Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, Sybil would be alive and JBF and Allen Leech would be dating (am I the only one that wants this? Dear god they would be perfect together...).

A/N: I know that there are many "Missing Moments" fanfiction pieces out there but this is mine. Downton is such a big part of my life but I think I speak for a good part of the fandom when I say that the death of Sybil caused me to really reexamine the writing. This is my version of what should have happened, beginning with Season Two but eventually tackling many moments I wish I could have seen from Season One (via flashback) and then of course continuing on up through Season Three. Each chapter will essentially be a one shot but can also be read with the others as a continuing story. Sybil will not die in this story. Why? Because it makes absolutely no sense for that to happen. What I've written about are things that I believed could have happened and my shipper heart craves to see finally put into motion. Sybil and Branson deserve a much larger story than the one they were given and if only for my own sanity, I hope to finally give it to them.

Timeline: Between Episode 1x06 and Episode 1x07.

Song: Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson

She had options, London had taught her that much. Options that were handed to her rather simply in the form of her parents nudging her toward Dukes and Barons asking her to dance. The boys she met, men really, were tall and handsome, with their slicked back hair and their dashing smiles. They walked a certain way and talked about only the most pleasant of things like their current work and how their mothers were so happy to hear that they had been invited to Lady Sybil's cotillion.

Of course they smiled when she brought up politics, confused and slightly put off by someone of her age, much less a lady, discussing how she had participated not only in local fundraisers but also that she had attended a counting only a few weeks back. When she asked them of their opinion, they sipped at their drinks and mumbled a few words about not being all that involved. They were never involved, at least not in the way that she wanted them to be. What a bore it would be, she thought, to marry a boy not yet made a man by the world he was so astringently kept from.

Sybil remembered thinking that night, with her black pumps scraping along the hardwood floor as she waited for these same men to ask her to dance and then return her to the very spot next to her mother and father, how flattered she was. There was no other word for it. No man, gentleman or otherwise, could take her away from this place in the way that she wanted. She wished to be like Joan of Arc, the girl whose story she had read on the train over. She had freedom, and excitement, and not once was she ever forced into a debutante season with England's finest. Of course that story ended in her tragic death at the hand of Sybil's own government, but she imagined that if Joan had escaped she would have found a man, a true knight in shining armor, to stand next to her and fight instead of protecting her from things she was sure she knew just as well as he.

But these men were nice, really and she was grateful to her parents for throwing such a gathering. Any girl would have loved the frocks and the pearls and the heels. Any girl would have wished for more even, if she was daring. And Sybil did indeed want more, but she wished for that of a different variety. As she sipped aimlessly at the wine Mary had handed her way, her mind wandered back to that morning, how she had insisted that her mother let her walk into town alone to pick up her dress for that evening. Cora, in the sweetest of tones, smiled at her daughter and told her that a lady was not to be traipsing about London by herself, especially on the day of her coming-out. Sybil sunk back into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest to prove to her mother that until tonight she was perfectly fine with her lack of a ladies disposition and childlike behavior.

When Aunt Rosamund's driver picked her up, she smiled as the elderly gentleman helped her into the back of the Rolls Royce. The interior leather of this car was different than what she was used to and as she watched the road ahead she also noticed the driver, with his polite smile slowly become part of the car. He said nothing, but instead drove the vehicle just as he was instructed. When they arrived outside the dress shop, he helped her down onto the dirty pavement, waiting as she looked around at the busy streets of London before allowing himself to speak. "I will wait here for you, Lady Sybil."

She smiled, quickly releasing his hand as she continued to look around. The town was filled with ladies much like herself, but also ones of the more common variety. Sybil even took a moment to admire a girl walking by in pants similar to the ones she had showed off to her family a few weeks before. Only these pants were of a different material, a tweed maybe, and they matched the cap the girl wore atop her head. Without thinking, Sybil touched a gloved hand to the brim of her own hat, with it's silk lining and lavender bow on the crown. The girl ahead was beautiful and so sure of herself in a way that Sybil hoped she would someday become. Until then, she was plain-faced, accepting of her plain-life and the territory it encompassed.

"Actually, that won't be necessary," she whispered, still watching the woman go. Up ahead she met a man, a man that seemed to be her age, and the two, without any parents or friends, walked into a nearby cafe.

"But my lady, your father instructed me to-"

"Of course he did."

The driver sighed, trying to think exactly how he should approach this young woman. She had said more to him than any lady he had ever driven before had and yet her lips spoke few words. The words she did impart upon him were nonsensical and contrary. Of course he knew better than to argue with a member of the family he was working for but he also knew it was his job to ensure this particular lady was brought back to her Aunt's home in a safe and timely manner. "Here then?"

Sybil looked to the driver but saw someone else completely. Like a punch to the gut she hated herself for ever going there but there she was and for a moment she wondered where he was, back at Downton maybe? Or had he been given the time off and possibly gone back to Ireland for the week? Looking back up, it was cobalt on an ashy grey as her eyes met his but suddenly she found herself wishing for blue on blue. For a moment she thought, and then she was gone, running down the street clutching her drawstring purse close to her side. Sybil allowed herself to listen, hearing the sounds of the street collide with her driver calling after her, but soon enough all she heard was the purr of cars passing and the inevitable hum of city life as she finally rounded a corner out of his sight.

Standing now in the center of the ballroom, Sybil couldn't quite remember when it was that she stopped running. As she remained still she thought that maybe she never had, or better yet, maybe she never would.

Reviews would be greatly appreciated!

x. Elle