"We'll be sure to let you know our decision," Thomas Barrow said as he shook the hand of the nervous young man standing across from him.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate this opportunity! Working at Downton Abbey would be an honor, sir— an honor and a privilege. It has always been my dream to work in such a beautiful and grand house such as this one. And I will work my hardest, sir, to earn that privilege! For a privilege it would be—"

"Yes, yes. Thank you, Simon. We will let you know," Barrow cut in with what he hoped was a pleasant enough tone despite his irritability. The lad had been practically licking his boots from the beginning of the interview, and the incessant groveling had given Barrow a splitting headache.

Once Simon had been firmly ushered out the back door with a not-so-subtle shove between the shoulder blades, Thomas closed the door and sighed heavily. "Well, that's a definite 'no'," he muttered under his breath before heading to his office.

He had scarcely shut the door and settled behind his desk when there was a knock at the door. Not needing to ask, for he knew without a doubt who it was, he beckoned flatly, "Come in, Mr. Bates."

The door creaked open and Lord Grantham's valet slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Listen, I don't mean to tell you your business, Thomas—"

"Yes, John?"

Bates smirked slightly. "Sorry, old habits die hard. I don't mean to tell you your business, Mr. Barrow—"

"But you're going to anyway," Barrow grumbled with a barely concealed roll of his eyes.

"It's been three weeks."

"I know that. Believe me, I am quite keenly aware of the fact that we have no footmen every time dinner is served. Of course, if you were capable of serving—"

It was now Bates' turn to barely conceal a roll of his eyes, "Oh, don't start that again. All I'm trying to say is that his lordship is growing a bit impatient. While I'm sure he's appreciative of your" —Bates struggled for a moment for a more diplomatic phrase than anal-retentive— "exacting standards, perhaps you could consider being a bit more… flexible."

The newly appointed butler grunted as he pinched the bridge of nose but remained silent otherwise, so Bates forged ahead. "I understand that you want to show yourself capable, Tho— uh, Mr. Bar—"

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Just— You can call me Thomas. Just don't do it when anyone else is around."

"My apologizes, Mr. Barrow."

"Oh, shut it," Barrow grumbled, "How Anna hasn't strangled you is beyond me."

The other man smirked slightly at the ribbing. "Surely, one of the lads who's come by over the past few weeks has caught your eye," he prompted. "What about the one who stopped by on Friday? Alex, was it? Seemed like he had the right look and attitude for a footman."

Barrow nodded slightly. "Caught my eye," he muttered, "As if that isn't the entire fucking problem." He looked across his desk to see Bates tilting his head slightly to one side—not so much in confusion but rather as an invitation for Barrow to explain things for himself. Barrow's shoulders slumped as he sighed, "What would everyone say if I hired someone like that?"

Bates was the furthest thing from being naive, but he nevertheless feigned ignorance, "I'm not sure what you—" He stopped himself abruptly when he saw that Barrow was in no mood for pussyfooting. "Alright," he admitted sheepishly, "I suppose he was a bit on the attractive side."

Barrow mock gasped at him, "My goodness! Are you certain your heterosexuality is still intact?! Whatever would Anna say?!"

Shaking his head and unable to stop himself from smiling, Bates relented, "Fine. You win. I am capable of noticing when another man is handsome. But I still don't see why that would stop you from—"

The sharp smack of a hand slammed heavily upon the wood-topped desk cut him off from saying anything further. "Are you fucking kidding me? After the bullshit I went through when Andy came to work here?" Barrow interrupted, his face growing red with anger.

Bates sighed, "I know Andrew was a bit standoffish when he first came to work here, but Anna and I spoke to him and he was much more—"

Thomas face scrunched up with discomfort. Could it really be true that Bates had no idea about what he had been put through? "That's not— That's not what I mean."

This time, Bates really was confused when he tilted his head to one side, "I'm not sure I follow."

Barrow sagged in his chair, "Mr. Carson thought that I was— that I was trying to 'corrupt' Andy. He and Mrs. Patmore both thought it."

Not wanting to think poorly of the two upper staff members, Bates tried to mollify Thomas, "While I'm sure that it may have felt that way—"

"According to Mr. Carson, I should be horsewhipped," muttered Thomas bitterly. He felt an odd twinge of guilt at tattling—an ugly habit he had been struggling to overcome ever since Gwen's visit—but it was nevertheless satisfying to give voice to a pain that had clung to him for so many years.

"Jesus Christ," Bates whispered, a stunned expression upon his face. "Thomas, you have my word that I had absolutely no idea that was happening." A look of dawning realization spread across his face as he implored, "Is that why you…?"

Thomas remained silent for several long moments before shaking his head and hesitantly replying, "I don't know. Maybe? It wasn't just one thing, but that bit didn't help much." He cupped his hands together in front of himself and absent-mindedly stroked his gloved hand with his right thumb. It was a habit that he had started some time in the past two years whenever he was in need of soothing. "I suppose Anna must have told you?"

Bates shook his head, "No. His lordship did. I'm fairly certain Anna would have taken it to her grave if I hadn't found out on my own."

"His lordship, eh? I can only imagine how disgusted he must have been with me."

In the years that John Bates had known Thomas Barrow, he had grown accustomed to the young man behaving as though the universe owed him a great debt, and so his first inclination was to dismiss the remark as being nothing more than a calculated pity party. But as he looked at Barrow's face, he realized, "You really believe that, don't you? No. I'd say a more accurate description for his reaction would be 'devastated.' He was quite upset about it."

"Huh," Barrow uttered, for the thought of his suicide attempt having an emotional effect upon Lord Grantham had never occurred to him, "At the time, all I could think was how relieved he would be to no longer have to worry about paying my wages. How relieved everyone would be to have me gone."

"Mr. Barrow," Bates said softly, "I think I owe you an apology. I saw how much it was hurting you to be hounded over finding a new position, and I didn't say anything. I should have, and I'm very sorry for not doing so."

"It's fine. Really it is. I was a horse's arse to you from the moment you arrived here, so I can't blame you for not wanting to get involved."

Unsure how to respond, Bates remained momentarily silent. This truce between himself and the butler was entirely new to him, and the very idea of not being on his toes, not being at the ready for Barrow to stab him in the back— it was more than a little disconcerting. Still, the matter of the understaffing needed to be addressed: "Well, what about this last fellow? He seemed a bit nervous, yes, but his references seemed to be in order."

Barrow skeptically raised an eyebrow, "You're joking, right? Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

Bates grimaced slightly, for he knew exactly to what Barrow was referring, "Well, yes. I suppose he was a bit, ah…."

"Lavender?"

"Um…"

"Queer as a nine-bob note?"

"Well…"

"Grand marshal of the fairyland—"

"Yes! I get your point, Thomas," interjected Bates before Barrow could get much further.

Barrow leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, "I'm fairly certain that even his lordship—and believe me I am very much aware of how unconventional the Crawley's have been in their treatment of me—that even his lordship can only tolerate just so much perversion amongst his staff."

Bates opened his mouth slightly as if he were about to say something but then closed it without making a sound.

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"What?I"

Scratching at the back of his neck, Bates could feel his face flushing slightly with more embarrassment than he had ever felt before in his life. "Well, you see… When you and Jimmy started to get along after the, um, the uh…"

"The incident?"

"Right. Well, his lordship assumed that the two of you were…." Bates allowed his voice to trail off, the lingering silence filling in the rest.

Thomas's mouth fell open as he sat completely agog. "You have got to be bloody joking," he finally managed to sputter. "Christ sakes, Jimmy would be mortified if he knew that's what you thought."

"Still. If you did wish to hire Simon—"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not attracted to every man I come across?" Thomas snapped impatiently. Why everyone assumed he was chaffing at the bit to bed every wet-behind-the-ears lad who crossed his path….

He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't quite caught that Bates had been saying something him. "Sorry, what's that?"

Rolling his eyes—it was now starting to become a bit of a habit for the two of them—Bates repeated himself, "What I said was, don't you ever wonder how your life might have been if you had someone looking out for you? Someone who was familiar with your— your plight, who could take you under his, well, his wing?"

Thomas snorted, "Believe me, I've had plenty of men who have been more than happy to take me under their wing."

"Touché," replied Bates. "Look, I know that you are in need of a friend who can understand you better than I can or Miss Baxter can. Or any of us."

Thomas nodded his head slowly as he contemplated the other man's words.

"So what if Simon is in need of that friendship as well?"