A new story! (Sort of.) (Not really.)

This drabble, originally posted on tumblr (magfreak dot tumblr dot com) months ago, comes from an anon prompt submitted to me about a year ago:

I have a very vague prompt, hopefully it will spark some inspiration. What if Tom or Sybil found themselves in a similar situation to Matthew when he is injured?

I've been meaning to post here for a long time, but just hadn't gotten around to it. Below is an edited version of the intro I wrote when I first posted on tumblr and the drabble itself . . .

An AU in which Tom or Sybil is disabled had been in the back of my mind even before I received this. Although the anon in this case didn't specify whether Tom or Sybil would have the disability, I chose Sybil because I wanted to do an S1/S2-era period story, and if Tom had suffered any type of life-altering injury back then back then, he'd just have been sent home to Ireland.

The anon also said "similar situation to Matthew"—I don't know if they were specifically referring to the magically temporary nature of Matthew's paralysis, but I decided to make this a permanent condition that Sybil suffered at age 14 while riding. She had a spinal injury that affected use of her legs, which aren't totally paralyzed but have weakened and atrophied from lack of use. With exercise, Sybil could stand and take some steps with crutches, but at the time of her injury Robert and Cora didn't want to "burden" her with physical therapy (and she was too depressed to think about it back then) so she just uses a wheelchair. By now, three years later, she has accepted her condition, and she is more or less her feisty self again and straining under Robert and Cora's overprotectiveness. Gwen is her private maid and good friend, and Tom has just started with the family. I am no medical expert (obviously), though I am grateful for some insight on this type of condition provided by atleastihavemybrain on tumblr. Apologies for any and all lack of realism.

This first chapter is Tom and Sybil's first real interaction. I don't have a full multi-chapter fic planned, so this will be more of a collection of vignettes that I will come back to periodically as the mood strikes. I have two other drabbles already done and will post those in the next few days.

"I'm sorry, milady, I should have seen it and avoided it," Gwen said, bending down to inspect the damage done to Sybil's wheelchair while the two were out for their daily walk in the garden. Pushing Sybil, Gwen inadvertantly ran over a rock that kicked up and lodged itself in the spokes of the right wheel, bending two of them and thus rendering the chair immobile.

"No, it's my fault for asking you to come off the path," Sybil said with a sigh. "That's my punishment, I suppose, for wanting to stray from our usual, well-worn circle."

"Your accident broke your legs, not your adventurous spirit," Gwen replied, "you're perfectly right to want to see more. I just wish we could find a better vehicle."

Sybil smiled. "I'd wish that it had been the opposite but then what good are good legs if all you want to do is sit in the drawing room all day."

Gwen smiled, knowing that Sybil was referring to her family, who cooped themselves up in the house for long stretches without travel, in supposed solidarity with Sybil, who wanted nothing more than to be allowed to leave once in a while.

Seeing that the chair was not going to budge, Gwen said, "Well, I best go inside and get the spare. Do you mind waiting here?"

"No, the weather is nice, in any case, although you best move me to the grass. I'm afraid what's left of this wheel will crumble beneath my weight."

Gwen stood back up and lifted Sybil by her shoulders and set her down on the grass. Using her hands, Sybil adjusted herself and tucked her legs beneath her. A passerby who didn't know her might think she had merely chosen to sit of her own accord to enjoy the flowers around her without guessing that she was unable to move from the spot until someone came to her rescue.

"I won't be long," Gwen said, and though she didn't, Sybil considered calling back and telling Gwen she could take her time. Solitude was rare for her now. It wasn't that she hadn't come to love Gwen as a friend, but her constant companionship, necessitated by her condition and insisted upon by her parents, robbed Sybil of the time to think and be on her own, time she used to prize when she was her own master and not what she considered herself now—a slave to the contraption of metal and wood sitting next to her, as immobile as she was.

Taking a deep breath, Sybil looked up to the sky, closed her eyes and smiled serenely as she felt the sun's gentle rays warm her skin. Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes again and saw a man—a young one, by the look of it, surely not older than 25—walking down the path, from the opposite way she and Gwen had come.

He was newly in the service of the family and, like any new employee that had come in the last three years, was made fully aware of Lady Sybil's condition. In his first week, he had already driven Ladies Mary and Edith, so as he came upon her, he knew, even before noticing the chair with the misshapen wheel beside her, that she wasn't just sitting idly. In fact, he assumed she'd fallen so he walked quickly over to her.

"Pardon me, milady, but may I be of assistance?"

Sybil looked up putting her hand over her forehead to shield her eyes from sun.

"It's all right," she said, "Gwen has gone to fetch my spare wheelchair. I tend to abuse the wheels, and this one apparently had enough." She pointed to the misshapen spokes.

He kneeled down to look at it, and Sybil got her first look at his face, a handsome one, and what he was wearing, chauffeur's livery. Sybil had known Taylor, the previous chauffeur, fairly well, but only because he had been with the family long enough to have driven her around before her accident. In the time since, the number of times she'd been in the motor she could count on a single hand, her parents always insisting that her body could no longer handle travel. She might never had met this one if he hadn't passed by just now.

Examining the wheel, he said, "I could fix it if you like, but to be honest these are probably best kept inside the house."

She laughed. "I'm sure they are, just as I'm sure my parents purchased this chair precisely because they want me to stay inside the house. "

"Well that's hardly fair," he said, and almost as soon as the words we're out of his mouth he realized the implication of his words—he was questioning her parents, his employers. "I'm sorry," he added, sitting back on his heels and looking down, "who am I to question any parents' motivations? I'm sure they just want what's best for you."

"Please don't worry," Sybil replied with a smile. "No one has questioned my parents and their motivations more than I have."

He looked back at her, surprised at her candor, and looking into his eyes, Sybil wondered if here was another ally among the staff she could count on.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Branson, Tom Branson, milady. I'm the new chauffeur."

"I guessed as much," she said pointing to his jacket. "What are you doing so far from the garage?"

"Mr. Carson thought I should get the lay of the land. It's only my first week. I've been exploring a bit when I have nothing to do, though to this point those moments have been rare."

"Well, I'm glad to meet you," Sybil said. "It's likely we may never have seen each other otherwise."

"Really?"

"I don't travel much by motor. Or at all really."

"Why is that?"

Sybil furrowed her brow, surprised at the question given that the answer, so far as most other people were concerned, was obvious. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you like to travel, or ride in the motor?"

"I do, actually—well, I used to."

"So why don't you still? Is it uncomfortable?"

"No, it's, um, well . . . immediately after my accident my parents thought it unwise, and they said no so often that after a while I just stopped asking."

"Well, perhaps you should ask again," Tom said with an easy smile. "I'd be happy to take you anywhere."

Sybil smiled and looked down, suddenly feeling her cheeks warm.

Tom noticed and wondered if he'd embarrassed her, so he added. "It's my job, in any case."

"Right," Sybil said. "Maybe I will ask."

"You've got nothing to lose, right? There are so many open country roads here—it's almost as beautiful as the Irish country side. I'm sure it would do you good."

"Do you miss Ireland?"

"A bit, but not too much work to be had there."

"Have you always been a chauffeur?"

"No, and I won't always be one either."

Sybil smiled as his cocksure response, not doubting its veracity, even if she'd only known him a few minutes.

She was about to ask as to what ambitions he'd follow out of the motor trade when she heard Gwen coming back. Both turned at the sound of her footsteps, and Tom stood quickly.

"Sorry for the delay, milady," Gwen said as she approached.

"Branson was kind enough to keep me company," Sybil added.

Gwen smiled and nodded at the young man, whom she'd only seen briefly in the servants hall. "Do you want to stay outside for a bit longer?" she asked Sybil.

With a sigh Sybil responded, "I suppose we may as well go back inside. It's almost time for tea."

Gwen wheeled the spare chair she'd brought with her next to Sybil and bent over to help her up. Without prompting Tom came around Sybil's other side to help. Such was his strength, in fact, that realizing she wasn't holding any weight, Gwen merely stepped back and let Tom set Sybil down in the functioning chair. The moment was over practically before it began, but it lasted long enough for Sybil's heart to start racing. In his arms she'd felt light as a feather, an unusual sensation for someone who often considered herself a burden, both literally and figuratively.

Stepping back, he said, "I can take the other chair inside, or to the garage to try to see if I can straighten it out."

"Do you really think you can fix it?" Sybil asked.

Tom bent down to look at the wheel again. "I could but . . "

"But what?" Gwen asked.

"But, well, I could also go to the bicycle shop in the village and see if they have any spare wheels—those would certainly be better for outdoor use."

"Do you really think that would work?" Sybil asked hopefully.

Tom shrugged. "It never hurts to try."

"All right, then," Sybil said. "But I'll be very disappointed, now that you've raised my hopes, if you aren't successful."

"I'm always successful," he said, confidently. "In one way or another."

With that he gave a slight bow and left with the broken chair.

When he was out of earshot, Sybil said, with a laugh, "He's terribly full of himself."

"I've seen him only once," Gwen said. "I hadn't really spoken to him, but he seemed nice."

"He's that too."