learned about Cousin James and…" her sister's voice trailed off then before saying Patrick's name. Sybil didn't have to guess why, but chose to ignore that matter for the moment. "It was just…very disconcerting to see," she confessed, finishing.

Sybil just nodded her head, and with her arm around Edith's shoulders, turned her sister back to the corridor that would lead them to their mother. They paused at the door, and gave a gentle knock to announce their presence before entering. If what Edith said was true, Sybil didn't want to barge in and interrupt. She heard some sniffling, before a muffled "come in!" and then pushed the door open and entered at last.

"OH!" her mother gasped, holding her arms out to her. "Sybil! Oh, Sybil darling, come here, please!"

Sybil didn't hesitate, her feet were already propelling her across the room to her mother's outstretched arms, enfolding her in her own and hugging her tight, feeling new tears fill her eyes, tears of gratitude for her mother's safety. _Thank you, Tom_, she found herself thinking. Her throat clenched with troubled emotion. She was grateful, yes, for her mother's safety, but at what cost had that safety been achieved?

"Oh my darling," Cora sighed, cupping Sybil's face in her hands and looking into her daughter's eyes, a deep blue that matched her own. "Oh my dear, don't cry," she whispered, leaning close and kissing her cheek.

"Your mother will be alright," she heard her father tell her, his own voice shaken, but clearly trying to sound calm and reserved as he and his forefathers were taught to do. "She has some scrapes and bruises, but other than that…she's alright."

"Yes," Cora sighed again. "Thanks to Branson…"

"Indeed," Robert murmured, lowering his eyes.

Hearing her parents mention Tom's name was almost too much for her. So she did the only thing she could do without becoming a blubbering mess, which was bury her face in her mother's shoulder and hug her tightly, willing the sobs back down, at least for a moment longer. The time would come when she would be able to lose herself to her worry and sorrow, but not now, not yet.

Cora hugged Sybil back, running her hands up and down her spine in a similar way which Sybil had hugged Edith. Feeling confident that she had her emotions under control, at least for a little while longer, Sybil eased herself away, forcing another smile for her parents' benefit, when inside she simply wanted to scream.

"Have you heard anything?" Cora asked, looking at her husband rather than her daughter then.

Robert lifted his eyebrows. "Branson? No, nothing yet; did Dr. Clarkson say anything to you, Sybil?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

That urge to scream became greater. "He…" she took a deep breath and clenched her fists together in an effort to gain some control. "Dr. Clarkson," she clarified. "He went to see to T—Branson; he said once he knows more, he'll let us know."

Her mother exchanged a worried glance with her father. "Oh, I hope he'll be alright—Robert, we must do everything we can for Branson."

"Of course!" her father answered without hesitation, and Sybil watched as he took her mother's hand in both of his, running his fingers across her knuckles and giving it a tender squeeze.

Just then a knock was heard on the door and Sybil turned expectantly, her hands clasped together and her heart beating rapidly as Dr. Clarkson entered. "Ah, Lady Grantham…I was informed that other than a few bumps and bruises, you are well?"

Cora smiled and politely nodded, looking serene and calm as both she and Dr. Clarkson exchanged several pleasantries, while all the while the urge to scream grew and grew that finally Sybil interrupted, "do you have news about Branson, Dr. Clarkson?"

All eyes looked to her, but Sybil didn't care. Her chest was rising and falling as her heartbeat quickened as she awaited the news. _How bad is it? HOW BAD IS IT!?_

"I do actually," Dr. Clarkson sighed, and Sybil felt her stomach plummet at the way his eyes lowered and his expression grew grim. _No…no, please, it can't be like this! He saved Mama, he saved a life! Why must he suffer!? IT ISN'T FAIR!_

Cora once again reached for her husband's hand. "How can we help, Dr. Clarkson? We want to do everything we can for poor Branson."

Dr. Clarkson lifted his eyes and glanced at Sybil, before turning his attention back to her parents. "I honestly don't know if much can be done, your Ladyship."

A gasp went up in the room, but it wasn't from Sybil, which rather surprised her, but from her sister. Edith staggered back a little bit, running into a small shelf which she reached out to grip in order to keep her balance. Sybil just felt numb…surely this was all some sort of terrible dream? She would wake up at any second…

Robert swallowed and gravely glanced at Cora before returning his gaze to Dr. Clarkson. "So nothing can be done then? It's past all hope?"

"Like poor William," Cora softly murmured. Sybil stiffened.

"Well…the extent of his injuries is…severe, to say the least," he tried to explain. "The bones in both of his legs have been shattered; even if he does recover—and we will do everything we can to see that he does," Dr. Clarkson insisted, but despite that determination, he still looked grim. "But even so…he'll never walk the same way again."

If only that were the worst of it, but Sybil knew there was more to tell. She suddenly felt light-headed, and a part of her wanted to run from that place, run from the harsh truth that Dr. Clarkson was delivering, but she needed to stay, she needed to listen and know and most importantly, she needed to be strong. Tom deserved that at the very least…

"Poor chap," Robert murmured, squeezing Cora's hand.

The Countess of Grantham looked like she might cry. "…And…what else?"

Dr. Clarkson swallowed and looked down before speaking. "He's broken several ribs, that much we can tell. But…I we'll need to operate, to make sure he isn't…bleeding internally."

Cora gasped and Robert looked at her worriedly, as if afraid she was going to faint. He, like many other men of his age and station believed women to be such delicate creatures.

Sybil stepped forward, swallowing the bile in her throat and looking determinedly into Dr. Clarkson's eyes. "When can you operate?"

"Sybil!" her parents gasped, but she ignored them.

"When?" she persisted. "Surely the sooner the better!" Her voice was rising and starting to take on a hysterical note.

"Sybil, don't bully Dr. Clarkson," her father hissed, but thankfully Dr. Clarkson took pity on her.

"Yes, we will, at the earliest convenience," he looked up from her to her parents once again. "Mr. Branson's recovery will be of the utmost importance."

At this, her parents did seem to nod their heads in gratitude, but it didn't do anything to help calm Sybil's anxiousness. Dr. Clarkson, the ever loyal and faithful physician, appeasing to "his betters" by assuring them that their servant would receive the very best in care because he was _their_ servant.

"I want to help," Sybil persisted, stepping forward until she was practically toe to toe with the doctor. "I want to assist you when the operation is performed."

"SYBIL!" her parents gasped once again, Robert turning and looking apologetic at Dr. Clarkson.

Sybil opened her mouth to plead her case again, however Dr. Clarkson held up a hand which stopped her. "I appreciate your offer, Nurse Crawley, and I commend you for your desire to help—"

"But—"

"Forgive me, Lady Sybil…" He was back to using her old title. "But this goes beyond your training as a volunteer auxiliary nurse."

She closed her mouth and lowered her eyes. He was right, of course, her training wasn't that extensive, and was yet another brutal reminder that when the War ended, so too would her nursing career. _And life will go back to how it used to be._ But she didn't want to go back to that life…and she especially didn't want to go back to it without Tom.

"I still want to help," she insisted, swallowing her wounded pride and looking back at Dr. Clarkson in mixture of hope and desperation. "Surely there's something I can do to help?"

"Sybil…" her father groaned, but Dr. Clarkson put on a smile and nodded his head, another look that was meant to appease.

"I'm sure there is; I'll speak with Mrs. Crawley about it." It was the best he could offer at this moment.

"Well…" her father cleared his throat. "I do trust that you'll do everything you can to help Branson, like you said. And…" he glanced at Sybil and Edith, before turning to Cora who nodded her head. "…And we will help with any expense, if necessary."

Dr. Clarkson smiled and reverently looked down. "You're too kind, milord."

Sybil bit the inside of her cheek. The desire to scream was quickly returning.

"Come…" Robert turned to the rest of them and held his hand out to Cora. "There's nothing more that can be done here, so we best leave Dr. Clarkson and the hospital staff to their duties."

Cora took Robert's hand and smiled. "Yes, I am eager to return and see Mary; no doubt she's heard by now and is most anxious. Girls?"

How could they talk so…so…_passively?_ As if they had just heard that someone had a bad cold and were being prescribed tea and bed rest? This was Tom! Tom, who had pushed her mother out of the way from a runaway car, who had been struck by that car and whose legs—both of them—were shattered and, as Dr. Clarkson said, would never be able to use them the same way again, and that was only if he recovered. He had several broken ribs, he could have punctured an organ, he could be bleeding to death internally, and when was this operation going to be performed!?

"I'm going to the church…"

All eyes turned to her, brows furrowed in confusion. She hadn't even realized she had spoken until she looked up at saw them staring at her.

"I'm going to the church…" she repeated. "I…I want to pray."

Both Robert and Cora looked at each other, unsure how exactly to respond. Edith glanced at them and then back at Sybil, taking a step forward and asking in a tentative voice, "would you like some company—?"

"No…thank you," she added, realizing her answer may have come across a bit harsh. "No, I…I actually would prefer to be alone."

Edith looked a bit hurt by the request, but tried not to show it and simply nodded her head. As for their parents, Robert and Cora looked at Sybil with sympathy, her mother gazing at her in that sweet but patronizing manner that she was sometimes guilty of committing. "You're very good, darling," she murmured, leaning forward and kissing Sybil's forehead, as if bestowing upon her a blessing. Sybil forced a smile for her mother's benefit, when inside she was shrinking away. She did not deserve such praise, in either speech or thought. Any praise, any blessing needed to go the man who was responsible for the Countess of Grantham still walking and breathing.

Sybil exited the hospital, and walked several yards in the opposite direction to make it look like she was going to the church, but after glancing over her shoulder, sure that she had put a safe distance between herself and her parents, she turned on her heel and hurried back to the hospital, hurrying inside and being sure to avoid Dr. Clarkson, who was standing and speaking with several nurses at the far end of the corridor. When she was sure he wouldn't take notice of her, she moved past him, keeping her head down, and preceded to go through the doors, the doors that she had earlier been denied access to, but now lay unguarded. After all, she wasn't the "hysterical Lady Sybil" any longer, but just another nurse.

Four doors down the corridor…lay Tom. A nurse had just left his room, holding what looked to be his livery jacket…though the green was stained blood, making the color appear almost black. She closed her eyes and clutched her stomach, then with a deep breath…entered his room.

There were many words Sybil could use to describe Tom Branson. "Still" and "silent" were not two of them. But right now, he lay there…looking so still—deathly still. And deathly silent. She didn't like either of these things.

Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at his handsome face, cut and bloody. The nurses had cleaned him, and he wore bandages that seemed to practically cover a majority of his face, but the linens looked to already be soiled through. Those bandages continued down his body, covering his chest and she imagined, a great deal more. He was covered with a blanket, but she could see the wooden splints to which his legs had been tethered to, poking out from underneath. She hated the stillness and the silence, but at the same time, she was grateful for it. The pain he must be feeling, if he were consciously aware of it…

Was he aware of it? Could he feel it, even now, in his…comatose state?

Could he hear her if she spoke to him?

"…Tom?"

It was barely more than a whisper.

"Tom…?"

She looked down at his hand, how it limply lay beside him. Would she hurt him if she touched him? Her own hand hovered close by, wanting to reach out, wanting to offer some sort of comfort if her touch could provide him with that, and yet the fear that she would somehow make it worse held her back. Instead, she clutched her hands to her chest, pressing them both against her heart. Her breaking heart…

"Tom?" she spoke again. "It's me…Sybil." She felt rather foolish saying that, and half expected him to reply with a cheeky quip that his legs were broken, he wasn't deaf, but of course…none came.

"Thank you…" she found herself saying for lack of knowing what else to say. "Thank you for…for saving Mama…"

Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks, tears of anger and anguish. She was grateful for what he had done, for saving her mother's life, but she was angry that he had to suffer because of it, that he might…might…

"Don't you dare die!" she hissed at him, her anger kindling. "You can't do that, understand? You can't save someone's life and then…die, that isn't right, it isn't fair!"

Lord, how petulant she sounded. "I forbid you!" she added, adopting her grandmother's haughtiness. "Really, Branson, I thought I gave the orders?"

Her hysterics were getting the better of her, because she started to laugh then, which was soon followed by a release of sobs that she had been holding back for far too long. She knelt by the bed them, not caring if someone passed by or entered and saw her. If they did, they would think she was kneeling and praying by his bedside, and in a manner of speaking, she was.

"You…you said to me that you would 'wait forever'…" she swallowed as she recalled all too clearly what she had said to him: _"I'm not asking for forever…"_ Her face crumpled in anguish. "Tom…" she sobbed, her tears falling and hitting his hand, his arm, his deathly still chest. "Tom…" she lifted herself until she was leaning over him, her lips near his ear, wanting and praying that he could hear her. "I told you that you wouldn't have to wait forever, just a few more weeks until the War is over, but…but the truth is, I don't need to wait until then, because I have an answer, and my answer is 'yes!' YES, of course I will marry you, I'm ready to burn all my bridges if you just fetch me the matches!" she whimpered. "I'm ready to travel…and…and you're my ticket…"

Her eyes flew to his; she swore she saw movement beneath his lids…

Nothing.

Sybil wet her lips. "Please, Tom…you once promised to devote every waking minute to my happiness…well, what would make me happy, truly, truly happy, is for you wake up and get better…that's all that I ask, please." She swallowed and her eyes fell to his still lips, and she recalled fairytales that her nanny used to read to her, stories where princes kissed princesses awake. Surely that wouldn't hurt him, would it? Just…a gentle brush of her lips against his? Surely that would be alright…?

Footsteps could be heard in the corridor, and Sybil held her breath as they grew closer. She had to go, or else Dr. Clarkson wouldn't allow her anywhere near Tom. She scrambled to her feet and went straight to the door, grabbing an empty chamber pot to look busy. But before she exited the room, she turned back and looked at his still form once again. "I'm betting on you, Tom," she murmured. "Especially now, I'm betting on you."

_To be continued..._


End file.

Downton Abbey, Angst, Hurt-Comfort