Thomas swore he would have done it. He'd thought about it for months, and his conversation with Matthew Crawley had steeled his resolve. If he'd been uninterrupted, he would have lifted his lighter above the trenches and won a hole in his hand and a home back at Downton. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place, and he would have gone through with it, he knew.
But he was interrupted. And his well-laid plans thrown to the fickle winds.
Thomas crouched, alone and shaking, in a corner of the trenches and had lit himself cigarette and decided that the time could not be more opportune when he heard footsteps.
"Evening, soldier."
When Thomas recognized an officer's insignia on the shoulders of the figure standing before him, he rose and saluted, "Good Evening, Lieutenant."
"Stealing a smoke on your time off, Corporal?" He had a lilting, upper-class accent, that made Thomas painfully aware of how rough his voice must sound.
"Is that against the rules, Lieutenant?"
"No, it's not…" the figure shifted his weight forwards and back, like a child before the window of a candy shop. "I was actually wondering if I might borrow a light?"
"Of course," Thomas handed over his lighter, and the lieutenant sat in the dirt. Thomas shifted uncomfortably. It seemed rude to sit next to an officer when there was no need, so he remained standing. The lieutenant crossed his legs and drew out a rain-stained, crisply-folded letter. He opened up the paper and lit the lighter. Thomas began a sincere prayer this man wouldn't use all his lighter fluid reading a letter from home, but at that moment the lieutenant tipped a corner of the paper into the small flame, and the fire illuminated his face. He was a young man, as Thomas had guessed, no older than Thomas himself. And he was beautiful: high cheekbones, clear fair eyes, and soft, curved lips. The beautiful lieutenant watched his letter burn until the flames licked his fingers and he dropped the paper at Thomas's feet to choke in the mud.
"Fuck you, Jack," his lilting voice muttered at the dying flames. The lieutenant stood and handed Thomas his lighter. Their fingers brushed.
"Much Obliged, Corporal."
"Barrow. Corporal Barrow." Thomas found himself hoping the young officer would offer his name in exchange. He didn't.
"Much Obliged, Corporal Barrow."
"Medical Corps, Ninth Division," he saluted. "In case you receive any other letters in need of burning."
The lieutenant returned his salute and tried to smile, but the motion of his lips died almost before it began.