The Long Road

By: piperholmes

A/N: This AU is born from remet's meta on episode 3X04 when Sybil and Tom hug. Go find her on Tumblr if you haven't already. You won't regret it. But what if Sybil had shown up at Downton and things had gone a little differently?

Unbeta'd.

It was the quiet that surprised her.

In a house that always seemed to be bustling, that made it impossible to feel as if one could take a breath of air without the watchful gaze of a servant or family member or friend or villager, something needed dusting or the Earl's approval or Lady Grantham's input.

"Sybil!"

The harsh whisper sent a shiver down her body, her grip on her umbrella tightening.

"Tom?"

He shook his head, his finger to his lips as he slipped further into the alley behind their flat.

She worked to keep her eyes still, resisting the urge to glance about her, the muscles in her back tightening as she feared who might be bearing down on her. They had discussed this, had prepared. She had to remain calm.

Sybil was uncertain what to make of the stillness that greeted her as she pushed through the front door. She knew no one knew exactly when she'd arrive, which is why she hadn't been disappointed to find no car waiting for her at the train station, opting to catch a ride with a lorry that was headed to the estate, but she had at least supposed someone would have been looking out for her to come up the long graveled road to the door and welcome her home, even if they were upset with her.

The rain continued to beat down on them as she stepped into a deep puddle, following him further into the shadows. She lost sight of him just before she felt strong hands grab her arms.

"In here."

He smelled of smoke. The stale stench burned her nose as they huddled in the tiny crook between buildings.

"Tom?"

He was tired, as tired as her own eyes felt as she'd stayed up waiting for him even though he'd told her not to.

"We have to go. I'm sorry. They're looking for me and if they find me…"

"I know," she interrupted quickly, unable to think of the outcome. She didn't know exactly what had happened but she knew enough that it ultimately didn't matter. If someone decided you were a rebel that was it, there need be no proof or evidence. Tom had a dangerous job; telling the truth.

"We'll do exactly as we've discussed," she continued. "You go, get on the boat. I'll meet you."

"Sybil I don't know if I can. If they come to you—"

"No," She bit in again. "We stick to the plan. Don't you underestimate me Tom Branson."

Despite the panic in his eyes, the regret, he smiled at her. Without a word he pulled her to him, his lips crashing against hers.

Somewhere a bell clanged loudly and Tom jerked away. He grabbed a wad of money from his pocket and shoved it into her hand.

"I've enough for the boat," he assured her, cutting off her response. "Do what you have to do, just please…be safe."

She nodded, unable to think more than a few moments ahead. Their life was about to change drastically but it's what she had signed up for, what she believed in.

"I love you," she breathed.

His face grew solemn. "I love you, so very much. I'm so sorry—"

She wrapped her arms around him, their hearts pounding against each other.

"I'll see you at Downton."

"See you at Downton."

The promise had been made.

She had spent the many sleepless hours of the harrowing night preparing herself, trying to imagine each possible response she'd receive from her family, to mentally strengthen her emotional reserves. She felt vulnerable, exhausted, raw and a little sick. It seemed her pregnant body would never handle the boat ride over very well. She felt the baby squirm, shift, trying to rest in an ever limiting space. Her hand graced over the growing bump.

'I know little one,'she thought. 'You need room to grow, but stay put a little longer my darling.'

Right now she didn't care how her family would react, what they would shout at her, the whispers, the loss she felt at fleeing her home. All she cared about right now was seeing Tom. She could collapse into his arms and he wouldn't think less of her. She could cry for her loss and he wouldn't judge her. She could show pain and heartache and he wouldn't throw it back in her face. She needed the safety of him.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice soft, hesitant. She shook her head and tried again, this time with more force, trying to keep her growing irritation from taking over. She felt perilously close to tears and an irrational anger at Tom, the unexplainable kind of anger that stemmed from her overextended, exhausted body, angry that wasn't tearing the carpet up in an effort to get to her. If she could only see him her heart would quit racing and her body could welcome the blessed relief of forgiveness.

"Can I help you?"

Sybil jumped as Carson's booming voice sounded behind her. She turned, noting the way the butler's face paled, his eyes widening, his shoulders straightening as his fingers danced against his palm's before tightly fisting.

"I beg your pardon Lady Sybil," he began gravely. "I'm afraid I was unaware you'd be visiting today."

Sybil blinked, her skin feeling suddenly coated in sand, cold, tingling, rough, as Carson's words echoed around her.

"No," she breathed, though she couldn't be sure she made any sound. Carson didn't know she was coming.

She'd risked a phone call.

Her eyes darted about, waiting, watching, expecting loud boots to march towards her, a deadly tattoo of sound.

She knew she shouldn't have, but she had to let them know she was alright. She feared what they would do to Tom, but if they knew she was alright, that she was on her way, perhaps his execution would be stayed.

She felt light headed, wishing her stomach would relax. The rolling and kicking of the baby made her even more jumpy. Her back hurt and there was a steady pulse of pain behind her eyes. If only she hadn't missed the last boat. She loathed the idea of sitting up all night on the hard benches at the station but she had no choice if she wanted a roof over her head.

Already she missed their pokey cold flat and lumpy bed.

Their home.

"Sybil?"

The confusion in Mary's voice nearly brought tears to her eyes. As the two sisters stared at each other a lifetime of regret and concern surrounded them, painting the world in gray.

"Thank you Carson," Mary said simply, taking charge. "If you'll have Lady Sybil's room prepared and her bags sent up. Oh and tea sent to the library please."

"Of course m'lady."

The women stood silent as they watched the older man bow and leave.

"What's happened?" Mary rushed out, her hand coming to grip Sybil's arm. "After your strange phone call last night—"

"Mary, please, where's Tom?" Sybil interrupted, no longer able to contain her fear.

Mary's thin eyebrows arched in surprise. "Sybil—"

"Please, Mary, please tell me Tom is here."

"Here? My darling I don't understand. Did Tom not arrive with you?"

Sybil's heart raced as the words clogged her throat, her stomach turning. "We had a plan. He was to come here while I closed the flat. He should be here. He should've been here hours ago."

"Closed the flat?" Mary tried again, her frustration growing. "Sybil, darling, you're not making any sense. What plan? Where's Tom?"

She couldn't keep her eyes from watering, couldn't keep her body still as her hands began to shake, a pressure building in her chest.

"Sybil, come here," Mary commanded, Sybil's pale cheeks and frantic eyes turning her body cold. "Come sit down."

Sybil allowed Mary to lead her a few steps before wrenching away suddenly. "No, no, I can't stay. I have to…I have to go back."

Mary stared at her in shock. "Go back? Sybil you've only just arrived."

"You don't understand," Sybil snapped, swiping at her eyes, angered by her body's betrayal. "We agreed we would meet here. He was to arrive first…" Her stomach burned, bile scorching her throat.

She kicked at the two bags she'd stuffed under her seat; clothes mostly. Clothes for him, clothes for her, and a few things, what little they had collected, for the baby, but there wasn't much else she'd been able to bring.

The night stretched on and Sybil's cotton eyes begged for release, to close, but images of Tom's terrified eyes mocked her as stories of other less fortunate souls plagued her mind. She knew men who had been arrested. She knew women who were still looking for their husbands. She knew babies who would grow up fatherless.

She had tried to listen to people, tried to see if anyone had been arrested trying to get on the boat but he'd either made it safely or people were too scared to speak of it.

"Please keep him safe," she prayed. She believed in God, but wasn't sure what His role was in all this, but for Tom she'd plead for help, from anyone.

Every sound had her on edge, convinced they'd known she lied about her name, that any moment they'd arrest her, but even that wasn't what scared her the most.

She knew even if they found her she was still the daughter of an English peer. A year in Ireland didn't erase her heritage. Her father knew people, powerful people, and despite all that had angered him she couldn't believe, couldn't accept that he would abandon her or his first grandchild.

But who did Tom have?

There was no guarantee that her father would help her husband.

Her biggest fear, the one that sent a chill through her body, that clenched her heart with dread, that broke through her well-constructed mask of English pride, was that they found him.

If they found him, he could be lost to her forever.

"Please, please, let him get to Downton safely."

"Oh Mary something's happened. Something's gone wrong…terribly wrong."

And that was all Sybil could offer before bending towards the nearest vase and becoming violently ill.

Thanks for reading!

I'm thinking about adding a few chapters to this. Nothing big since I have enough stories to finish as it is, but if people are interested then I'd be willing to follow this story about a bit.