A light flickered on and off outside the Downton Village Hospital. It would flare up for a second, dim and go out, like the steady signal on a lighthouse.

A young man with shaking hands stood in the drizzling rain trying to light a cigarette, with no idea that his actions looked in the least comforting or steady. Without his customary lighter, he was making do with matches. But he wasn't making do at all: each time he lit a match, it flared for a second, but extinguished before he could light up, killed by the rain or by the shaking of his limbs. After two minutes the contents of the box of matches lay soggy and useless at his feet.

The front door of the hospital closed, and the young woman in a fine, thick coat walked out. The young man, who wore a corporal's uniform and no coat, decided that tonight he would not greet her. He did not answer to her, and he owed her nothing.

"Fucking Sybil Crawley and her fucking fine airs," he muttered and cursed himself that he'd ever thought her different.

Edward thought her different.

"…none of the rest of them smell as sweet"

"…very grand"

"…as pretty as she sounds"

Thomas Barrow wrinkled his nose and felt sick remembering all the sweet, sweet things Lieutenant Edward Courtenay had said of the youngest Crawley daughter. Edward was a sop, a silly sop and Thomas couldn't waste his time on men like that, not in reality and certainly not in his imagination. Besides, tomorrow the lieutenant would leave, and neither he nor Lady Sybil Crawley would ever see him again.

The young lady smiled his way as she walked down the path from the hospital. "Goodnight, Thomas." After his silence, she called again, "Thomas?"

"It's Corporal Barrow, miss." He struck another match, and it lit up his face. "Goodnight, Lady Sybil."

She came closer, and Thomas could see the drops of water gathering and running off the brim of her hat. "Don't call me that, please."

"Sorry, Lady Sybil. What would you like me to call you, Lady Sybil?"

"Well, I'd prefer Nurse Crawley, but…" she trailed off when she saw his face clearly. "Don't you want to come inside? It's terribly cold. And you look unhappy."

"Now why would I be unhappy, Nurse Crawley?"

"Having to work under a doctor who doesn't know what's what, for one." She sighed. "I know Lieutenant Courtenay is better off here than he could ever be at home or at Farley Hall, no matter what Clarkson says, and you know it too, Thomas."

Thomas's breath caught in his throat, or he would have corrected her again.

"I suppose… it's odd, but I feel more and more numb the longer I work here. I trained as a nurse because I cared, but the more wounded men I see, the more pain seems the natural order of things, and the less I feel."

Thomas grunted. "I'm not surprised."

"What have I ever done to you, Thomas?"

"Nothing, Nurse Crawley."

"I don't believe you." She fixed him with an iron gaze. "What have I done?"

Thomas struck another match, and this one stayed alight, so he lit his cigarette. He didn't owe her honesty on the subject, as he owed it to no one. He wondered for the hundredth time whether he owed it to Edward or, oddly enough, whether he wanted to offer the blinded man honesty gratis, but the thought faded into the cloud smoke in front of him.

"For the last time, Nurse Crawley, you have done nothing wrong. It's not your fault that you're grand and beautiful, or that the soldiers think so…"

"What are you – jealous?"

Smoke caught in Thomas's throat and pushed water from his eyes. He coughed, "No!"

"You're in love… with me?"

He smirked. He liked the idea of hiding the truth beneath a simple lie. "Yes, Nurse Crawley, I'm afraid I can't hide it any longer. I – I love you, and…" he shouldn't be this composed. A man in love would be trembling with desire so close to the woman he loved, he'd go down on his knees in the mud, and tears would rain down his face. He thought at once of the moment when Edward placed a hand on his knee. He hadn't fumbled or reached carefully; his hand had landed right where he planned it to, as though he could feel sense Thomas through the darkness. A lump rose in his throat. "I've loved you for… since I saw you, and… and I've never felt so happy as when your hand touched mine. And the thought that I might never see - have the chance to touch you again… The thought that your parents would never allow - "

"When have I touched you?"

"Excuse me?" In the middle of declaring my undying love, you'd think she'd have better manners, Thomas thought.

"You said you'd never been as happy as when I touched your hand… and I don't recall ever - not that I shouldn't touch your or that I'd find it unpleasant." She stepped forward and took his gloved hands in hers. Thomas couldn't bring himself to feign infatuation or excitement. "And don't worry," try as she might, she couldn't keep confusion from her voice, "if I ever fall in love, I won't let my parents get in my way. They'll just have to accept…"

She trailed off. Her eyes grew very wide, and when they could no longer grow any wider, her jaw descended.

Thomas turned towards the hospital. "I should be going Lady - Nurse Crawley."

"You love him, don't you?"

"I have no idea what you mean," he said. He wanted so badly to be wooden and unfeeling, the sort of facade he had perfected years ago, the sort of facade that reminded the duke of his name in front of the entire assembled household and kept his face calm and neutral when he tripped Mr. Bates. But his voice broke and he wiped at his eyes and his nose. "The thought is - unnatural and disgusting to anyone with half a mind…" he choked.

"I'll go tell Lieutenant Courtenay - I've got to tell him - that I've got no interest in him and then he'll have to see that you – "

"No! Don't!" Thomas caught hold of her sleeve, dropping his cigarette in the gravel.

"Why not?"

"A man's got to have something to dream about. Take that away from him, it's like you're killing him."

"You tell him what you feel. Go in there and tell him right now." Sybil took Thomas's hands. "He leaves tomorrow; you have nothing to lose."

"But that's just it, Sybil. I have everything to lose."

Water splashed in the street as Branson pulled the Crawleys' car up to the front of the hospital.

"Oh, really. They didn't have to send the car round," Sybil dropped Thomas's hands and brushed water from her shoulders. Her eyes were still wide, and confusion had deserted her voice, leaving what sounded like desperation.

"Evening, Nurse Crawley." Thomas turned from her.

"Ever thought he might feel the same way?" she asked in a whisper. Thomas's heart jumped in his chest.

He cleared his throat and put on his calm mask. "Not with the way he talks about you."

Nurse Crawley looked as though she did not believe him.