Not put up anything in a while...and then this random little idea came about. I don't really quite know where its going but i do have the first small bit. It will all be from Sybil's POV unless i say otherwise :D

BY THE WAY! I shall uphold my promise ... There is this great little story - its called The Diary of Sybil Branson Over Time - it is such a cute little thing and it doesn't seem to have that many readers which is sad.

Also! I haven't abandoned my other stories - they shall get updated at some point! I do have little tidbits of chapters on my computer just waiting to be put up i just need to finish them. They will be AU of course... I'm not going to change them because of what happened on TV.

This story however, isnt AU .. well, sort of.



I could feel myself waking. I thought that I would be drifting upon a tidal wave of pain and discomfort when I woke the next day but I felt…nothing. No pain; I was lighter than air. I couldn't feel much, even the surface beneath me. I tried moving my arms, the air they had past through shifted and stirred but that was all I could feel. My arms themselves were questionable. I could feel heat; the sun must be coming through the windows. It was intense, yet comfortable. I would hazard a guess and say that its midday but I wouldn't be lying here completely at ease with it.

I opened my eyes to find that I wasn't in my bed. I was laid, face down, upon a dusty road, one that when I scrambled to sitting, erupted a plume of orange sandy smoke around me, some of it settling upon my white dress. I observed the scenery around me. The colours were bright, too bright, the harsh hues of greens that were of various shades; the luminosity of the grass which surrounded the road and the shadowing trees which clustered the horizon. My attire, the simple white dress, made so that I almost glowed in the sun. For a moment I thought it was.

"You can always spot a newcomer," a deep Irish voice joked behind me. I turned; trying to spot him but the sun was too bright. I place a hand above my eyes trying to shield the sun away but it was no use. His silhouette seemed to saunter toward me; his hands were in his pockets as he walked. As he came closer, I could see that he was smiling. He spoke again, "You're always dressed in white you lot. Why do you do it? You know you can pick anything you want to wear, but I suppose the idealism of heaven seeps in,"

He stopped in front of me, an eyebrow raised in question. He probably thought I was mad just sat in the middle of the road. He was dressed in a brown suit, just a simple one, with tan shoes. He wore no hat which baffled me; how couldn't he in this sun? It didn't seem to bother him as much as it did me. His shadow blocked the sun for a moment and I could see him properly. His brown hair was forcibly swept over to one side by a parting, the slight golden hues in it shining out. It gave his hair a strange texture that I couldn't describe and I have definitely not seen before.

For a moment I thought it was Tom, but this man was older, even though his eyes held all of the childhood qualities that made him see the world with wonder. He had slight stubble, though nothing too wild that made him look dishevelled.

"Where am I?" I asked. He nodded; I seemed to confirm his suspicions on being a 'newcomer'.

"It's called the go-between. Are you going to sit on the floor all day?" he asked me, smirking.

"Er, no," I answered, very uneasy. He reached a hand out, huffing impatiently when I didn't move; he curled his fingers in a beckoning motion; he wanted to help me off the floor. "What is a go-between?"

"Don't worry love," he answered, catching my other arm as he helped me. "It's all a bit disorientating at first, but you get used to it." He was right to keep his grip on me, I fell forward straight away. He stumbled back as my legs gave way, but his grip held firm so I would land flat on my face. "Whoa! Where you going, love?" he laughed.

"Stop calling me love!" I grumbled; I wasn't his love. I pulled away slightly as I was far too close to him. He was a complete stranger yet he looked at me as if he knew me.

"Oh, sorry, dear-"

"Don't call me that either! I don't even know who you are…and you still haven't answered my question," I protested. He chuckled and lightly smacked the side of his head. He made a face, one that made me laugh slightly. I wouldn't humour him by letting him know that I found him funny. In fact, he annoyed me. Tom teetered close to the line, but, whoever this was, was no way near that line; he passed it long ago.

"Oh! Apologies. Where are my manners?" he smiled. He held his hand out for me to shake. "It's lovely to meet you Sybil, at long last. Kenneth. Kenneth Branson."

I took his hand, shaking it politely even though I still had no clue who he was. But he knew me. He knew my name. How did he know that? He was expecting me to say something as his smirk grew. He crouched slightly, staring at me face like a doctor would.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Looking to see if you've gone mad," He murmured. He touched my head – checking my temperature – felt my cheeks, and studied my eyes. He forgot one thing. My pulse. I was about to correct him when he shook his head, seemingly done with his examination. He continued, "Some do, you know, but I think you're alright."

I shook my head. I wasn't mad but what was mad was the fact that I was in the middle of nowhere with a strange who claimed to be a relative to Tom. To be honest, he did look like him so I couldn't really question his intention.

"I'm sorry, but how do you know me? And how do you know Tom? Are you his brother?"

He laughed, fully and heartily. Hands on stomach and all that went with it. He slowed and stopped when he saw that I was serious. Why did he laugh in the first place, was it so ridiculous that I was completely confused? I certainly didn't think it was but he certainly did.

"His brother? Oh no, lass, I'm no brother to our Tommy,"

Tommy? Tommy?! I laughed internally. How old did this man think Tom was? "No, no, girl. And to answer your other questions, I've known Tom all his life, much as I've known you since you entered his,"

He was starting to annoy me. He was a terribly jolly fellow yes but it was still annoying as I couldn't seem to get a straight answer from him. I decided to play him at his own game. He could tell that I wasn't amused as I just stared out into nothing, my eyebrows slightly knitted together in thought.

"Alright, I guess I've got to explain. I guess my son didn't tell you all there is to know,"

"Yes. Wait – your son?"

"Tommy. Your husband. My son,"

I embraced him there and then. After a moment of complete shock, knowing that a family member stood before me, one whom was talked of in such light and dignity; I was delighted. He, on the other hand, was a little shocked at my bold gesture. Tom had told me all about his father. I never thought for a moment that I would meet him. I'm surprised that I didn't see it - the similarities between them both was just so obvious...and I thought Tom looked like his mother. I kissed his cheek before hugging him again. He was family; my father in law. But wasn't he...?

"Hey! It's alright lass," He stroked my hair gently, all the way down my back. I gasped, grasping the long black tendrils of hair. My hair! It's long again. I felt the ribbon which kept some of it off my face and traced it down my back. Mr Branson watched me with some concern yet his demeanour was calm.

"What's going on? I cut this all off!" I shouted at him. I held my hair within my fist, squeezing it so tightly that I hoped it would just fall away. I pulled out the white ribbon, letting my hair go and fall, and threw it to the floor. I felt like a child again. I hand worn a ribbon in my hair since I was 16, before I was introduced onto society. I screamed and grunted as I stomped on it. "And you still haven't answered my question! WHAT IS A GO BETWEEN?!"

He was silent. He just watched me completely break down and cry. I sat on the floor, just rocking slightly. I wanted Tom. I wanted my daughter. I wanted my parents. I wanted my sisters. I felt him slump beside me, exhaling as if it were a great effort to sit down. He let me rest my head on his shoulder. He patted my arm; I know he was trying to sooth but he wasn't helping. I chuckled.

"I know, I'm rubbish at soothin', no wonder Margaret yelled at me all the time; could never get the little 'uns to sleep," he joked. He sighed when I didn't look up. "Walk with me," He didn't wait for my hand this time, he just took it. I sucked in a breath, ready to scold him for taking my hand when I noticed that we had moved…and someone was crying.

A/N: Was it good? I know its weird but more shall be explained in the next chapter :) i just wanted to get it started.

Tell me what you think, so i know if it's worth carrying on :)

GMJ xxxx