A/N- I know the dates might not exactly match up but call it poetic licence. These are two of my favourite shows and, briefly, they both occur in the same decade. Thomas/Angelo :) M/M slash in next chapter. Don't like, don't read (or do because it's Thomas and Angelo, so how could you not like it?)!

Also, being in Australia and one of those wierd people who watches things when they come on TV instead of streaming them, I'm about a season behind in Downton Abbey. I know a little of what's happened from FanFiction, but please let me know if I do something wrong e.g. use a character that's died...

Disclaimer I own neither Torchwood nor Downton Abbey. If I did, this pairing would occur!


The under-butler had, rather begrudgingly, accompanied Lord Grantham to Italy. Why his Lordship needed to go to Italy with less than a week's notice, god only knew. Thomas could only assume that it was a holiday, or maybe business (then again, what business would a gentleman from Yorkshire have in this part of Italy?). Thomas and Carson had been dragged along as staff. It made no sense to Thomas that one man required two of his own staff to accompany him, and frankly he was a little annoyed. He had never liked holidays, especially those in which he had to work.

The journey over had been treacherous. Thomas still felt a little queasy with motion sickness. He hadn't yet adjusted to Italian time either. Then there had been the issues with his Lordship's trunks. Placed in the wrong baggage hold, moved, lost found, mislabeled, corrected. Everything that could have gone wrong, short of them being sent to a different destination, had. And who had been the one to deal with it? The aforementioned, exhausted and frustrated under-butler. He didn't see that it made a difference where the bags were put, as long as they turned up in the right place at the end, but these things meant the world to nobility such as the Crawley's, and so he had spent an hour or two of his precious time sorting it all out. Now, to top it all off, he was being kicked to out.

On their arrival, it had been calmly explained to first Lord Grantham and then Thomas that there was only room for one extra member of staff. Being of lower ranking, Thomas was made superfluous.

'Turns out we don't need you after all,' his Lordship explained, grinning as though he had just told Thomas that Christmas had come early, 'so I'll pay to put you up in the inn down the road for the duration of our stay. You won't need to work, but there's no point in sending you back on your own. Treat it as compensation for bringing you all the way here. Call it a holiday!'

Thomas wasn't a fan of holidays, and definitely not if they were dictated by the length of his Lordship's stay and consisted of moping in a lonely inn. They weren't even somewhere famous like Milan or Venice or Rome, they were in some tiny village that nobody had ever heard of, where people were few and English was limited.

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An hour later, Thomas found himself sitting alone in a local bar, watching the light fade outside the window as the sun went down. He swirled the last of his drink around, watching it make patterns in the bottom of his cup as it caught the light, contemplating. His eyes scanned the room lazily, all but empty. A few old ment sat chattering away in Italian at the bar. Three woman giggled at a table in the middle of the room, looking at a collection of photographs. The bartender leaned lazily on his arm, dozing off every few seconds. It was all fairly normal. Tired and boring. Mundane. Thomas was about to give up on it all and head to the inn when he noticed another man, sitting at a table in the corner, alone in the shadows.

The man was obviously Italian, with the tan skin showing through his semi-opened shirt, the long dark hair that framed his face and his thin moustache. Thomas noted automatically that he was attractive, and then scolded himself for doing so. No more of that, Thomas, it's got you in enough trouble already. He couldn't help it though. Anybody who had ever been attracted to a man could see that this one was incredibly good-looking. And besides, as long as Thomas kept his thoughts to himself, what difference could it make?

It took Thomas a moment to long to focus n the man's face and notice where his eyes were directed. This was mainly due to the fact that Thomas' eyes were glued to the bare skin exposed on the man's chest, then travelling slowly lower until he caught himself and dragged his gaze back upwards. It was then that he saw that the man was staring at him.

The man watched as Thomas took another sip of his drink. He leant forward a little in his chair as the cup touched Thomas' lips. Perhaps he was a recovering alcoholic, Thomas thought, taunting himself by sitting in a bar watching other people drink. But no, there was an empty glass in front of him stained from a dark liquid that was definitely not water. Thomas licked away a stray drop from his bottom lip and the man's eyes shot to his mouth. After this, he adjusted his position in the wooden chair and the man's gaze shifted again, this time focused on the seat of the chair and the way in which Thomas was connected to it. Then he caught Thomas' eyes and was looking away in less than a second, hanging his head sheepishly.

Thomas smirked a little. It wasn't like anyone here knew him and he could be subtle when it suited him. Surely it couldn't hurt to try. He summoned the bartender over, rousing him from his almost-nap, and spoke in his most businesslike, authoritative tone. If the tone implied anything, it was I have a meeting with someone and not I'm attempting to flirt with that incredibly attractive man in the corner.

'Two of whatever he's having' Thomas demanded, pointing.

Two glasses of thick, brown liquid slid across the table, smelling strongly alcoholic. Thomas took a sip from one of them and stood still a moment, appreciating the burning warmth trickling down his throat, before making his way across to the mystery man's table and putting down the two drinks, being sure to give the other man the glass from which he had drunk to ensure a subtle connection. Their lips on the same glass was an excellent stimulus for Thomas' active imagination.

'Here, I got you another round.' He said casually, 'Thought you ould use some company.'

The man smiled and said nothing so Thomas continued, sitting down as he did so. He chose the seat beside the man instead of the one opposite him, not waiting for an invitation.

'What's a man like you doing here alone anyway? Don't you have a girl to get back to, or a thousand jealous friends?'

The man shook is head, his cheeks reddening.

'No, no girl. I don't mind. I like the bar at night. You meet some interesting people. And as far as my looks go, you exaggerate. By your logic, you should also be out with a girl, maybe two. Yet you are here with me, and so your logic fails Mr...'

'Barrow. Thomas Barrow. Feel free to call me Thomas though, I don't mind. And you are...?'

'Angelo Colasanto.'

Thomas grinned and took a sip from his glass. The name was perfect, and when Angelo said it, it rolled off his tongue wonderfully. The thick, melodic, Italian accent rung in Thomas' ears and he just wanted to hear more of it, so he started a conversation.


They had been talking for a while now, mostly Angelo telling Thomas about the village and Thomas complaining about Yorkshire. They had made their way through their drinks and had ordered another round. Angelo was grinning widely and Thomas couldn't take his eyes off him. The tiniest crinkles appeared beside his eyes, little dimples by his cheeks. His hazel eyes swam with green and brown and Thomas was lost in them. He had stopped listening to the words the Italian was saying, just hearing the lilt of his accent.

'Thomas? Are you okay?'

The way that he said Thomas' name made his legs feel like jelly. Incapable of producing a voice that wouldn't instantly display his preoccupation and perhaps the reason behind it, the under-butler just nodded. Angelo looked around nervously and then, ever so slightly, moved his chair closer. Their legs were brushing together now. Thomas ould feel the heat from the other man's body. Angelo blushed slightly and looked away, saying nothing.

Thomas felt a little more certain now and placed his hand above the man's knee. It was too high to be viewed as a friendly gesture but light enough that he could claim it was an accident if need be, remove it quickly enough if the man began to shrink away. He didn't seem appalled by the touch, however. The secret smile that he shot across at Thomas suggested that he was pleased. Thomas let his hand relax so that the touch hd a little more force behind it, spread his fingers over the fabric of the trousers beneath them. Angelo's smile increased with the assurance that this was no accident and moved his chair in towards the table, forming the hand to slide up his leg. Thomas' hand was now dangerously high on the other man's thigh and it was terribly distracting. He felt blood moving downwards at a rapid pace and hurriedly finished his drink.

'I think I should head back now, it's getting late.' Thomas began suddenly.

Angelo looked mildly disappointed and Thomas rushed to assure him that there was more to the statement. He dug into his pocket with his free hand and drew out a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing it out, he revealed an address scrawled in Lord Grantham's practiced hand.

'Trouble is, I've had a little too much to drink and can't remember the way back to the inn.' This was a blatant lie. 'I have the address here. Do you know it?'

The Italian nodded and agreed to lead Thomas there. Thomas made sue to brush their hands together more than once on the walk over, to ensure that Angelo understood the implied meaning of the invitation. When they arrived, he nearly asked Angelo up to his room with no excuse, but anybody could hear, or the man could think his too forward, so he thought for a moment and then spoke slowly.

'It's a fair walk back, it wouldn't be fair of me to send you back immediately. Come up to my room and rest your legs for a few minutes first, we'll finnish up our conversation.'

Thomas knew this wasn't true. The walk was barely ten minutes and mostly flat ground. Angelo knew this as well as he did and both men were aware that the conversation had already come to a close. Nevertheless, Angelo followed Thomas up the stairs.


That's it for now. The next chapter should be up around next week, for those of you that don't hate M/M and aren't too young to read it- which should be everyone assuming that you all watch Torchwood ;) Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. If you see that I have no reviews, please rectify that. Thank you :D

-FGS