Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey.

Summary: What if Doctor Clarkson had been forced to leave the garden party early, before Thomas had had a chance to speak to him? What if, following a suggestive comment by a colleague, the First Footman had decided against joining the British Army at all? What if, instead, he'd decided to join the Royal Navy? How different might things have been for him?

Warnings: Slash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Violence, First World War.

A/N So the idea for this particular story has been rattling around in the back of my mind since I attended the 'Mountbatten Festival of Music' back in 2016 during which there was a memorial piece for the 100th commemoration of the 'Battle of Jutland.' I knew then that I wanted to do a story focusing on the naval aspects of the First World War which isn't as well known as the land based aspects, mostly due to the fact that the evidence of the battles are at the bottom of the ocean and can no longer be seen. Now, I don't claim to be a historian so please excuse me if I get anything wrong despite my research in this particular subject.

THE BOYS IN NAVY BLUE
CHAPTER ONE

Ripon, Yorkshire
Tuesday 4th February 1919

Despite spending most of his wartime career operating out of either Rosyth, Scotland, or Scapa Flow, a body of water in the Orkney Islands, Thomas had ended his Naval Career in the home of the Royal Navy; Portsmouth. He had been transferred to HMS Excellent, the latest of the shore establishments located in the nautical town, in the days following the internment of the German Navy's High Seas Fleet at Scapa Flow on the orders of his Captain who had also received a transfer to the shore base and wanted to take his best steward with him. Thomas had been both flattered and annoyed; flattered to know that he had made such an impression on the man that he would help to further his career in order to keep him close by and annoyed that the decision to transfer had been taken completely out his hands.

He had waited only four weeks before putting in his request to leave the Naval Service.

Shipboard life, surprisingly, had suited him but life on a shore establishment was surprisingly different. It didn't help that Thomas had gone from being the Chief Officers Steward, firstly on board the cruiser HMS Warrior and then on the battleship HMS Warspite, to one of the Junior Officer Stewards in the bases Wardroom. Nor did it help that he knew there was a much more preferable job waiting for him at Downton Abbey should his time at sea be over.

Once his request had been authorised and the frustratingly complicated process of leaving the Royal Navy had officially begun Thomas had sent a telegram to his future employer at Downton Abbey, letting them know to expect him sometime in the next couple of weeks.

And that was how he came to be alighting from the last stage of the somewhat complicated train journey from the South Coast, a journey that had required one twenty minute stop to allow another train to pass them by and two separate changes, at Ripon's familiar station.

No one was there to greet him, not that he had been expecting anyone as he hadn't been able to confirm his date and time of arrival in advance, and so he shouldered his canvas kit bag with practiced ease and made his way along the station towards the exit. He still wore his uniform, not having had enough time between the final paperwork being sorted and the departure time of his first train, and so drew rather more attention than he would have like.

Despite having been travelling for most of the day his uniform was still presentable enough that he could have walked straight into the Wardroom and not received a reprimand; his "white front" was crisp and clean underneath his navy blue jumper, the twin creases running down the sleeves almost as sharp as those forming the required "W" on his blue collar. His silk, a square of material folded seven times and sewn at one end to form a loop, was pressed and the bow securing it to his jumper perfectly formed. His white lanyard had been starched the day before and so all but shone where it was looped around the bottom of the silk, passing through the centre of the bow before disappearing inside of his jumper.

His bell-bottomed trousers were the only part of his uniform that had really suffered from the journey, tiny creases having formed on the backs of his knees and thighs between the seven required horizontal creases which were designed so that the trousers could be folded up like a concertina when not being worn. Thomas, with his training as a footman and the occasional stand-in valet, had never had a problem getting these creases, which alternated between pointing inwards and out, perfectly placed but several of his fellow stewards had made a complete hash of it until Thomas had instructed them on the proper way to do it.

Pausing to allow a mother with a young child on her hip to pass through the gate which separated the station from the road he just happened to glance down at his feet and noted, to his annoyance that one of his boots had been scuffed, a dull line slashing through the gleaming polish along the outside of the toe. The boots themselves were made of black leather which, once properly softened, made for a relatively comfortable fit and were toe-cap-less and un-hobnailed. As a steward he had been required to polish them until the toes were such that he could have used them as a mirror, catching the sun and literally glinting.

Finishing off his uniform was the white-topped peak-less cap which sat at a jaunty angle on top of his head, his ink black hair swept back underneath it. He'd received a new cap tally, black with a gold HMS stitched into it, upon transferring to Portsmouth as his old one was looking a little bit worse for wear and so the complicated bow above his right ear was nice and crisp, not a single thread hanging loose and not even a trace of a curl at the end points.

His lone medal ribbon, the distinctive red, white and blue of the 1914-1915 Star which he had been issued with following its establishment in December 1918, stood out on his left breast as did the fouled anchor, made with gold thread embroidered onto a navy blue patch which he had sewn onto his uniform with pride, denoting his rank of Leading Seaman on his left arm. Below his badge of rank sat a single gold "good-conduct stripe" which was a simple way of recognising that he had served for sat least three years without a single reprimand.

They were probably more used to seeing khaki uniforms, Thomas thought to himself as he headed for the bus stop, rather than navy blue so he couldn't really blame them for staring.

Joining the line of people at the bus stop, a haggard looking mother and her two children, a young man with one of his trouser legs pinned up around all that was left of the limb who use a pair of wooden crutches to get around, a couple of young women carrying a collection of shopping packages, a teenage boy who was obviously in need of a good meal and, of all people, Anna Smith, Head Housemaid of Downton Abbey and Thomas' former colleague.

"…Thomas?"

"Hello, Anna," he responded, coming to a halt next to her and dropping his kit bag down to the ground, resting it expertly against his leg to keep it from tipping over. "You look well."

"…thank you…" she murmured at last, her words coming out on autopilot. "I didn't know you were coming back to Downton…I assume that's where you're headed? The Abbey?"

"That is my intended destination, yes," Thomas confirmed, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. Anna refused the pack when he offered it to her. "I'm on my way to speak to Lieutenant…Mr Crawley about a job. That's going to take some getting used to."

If Anna thought that the leather gloves he wore were out of place with his uniform she didn't say so, focused as she was on his explanation. The gloves were, in fact, against the dress regulations but Thomas had been granted leave to wear them to hide the ugly scars which were cap start reminders of the injuries he had suffered during the Battle of Jutland.

"A job?" Anna repeated, sounding puzzled. "Are you coming back as a footman?"

"Not as a footman, no," he countered with a shake of his head, calmly holding his cigarette between the first two fingers on his right hand. Anna frowned. "As Mr Crawleys new valet."

"But Mr Crawley has refused to hire a valet since returning from the war…"

Thomas chuckled.

"Might have something to do with him having already offered me the position after I saved his life at the Battle of Jutland," he offered lightly, turning as he heard the rattle of the open topped bus as it approached the stop. It looked exactly the same as it had before the war, from the gleaming red paint to the advert for "Pears Soap – The King of Soaps – The Soap of Kings" along the sides enclosing the top deck to the freshly polished brass lamps, which left him to assume that it probably hadn't been pressed into military service like many of them had been. Once it had come to a stop the two children at the front of the queue hurried on, climbing up the winding steps to get to the exposed upper level whilst their mother showed their ticket stubs to the female conductor. Thomas was the only one not to produce a ticket stub, instead fishing out a handful of coins as he followed Anna onto the public vehicle. "I'm surprised Miss O'Brien never mentioned it. We've discussed my return to the Abbey often."

Often was perhaps stretching the truth a little bit...

"Single to Downton, please."

"No charge," the young conductress responding calmly, refusing the money he had been offering her in favour of ringing the bell that would signal to the driver that everyone was aboard. Thomas frowned at her in confusion. "My brother, Harry, was on HMS Invincible."

Thomas couldn't stop himself from flinching as the mention of the battlecruiser brought back a vivid memory of the moment he had heard the horrific explosion, unlike anything he had ever heard before that day, which had sent 1,020 men to meet their maker, the ship all but vanishing in a plume of smoke between one glance and the next. Sadly HMS Invincible hadn't been the only battlecruiser to meet such an unexpectedly sudden end; in fact it was the last of the three which had been taken out during the course of the naval battle, HMS Indefatigable and HMS Queen Mary having both been destroyed a couple of hours earlier.

"I haven't charged a single sailor for a ticket since."

He was grateful to the fact that the vehicle began to move then, prompting him to hurry up the winding steps to the top deck to find a seat which meant he could get away with just offering the young woman a nod of thanks, not knowing what he could have possible said.

Years spent aboard ship meant that he was perfectly steady on his feet despite the fact that the bus was winding its way along the narrow roads, allowing him to make his way across to one of the empty seats. Sitting down he moved his kit bag so that it was resting between his legs, holding it in place with his knees, and then removed his cap long enough to apply the chin stay, a strip of fabric which looped underneath his chin and would keep it on his head.

Anna, it appeared, had chosen to sit in the sheltered area downstairs.

The journey passed by in series of a familiar sights, not much having changed since he last caught the bus from Ripon to Downton. He was certain that things must have looked a bit different during the war what with all the young men in uniform but now, three months after the armistice had been signed, it seemed that everything had returned to normal.

Well, so long as you ignored empty spaces which had been left behind by the number of young men who had gone to fight for their country, never to return to their loved ones.

"Are you in the Navy?"

"Patrick, hush," the harassed mother scolded the child who had turned around to stare up at Thomas with a pair of enormous blue eyes. She turned to Thomas, "I'm sorry, he's just…"

"It's all right," Thomas assured her, smiling down at the young boy who could be no older the four. And wasn't that a sad thought, that this child had only known a life at war. "I was in the Navy, yes, but I've just been discharged and am on my way to take up my new post."

"What's that?"

"I'm returning to service," he explained, offering the boys older brother a smile as he turned around as well. He'd always had a soft spot for children, for their innocence and total lack of prejudice. "I was a footman before the war, in service at Downton Abbey, and now I shall be working as valet to Mr Matthew Crawley who I served alongside on board HMS Warrior."

"Our daddy was a soldier," the older of the two brothers announced. "He was in France."

"He never came home…"

Thomas was unsurprised to see tears well up in their mother's eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he murmured. "I'm sure your father was a very brave man."

"He was."

Their conversation was brought to a close by the bus arriving at their stop, halfway between Ripon and Downton, and the mother thanked him in passing as she nudged her children off of the bus. Thomas was then left alone for the remainder of his journey, leaving him to think about the sheer number of children that must have been left fatherless by the terrible war.

Arriving in Downton a short while later Thomas slung his kit bag over his shoulder once more, bounced down the winding stairs and stepped down onto the road, nodding to the conductress as he passed her. Anna, having been on the lower deck, had alighted some time before him and was already hurrying through the village towards the path that would take them through the woods to the Abbey. Pausing for a moment so as to light himself a fresh cigarette Thomas then allowed his feet to take him along the path he'd trod countless times.

As he emerged from the woods at the edge of the grounds he could see Anna ahead of him, ducking into the servant's courtyard, and he knew that by the time he reached the servant's door news of his arrival would have spread throughout the entire house, upstairs and down.

I suppose that saves me from having to announce myself, he chuckled silently to himself as he made his way across the pristine lawn, coming to an unexpected stop halfway between the woods and the house as his mind transported him back to the last time that he had been stood on that particular spot. It had been the day of the garden party. He had been trying to find a way to leave the Abbey after his schemes had left him on the wrong side of both Lord Grantham and Mr Carson. It had also been the day that war had been declared…

Downton Abbey, Yorkshire
4th August 1914

Thomas would never admit it but his face hurt; William threw a surprisingly strong punch.

He would also never admit that, yes, he probably had deserved it. He had been being even more unpleasant than usual but he just couldn't help it. He knew that they all despised him, not only for his actions but for what he was. Oh, they might claim ignorance but he could feel their judgmental looks upon his back just as he had felt them from his father as a child.

"What a long-faced lot…"

"Kindly show some respect."

"Come on, Mr Carson, she'll get over it. They're no bigger than a hamster at that stage."

"Will you shut up?"

Of course, Mr Bates' interjection had just served to rile him up even further.

How he envied the other man, to be so loved that everyone would overlook his inability to do his job and allow him to hold such an important position within the household. To be thought well of no matter what he did, no matter if he deserved it or not. To be so normal.

"I agree. What is the matter with you, Thomas?"

"I don't know. I suppose all this makes me feel claustrophobic," he had defended himself to Mrs Hughes who he respected above everyone else. "I mean I'm sorry, 'course I am, but why must we live through them? They're just our employers; they're not our flesh and blood."

"Thomas, don't be so unkind."

"Is there nothing left on earth that you respect?"

William. His gaze snapped across to his fellow footman who, just like him, was sporting a nasty bruise on his face only unlike him everyone kept asking him if he was feeling alright.

No one cared it Thomas was feeling alright.

"Hark at him," Thomas had laughed cruelly, needing to hurt the younger man who didn't realise how lucky he was to come from a family that loved him, that actually gave two shits about him. Unlike Thomas who had been unwanted, unloved; his parents hadn't wanted another boy after his brother Charlie. They'd wanted a girl. What they'd got was a boy who sometimes wished he'd been born a girl simply because it would have meant that his soul wouldn't be doomed to hell for daring to love and lust after people of his own sex. After his sister, Violet, had finally come along he'd been ignored whenever he wasn't being scolded, beaten or purposefully starved. It had almost been a relief to be thrown out onto the street on his fourteenth birthday. "Blimey, if he carries on like this for the unborn baby of a woman who scarcely knows his name, no wonder he fell to pieces when his old mum snuffed it."

Yes, looking back he had definitely deserved the punch that he been thrown his way.

"William!"

Deserving the punch didn't mean he hadn't been right to fight back, however; that was just instinct born of spending two years living on the streets begging for food and work. It was his second biggest secret and the only one that no one at Downton Abbey had managed to discover by themselves, the fact that before he'd found work as a Hall Boy at Brompton Manor he'd lived in the gutter and if he had his way none of them would ever find out.

They all looked down their noses at him enough as it was.

"Thomas! William! Stop that! That is enough!"

Branson had separated them as soon as Thomas had gotten the upper hand, pulling William away from him whilst Carson had taken it upon himself to shove Thomas out of the room.

Being outside of the room didn't mean he hadn't heard Branson's declaration, however,

"He had that coming."

"Thomas?" Daisy called out to him, drawing him back to the present moment. He found her holding a fresh tray of delicious looking pastries out to him. "Are you going to apologise?"

"Have I done something to you that I need to apologise for?"

"Not to me," she muttered as he took hold of the tray. "William."

Thomas let out a sigh, shaking his head, before heading back out towards the guests.

He had been hoping to speak to Dr Clarkson about the prospect of joining the Royal Army Medical Corps as war now seemed inevitable, hoping that such a position would keep him away from the worst of the fighting, but he couldn't see the older man amongst the guests.

"Anna?" he called out to the Housemaid as he passed her. "Have you seen Dr Clarkson?"

"He was called back into the village with an emergency," she explained quickly as she hurried back towards the tent with a tray of empty glasses. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"No."

Damn.

He would have to head into the village to speak with the Doctor at the earliest opportunity.

Returning to his duties he caught sight of Branson running up to Lady Sybil whilst she was talking with two of her friends, leaning in to whisper something into her ear in a manner most unbefitting a servant, and he'd be lucky to keep his job if Mr Carson saw him like that.

And then they ran off together, Lady Sybil leading the way towards where Gwen was stood.

Darling little Gwen who wasn't happy with a life in service.

"Mr Bromidge has rung!" he heard Lady Sybil exclaim even from the distance he was at, offering the tray to yet another ungrateful guest. "You've done it, Gwen! You got the job!"

Of course, she got the job, Thomas thought to himself bitterly as the Gwen handed off her tray so that the three of them could celebrate, clutching at each other's arms and bouncing in place, why wouldn't they hire her? What with Lady Sybil Crawley herself vouching for her?

He was pleased when he saw Mrs Hughes break up their happy moment.

Circulating with the trays he collected at sporadic intervals from Daisy, who kept stealing a few words with William every time he refreshed his own trays, Thomas watched the notable events of the extravagant garden party as they played out; Lady Mary sabotaging her sister's chances with Sir Anthony Strallen, Anna and Mr Bates having a "tête-á-tête" in the catering tent, Lady Mary trying and failing to patch things up with Matthew Crawley, the Dowager Countess scolding her only daughter, Lady Rosamund, Mr Carson comforting Lady Mary…

Sometimes people watching was the only thing that could keep him going as he carried out the monotonous work that was required of a first footman at something like a garden party.

And then Mr Carson delivered an urgent telegram to His Lordship.

Thomas watched as his employers expression dropped as he read the words printed upon the small piece of yellow paper, his previous smile vanishing completely as he hurried out of the tent which had been erected to protect Lady Cora from the sun, calling out to everyone,

"Please, will you stop, please!"

The string quartet, hired for the event, stopped halfway through a bar.

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Can I ask for silence?"

One by one every single guest and servant on the well-maintained lawn fell silent.

Thomas frowned.

What news could Lord Grantham have received that was so important?

Unless…

"Because I very much regret to announce that we are at war with Germany."

War.

There was no saving the jovial mood of the garden party after that, several of the guests choosing to leave straight away in order to return to their own families, particularly those with sons of fighting age, and those that did stay talked of nothing but the oncoming war.

Lady Cora excused herself from the remaining guests, disappearing inside with Miss O'Brien, whilst Mrs Crawley hurried across the lawn to her son, resting her shaking hand on his arm and gazing up at him fearfully whilst he attempted to remain to stoic. Lady Sybil, continuing to do her duty of circulating amongst the guests, kept glancing across at where Branson was helping with the heavy lifting in the catering tent whilst Lady Edith had taken it upon herself to look after the Dowager Countess who looked more than a little bit shaken. Lady Mary, on the other hand, showed no emotion whatsoever as she moved to stand beside her father.

Thomas thought personally that His Lordship was about to be sick.

Eventually only the family were left, heading inside together, which left the servants to clear up. Thomas lost track of time, busy as he was carrying heavy trays back into the house, and by the time everything was cleared away it was time for the servants to have their dinners.

"I meant to ask, Thomas, what did you need to speak to Dr Clarkson about?"

Anna's sudden enquiry brought complete silence as everyone turned to stare at him, some from out of confusion, others gazing with open curiosity. As for Thomas he paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, as he silently debated whether or not he should tell them the truth.

Eventually he cleared his throat, returning his fork to his plate as he answered,

"I wished to enquire about joining the Medical Corps should there be a war."

His announcement was met with even more confusion.

Well, apart from Mr Carson who looked rather pleased with his announcement, no doubt looking forward to getting rid of him without having to go through the motions of firing him.

"…you want to join the Army?"

"The Medical Corps," Thomas corrected Gwen's statement. "I wish to join as a Medic."

"I would have thought someone such as you might prefer the Royal Navy than the British Army," Mr Bates announced, calmly piercing a piece of pork on his fork and scooping some of the rich gravy onto it with his knife. "I don't know if Army life will suit you quite so well."

The silence at the table took on an entirely different edge following the valet's statement.

"I don't know if I like what you're implying, Mr Bates…"

"Only that your…skills as a footman would be much more appreciated on board ship," Bates supplied his explanation calmly, his hesitation deliberate. Thomas bristled. Around the table gazes flickered back and forth between the two men. "Rather than on a violent battlefield."

"That is quite enough," Mr Carson interrupted before anything further could be said and for once Thomas was quite grateful for the butler's interruption. His stomach felt like it was made of lead, turning him off of his food completely as he contemplated the fact that everyone was well aware of what Mr Bates had been implying; his sinful nature would be more at home at sea. "I will have no more talk of war at my dinner table. Everyone, finish your meals and then get on with your duties. It will be time for the family's dinner shortly."

"Yes, Mr Carson."

Thomas couldn't get Bates' comments out of his head for the rest of the evening.

The words played over and over in the back of his mind, as did everyone's reactions, the way they had stared at him and continued to stare at him. He'd known that they all knew or at least suspected his…perversion…but to have it brought up in such a…a public fashion…

When, at long last, he was lying in his bed attempting to drift off to sleep Thomas couldn't help but wonder if Mr Bates might actually be correct; would the Royal Navy be a better place for him? He didn't possess a violent nature, had only ever fought to defend himself as per the situation with William, so the idea of being sent into battle genuinely worried him.

Perhaps…

Perhaps joining the Royal Navy wasn't such a bad idea after all…

And so, ignoring Mr Bates' smirk, that was exactly what he did.

A/N Ok, so I know I should be writing my other stories rather than starting a new one but I couldn't stop myself. Let me know what you think. Comments & Suggestions welcome. X