This has been poking at me for the past few days and wouldn't leave me be. This is AU starting right around Season 2, Episode 3 and I haven't seen Season 2 since it aired in the US last January/February, so I apologize for any errors. This story is ode to and inspired by the utter exhaustion I drove my body to with my double major in college which often left my immune system in tatters.

I'll say it right now; I don't own anything.

.:.

It had started, Tom was sure, on that Wednesday morning. The sun was struggling to peek through heavy clouds that would later release a steady and unseasonably cold midsummer rain. Tom had pulled up in front of the local hospital, distracting Lady Sybil from the story she had been telling him about an argument she had overheard her mother and father having about the conversion of Downton to a temporary convalescence home.

Helping her alight from the car in front of the hospital was one of the best and worst parts of Tom's day. As she stepped out, Tom held her hand a little longer and she stepped a little closer than she would in front of Downton. However, their arrival also meant the end of their conversation for the day, as she was often near exhaustion when he picked her up to bring her home.

Tom let his eyes linger on Lady Sybil's retreating back for a beat or two before biting back a sigh and moving to close the door she had just exited and start back to the house. As he was getting into the driver's seat (lethargically and with no enthusiasm, he would admit) Sybil came running back out to the car.

"Branson. Wait a moment."

"Did you forget something, Milady?" Branson asked, glancing back to see if she had left something in the back seat.

"No. Dr. Clarkson was just wondering if you might help us for an hour or two? I'm afraid we're rather shorthanded as it is and three nurses are to be up at the Abbey today to get things settled. You'll help for just a bit, won't you? I can call Papa; he won't mind sparing you for a while."

Tom sat for a moment weighing his options. Sybil's eyes were hopeful and bright. How happy he would make her by doing something so simple as saying yes! Even more, he had no responsibilities this morning; Lord Grantham had a late afternoon meeting in Ripon, but Tom had hours before he needed to be in front of the house.

But Tom was exhausted, something that he worked very hard to hide from Lady Sybil. With the majority of male servants off to the front, those left behind, both male and female, found themselves juggling extra duties. Tom had been primarily assigned to help the outside staff but had duties inside the house as well. It had been wearing on him (and everyone else, he knew), but yesterday had been particularly brutal. The day had started helping to muck out the horses' stalls before the sun had risen. He had then driven Lady Sybil to the hospital then went to the train station to pick up supplies and groceries that came in on one of the early trains. Back at the house, Tom had unloaded and put away all of the packages and after a quick cup of tea, he was sent to help the varied crew of servants to clean and ready some of the extra rooms upstairs for the soon-to-be-arriving officers. The cleaning crew were to have a late lunch, which Tom missed altogether as he needed to pick up Lady Sybil from her early-ending shift. He was set to have some free time in the late afternoon, but as he drove back down to the garage, the engine whined rather unnaturally. Tom nearly missed dinner trying to diagnose and fix the problem and received a rather hard glare from Mr. Carson when he entered the servant's hall disheveled and cursing, twenty minutes late. Mr. Carson then informed Tom that he would be helping with washing the dishes. (Tom was sure that the butler was punishing him for looking unprofessional when he noticed that Mr. Carson was scowling at his misbuttoned livery jacket.) In the end, Tom had stayed and helped an overworked Daisy scrub down the kitchen floor after the pots and pans were put away. Tom had stumbled back to his cottage and had only managed to shed his jacket before passing out on his bed… Only to be awoken by a loud pounding on his front door four hours later. The chickens had escaped. Tom, the groundskeepers, the one remaining stable boy, and the groom spent hours tracking down, cornering, and catching the animals. By the time Tom had gotten back to his cottage, he had realized that he had no time to sleep and had simply washed off the smell of farm animal before he trudged to the garage to bring the car around for Lady Sybil.

Looking at Lady Sybil he had two choices; agree and suffer in silence, or say no and go home and sleep. There was no contest.

"Of course Milady. I would be glad to."

As Lady Sybil's smile grew wide, Tom was sure it would be worth it.

.:.

An hour or two turned into four and a half of restraining struggling patients, cleaning bed pans, and carrying in the wounded and ill. Tom lived for the little smiles Sybil shot him across the room and the soft touches on his arm or shoulder when she passed by him. Still, Tom struggled against a constant need to rest his eyes and the painful emptiness of his stomach and was thankful to escape the smell of rot and blood when he finally left to straighten himself up before he needed to be in front of the house.

The drive to Ripon was better than expected (Lord Grantham was unusually talkative, which kept Tom's mind alert). Tom had hoped to have a moment to sit in front of the fire of the house's servants' hall with a small morsel and a cup of tea while his employer was otherwise occupied, however upon arriving at their destination, Lord Grantham told Tom to stay with the car. He wouldn't be long and it looked like rain; he shouldn't want to get caught in it for too long. Indeed, it started to downpour but ten minutes before Lord Grantham reappeared, sheltered by a footman held umbrella. Tom was soaked in the brief moments it took him to see Lord Grantham into the car. He had not dried out much on the drive back and his heavy livery went from wet to sopping on the trudge from the garage back to his cottage. Tom built a fire in the fireplace when he got in and shed his shoes and clothes in quick succession. He looked longing at his bed as he pulled a dry shirt on. 'No,' he thought, 'If I lay down, I'll miss dinner and I haven't eaten a thing today.'

Instead, Tom picked up the book on his dresser, picked the most uncomfortable chair to sit in, and propped his feet up in front of the fire.

Tom woke the next morning dizzy, cold, and stiff-necked. With a groan he realized that the first glimpses of light heralding dawn were beginning to light the night sky. He needed to get to the stables.

.:.

Tom had seemed a little withdrawl to Sybil when he pulled up in front of the house that morning, but she didn't think much of it until she had asked him a question and he hadn't answered. If there was one thing Sybil knew about Branson, it was that he always listened to what she was saying. His inattention was peculiar. "Branson?" she called again louder. Shaken out of his reverie, Tom glanced back at her for a quick second and Sybil noticed how drawn his face was and the darkness under his tired eyes. "Tom, are you feeling well?" Sybil asked, concerned.

"Fine, Milady. I just didn't sleep well. Nothing to worry over."

Sybil looked unconvinced, but wasn't able to press further when they arrived in front of the hospital. As he helped her out of the car, Sybil stepped closer than usual and placed a hand on his arm. "Rest today," she quietly commanded.

"Of course," he lied. "I'll be back at six o'clock."

.:.

Mrs. Patmore and Daisy both insisted that Tom have a second cup of tea and some extra toast, which he had trouble keeping down in his now traitorous stomach. Anna found him staring blankly into his half-empty cup twenty minutes later. "Branson, are you alright?"

Tom jumped up. "Fine. I'm just fine." He forced out a small smile. "I must have lost track of time; I'll go upstairs now."

Anna made a point of keeping Branson within her sights as they cleaned. He was moving slowly, stiffly, and his fingers constantly found the back of his neck or massaged as his temples. Still, he remained on his feet. Tom was quiet and sedated through lunch (but he often was, unless he was provoked or one of his political passions were brought up). Anna wasn't sure if she should be worried for the chauffeur or not and determined to look out for him at dinner. After lunch, Tom would return to help outside and so would be completely out of Anna's reach.

.:.

Lady Mary had insisted that she wanted to go down to the hospital to visit with the patients and to keep Sybil company on the short drive home. For once, Branson was thankful. For the half-hour that Lady Mary was inside, Tom was able to shut his eyes to the light that was aggravating his pounding head and didn't try to hold in the sneezes that momentarily cleared his stuffed sinuses. On the drive back, Sybil had to focus all of her remaining energy on her babbling eldest sister and was swept into the house and her waiting dinner before she could get a proper look at Branson.

Branson's dinner was waiting too, but he no longer had any appetite whatsoever and returned to his home instead. As he laid on his bed, curled up and shivering under his quilt, he prayed to God, Jesus, Mary, and every saint he could think of that he would be better in the morning. As he drifted into a fitful sleep, he knew that prayer was one that would not be answered.