He is bandaged and wounded and giving up on surviving fast – he couldn't blame him though- blind as a bat and torn from the life that he once knew.

A lieutenant.

A Corporal- no, acting sergeant.

It's a bit funny how they met – he couldn't care less about anyone, and he'd just lost everything.

But that didn't matter.

Not to them.

Because Thomas didn't want to give up that easily, and Edward didn't want a sugarcoated story.

In a weird sort of way, they balanced each other out. Maybe that's why he'd let his guard down around the Lieutenant.

"You know, all my life, I've been – Pause. Shut up, he doesn't care, he's just blind and he can't see how stupid you look, just stop talking Thomas, no one cares. It'd been better off if you di– I've been pushed around, cause I'm different."

Breathe in, Breathe out. He'd repeat to himself, because he was a master at wearing masks – the second footman, that's all that he was, now a soldier who got wounded on purpose. Because he was a scared little boy whom everyone disliked.

Because he was different.

Easy does it, that's it. Just let it out.

"Different in what way?"

Curiosity killed the cat, but for a split second Thomas thought that he'd let it go, open the dam and let it be known.

Thomas isn't a ladies man.

"Nothing, just forget it "

That didn't stop Ed from putting his hand on his knee in reassurance, and to hell with it, it was warm and comforting and maybe he'd have a shot at starting over again and actually caring for someone.

That is, until the news came that Edward had to be moved. Away from Thomas, away from Nurse Crawley. He should've been more persistent – he knew, Edward was suffering from depression – having everything taken away from him – being blind, being robbed of the wonderful ways of being to see.

He should've fought more to keep Ed there.

Because then he wouldn't be remembering that smile on Ed's face as his blood seeped onto the tiled floor, a drip drip echo heard from the walls.

Because he didn't try hard enough.

And then he broke down, cursing himself, cursing everything, because he just lost the one person who was suffering with him – who didn't care that he was different – and now he was gone and Thomas had only himself to blame.

But not to worry, because he was a master of masks, and if it meant growing bitter and cold to survive, he'd do it.

Anything to survive.

Anything to show everyone who decided that he was pathetic and easy to manipulate that he knew what he was getting himself into .

And if that meant dabbling in the black market, so be it.

And it seemed as if things were going swell, until he realizes that the people that he's dealing with have double crossed him, played him like the fool he is, and really, what a fool he is.

To think that he'd ever get out.

He's forced to run back to Downton like a kicked dog, but he'll keep his head high and his words sharp.

And at night he'll close his eyes and remember a smiling soldier who didn't care that he was different, not at all.

I'm sorry, I'm glad that you can't see me now, because all I am is a disgrace, a mangy mutt who can't seem to know the difference between friend and foe.

I'm sorry, I'm a idiot I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so-

You're not different.

And suddenly things don't seem to be that bad after all.