Prologue

Jimmy sat alone in his room. Next door, bruised and beaten and broken, lies Mr Barrow. It had taken Jimmy two whole days to muster up the courage to visit him. To apologise. If he hadn't been so stupid and arrogant, then no one would have been hurt.

"Thomas should never 'ave jumped in for me," he muttered hastily under his breath, "I can fight me own bloody battles."

But deep down, he knows he couldn't have. Not then…not now. He can feel the shame tug at him still, how could he ever make it up to him? Thomas had, well, truthfully he'd saved his life. At last, Jimmy decides to go and visit him again. He thinks, maybe, Thomas will ask a favour of him, and then he can try and repay him, but at the back of his mind Jimmy knows that he will not ask for anything. 'Funny that,' he thinks as his hand hovers gently of the doorknob. He's been at Downton long enough to know all about Thomas' schemes and scams and shortcomings. He knows that there was, from bits and pieces he's overheard from Mrs Patmore and enticed from Alfred, something with Miss O'Brien, but after…that night…there doesn't seem to be anymore. The fact was, Thomas had never put anyone before himself until Jimmy arrived. The thought scares Jimmy, but somewhere deep down, he can't help feel…something else. The door creaks as he nudges it open, and he silently slips through the small gap. The servant's quarters are an unusual, eerie quiet, with most out at some fancy food market that's come to the village. Apart from himself and Thomas, only Carson remains, nursing a scotch in his office whilst he vigilantly awaits the other's return. Tentatively, he knocks on the door across from his own. Silence. A few seconds. Was that a voice? No. Nothing. It is only as he turns away, when he thinks he hears the voice again, this time stronger.

"Yes?"

Thomas. Jimmy turns swiftly, pushes open the door, and prays to god he hopes he knows what he's doing.

"James."

Mr Barrow states, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Something pulls at Jimmy's chest at hearing his name said so bluntly. He doesn't know why, it's just that, well, he's never been 'James' to Thomas before. It just sounds so…detached – especially from him. He tears himself away from his thoughts, realising that he's just been staring obliviously at the man in the bed.

"Uh, yes, Mr Barrow. I…eh, came to see how you were. If I could do anything for you – to help you?" The words stuttered and tumbled their way out of his mouth; what was coming over him?

"What I mean to say is-"

"It's perfectly okay, Jimmy. I'm fine, and thank you for asking."

"So…not tea, or anything? Some bread?"

"No, no. Thank you."

Jimmy continued to stand awkwardly in the corner of the room, his fingers nervously tracing the curves of the oak chair he was gripping so tightly to. He had fully expected Thomas to say no, but he hadn't planned on what he would actually say. Again, he finds himself standing there, staring, and he can feel the anxiety rising from his stomach and he can't seem to put a sentence together and-

"Is that all, Jimmy?"

"Uh, yes Mr Barrow. I just wanted to say…well, I don't really know what I wanted to say."

"I thought we'd said it all yesterday."

Silence. Well, they had, hadn't they? What had he expected, really? The silence grew louder.

"Well, I just thought I could," Jimmy starts, desperately racking his brain for something to say, "I could…help you get back on your feet."

Jimmy grimaced at his choice of words. Out of all the thoughts running through his mind, why that? He wasn't a nurse, and didn't intend to be for that matter.

"Thank you, Jimmy, really. I appreciate it, I do," he replied sincerely, "But I fear there is nothing you can do – not right now, anyway…perhaps tomorrow? You could help me get ready for dinner. Just some 'elp down the stairs 'n that. Bit unstable, y'know."

And there it was. The trademark smirk, a glimmer of the old Thomas. At the sight of it, Jimmy could sense something inside him relax, feel it spread through him, a mix of relief and…no, just relief. 'Maybe that's it.' he thought to himself. Maybe that was what he'd wanted to see – needed to see. To see that the old Thomas still existed, that he wasn't completely broken.

"Yes, Mr Barrow. Right you are."

Thomas nodded his goodbye;

"Yes. Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Mr Barrow." Jimmy echoed warmly, as he turned to exit the room.

"Oh – and James! It's Thomas."

And with that, Jimmy left the room, closing the door gently behind him, letting the shadows cover the smile which bloomed on his face.