You Are More Lovely Than You Could Ever Imagine
Pairings: Sybil/Branson
Rating: G
A/N: Set in between S2E01 and S2E02
He wrapped his fingers around the wheel. Driving required a faint touch. Patience. The ability to dream away landscapes and summon up fantasy worlds of colour. To see in the briskness of the wind blowing through the trees something like a song; atonal nature, asymettric and unusual.
He suspected people underestimated how much of his time he spent thinking; that he was concentrating on driving (when, really, it became automatic, an extension of his body, meditative) rather than dreaming. Dreamer. Tom Branson was born a dreamer and would die that way, and he'd smile.
He'd dream of her, though he tried not to. He'd dream of that turqoise blue afternoon and of her smile, proud and confident. Then he realised that like everything with them, it was always through a window, a secret smile in the car mirror. It was all opportunity and indirectness and finding and plotting routes through a maze neither of them knew well (but the dangers, oh they knew what lay at the edges of the maze).
Today would be her first visit, the first time they had met since he declared his love and devotion and she, in all her sweetness and awkwardness, had refused him. Now the sting had gone but he would never forget, not really.
His fingers pressed tighter against the wheel.
///
He took her bags, and she acknowledged him with a quiet thank you, her eyes fixed on the floor. God she felt tiny.
It seemed odd, to call her "milady". He didn't know but she found it odd too. He gargled the sound out, like something trapped in the throat.
They didn't speak, which she hated, because that's what they did: they spoke to one another, didn't just exchange silly pleasantries and stock answers and responses. A part of her wanted to cry, it truly did, and she hated crying, though she felt she spent half her life doing it.
Then the car began to shudder in an isolated back-lane. He stopped.
"Branson?" She asked, concerned. He turned around to face her.
"My Lady, did you get my letter?"
She looked at her hands. "Yes, I did."
"Because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
"No."
"But if you ever do, well...let me know."
She swallowed thickly and for the first time looked at him. "Of course."
He carried on.
///
Lady Sybil,
I'm sure I'm writing this letter all wrong. I'm sure my handwriting is atrocious or I haven't addressed you correctly or something. You told me once you felt like you spent your whole life writing letters to people but I left school before I could find out the correct way.
I'm sorry for what happened the other day. I'm sorry if I made you feel at all embarassed. But please understand I had to let you know. I had hidden it from you as long as I could. . If you ever want me to leave, just say so, and I'll go as far away as you need me to.
I want you to know that you are more lovely than you could ever imagine. That I am proud of you for this and so much more. To never change, no matter how much they try and pull you down, never let go. Fight. Always, always fight. You are Sybil and you are wonderful, always.
My feelings for you are never going to change and for this I am sorry. So know I am always here, for whatever you need. If the world gets you down or you feel weak or disheartened I want you to remember I am always on your side. I hope that helps, in some small way.
Don't be afraid.
Your servant
B
....
He didn't know that letter was under her dresser or that when she first received it she had cried. That when she felt down all she had to do was read it and know. That he gave her strength and confidence in all those parts of her society said were wrong for a woman to have when all her dreams seemed so far away. She knew the words off by heart and recited them as a prayer in the dark hours of the night when she had blood on her hands and tears in her eyes. That and many other things he did not know.
Rating: G
A/N: Set in between S2E01 and S2E02
He wrapped his fingers around the wheel. Driving required a faint touch. Patience. The ability to dream away landscapes and summon up fantasy worlds of colour. To see in the briskness of the wind blowing through the trees something like a song; atonal nature, asymettric and unusual.
He suspected people underestimated how much of his time he spent thinking; that he was concentrating on driving (when, really, it became automatic, an extension of his body, meditative) rather than dreaming. Dreamer. Tom Branson was born a dreamer and would die that way, and he'd smile.
He'd dream of her, though he tried not to. He'd dream of that turqoise blue afternoon and of her smile, proud and confident. Then he realised that like everything with them, it was always through a window, a secret smile in the car mirror. It was all opportunity and indirectness and finding and plotting routes through a maze neither of them knew well (but the dangers, oh they knew what lay at the edges of the maze).
Today would be her first visit, the first time they had met since he declared his love and devotion and she, in all her sweetness and awkwardness, had refused him. Now the sting had gone but he would never forget, not really.
His fingers pressed tighter against the wheel.
///
He took her bags, and she acknowledged him with a quiet thank you, her eyes fixed on the floor. God she felt tiny.
It seemed odd, to call her "milady". He didn't know but she found it odd too. He gargled the sound out, like something trapped in the throat.
They didn't speak, which she hated, because that's what they did: they spoke to one another, didn't just exchange silly pleasantries and stock answers and responses. A part of her wanted to cry, it truly did, and she hated crying, though she felt she spent half her life doing it.
Then the car began to shudder in an isolated back-lane. He stopped.
"Branson?" She asked, concerned. He turned around to face her.
"My Lady, did you get my letter?"
She looked at her hands. "Yes, I did."
"Because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
"No."
"But if you ever do, well...let me know."
She swallowed thickly and for the first time looked at him. "Of course."
He carried on.
///
Lady Sybil,
I'm sure I'm writing this letter all wrong. I'm sure my handwriting is atrocious or I haven't addressed you correctly or something. You told me once you felt like you spent your whole life writing letters to people but I left school before I could find out the correct way.
I'm sorry for what happened the other day. I'm sorry if I made you feel at all embarassed. But please understand I had to let you know. I had hidden it from you as long as I could. . If you ever want me to leave, just say so, and I'll go as far away as you need me to.
I want you to know that you are more lovely than you could ever imagine. That I am proud of you for this and so much more. To never change, no matter how much they try and pull you down, never let go. Fight. Always, always fight. You are Sybil and you are wonderful, always.
My feelings for you are never going to change and for this I am sorry. So know I am always here, for whatever you need. If the world gets you down or you feel weak or disheartened I want you to remember I am always on your side. I hope that helps, in some small way.
Don't be afraid.
Your servant
B
....
He didn't know that letter was under her dresser or that when she first received it she had cried. That when she felt down all she had to do was read it and know. That he gave her strength and confidence in all those parts of her society said were wrong for a woman to have when all her dreams seemed so far away. She knew the words off by heart and recited them as a prayer in the dark hours of the night when she had blood on her hands and tears in her eyes. That and many other things he did not know.