sybil/branson: the road
Title: The Road
Rating: G
Pairings: Sybil/Branson
Notes: Set in 1916
They couldn't make out the sound properly at first. It sounded like a siren. It winded up and down, up and down. It broke through the unusual silence between them. He had noted how tired she looked and had enquired after her general well-being, but she had been snappy, unusually taciturn. He decided to leave it alone.
The car rolled to a stop when Branson spotted it; grey feathers, a twisted neck, a siren call.
"What is it?" Sybil asked quietly.
He got out of the car and she followed. He looked down at its black eyes, marbles. Sybil stood next to him.
"Poor thing." He murmured.
She swallowed, trying to stop the panic rising up, trying to stop the fear take over her body. "What do you think happened to it?"
"A car, most likely." Branson replied. The goose made irregular weak noises as it struggled to stand upwards.
Branson walked back to the car. Sybil stood, motionless. In her mind she could see it all again; the howls of pain, the blood, the black eyes; all merging together into an awful fog. And so she stood, silent, trying to control the storm within her.
When he had returned he had taken off his jacket and knelt beside the creature. He tentatively brought his hands around his neck and---
"Stop!" She croaked. He looked upwards, surprised. "There must be something we can do."
He looked even more confused. "But it's in pain."
"We can save it." She said, her voice cracking ever so slightly.
"No we can't."
"How do you know?" She said, and then she realised there were tears in her eyes, and he stood up, his face so gentle and so loving and oh she couldn't stand that look, couldn't stand him seeing her like this.
He went to touch her arm, before drawing it back, constantly aware. "Lady Sybil..."
She burst into tears. Oh God she felt sick and so tired and every nerve in her body was just screaming. And he stood and watched and let her cry. Because it was what she needed. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, before she stopped, her cheeks wet, her body bent over. Carefully he picked her up into his arms and slid her into the back seat of the car because he knew of those kind of tears, the kind of tears that drained you. She barely felt it, but was aware of the warmth of his body, the itch of his uniform against her cheek.
He looked at her. "I'm sorry, Lady Sybil." He paused, unsure of what to say.
"I saw a person die today."
"I know."
"I couldn't do anything."
He looked downwards. "You did everything you could, I'm sure."
"But it wasn't enough. I'm weak, powerless against death."
"We all are, Lady Sybil."
"Then what's the point?"
"The point is you're brave enough to try." He said, and her breath hitched a little. He paused, his brow knotting as he took in a deep breath. "I saw my Father die."
She looked up, trying to scan his face, and as usual his eyes spoke of everything.
"I'm sorry you had to see someone die, Lady Sybil." He said, smiling weakly. "I'd give anything to forget. But the fact you're doing this...well..." He stopped, suddenly shy.
"I understand." She offered after a long silence. "You don't have to say any more."
He swallowed. "I have to, you know."
"I know." She smiled sadly.
He smiled at her, and when he turned back he saw she was slowly falling asleep. The sun filtered through the window of the car and warmed her skin and he knew then she would be okay. She always would be.
He wrapped his hands firmly around the goose's neck and in a single, fluid movement, the road became silent again.
Rating: G
Pairings: Sybil/Branson
Notes: Set in 1916
They couldn't make out the sound properly at first. It sounded like a siren. It winded up and down, up and down. It broke through the unusual silence between them. He had noted how tired she looked and had enquired after her general well-being, but she had been snappy, unusually taciturn. He decided to leave it alone.
The car rolled to a stop when Branson spotted it; grey feathers, a twisted neck, a siren call.
"What is it?" Sybil asked quietly.
He got out of the car and she followed. He looked down at its black eyes, marbles. Sybil stood next to him.
"Poor thing." He murmured.
She swallowed, trying to stop the panic rising up, trying to stop the fear take over her body. "What do you think happened to it?"
"A car, most likely." Branson replied. The goose made irregular weak noises as it struggled to stand upwards.
Branson walked back to the car. Sybil stood, motionless. In her mind she could see it all again; the howls of pain, the blood, the black eyes; all merging together into an awful fog. And so she stood, silent, trying to control the storm within her.
When he had returned he had taken off his jacket and knelt beside the creature. He tentatively brought his hands around his neck and---
"Stop!" She croaked. He looked upwards, surprised. "There must be something we can do."
He looked even more confused. "But it's in pain."
"We can save it." She said, her voice cracking ever so slightly.
"No we can't."
"How do you know?" She said, and then she realised there were tears in her eyes, and he stood up, his face so gentle and so loving and oh she couldn't stand that look, couldn't stand him seeing her like this.
He went to touch her arm, before drawing it back, constantly aware. "Lady Sybil..."
She burst into tears. Oh God she felt sick and so tired and every nerve in her body was just screaming. And he stood and watched and let her cry. Because it was what she needed. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, before she stopped, her cheeks wet, her body bent over. Carefully he picked her up into his arms and slid her into the back seat of the car because he knew of those kind of tears, the kind of tears that drained you. She barely felt it, but was aware of the warmth of his body, the itch of his uniform against her cheek.
He looked at her. "I'm sorry, Lady Sybil." He paused, unsure of what to say.
"I saw a person die today."
"I know."
"I couldn't do anything."
He looked downwards. "You did everything you could, I'm sure."
"But it wasn't enough. I'm weak, powerless against death."
"We all are, Lady Sybil."
"Then what's the point?"
"The point is you're brave enough to try." He said, and her breath hitched a little. He paused, his brow knotting as he took in a deep breath. "I saw my Father die."
She looked up, trying to scan his face, and as usual his eyes spoke of everything.
"I'm sorry you had to see someone die, Lady Sybil." He said, smiling weakly. "I'd give anything to forget. But the fact you're doing this...well..." He stopped, suddenly shy.
"I understand." She offered after a long silence. "You don't have to say any more."
He swallowed. "I have to, you know."
"I know." She smiled sadly.
He smiled at her, and when he turned back he saw she was slowly falling asleep. The sun filtered through the window of the car and warmed her skin and he knew then she would be okay. She always would be.
He wrapped his hands firmly around the goose's neck and in a single, fluid movement, the road became silent again.