I've been watching DA2. Too much has been left out for many of the characters, so this fills in one gap of many in the S/B storyline. Probably a one-shot, but may be inspired to fill in other gaping holes in the plot. Comments, thoughts, rants always welcome. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 – What to Say?

Downton Abbey 1916

Just like he did most days Branson finished his tea then put on his jacket before he headed out to attend to his morning duties. He did up the brass buttons and hooked the collar. This morning for some reason the collar felt tight, his finger tugged at the thick fabric to loosen it up. He shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't tell if it was the outcome of putting on weight—Mrs. Patmore thought he could use a few extra pounds for the forthcoming winter—or whether it was the lump in his throat at the prospect of what he needed to say later today. He was pretty sure it was the latter, but such physical discomfort did not aid in mustering the wherewithal to speak his mind or rather confess the feelings he harbored in his heart.

She was the daughter of the man who employed him. But more importantly she was the daughter of a hereditary peer of England. She was destined to marry within her social rank and not eke out a difficult life with an Irish working-class chauffeur. To chose him she would have to forsake all that she knew. He was asking a lot. But today he was going to risk it all—she was worth it he figured. How would she react, what would she say? He couldn't be sure. If her answer was "yes," then his intuition was correct. Deep down he knew she was as much in love with him as he was with her. She had to be. He could see it in her eyes whenever they talked about politics or the war or women's rights. The simmering passion wasn't just for her emergent radical views, he could detect something else, but perhaps she wasn't aware of it just yet. He couldn't be sure unless he asked. He would just have to trust her. If her answer was "no," and it could be that he was wrong, then he'd pack up and leave before she finished her training and returned home to Downton. Better quit, he wagered, than get sacked. In that case, he could only hope that she would be more flattered than offended and at least allow him to secure a reference from her father in order that he may find another situation elsewhere. He knew her well enough to value her fair-mindedness—it was one of the many things he found attractive about her.

Your mind's all over the place. You need to concentrate. Focus, it won't be long. Think about what to say and how to say it, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath and walked into the garage to start the motorcar.

Today's the day she's leaving Downton, he pondered as he cranked the engine of the dark blue Renault.

When he had heard from the always petulant Miss O'Brien that "Lady Sybil was going to go to nurse's training; mind you it's caused quite a stir between his Lordship and her Ladyship; next she'll be wanting to make the beds and we'll all be out of a job," he was pleased that she'd followed through with the conversation they had a few weeks earlier as he drove her back from Ripon on an errand for her grandmother.

"The world is in an upheaval, so much is happening out there," she had observed from the backseat. And she was stuck at Downton as "a lady in waiting, but waiting for whom" she wondered aloud. All of the young men who had regaled her that first London season were being slaughtered like lambs on the battlefields of Europe. With the women's suffrage movement on hiatus during the war, her involvement with various activities associated with that cause had ceased. Sitting at home knitting socks for soldiers just wasn't enough. She felt like she needed to do something more, but she didn't know what. She told him that she admired what her cousin Isobel had done in nursing and that it was a skill in high demand in light of the war casualties streaming into all parts of the country. She had a distant notion that perhaps she could train in that vocation. A while back Cousin Isobel—never afraid to mow down institutional barriers to follow her beliefs—had suggested an eight-week intensive training program. At the Cottage Hospital now turned into a war hospital for local wounded officers, Dr. Clarkson was in desperate need of well-trained nurses from wherever he could get them. "Why not from Downton," she asked him. But she suspected, no she absolutely knew that her mother would want her to stay at Downton and that her father would forbid it. She was after all the daughter of an Earl, not the daughter of a middle-class physician from Manchester like her cousin. She felt caged and desperately needed to escape her complacency and predicament.

He said that may all be true about her current circumstances, but the war was changing everything. "Be persistent, follow your beliefs. Women should be able to work and to contribute to the war effort as they see fit or even better support the movement for peace. Was this not central to the cause for women's rights?" he asked. "Anyway you're not like other women," he candidly told her—perhaps revealing too much about his true feelings toward her.

"Aren't I—in what way am I different? Honestly I feel I know so little of the world, I don't know who I am or what I'm meant to do," she sighed heavily and fiddled with her cloche in her lap.

How should he say this? Just be honest he thought—their familiarity had grown immensely since they first met almost three years ago and these types of conversations were not unusual when they found themselves alone together. "Well," he began, "you've never been afraid to challenge conventions. You've stood up for what you believe in, so why stop now?"

She looked away to the landscape passing by, absorbed his sage advice, and nodded affirmatively—"Quite right…as always!" He looked back and she smiled warmly in return. He could sense her newfound confidence had already begun to lift her spirits. She said that she would ask her parents the next day if she could go for nurses training in York. "Thank you Branson, I can always count on you."

For his first trip, he brought the Dowager Countess up to the house because she wanted to wish her granddaughter well. Much to his surprise, Anna had informed him that the family matriarch actually supported her granddaughter's aspirations. He was glad that she had someone from the family in her corner in order to make her parents and sisters realize how important it was for her to leave her comfortable life at Downton and take this first step out into the world. It would be a big adjustment to be sure, but the fact that she wanted a change and to make a contribution, gave him hope.

His second trip for the day would be to drive Lady Sybil down to York. William brought out her luggage. Only two bags, he noticed—far fewer than when the family travelled to London for the season. He suspected she was beginning to comprehend what a life of work entailed and being able to change three times a day would not be in the offing. Her training would be demanding, but she seemed eager to get started.

Following her cousin's suggestion, she had already spent sometime earlier in the week in Downton's kitchen learning the basics of how to prepare tea and cook. From what he observed and heard from the kitchen maids, she was initially completely inept at everything, but mastered her tasks very quickly. He wasn't shocked by her perseverance or acuity—she had already been a quick study of the women's suffrage movement. One afternoon, he was present when she took her first cake out of the oven. It was a surprise for her mother. Mrs. Patmore cautioned her to be weary of the hot oven, but she was fearless in her desire to complete her task. Her face lit up with great joy when she took her rather lopsided confection out of the hot oven. She glowed with her accomplishment of having done something well. That night everyone was abuzz in the servant's hall at how seriously Lady Sybil took her work in the kitchen. They never could have imagined witnessing the daughter of the Earl of Grantham fetching water for a kettle or better yet mixing a bowl of cake batter. Mr. Carson, however, still didn't take well to the notion of Lady Sybil's latest ambition. "Its just not done, never in my day would one find the daughter of nobility rattling pots," the butler scoffed at this latest sign that things were changing inside the house and outside in the world beyond its gates.

He took her bags from William and strapped them to the back of the motorcar. Dressed in a dark blue suit she eventually came out of the house with her sisters and mother. She bid them farewell. Ready to serve—as was his job—he stood at attention by the car door and waited for her to enter. As he climbed into the front he glanced into the backseat and saw her wipe a tear away. This would be a difficult departure for her, but he also knew it would be a difficult revelation he would have to make. Better now than never. And he put the car in gear and sped away from Downton.

He could feel her sense of loss—that she was leaving an important part of her life behind. They both had much to consider as they darted along the road and through the fall countryside. They rode in silence for most of the ninety-minute trip. Should he say something now he wondered?

These trips were often a time where they shared their ambitions and discussed their political beliefs. He would like to think that he had helped her see that a new society could be forged if people from all ranks were willing to join the cause. He never thought it impertinent that he should have these conversations with his employer's daughter, she seemed eager to know more and clearly had very strong opinions of her own. They didn't always agree. Sometimes he thought he pushed the abolishment of the class system rhetoric a bit too far. But he liked that she was willing to stand her ground, especially since he hated losing a debate to anyone—even to her.

Neither revealed the content of these interactions to others. Their exchanges were kept to themselves, since no one upstairs or downstairs would understand the nature of their unusual bond. In the household and to the world, she was his "social better." She was the "lady" and he was the "chauffeur." But what in the end made her or her family better than anyone else—a legacy of inherited wealth that concentrated land and resources in the hands of the few at the expense of the many? Granted, her father and family were extraordinarily fair and made sure that all those in their employ and under their stewardship were well taken care of. But that did not change the reigning belief that those who were by birth higher up on the social hierarchy were naturally nobler than those below them. Not holding to such notions, both found the ideals and practices of social rank to be outdated. A deep abiding respect emerged between them precisely because neither was better than the other—each had virtues and flaws. They met on a plane of equality or at least in their little world that was how they saw it and treated one another accordingly. She valued their friendship as did he, but how deeply she cared for him would be tested when he confessed the depth of his own feelings.

"How was your cake? It looked I must confess: a bit lopsided," he finally spoke up—trying to take her mind off leaving home. "I guess I mean did it taste good?"

"Are you implying it was unsightly and tasted awful," she replied looking up and teasing him for his obviously awkward question about her culinary excursion.

"No I meant nothing of the sort. Did her Ladyship enjoy your big accomplishment?"

"I think she did, I hope she did," she sighed. "I know I'm not going to be making a plum pudding any time soon, but I tried. I want to do things for myself." Then she piped up, "what do you care about how my cake tasted, you don't like cake anyway!"

He chuckled to himself that she remembered that story from his childhood, "so you remembered that."

"I remember many things. Your having to eat an entire plate of your aunt's bone dry cake that tasted like sand, because it was your mother's birthday surprise and you didn't want to spoil it for her must have been a real character building experience for you," she giggled and leaned forward to see his response.

"Oh you think that made me the man I am?" he turned and smiled glad that he could make her laugh and ease her anxiety. "And there are many things that build character, like baking your first cake."

"It's a step, although I'm not sure everyone was behind me," she reflected on her new trajectory.

"Indeed, as you may be aware Mr. Carson wasn't too keen on your turn in the kitchen."

"Did I upset things downstairs that much?"

"You know Mr. Carson. He feels there's an order to things that should never be disturbed. You shook up a number of those things shall we say."

"I certainly didn't mean to."

"Oh, he'll recover. He's going, no we're all going to have to get used to a new world. Everybody will most likely find themselves someplace different than where they were before the war don't you think?" he said subtly implying their circumstances in his question.

Before she could say anything else he pulled the car in front of the hospital's entrance. She stepped out and told him she'd meet him inside. He unstrapped her bags and walked into a large hall with high vaulted ceilings. Sybil talked to a woman in a blue nurses uniform who sat officiously behind a long desk. The nurse pointed toward a large wooden door at the other end of the room. Once finished, she turned around and told him that her lodgings were in the North wing. He could take her as far as that entrance.

As the passed through the wooden doors they entered into a large courtyard. Injured soldiers—some missing arms, others missing legs—exercised on the lawn. Suddenly for both of them the war was no longer a headline or a letter about a friend, its toll was palpably visible. It made them both consider for an instant what was really important in life.

They turned into the north wing's entrance hallway. He placed her bags down on the cold stone ground. She faced him and told him how hard it would be to leave her last link to home. He took of his hat and finally said what was in his heart.

Curious if any other gaping holes in the story are worth filling in? Trust me there seem to be many on this ship.