This originally had strike-throughs in, but ff doesn't seem to like those so I've edited Jimmy's letter slightly. I just want to say here that he kept starting sentences and crossing them out and I thought it was cute. Apparenly ff does not agree. *cry*

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey. If I did, this would actually have happened. Or, better yet, Jimmy would have never left.

When Jimmy left Downton Abbey, Thomas didn't expect to ever hear from him again. Sure, they'd been friends, but Thomas wasn't used to anyone sticking around for long. They always left him. It just so happened that usually things happened in reverse, with them learning how he was and then evicting him from their lives. Jimmy had sort of done that part backwards.

As Jimmy's friend, he had to keep reminding himself that he didn't feel that way. He was heterosexual as can be. He was normal. And Thomas… Thomas was just lucky he wanted to spend time with him, honestly, after that bloody kiss!

No wonder Jimmy always seemed on tenterhooks around him; he must've been terrified he'd try making another move. But he wouldn't, not now he knew where he stood. Just to be friends, just to be granted chance to see him every day, to share inside jokes with him, to know he didn't resent every second they spent together, that was enough.

But after he was fired, that put an end to that. Thomas had contemplated leaving with him, but that would look odd to outsiders. And besides, maybe this was good for both of them. Jimmy could find himself a nice girl, wouldn't have to worry about making Thomas feel bad, and Thomas wouldn't have to witness it. Not first-hand, anyway. He'd see it when he couldn't sleep- Jimmy meeting a beautiful lady in a white dress at the end of the church aisle, Jimmy kissing her, Jimmy surrounded by children- but never would he know if it was real, and that helped a little.

Thomas had former lovers and old friends who wrote to him occasionally, so when Carson informed him that he had a letter it wasn't too much of a surprise. He tossed it onto his bed that morning without so much as bothering to look at the envelope, anxious to proceed with the day's duties before he landed himself in trouble.

That night, he changed into his pyjamas and curled up beneath his blanket before he opened his letter.

"Dear Thomas Barrow,"

This struck him as odd. Most people who sent him personal letters simply referred to him as "Thomas", maybe "Mr Barrow" if they were afraid of their writings being discovered. They never called him by his full name, except for on the front of the envelope.

He carried on reading:

"You probably thought I wasn't going to write. I must admit, up until about ten minutes ago neither did I. This is all a little spur of the moment, please bear with me.

After leaving Downton, I went to London. I have an old friend there who was willing to let me stay with him for a while. I got a job in some poxy little shop, and I almost have enough to get my own place. Which is good. My friend is nice and all, and I appreciate his hospitality of course, but he has little kids and they like to sit on my lap and pull my hair. Urgh. It's not fun. You'd probably laugh, actually. You'd probably sit across the room from me, peer at me over your newspaper, and laugh.

Why am I telling you all this? Honestly I don't know. I think maybe a part of me just got used to telling you everything. It's weird, but I really miss you. I miss our conversations in the evenings. I miss our shared looks across the table at breakfast. I miss accidentally running into you on the stairs. I miss the smell of your cologne and the way your hair looks when you haven't got round to fixing it up yet in the morning.

God, that last bit sounded nancy-like, didn't it? I didn't mean it to. Unless it's supposed to. I'm very new to all this.

Basically, Thomas, I think I might love you. It's taken being away from you to realise it properly, but I think I do. And I just needed to tell you that. I know I'm probably too late and you probably don't see me in that way anymore, and that's fine. I don't blame you. If I was in your situation, I wouldn't fancy me anymore either.

But I'm in my situation, and I possibly love you, and you need to know that before I chicken out of telling you.

Say hello to the rest of the downstairs crew for me.

Yours,

Jimmy"

Thomas was shocked, to say the least. He had to read the letter again several times just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

"I possibly love you." This was what, not too long ago, he'd been yearning for. What deep down, a part of him- a stupid, hopeful, childish part- had never stopped yearning for.

Of course this could all be a joke, but would Jimmy do that? After all this time? They were friends now. Friends didn't joke about things like that, did they? Thomas didn't have much to compare it to; his friendships never seemed to last very long.

Jimmy bounced little Bessie on his knee. Of the two Smith children, she'd taken a particular fancy to him. It was rather annoying. Her parents were busy reading her brother a bedtime story together to help him sleep, but Bessie had insisted on staying with him.

Luckily, she seemed to be drifting off herself: her head was against his chest and her chubby little hand had released its death-hold on his finger.

A knock at the door had her bolting upright, bottom lip quivering, eyes filling fast with tears.

Jimmy immediately scooped her up and began rocking her as he headed towards the door. She couldn't cry; once she started, it'd be hours before she stopped and he wanted to get some sleep that night. Honestly, whoever was on the other side of that door was going to get it; she'd been so cosy! Why'd they have to ruin that? Who even visits people when it's dark anyway?

He was fully prepared to rant at them, but when he saw it was Thomas the words died in his throat.

"I got your letter," Thomas said. No 'hello', no 'how are you, Jimmy'. Just that.

Jimmy swallowed nervously. "Did you?" Jimmy, that was pathetic, he berated himself inwardly.

"Yes," Thomas looked down at the floor and Jimmy realised he was blushing. Thomas Barrow! Blushing! "Did you mean it?"

Now it was his turn to go red. "Yes." He could feel his ears heating up. He must look so stupid. Luckily, Bessie seemed to be dropping off again in his arms, otherwise, she'd probably start tugging on his earlobes and he really didn't think he could live with the additional humiliation of that.

"You weren't too late." It took a moment for Jimmy's brain to comprehend the meaning (it'd been a few weeks since he'd written the letter, after all), but once he had it he was grinning so hard it actually ached.

"Give me a second," he said, turning and practically running to Bessie's cot and laying her in it gently (didn't want to wake her up again) before sprinting- literally sprinting- back to the door.

Thomas was still standing there, an amused smile on his face. "Finished?"

Slightly breathless (because of the running- definitely not because Thomas was less than a metre away. Though that probably didn't help), Jimmy nodded.

"I'm staying in a hotel tonight, not far from here." Thomas said, his grey eyes flickering all over the place- the floor, the sky, the wall- anywhere but Jimmy's. "Would you like to join me?"

"Yes!" Jimmy said immediately. Then, feeling that might've been a bit too enthusiastic, "I mean, I don't see why not. Let me just tell Colin and I'll be right back."

"I can wait," Thomas smiled a small smile.

Jimmy knew he could wait. Jimmy was so incredibly grateful that Thomas could wait.