Thomas and Jimmy spent two minutes together the morning Jimmy left Downton for good.
Thomas had risen early that morning and walked all the way to the Downton rail station before the sun began to turn black sky to grey.
He paced. He rubbed his hands together. He checked his watch. There was a chance he'd missed him, of course, that Jimmy had left his room at the pub in town and been whisked away on some midnight train.
When Carson had caught Jimmy in Lady Anstruther's bed the night before, he'd given him his stare of pure ice and told him to pack his bags and stay the rest of the night in the pub in the village. Thomas didn't hear of it until Jimmy was long gone. He hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. Carson assured the rest of the staff that Jimmy had been dismissed for pertinent reasons, flagrant unprofessionalism, and that he was going to London to stay with friends. The truth came out in the gossip later that night, of course. Thomas hoped beyond hope it wasn't true, but he knew life at Downton - and he knew Jimmy - far too well.
Knowing why he'd been dismissed, a fun salacious story that set his heart in stone - that wasn't good enough for Thomas. So he stood, he sat, he paced in the early morning cold, his breath smoking before him.
When he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him, he sat on the bench facing the train tracks and looked steadfastly ahead, afraid he would betray his feelings if he saw Jimmy at such a distance, afraid he'd fall to his knees and beg to come with him. So Thomas collected himself and braced his heart for the possibility that the footsteps belonged to someone else entirely.
Jimmy sat on the bench next to Thomas so close the legs of their trousers brushed. Thomas's heart raced, and he rubbed his hands together to keep them from trembling. He bit his lip to keep from saying I love you.
"It weren't even good," Jimmy said, the sadness of twice his years clouding his voice. He slumped against the back of the bench. "I mean, I'd be fine havin' to leave me job for good sex, but this... it were nothin' special."
"Ya've had better before?" Thomas asked, trying to keep his voice light.
Jimmy shrugged.
"Did ya... Jimmy..." Thomas chose his next words carefully. "Did ya want to do it? Did she force you? In any way?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Jimmy said quietly.
Thomas nodded, and in the silence, Jimmy leaned his head on Thomas's shoulder. Thomas's throat filled with hot sobs, and he wracked his brain to remember every second of this, every ounce of Jimmy's weight, every sound, texture, and color.
Moments later, the sound of a train whistle jolted Jimmy upright, as if he were waking from a dream.
Thomas pulled out his wallet and pressed a tenner into Jimmy's palm. "I didn't have the time to buy you a proper goin'-away gift."
"Thomas, I can't - " Jimmy protested.
"Please let me give ya somethin', Jimmy! I can't stand to say goodbye and leave ya empty-handed."
"No reason to say goodbye," Jimmy said, and he leaned close and kissed Thomas's lips. The lightest, gentlest kiss in the world.
The heavy train creaked to a stop, with its open door directly across from them. Jimmy climbed aboard, and Thomas watched the train disappear into the distance. He was almost certain he could see Jimmy's fair head lean out of a window, his hand wave goodbye in the early morning light.
When the train was a speck in the distance, Thomas heard someone clear his throat behind him, loudly and obtrusively.
"Mr. Barrow?" said Alfred, valise in one hand. "What're ya doing here? I came by to visit the Abbey. Didn't Mrs. Patmore say anything about it?"
"I..." Thomas choked on the words, had to clear his own throat to continue. "Jimmy - left. I came out to say goodbye."
"Left - for a time?"
"Left... forever."
Alfred put down his valise, and, great silly giant that he was, wrapped his arms around Thomas without a word. Thomas didn't let himself cry, but he let Alfred hold him until the sun emerged above the treetops and parted the clouds.