Pre- OC/Thomas, because Thomas needs someone to love.

This popped into my head quite by chance before watching Sunday's episode [wasn't it fab?], then after the episode I made a few adjustments [not many].

I was just thinking of how Downton doesn't have a prominent chauffer anymore, so voila.

Disclaimer: Don't own Downton Abbey, If I did I would have given Thomas some happiness a long time ago. I do, however, own Seb and a goldfish. Flames will be fed to the *cough* Miss O'Brien *cough* Dragons.

Enjoy

Seb exited the garage and made his way through the yard, into the hallway and down to the servant's hall, hoping against hope to catch up a copy of today's paper before it was used for the kitchen fire. As he stepped over the threshold to the servant's hall, he saw that the solidarity he craved, always craved, and indeed expected at this time of the day, was not achievable.

Mr Barrow sat in his usual chair but his countenance bore an expression which was far from his usual confident smirk. Not that Seb had encountered the enigmatic under butler much, as the chauffeur, he preferred to keep to himself, so as to make it easier when he, inevitably, left.

It was an expression he recognized well, having worn it enough in the past before perfecting his poker face. It was the face of fear, loneliness and bitter sadness. It was the expression of an outcast. Seb, leaning there, in the doorway, looked at Mr Barrow with an air of scrutiny, his brow furrowed. His search for today's paper was momentarily forgotten. He had a hunch as to why Mr Barrow looked the way he did, but if he was wrong he could end up with a broken nose. Though if Mrs Patmore's snide comments were anything to go by, not to mention the rumors… He stood up straight, flattened his Brilliantined hair, and stepped into the room.

"Ooh, I know that face." he stepped closer to the under butler, biting his lip and ghosting his right hand over the back of his chair.

"I doubt it." The cock-sure man reappeared in that very moment, "What do you want, Summers?"

Mr Barrow's head turned towards the chauffer and his voice had regained that harsh edge. It was at complete odds with the venerability in his eyes, which seemed to scream melancholia.

"I want to know if I'm right about you."
He paused, wondering if he was pushing it;

"And you're wrong to doubt," he slowly, cautiously, slid into the adjacent chair. Flicking his eyes up to his fellow servant, he pulled a pack of playing cards out of his inside waistcoat pocket. "I often feel the same."

He started to shuffle the cards, focusing his eyes on them, whilst Mr Barrow looked on in interest, his cigarette forgotten.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." His voice was laced with smooth innocence, like he was fooling anyone.

"You know exactly what I mean." Seb kept his green eyes on the cards, dealing them into two piles. He made sure his breathing was steady before he laid down his ace. Glancing around he looked to see if they were alone. The servant's hall was empty but he still felt a need for caution, you never knew who might be listening, and the young, blonde, chauffer didn't like the look of that ladies maid, O'Brien, at all.

Leaning over, so him and Mr Barrow were close enough so as not to be overheard, he whispered, in the other mans ear:

"You bat for the other team." Mr Barrow started to rise, his face a mask, but Seb caught hold of his wrist and, with a placating voice and a small smile, continued: "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything."

Mr Barrow's brow furrowed, and then it seemed to ease. He retook his seat next to the chauffer. "I thought by now my luck would have run out." Seb raised a questioning eyebrow, "No one here has reported me, most of them know, of course, what with…" Mr Barrow broke off, lighting another cigarette.

"Jimmy?" Seb finished for him, as he also finished dealing the two stacks of cards. "I know what it's like, not to trust. You're perfectly right not to trust me, though it would be hypocritical of me to shop you." At Mr Barrow's enquiring eyebrow, he prepared himself to elaborate, he could tell he had piqued the under butlers curiosity.

Having finished dealing out the cards he drew his own cigarette case from his pocket accompanied with a lighter. Lighting up, he leaned in conspiratorially, even accompanying the entire look with the mandatory eyebrow play, as seen on villains at the cinematograph. Needless to say Mr Barrow was not wholly amused, though his thin mouth did express an abridged version of his smirk.

"I am somewhat of a liberal, and to amend my previous statement, we both, I think bat for the 'other team'. And I'm not talking about cricket, though I have been reliably informed that you're a good player, I don't play myself."

"You're not wrong." Seb smirked, taking a drag and exhaling a smoke ring.

"So was I right? About you? I generally am, by the way, right, I mean." Mr Barrow paused, seeming to consider, before nodding. Sucking his cheeks in and biting his lip he choked out:

"They don't understand, they treat me like I'm diseased. And what if, what if they, Jimmy or Alfred. Or even O'Brien kick up a fuss again, what can I do..?" He took deep breaths and Seb, sympathetically, lit him one of his own cigarettes and pressed it into his fingers with a firm pat on the arm.

"You know full well their hands are tied, one word from O'Brien and her great secret, whatever it is, is out. At least they don't seem to care that much." Seb paused in his smoking, and looking at the clock, he sighed, there would be no time for cards, he was due to pick Lady Mary up from the station.

Gathering up the two neat piles he had create, his own air changed to one of melancholy; "My family disowned me and the rest of the neighborhood all hate me, they seemed to think it was catching."

He could see Mr Barrow opening his mouth to contradict but Seb cut him off with a sad smile and bitter words; "No, It's true, they hated me, the rest of the inmates in prison hated me." He paused, breathing deeply. "I have the scars to prove it."

Standing suddenly, effectively cutting off any reply the under butler had, he tucked his cards, case and lighter back into his pocket, stubbed his cigarette out and, with a nod, he walked towards the door. Mr Barrow, all set to say something, anything, to the only chance of a friend here, rose, clearly fighting with words that would not come.

Thankfully, Seb, turning with a sigh, seemed to get the gist of what Mr Barrow was saying, and, extending his hand, reached out for a handshake. A handshake which could mean anything and nothing at the same time.

"Until the next time, Mr Barrow." Seb grasped Mr Barrow's right hand in both of his own, "and let's hope, next time, you'll be more articulate." The emotions, of two men who had long since spurned touch, seemed to run high at this simple gesture.

"You should have gone into politics, with words like that." Mr Barrow gave a small, genuine, smile; "and between you and me, it's Thomas"

"Seb or Sebastian, and disowned, remember?" He said this with a casual air but Thomas could tell it hurt Seb within. And you know the saying; it takes one to know one.

Seb was the one who pulled away from the handshake, or hand grasp, first, and repeating his previous gesture, the nod, stepped back towards the door. It was almost as an afterthought when he spoke, at the door, turning his head towards his new… friend? Comrade?

"If you ever feel like playing cards or…" he made a risqué tilt of the head before continuing: "I'll be in the garage, no smoking, too much petrol." Then he walked out, leaving a very different Thomas to the one he'd walked in on.

Thomas had never had a high opinion of chauffer's, much less since Mr Branson had shown up, but attitudes change and perhaps 'playing cards' wasn't such a bad idea, after all

Voila [again]

I was so happy, last Sunday, when I guessed about the soap

Am sad that the series is over though, but we do have the Christmas Special to look forward too

Reviews are like gold dust *hint*hint*

MissGracieKathy