A/N- Written before 3x07 and based on the spoilers for that episode.
WARNINGS- Internalised homophobia, non-graphic depictions of violence, suicide, and angst, angst and more angst.
Thomas knows it's wrong.
He knows he shouldn't feel anything for Jimmy, no more than he should feel for any man, but he can't help himself.
There are touches here and there that linger for too long and smiles that are only for him and Thomas knows he shouldn't light up in Jimmy's presence the way he does because it's all wrong.
Being attracted to Jimmy, being attracted to men, is wrong.
He's wrong.
Hasn't the past taught him that?
The only love affairs he's had have ended in disaster and he can't help but think it's meant to be this way because he's not normal.
He's not meant to be happy because God does not approve of who he loves.
Loving men is wrong but he doesn't know anything else and he feels disgusting and vile for the feelings he cannot control.
He's spent so many years trying to crush them and ignore them and forget what emotion is.
It's better to be cold and unfeeling, he knows he can't be hurt that way, and he doesn't allow himself to the luxury of hope.
He doesn't allow himself to dream or fantasise about Jimmy and the life they could live together if the younger man could just love him back because it will never come true.
Men like him are not meant to feel happiness, they are doomed to live and die alone in their shame, and he supposes it's better this way.
To be alone.
But Jimmy, Jimmy…
He can't stop thinking about him and Thomas soon finds himself living for those moments he can spend in the other's company, basking in his brilliance, and for those moments, rarer still, when he can touch Jimmy and feel the heat radiating from his skin.
And Thomas can feel his control slipping.
The tight chokehold he's kept on his emotions since he was thirteen, since he first knew he was different, since his Father had found out and beat him to within an inch of his life, thrown him out onto the streets with nowhere else to go, is slowly falling away and he hates himself.
He doesn't want to feel like this when he knows nothing can come of it.
This desire and love that can never be returned is crushing him, killing him, and he knows his cool and aloof façade is melting away to reveal his true weakness.
And he hates himself, he hates himself, he hates himself.
He's going to lose everything he's worked so hard for since arriving at Downton because he cannot control himself and it's all so unfair.
Why had he been born this way?
Why did God and the universe hate him so much to make him suffer through a lifetime such as his?
But then O'Brien catches him in the servant's hall one day and tells him that she believes Jimmy feels the same way and he can't help the hope that sparks in his chest even as his mouth denies.
Because it can't be true.
Jimmy could never feel the same way about him.
Could he?
He desperately wants it to be true, more than he's wanted anything in his life, more than being a valet or having his own business.
More than leaving Downton with his head held high.
He tries to smother the hope that burns in his chest but his attempt fails and soon his whole being is burning with it.
He can't stop thinking about him.
Every minute of every day is about him and he floats through dream after dream that Jimmy loves him and that they can be together and everything is going to perfect.
And he's so desperate for it to be true, so painfully and horribly desperate, that he doesn't see the signs.
He doesn't see that he's living in a fantasy world of his own creation and that the Jimmy of reality is becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his actions.
He doesn't see this because he doesn't want to.
He doesn't want to go back to the empty hell that his life had been before Jimmy.
He wants to feel.
He wants to be happy but he's terrified that he'll never know this emotion.
Because of his past, because of what's he's seen and what he's done…
Dreams of the war haunt him.
Men screaming and dying and bleeding and pleading and there's never anything he can do to help them.
To make them stop.
He can hear them over the bursting of shells and the never ending crack of gunfire and all he wants to do is sleep without the men he could do nothing for blaming him for their deaths.
He wants to sleep without empty eyes staring at him, accusing him.
He just wants to rest.
But he can't and he thinks he's going insane.
He spends the night hours quaking in his bed and trying to fight sleep.
He wants to forget.
The thought of Jimmy helps him.
Jimmy pushes the terrible memories of blood and guts and screaming, screaming, from his mind and he clings to this in the dark, dark night, when there's no sign that morning will ever come, and he tries to tell himself that everything is going to be okay and he's going to get through the night because then he'll be able to see Jimmy once again.
But one night it becomes too much.
There's blood and it's raining down on him and he can't get away.
The same voices are pleading for him to help, crying out for him to save them from the pain, but he's rooted to the spot and he can't move and they're screaming and screaming and screaming.
And he wakes with his ears ringing and a cry on the tip of his tongue.
And he's shaking and sobbing and he hates himself because there was nothing he could do and all he wants to do is sleep.
He's so tired.
But's he scared, too.
He's terrified that this night is going to be his last.
That the shells and guns and blood are going to take him and swallow him whole and he's never going to be able to escape.
His mind is empty of everything but Jimmy as his body moves of its own accord.
He needs to see Jimmy because Jimmy will help him.
He'll take the memories away and stay with him until the darkness leaves and morning comes once again.
All he has to do is see him, touch him, make sure that he's back in the real world and not dreaming any longer.
He needs this and he knows no one else will help him.
They hate him, detest him, and he doesn't blame them because he's a vile human being.
He's wicked and disgusting and hates himself for not being the man that God had tried to make him into.
Someone who should be good and noble.
Someone who could love and be loved and be happy.
Someone who isn't going to spend the afterlife burning in the deepest pits of hell for his sins.
Someone perfect.
Someone like Jimmy.
And he can't stop himself because he's in Jimmy's room and he's sleeping and he's beautiful and he's leaning down and he's kissing Jimmy on the lips.
And he's so wrong and he's horrified with himself because oh God, oh God, what's he done?
He has to get away.
He has to leave.
Jimmy can't know.
Jimmy can never know.
So, he runs.
He runs past Alfred in the corridor and doesn't think that maybe he's seen his revolting act.
He runs and runs and runs until he's surrounded by trees and the moon is hidden from view and hate has filled him.
He falls to the floor and beats his fists against the sodden ground and pulls his hair and sobs and screams and hates.
The voices in his head scream back at him.
And he can't breathe and he doesn't want to breathe and he knows he can never go back because he's ruined Jimmy with his wickedness and Jimmy can never forgive him.
He wants it all to end.
He prays to the God that has forsaken him that this night will truly be his last.
And he doesn't breathe.
And the world spins and greys.
And all he can hear is the echo of his own screaming in his ears.
He tries to let go.
He wants to let go because he knows he doesn't deserve to live anymore.
And he's falling and he's slipping and he's not alone because Bates is suddenly there and he's telling him to calm down, to breathe, but he doesn't want to.
He deserves death.
Deserves it more than any other creature on this earth for what he's done.
For what he is.
He doesn't fight the darkness when it comes because the screaming stops and he is finally alone in his head.
He revels in it.
He can't remember a time when there wasn't the screaming.
He pleads for an eternity of silence but it's more than he is worthy of because death is a relief that ends too soon.
He's in his bed and Anna is sat in a chair at his side, sponging away the sweat that clings to his skin, and he starts to cry.
It's morning but that means nothing to him anymore because he isn't dead like he should be.
Anna is kind to him as she wipes away his tears and she explains how the doctor has been to see him and that he's going to be okay once his fever breaks.
He tries to push her away and tell her that he doesn't want to be okay but he's too weak.
He's always been too weak.
She just shakes her head at him and puts the cloth she had been using into the bowl of water on the tiny bedside table.
She neatens his hair and straightens his bed sheets and states that everyone knows what he did.
What he is.
His crying becomes uncontrollable when she tells him that as soon as he's well he has to leave the only place he has ever felt he could call home.
And he hates and hates and hates.
He tells Anna to leave because he cannot stand her kindness.
It makes his stomach twist and turn and his skin itch.
He is unworthy of it.
He is unworthy of everything.
He finds his razor in the top drawer of his dresser and retreats back to his bed with it.
He smiles as he draws it across his skin and he doesn't think of Edward Courtenay.
He doesn't think of the war or Downton or the life he has led and what he is escaping from.
He doesn't think about anything, not even about Jimmy, but he thinks he might be happy because he's finally doing something right with his life.
Should he have done this years ago?
He's been selfish for too long, poisoning those around him with his disease, but he's finally doing what is right and it feels good.
Darkness comes for him once again.
This time it is eternal.