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

Just 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...