On the day our story begins, Jimmy Kent woke up to the sound of the person he loved the absolute most in the world curled around him and whispering softly, "Jimmy, it's five o'clock, you need to get up."
He shifted and opened his eyes and groaned. "I don't want to move."
Thomas laughed softly and kissed Jimmy's temple, the most readily available part of him. "Alright, how about you stay here and we let Mr. Carson find us like this."
"Damn it to hell." The footman carefully rolled himself out of the warm cocoon of Thomas. "For one night in my life, I'd like to be able to sleep with you and not have to run back to my room terrified of being found out."
"I know." Thomas whispered, squeezing Jimmy's forearm. "But let's take what we can get, no? Will you-"
Without letting him finish the sentence, knowing what the request was going to be, Jimmy handed his lover the packet of cigarettes and the lighter from the nightstand.
"You're a darling. Now get back to your room before the wakeup call. I'll see you at breakfast."
Jimmy started for the door, but turned around to say one last thing. "I love you, Thomas." He'd said it before, a few times, but still, the look on the older man's face could have lit up the world had it needed it at that moment. His smile was gigantic, pure ecstasy on his face, his eyes, for once, not melancholy or downcast. Jimmy mentally reminded himself to say that more often, it made Thomas more beautiful than he already was, as he whispered, "I love you, too, Jimmy."
...
Almost a full year had passed since Jimmy had finally given up the masquerade of denial. A year of secret love and nicotine kisses and happiness. A year of Jimmy's heart melting when Thomas smiled. A year of Thomas being amiable and even sweet to the rest of the staff.
At breakfast that day, conversation was of the guests that would be arriving at Downton next week for Lady Edith's dinner party. The regular hustle and bustle, nothing he particularly cared about.
"They are, of course, not the...usual sort of guests..." Mr. Carson said uncertainly.
"Well, what are they, then?" Mrs. Hughes asked in her amused tone.
"I don't know, writers, perhaps. London people. No sensibilities at all."
Thomas snorted into his toast, and Jimmy hid a giggle behind his napkin.
"Something funny, Mr. Barrow?" Bates asked lightly, in that obnoxious way of his.
Only the inability of the aristocracy to accept change, Thomas's tiny glance at Jimmy said.
"No, of course not, Mr. Bates," the under-butler said, this time out loud, with a ridiculously sincere smile. Jimmy smiled affectionately, and only Daisy noticed. She smiled to herself, and Jimmy knew in that moment that she knew.
He didn't even mind.
...
Later that day, as Jimmy and Alfred were polishing silver at the table, a task both of them despised from the very depths of their souls, the bell for the front door rang.
They glanced at each other. Mr. Carson was upstairs with Lady Mary, a practice that had become almost sacred for them in the two years since Mr. Matthew had died.
"Well, who's going to go get it?" Alfred asked worriedly.
"I will," Jimmy announced, standing up and straightening his livery. Anything to keep from polishing that bloody silver.
The front door was heavy, and Jimmy dragged it open to find an unfamiliar, but professional looking man tapping his foot.
"Hello, sir," Jimmy began. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, please. I'm looking for a Mr. Thomas Barrow."
Jimmy hoped his surprise didn't register on his face, and he was dangerously close to asking why, a serious infraction in the eyes of Mr. Carson.
"Right this way, sir, if you'll wait in the library while I go find him?" Using his proper footman posture and demeanor, Jimmy drew himself up and led the way to the small library. What does he want with Thomas? And more importantly, How can I manage to get in here while they talk?