I wrote this a couple of months ago and just realised I never posted it. No particular timeframe, just post series 4 I guess.
"Mr Barrow… I hope this isn't out of turn."
Thomas glanced up across the table at Jimmy curiously, probably because very little felt out of turn between them these days. Their friendship, though rocky in establishing, was firm. Jimmy had not called his friend "Mr Barrow" when they were alone for quite a while, either.
"Hm?"
Jimmy fiddled with the cards in his hands as he spoke. "You haven't been coming to meals much these past couple of weeks. I hope you're not ill?"
Thomas played a card, and was silent for so long Jimmy was not sure if he had not heard his question or was ignoring it.
"Y'ever felt like there's too much of yourself, Jimmy?" Thomas asked at last, the roughness of his Yorkshire accent coming out.
Normally Jimmy loved when he would relax into his 'below-stairs' voice, as he had come to think of it, but today the brittleness of it seemed to indicate nervousness.
"No," Jimmy replied.
"No," Thomas repeated idly. Ash dropped from the cigarette onto the table he was normally so careful to keep clean. "Damn," he muttered, picking up the bowl he was using and sweeping the ashes into it.
Jimmy almost thought the conversation was closed, but then Thomas added, "I guess you wouldn't."
"And if I did, I'd be grateful for it. I've never known true poverty but I've had my share of hunger and it's not something to be thankful for."
"Hm," Thomas replied again.
Jimmy had the uncomfortable feeling that he had disappointed his friend, though he could not for the life of him figure out why.
Thomas showed him his hand of cards to indicate that he had won their game of gin, and re-dealt in silence.
"Is that how you feel?" Jimmy asked, when they were both safely staring at their new cards to look for pairs.
"I've been here just about all my life," Thomas replied, which did not answer Jimmy's question at all. At least, not in any way that Jimmy could understand.
"You know what my favourite colour is, Jimmy?"
"No." He was getting mental whiplash trying to keep up with Thomas' remarks. Each seemed completely disconnected and yet profoundly the same.
"Nor does anyone else here." He tilted his head back and blew a smoke ring thoughtfully. "Nor do I, come to that."
Thomas took another drag and Jimmy watched his nostrils flare as he blew smoke heavily out of his nose, before hunching back over his hand of cards.
"Do you know why they keep me here? A suspected thief, a known liar and a confirmed gossip?"
The question seemed rhetorical, so Jimmy waited for Thomas to answer it, playing another card as he did.
"Because I was born to a uniform, and I carry myself well," Thomas said bitterly. "That's all I've got going for me. This place is too small for me, but I'm not enough for it either. I don't really have any say over anything."
Jimmy struggled through this. "So you don't come to dinner because that's something you have a say over?"
Thomas' gaze flickered to meet Jimmy's for a brief second. "And other reasons."
"I'm sorry, Thomas, I don't understand," Jimmy admitted.
"No," Thomas said in what sounded like agreement. "Don't worry about it Jimmy, eh?"
And Jimmy realised that he had been kindly but uncompromisingly dismissed. They packed up not long after that, and went to bed.
The next morning, when Thomas was carefully too busy for breakfast, he saw Jimmy mutter something to Mr Carson before following him into his office. He never did find out what Jimmy had said, but that evening when Thomas told Mr Carson that he would be absent to wind a clock the butler said firmly, "No, Mr Barrow, you will come to supper."