Author's note: This story explores the part of the season 3 christmas special where Thomas gets beat up. It was originally supposed to stay true to the tv show but then I changed it. Probably have one more chapter. Thanks for reasing!
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Thomas couldn't deny it, he still had feelings for Jimmy. He tried to hide them, only allowing himself two or three glances per day at the blond and making sure to sit at least two chairs away from the blond footman.
He knew it was coming, knew by Jimmy's drunken swagger that something was going to happen. When Jimmy flaunted his money, he saw the way the other men looked at him, at the way he had swindled their money.
Another blow landed on his ribs. He groaned, and tried to swing back, missing by an inch. One of the boys leveled him off his feet, smashing him into the wall behind. The blows continued to rain down, mostly to his ribs and face. Underneath the pummeling, Thomas thought of Jimmy. He thought of the first day he arrived, perfect and whole and full of possibilities.
Thomas put his arms up to fight. Now Jimmy hated him, even tried to get him fired. He wondered why he put himself in this position, was the runt worth it? He thought back to the time that he got obnoxiously drunk before working for his Lordship, too young to know any better. He breathed heavily, blood dripping down from the left side of his mouth. He tilted his head back against the cool stones, letting his eyes fall shut. The men left him there, not before taking his money and watch though. He thought he heard Jimmy and some others approaching but his eyes seemed to be glued shut as he fell sideways. He felt someone tap his shoulder. Doctor Clarkson talked, rather loudly for his pounding headache, trying to get him to respond. He couldn't peel his eyes open as hard as he tried and instead a small groan escaped his lips. The good doctor leaned him upright, opening his shirt and feeling his bruised ribs. He hoped Jimmy wasn't watching, no one's abs looked good slouching.
"Definitely broken,"
He felt Mrs. Crawley's soft cotton gloves on his face.
"Thomas, are you with us?"
He couldn't respond, his tongue suddenly unnaturally heavy.
"He'll need some stitches, check his left arm."
Mrs. Crawley applied pressure to the arm, feeling the obviously broken bone.
"He'll need a cast. It seems like a clean break at least."
He felt consciousness slipping, like falling asleep. But they were moving him and each jostle sent a shock through him, keeping him slightly awake. Alfred helped him on his left and Tom on his right. He could hear the doctor tell Alfred to be careful, not to touch his arms and to try not to jab his ribs.
Once they had piled into the car Thomas had fallen unconscious, his head slumped in between his shoulders as Doctor Clarkson and Mrs. Crawley assessed the under butler further.
Alfred carried Thomas bridal style when they arrived at the hospital. Tom had asked if Thomas should be moved to Downton instead, but Clarkson insisted on monitoring him overnight. Jimmy felt guilt creep up on him. Thomas looked dead, the dirt smeared all over his clothes, his head lolling backwards with blood trailing along his jaw and forehead. His arm was cradled against his chest, the other arm hanging from his side with his jacket and shirt torn in various places.
"Lie him down here, go tell Mr. Carson what happened."
Alfred left quickly, but Jimmy stayed, staring at the man who had saved him.
"Something wrong James?"
He shook his head quickly before leaving after Alfred, the image of Thomas crumpled on the examination table permanently seared into his mind.