A/N: Hello out there? Sorry for the MONTH DELAY? I feel like I blinked and a whole month of my life was gone. Real life is kicking my butt, what with my last semester of college going strong (please hurry up May 23rd!) and my part time job and internship and blahhhh. So, I'm sorry :( but I hope you all enjoy this, and please review!

P.S. Reminder: this is unbeta'd. And written in chunks during the wee hours of the morning. So, if there are mistakes ignore them ;)

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. Not even a little bit.

When Sybil entered the library the following day, she was quite unprepared for the stroke of good fortune she was about to receive. After poring over circulars and advertisements for possible job offers she had intended to appeal to her father to allow her drive into Ripon, if only as a ruse to spend time with Tom. As she approached Lord Grantham, seated at his writing table as he was, she was mentally preparing a laundry list of reasons as to why she should commandeer the motor for the entire afternoon when he turned to her and offered a smile.

"And what is it today, Sybil? Off to save the refugees with cousin Isobel?"

"No, papa. I was actually rather hoping you wouldn't mind me hiring the motor for the afternoon? I know it's late, but I had hoped to pop into some shops to –"

"I'm afraid you'll have to delay your plans for tomorrow," said Robert, interrupting her vague excuse for a day excursion. "I've just given Branson the afternoon off, God knows the poor chap needs it, what with the way he's been bustling about as of late. You could try and persuade Edith to drive you if it's that dire."

The slow smile that spread over Sybil's face went unnoticed by her father, who had turned back to his writing.

"Nothing too dire, papa. At least, not dire enough to employ Edith's driving," Sybil said, earning a laugh from Robert.

"No," she said slyly, backing away from him towards the door, "I think I might walk into town. I have been so longing for something to do, and I'm sure the exercise would do me some good."

"Yes, yes, I do believe you're right," he replied distractedly, again not looking up from his letters.

Sybil turned, fleeing the library and headed towards her room to fetch the advertisements and make good on her plan.

Branson could not shake the sense of overwhelming happiness even if he tried. After Sybil had left his cottage the night before sleep would not come to him, for he was elated past the point of sanity and could not keep from smiling. So instead he poured himself into writing applications and letters to former employers to ask for references (for he knew that Lord Grantham would most definitely not be singing his praise after their departure). He wrote well into the early morning until his hand was cramped and the wax from the candle at his kitchen table was spilling onto the wood. Only then did he stack up his papers and crawl into bed to be met with visions of Sybil in her white nightgown walking toward him.

Now it was nearly midday and the entire estate had been bustling with activity for hours; he himself had already changed the oil in the motor, replaced an engine belt, and even washed and dried the car before ten that morning. All that he had left to do was to pace about the garage and await her arrival.

As he mindlessly cleared away imaginary dust from the worktables in the garage (as a way to preoccupy himself) he couldn't help but recall, again, their meeting the previous night. So much has changed, he thought. So much and yet so little; even now we must hide behind the chasm of propriety to bide our time. He had discovered soon after his second year at Downton that his infallible positivity had slowly descended to cynicism; every future held the possibility of ugliness. So, despite his unending happiness at Sybil's final declaration of love, Tom still had his doubts about their future (although if he examined them properly they stemmed more from his fear if displeasing her than anything else.)

His musings were cut short with her appearance in the garage; she stood between the frame of the door, holding a wicker basket and bundled to her nose in her warmest clothes, her smile quick and bright.

"Hello," she said, slipping quickly into the garage.

"Hello," he replied, amused and delighted at her presence and ashamed of his previous dour thoughts all at once.

"An interesting piece of information came my way this morning, would you like to hear it?" Her tone was mischievous, her eyes dancing and her breath forming in the cold air.

He chuckled, "I suppose I do."

"Well, apparently the 'poor chap' that drives the motor has been given the afternoon off, and I couldn't help but wonder if he might enjoy a winter picnic."

"A winter picnic? Is there such a thing?" He asked, trying to peek inside the basket in her arms.

She moved it deftly behind her back, keeping the contents a surprise.

"Of course there's such a thing, I've made it up. It's all arranged and I demand some company. And don't I make the orders, Branson?" All of this was said breathlessly, for she had come very close to him and was gazing into his eyes, daring him to refuse her.

Even if the thought of denying had crossed his mind, he was helpless against her.

"Of course, milady."

After making sure he was dressed warmly enough, and sneaking away from the grounds of the main house undetected, the couple walked briskly through the cold afternoon, arms linked and heads close together.

"How did you manage to get away from all the wedding plans?" He asked removing her arm from his in favor of twining their gloved hands together.

She smiled at their fingers, a light blush upon her cheeks. "It was actually papa that I had to convince, and he was so busy with his business that he barely batted an eye at my proposal of walking all the way to Ripon. I'm sure someone will wonder where I am and he'll be berated for allowing me to go all that distance on foot, although its not as if I couldn't have managed."

He grinned at that, imagining her response if someone dared to believe she couldn't make it there and back on her own.

"Have they been cracking the whip, so to speak? I'm afraid I've forgotten what your daily life entails, now that the war is over. Is it all wedding planning and luncheons with the Dowager?" His voice was teasing, but his curiosity was genuine.

"Yes, things have been dreadfully dull as of late," she said with a sigh. "My days are soon to be filled with lace patterns and flower arrangements and gown fittings for Lavinia. Not that I'm not happy for them, it's just…" She broke off, staring into the dense fog.

"I understand," was his simple reply. "Your life had gained purpose, and now you fear that all you've worked to learn and gain will be brushed under the rug."

She stopped and turned to him and grasped his hand more tightly, her eyes alight with affection.

"Yes, that's exactly it. How is it you sometimes know my mind better than I do myself?"

He lifted his hand tentatively toward her cheek, before brushing his thumb along the skin there.

"Because I know you," he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

The pair had finally reached their destination which consisted of a secluded patch of woods where a large oak tree was positioned by an ancient stone wall. Sybil, rather proud of her winter picnic, proceeded to remove all the contents from her basket before arranging them on the warm wool blanket she brought to spread over the damp ground. The food was neither elegant nor abundant (for Mrs. Patmore wouldn't be fooled into believing Sybil would devour such a large meal by herself) but it would suffice.

After the last morsels were devoured, Sybil arranged herself against the trunk of the tree, allowing Tom to lay along the ground with his head in her lap. His eyes fell closed as she began to run her fingers through his dark blonde hair, fatigued as he was from the lack of sleep. She was so calmed by the moment between them that she felt compelled to speak openly, as they had never been able to do before.

"When did you first realize you loved me?" she asked quietly.

Tom had been so relaxed that her question caught him off guard; he opened only one eye and raised the corresponding eyebrow at her teasingly.

"Why must you know the exact moment? Isn't it enough that I waited all these years?" he reached for her left hand and brought it down to twine with his across his chest.

She giggled flirtatiously, delighting in this sillier side of Tom. "I already told you Branson, I give the orders. Now tell."

His relaxed form became rigid as he impersonated Carson's baritone, "Of course, milady. At your service." He stood up before her and bowed deeply as she fell against the tree in uncontrollable laughter.

"Should I call you Carson from now on?" she managed to get out between giggles.

"No, I rather think that would cause confusion amongst the staff," he chuckled, plopping down beside her and leaning back against the old tree.

When their laughter quieted she turned her face towards his expectantly. He needed no further prodding, knowing inherently that his response to her request was deemed the greatest of importance.

"I always thought it was that day at the count, in Ripon. The day you were injured. But the more I think on it, the more it seems that I loved you from the first day I offered you those pamphlets on women's rights."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion; how could he have loved me since that first moment?

"It might seem strange to you," he said, ducking his head bashfully. "But every moment spent with you was like a discovery; I learned more of my feelings each time we were together. And when I think back, how could I rule out every early moment if it built what I feel for you now? So I had to go back to the beginning."

She sighed happily, pleased with his rationale. "I was so young and naïve, I suppose I always wondered if you thought me foolish then. If, at first, you saw me for the silly girl I was," she smiled gently, her head resting on his chest. They were silent for a time, before the question that had been plaguing him emerged.

"And when did you realize it? I've recently thought of nothing else but the time between your refusal in York and how one night you came into the garage, ready to run away with me," his confession was startling in its frankness. He had contemplated her answer many times in the past few days, and her simple explanation on that night in the garage did not seem to suffice.

He felt her sigh against him before beginning bravely, "It may sound odd, but it was Mary that brought it on."

"Your sister? The Lady Mary that would prefer my head on a spike rather than on my shoulders?" He chuckled, unbelievable.

She giggled, "The very same. Though I don't think she'd resort to having you beheaded."

"I'd beg to differ-," he said, but was impeded by her bare fingers on his lips, effectively silencing him.

"Hush," she reprimanded, "don't you want me to tell you?" He nodded slowly, dumbstruck by the softness of her skin against his mouth and felt compelled to place a kiss there.

"Alright then," she stated, her cheeks flushing prettily at his gesture.

"It was Mary that made me realize I couldn't bear to lose you," she said, amazed by the intensity his eyes took on at her words. "We sat there together at dinner while Matthew and Lavinia announced their engagement, and their desire to marry at Downton, and all I could see was Mary. She tries to hide it, but I could see the regret and despair in her eyes. And all at once I realized: this will be me in a few years if I let him go. He won't wait forever; I will end up driving him away. I couldn't stand to be like Mary, to deny myself what I wanted most because of the opinions or the advice of others, only to face the despair of my decision every day. I don't know how she bears it."

She had been forcing a button on his coat back and forth through its hole during her speech, but at the end of it she turned her eyes to his, unsurprised by the emotion in his gaze.

"It hit me all at once, that's why I rushed out to tell you. I felt as though I couldn't contain my love for you, like it had sprouted legs and arms and was walking towards the garage to tell you before I'd made up my mind to do so."

The hand that had been caressing her hair moved to brush along her cheek, before trailing down to smooth his thumb over her bottom lip. He eyed her intently, painfully aware that they had not kissed since the night before, and, oh, what a kiss it had been. The memory of her on his lap, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her in his arms caused his hand to tremble as he closed the space between them.

He brushed his lips along hers softly, chastely, highly aware of the intimacy of this moment; their hearts were bared to each other and he would not tarnish that fragility with lust. She sighed against his mouth before bringing her hand up to rest against his cheek, cool to the touch from the frigid air.

Tom awoke a while later, his back stiff from sleeping on the ground at the base of the tree. However, when he felt Sybil stir beside him he felt the tension leave his body, and decided to give her a few more minutes of rest.

After a few moments she lifted her head off his chest and opened her eyes blearily at him, shivering under her layers. "It's so cold," she whimpered, burrowing into his chest for more warmth. He chuckled, moving to embrace her more fully.

"I'm sorry, love. But I think it's best if we get you back before you're missed."

She grumbled petulantly before allowing him to help her to her feet; blushing, she allowed him to brush the earth and leaves from her skirt before repeating the action for him. Once presentable they began walk back towards Downton.

Just before they reached the gates Tom panicked; how soon will we have another moment like this? Using her hand to pull her into one final embrace, he pressed his mouth hungrily to hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. Although their previous kiss was chaste and sweet in nature, this one was not for it was tinged with the desperation both felt at not knowing when they could have a completely private moment. She gasped lightly when he pulled away, and he breathed heavily into her hair and held her tightly.

She sighed sadly, "I don't know when I'll be able to come round to the garage. After this I'm worried they'll be keeping a closer eye on me."

He nodded his head, his eyes pained. Oh, how I hate this.

"Until next time then," he said.

"Yes," she said and turned to walk through the gates towards the main house alone.

He had just moved to walk along the outskirts of the grounds towards his cottage when he heard her call.

"Tom!" she was running towards him, her skirts billowing around her legs. It occurred to him that he'd never seen her run before.

"Here," she said breathlessly, "I forgot to give you the job advertisements I found. Maybe you can read through them and send out letters of enquiry and we can discuss it the next time we see each other?" Her enthusiasm was infectious.

"Alright, I'll be sure to have a look and make some enquiries. Thank you, Sybil."

She did not reply, but simply leant up on her toes and kissed his cheek before turning and heading towards the house. He watched her retreating figure long after she entered, the vastness of Downton Abbey engulfing her before the doors shut firmly.

Serious question: How many of you really liked the make out scene in chapter 2? As opposed to this less physically intense chapter? Would you prefer more or less of either, or both? Just curious ;) Thanks!

Please review :)