XI.

It was nothing she had said. Her thoughts betrayed her by her countenance, though. He'd glimpsed an expression on her face as he watched her smoke, her features lit dimly by the cigarette, and her gaze invariably went towards the Abbey in the distance.

She hated it.

It was a shock when he was finally able to decrypt her frown, but he would have bet his last penny that she loathed the idea of returning there each night. Perhaps that was why she took so many extra shifts.

"Pardon, Nurse Crawley, but is there anything amiss?" he finally asked her.

XII.

She'd looked over at him, the unspoken rule of their perpetual silence having been broken, and he saw that she looked tired, not tired in the way that the noble folk did, but tired to the bone like a kitchen maid.

"There's a war on, Corporal," she said wearily. "Boys are dying on the other side of this door. Of course something's amiss."

"Yes," he admitted, "but when we're out here, it's to leave that part behind, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," she said, rolling the cigarette slowly between her fingers.

"Then what trouble's followed you outside tonight?" he asked.

XIII.

"Am I that transparent?" she said.

"Not really," he said hastily, then changed tactics. "I'm sure his lordship wouldn't wish you to be unhappy. If the hospital has become too much for you—"

"No!" she said so quickly he was able to confirm his suspicions. "It's not that."

"Good," he said, grinding out the butt of his own cigarette. "You're a valuable nurse."

"Am I?" she asked, and the lack of any pretense in the vulnerable question almost pained him.

"Yes, you are," he said firmly, not only to win her trust, but also because it was the truth.

XIV.

"Has someone been saying otherwise?" he asked a few moments later when she remained silent.

"No," she said. "I'm just not used to being of much use at anything that's actually important."

It was a strange thing for an earl's daughter to say. Thomas had long ago realized that most of the uppity-ups thought that they were doing something important solely by breathing while the lower classes could all but save the world and still be thought little more than nuisances.

"I think the lads in there would agree with me," he said, nodding towards the ward.

"I hope so."

XV.

He wasn't sure when the main focus of his cigarette breaks stopped being gathering potentially damaging information about the Crawley family. He wasn't stupid enough to let any golden opportunities slip by, but it was pleasant not to be hated by someone other than O'Brien. He didn't trust the lady's maid, and their relationship was based on mutual benefit and a shared interest in finding fault with everyone else. They were not actually friends, only potential allies.

Having a friend was a new experience, and in spite of himself, Thomas Barrow was starting to enjoy it for its own sake.

XVI.

Nurse Crawley was a hard worker, driven in a way familiar to Thomas. She was trying to prove something. One evening as they stood outside in the quiet of eventide, letting the smoke drift off on the wind, he thought he might as well ask.

"Why did you decide on nursing?" he said.

"Why shouldn't I?" she responded, her voice neutral.

"Because it's hell on the other side of that door, you're an earl's daughter, and you don't have to be here," he said.

"No, but women don't have many choices," she said. "I wanted to make at least one."

XVII.

He dreaded the day she would find out his secret. It would change things between them; it always did whenever someone realized he wasn't like everyone else. He didn't think he was likely to be able to keep Nurse Crawley in the dark much longer. For one thing, she had far more brains than he'd credited any of the Crawleys of possessing. For another, he was surrounded day in and day out by handsome young men. He was bound to slip at some point, by word or deed, and then she'd know.

He suddenly hated the thought of smoking alone.

XVIII.

"I'll just be gone a moment to get the capsules the doctor ordered," he heard Nurse Crawley say in the gentle voice that was her hallmark. "If you need anything, Corporal Barrow will take care of you."

She caught his eye then gestured for him to follow her into the hallway.

"The lieutenant is currently blind. Mustard gas, poor devil," she said quietly. "He's very low just now. Would you keep an eye on him?"

"Of course, Nurse Crawley," he said, then went back into the ward.

One look at him and Thomas knew Edward Courtenay would be his downfall.

XIX.

Keeping an eye on Lieutenant Courtenay was made immeasurably easier because of his blindness. Thomas wasn't sure what drew him so strongly to the man. The bandages around his eyes were far from attractive, but there was something that pulled at him.

From a young age Thomas had carefully schooled his expression, not letting his guard down for fear of being beaten to a pulp or outright rejected, and it was hard to say which hurt worse.

When no one else was around, though, Lieutenant Courtenay would be none the wiser if he let his feelings show on his face.

XX.

"Does the lieutenant remind you of someone?" Nurse Crawley asked him the following week.

"Not especially," he said, cursing himself for not being careful. "Why?"

"The way you were studying his face the other day, it was as if you were thinking of something that was making you sad," she said, exhaling a lungful of smoke onto the breeze.

"Well, it's a sad situation he's in," Thomas said. "Whoever invented mustard gas should rot in hell. Excuse my language, milady."

"How many times must I tell you, it's Nurse Crawley here," she said, then frowned. "Also, I agree with you."