A/N: I wrote this at gone one this morning because I couldn't bear to leave until the morning. I'm not sure it's exactly how I wanted it to be, but I've edited it a little after some sleep so at least it's not as bad as it was.

I have no clue whatsoever who will die in series three. If I had it my way, no one would. :( But there's been some speculation based on this scene from the trailer, so yeah.

Disclaimer: We all work with this pirate's hoard within our reach, but none of it's ours.

Sympathy

He keeps his fist over his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his sobs at bay. The rest of the house stands shell-shocked in the kitchen at the terrible news, but he cannot be among them. He needs to be alone. He can't stand their false sympathy and their insincere glances. They pretend to care, but it isn't a well-kept secret that Sarah O'Brien wasn't well liked by the staff at Downton Abbey. They had always looked down on her, sneered at her, made her feel inferior, even though she was a damned sight better than the lot of them put together.

And now she is gone, and they are pretending to care.

Thomas makes another choking sound. The tears come hard and fast. He can't control them. He doesn't want to control them. He deserves to feel this acute pain. He deserves every exquisite ounce.

Because they had argued right before she had died. They had argued, spat words of hate at each other, and he had jeered at her that she was an unloved old bag who had to live through her hapless nephew because there was nothing better in her sorry excuse for a life.

And now she is gone. Gone, without ever hearing how much he regrets saying those words to her. Gone without knowing that, while she may not have meant anything to the majority of the staff at Downton Abbey, she'd meant something to him. She'd meant so much to him. She was more than someone who he'd shared a sneaky fag with, more than someone he'd bemoaned the unfairness of life to. She'd been someone whom he'd confided in on a daily basis, someone who had cared about his welfare when no one else had.

And he'd thrown it all away over his jealousy that her nephew – perfect bloody Alfred – could simply wrestle his way onto the scene like a clumsy oaf and take her attention away from him just like that.

He needs a cigarette, but he can't bear the thought of smoking one alone. He doubts he'll ever want to smoke again now that she is gone.

And then, suddenly, there are footsteps behind him. He stiffens at once. He doesn't want the artificial sympathy. He wants to be alone.

"Thomas, are you all right?"

Christ, no. Not her. Anyone but her. He can't face her saintly kindness just now. He'd take anyone coming to check on him over her. Mrs. Hughes' no nonsense rallies. Mr. Carson's brisk speeches. But not her. Never her.

Anna bloody Bates.

Her delicate footsteps are still approaching.

"Do I look bloody all right to you?" he chokes, hating the fact that he is still sobbing, hating the fact that she is seeing him so vulnerable.

"No, of course not. It was a stupid question."

A bit like you, then, he thinks savagely, needing to turn his anguish on someone. Somehow, he holds his tongue.

The footsteps have stopped. He can feel her right behind him. Her body is warm. Tentatively, she reaches out a hand and places it on his arm. He flinches away from her, rounding on her. She doesn't balk at his sudden movements. She simply continues to stand there, looking at him with a steady blue gaze. He glares in return.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Thomas," she says. Her voice is gentle and sad. It gets his back up at once.

"Why are you sorry?" he snaps. "You don't care. Not really."

Anna sighs. It is a weary sound. "Honestly, you don't need to sound so standoffish. Of course I'm sad about what's happened. It's terrible."

"But you don't care," he repeats stubbornly.

"It's a completely tragic event," she says softly. "No one deserves to die, Thomas. It's true that we never really saw eye to eye. Miss O'Brien was downright unkind to Mr. Bates when he was here, and I didn't like her for it. But we made our peace. When…" her voice falters for the slightest of instances, but she regains her composure quickly, "when we thought he was going to hang, Mr. Bates asked me to forgive her for everything. And I did. I won't deny that it took me a long time to, but I did. I held nothing against her. And she didn't deserve to die."

The tears are starting up again. They blind him. Anna moves closer.

"It's okay for you to grieve," she says gently. "I know the two of you were good friends. You have every right in the world to feel like this. I know if anything ever happened to…" She trails off there, but he knows who she is thinking about, and insolently rolls his eyes through his tears. He will never be able to understand her mad infatuation with that bloody fool Bates. He's glad that the bastard is out of the house. Not only has he been afforded the opportunity to be a proper valet, it means that he no longer has to witness those irritatingly soppy glances and secret smiles that the two of them used to share, making it seem as though they were the only two people in the world. Not that it makes much difference with Bates not being there – Thomas still can't escape him. When Anna is not twisting her wedding ring absently round her finger while she throws herself into another hare-brained scheme that she think will help to spring him free from jail, she is writing him letter after letter. He's peered over her shoulder a few times just to see what she can possibly be finding to tell him, and all he reads are declarations of love and affection and maudlin dreams. It's all a bit nauseating.

"It would be different for you and Bates, though," he growls at her.

She raises an elegant eyebrow. "How so? Just because we're husband and wife doesn't mean that we're not best friends too."

Thomas shakes his head, rubbing angrily at the tears that make his face red. "At least he'd know that you were there for him."

There is a moment's silence while Anna processes these words.

"Is that what this is about?" she asks finally. "Miss O'Brien not knowing that you were there for her?"

He sniffs hard, says nothing. He can't meet her gaze.

Anna sighs again. "Thomas, I'm sure she knew that you cared."

He shakes his head, angry, agonised. "No, she didn't! We've been arguing a lot recently and I said things – terrible things – because I knew they'd upset her, and now she's dead! Don't you get it? There's no way of fixing things now because it's all gone!"

She shakes her head defiantly. "No, that's not true. If there's one thing I've learned since Mr. Bates' arrest, it's that you have to keep positive no matter what, else you'll go mad. There's no point in dwelling on the bad things that have happened. You have to focus on the positive. I'm sure Miss O'Brien wasn't entirely blameless in the things that transpired between the two of you. And do you blame her for any of the things that she said to you?"

He shakes his head again, remembering her own harsh words. He'd deserved them.

"There you are, then," Anna says matter-of-factly, as if it solves everything. "You both said some nasty things, but it was only because you cared about each other. You still know that despite everything, Miss O'Brien cared about you. I'm sure she felt the exact same way. None of this is your fault, Thomas. It was just a tragic accident. No good will come out of you blaming yourself."

"I don't need a sermon from you," he says weakly, but in truth, her words have helped ease his pain a little. Anna smiles slightly, not offended, obviously sensing exactly what he means.

"Just remember the good times," she tells him quietly. "I'm sure you had lots of them. Hold them in your heart and never let go of them, and that way, Miss O'Brien will never be far away.

It might be sentimental drivel, but he still can't find the words to thank her. Despite wanting to grieve alone and hate himself, he knows that she is right. He doesn't have to like that fact, but he can respect it. She seems to know what he can't say; she simply nods at him and opens her arms.

"Now come here," she says softly.

He doesn't move. She sighs again (he is sure that she has perfected that exasperating sound just for him), and moves towards him. He briefly has time to acknowledge how truly tiny she is before she is snug against him, holding him tight. Her arms are around his back. She has a nice embrace. Warm and caring. Despite everything, Thomas feels cared for.

He puts his own arms around her, buries his head in her shoulder, and cries.

A/N: So there it is. Your views are much appreciated, especially since I've never written about Thomas before! :)