Thomas spent the rest of the day in bed attempting to fall back asleep with little success. He watched the bars of sunlight gradually move across his room while a torrent of despairing thoughts flooded his mind. He seriously contemplated never moving from bed again. It wasn't as though the alternative was a very attractive option, at any rate.

His mortification had hardly abated since Jimmy had filled him in on his unconscious episode. Thomas had spent his life building up a cool and callous facade, behind which he concealed a man more vulnerable and affection-starved than he cared to acknowledge. Then, in the course of a night, he'd unwittingly taken a sledgehammer to that wall, leaving his true impotency and pain exposed to those he'd kept it from at all costs. No matter what Jimmy had said about everyone being too alarmed by his fainting spell to ruminate on what he'd confessed, he would now and forever be aware of what they all knew about him. Every time he proffered a serving tray or held open a door, he would see it there, a shadow of it lurking behind their eyes. Pity, revulsion, perhaps even mocking humor.

Yet, he supposed he would not have taken back such an experience even if he were able; to see Edward again, to hold him in his arms, had been something plucked from his most desperate fantasies. And Thomas knew somehow that if he were to make the journey back there, Edward would once again appear in those ethereal woods to guide him. The thought of it gave him immense comfort. Although it had been necessary for them to part the previous night, their second goodbye had been colored with promise rather than tragic finality.

Thomas couldn't help but summon a small smile at the memory of Edward telling him that he loved him in return. He was awash in the glow of it. It was a terribly powerful thing, Thomas realized; another person's love that would stay with him always, never to be extinguished. It was the first time anyone outside of his immediate family had said those three words to him.

Thomas leaned over to delve through the drawer of his bedside table. He withdrew a tattered volume of Romantic poetry and let it fall open on his lap. Nestled in its decaying yellow pages was a photograph of Edward. It was his military portrait, soft and frayed about the edges where Thomas had run his fingers over it.

The photograph, Edward had explained to him in the hospital, had been taken at his training camp before he had gone off to the front. He had intended to send it back home to his mother. But in the end, Edward couldn't bear the thought of her looking at it everyday, so proud of her son, the soldier. It had filled him with such a sense of humiliation, he had told Thomas.

No more than a little boy playing dress-up, a sheep in wolf's clothing. And now I am ruined for it.

Thomas choked on a sob he hadn't been aware he was holding. As he studied the bright-eyed, unmarred man in the photograph, he fully understood how the war had ruined so much more than Edward's eyes.

Would you like to keep it as a token of my friendship? We can pretend that we knew each other when we were both still whole. Perhaps you were meant to have it all along, Thomas.

His reminiscing was cut short by a tentative rap on the door. He did not rush to hide the photograph under his pillow, as he undoubtedly would have done before. His secrets were not his own anymore.

"Yes?"

Jimmy carefully opened the door. His body language was timid, obviously unsure if he was welcome, but Thomas shot him a contrite look that seemed to reassure him. He entered and shut the door.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Not especially."

"I know you wanted to be left alone, but after the night you had, I couldn't help but worry about you all day. I wanted to check in to see how you were doing."

There was a time when Thomas would have been ecstatic to hear that Jimmy was concerned for his welfare, but today his stomach only gave a half-hearted leap. "Well, I'm perfectly alright, as you can see."

"That you are." Jimmy moved to stand fully inside the room and let out an unexpected giggle. "That medium was none too happy about last night. While I was loading her luggage in the car I overheard her complaining to those twins about being 'upstaged by the lavender footman.' Her words, not mine."

Despite his dreary mood, Thomas couldn't help but smirk at that. "She wounds me. Call me 'lavender' all you like, but a lowly footman I most definitely am not."

Thomas was pleased to see Jimmy visibly relax with his small attempt at humor.

"What have you got there?" asked Jimmy, eyes settling on the photograph in Thomas's hand.

"Would you like to see Lieutenant Edward Courtenay?"

"You mean that bloke you were talking to last night?" Thomas nodded.

Jimmy pulled the chair back up to Thomas's bed and took the photograph, delicately pinching it at the bottom right corner. Thomas was unable to read his expression as he took a long moment to stare at it.

"He were very handsome."

"Yes, he certainly was. I think I fell in love with him the day I met him." Thomas never would have been so candid with Jimmy before, but now that his cards were all on the table, he couldn't see any point in pretending that his interest in Edward had been anything less than romantic.

"Can I ask what happened to him? I mean, only if you're comfortable…"

"I don't mind telling you. I met him when I worked at Downton hospital during the war. He'd been blinded by mustard gas out in the trenches. Lady Sybil - I suppose it were Nurse Crawley then - and I worked with him, tried to help him get on without his sight. We were rather good friends, the three of us, a good team. He was getting better, so Dr. Clarkson ordered that he be moved to a convalescent home. But he didn't want to leave me and Sybil and he were just so depressed. The night before his transfer he killed himself, slit his wrists."

Jimmy let out a small involuntary gasp. "That's horrible."

"I'm the one who found him after he'd done it. There was so much blood, great pools of it around his bed. The worst part was that he died alone and cold without anyone. Even if I couldn't have saved him, I wish I'd been there with him so he didn't have to be by himself when he went."

"I'm so sorry, Thomas. We don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want."

"It's a relief, actually, to say it aloud. At the time, I'd formed this half-baked idea that once the war'd ended, I would go to live with him and be his eyes. I didn't even know if he loved me back, but I was prepared to stand by him in any way he'd have me. Now I realize how naive I was back then, but I still think about what might have been had he lived," said Thomas. Rain began to patter against the window. "I've never told that to anyone."

"I'm glad you told me," said Jimmy, his tone uncommonly sincere. "Did you find out last night, then?"

"Find out what?"

"If he felt the same way about you."

Thomas smiled, absently rubbing circles into his scarred palm. "Yes, he told me just before I left. Of course nothing can ever come of it, but at the same time, I feel incredibly lucky to know that it wasn't one-sided after all. I'm sorry, I know that must sound horrendously sappy…"

"Not at all," said Jimmy, despite the blush that had crept up his neck.

They shared a moment of companionable silence. Jimmy continued to stare at the photograph of Edward as though he were working himself up to say something.

"Listen, Thomas…" said Jimmy with overt discomfort, smoothing his hand down the back of his head. After a few beats, he huffed out a sigh and asked, "Won't you come down for dinner? I know you don't want to face everyone right now, but it'll only get harder the longer you wait. Unless you're planning to leave. You aren't planning to leave, are you?"

Thomas was sure that hadn't been everything Jimmy had wanted to say, but he decided not to press the issue. "I'd be a damned fool if I didn't at least entertain the notion after what I did last night. But no, Jimmy, I'm not leaving. Downton's my home, for better or worse."

Jimmy's relief was evident as he relaxed his features into a warm grin. "Happy to hear it." He stood to leave. "I'll come back to get you after I'm done serving dinner. I don't imagine you're very keen to go downstairs alone."

"Thanks, Jimmy. I appreciate that."

It took a long while for Thomas to simply muster the strength to rise out of bed. Once he managed to do so, he moved slowly, his whole body lethargic with physical and emotional exhaustion. His hand trembled while he drew his razor across his jawline, resulting in a small but nasty gash on the left side of his face. Thomas swore harshly and dropped the razor, which then skittered across the room. Just as he went to retrieve the blasted thing, Jimmy came through the door.

"Thomas, you're bleeding."

Thomas turned back to face the mirror. A winding stream of blood had already traveled the length of his neck to soil his undershirt. "Damn."

"Here, let me," said Jimmy. He picked up a cloth by the basin and proceeded to clean Thomas's face and neck. "Do you have another?" he asked, looking pointedly at the shock of red that had blossomed across the white shirt.

"Third drawer down," said Thomas, pulling the garment up and over his head.

Jimmy returned with a fresh one which he handed to Thomas, his gaze conspicuously avoiding Thomas's bare chest. Thomas could not find the energy to feel awkward about his state of undress, even in front of Jimmy. Once the undershirt was on, Thomas pulled his livery shirt on over it; his still quivering hands fumbled over the buttons.

Thomas let out a whimper of frustration and then, much to his own horror, felt hot tears slide down his cheeks. He turned abruptly away from Jimmy and leant over the basin; he heard several drops hit the water below. Releasing a shaky sigh, he said, "I don't even know why I'm crying."

"It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it? I mean, if it were me, I'd be a right mess for days," said Jimmy with a soft laugh. Thomas felt him draw closer and place a warm hand against his back. He failed to remember another occasion when Jimmy had been so physical with him. "Come on, let me help you."

Thomas relented and turned to face Jimmy. He stood so close that Thomas could smell his faintly spicy cologne; the intoxicating scent of it only served to further muddle his thoughts. Thomas tried not to allow his breath to quicken as Jimmy deftly did up his buttons.

As he finished dressing Thomas, Jimmy commented, "The family were all asking after you at dinner. I told them you were awake and planning to eat in the servants hall. They seemed pleased to hear that you made such a quick recovery."

"And that was it?" Thomas asked incredulously.

"That was it," said Jimmy, using his hands to brush the nonexistent dust from Thomas's lapels. "Well, the seance was the primary topic of conversation over tea today, but no one said a word against you, I promise."

Although the Crawleys might not have said any negative things about him, at least within Jimmy's earshot, it was clear to Thomas that he had still been a significant part of the discussion. He now wished that he had refused to go down to dinner, as his uniform had grown intolerably warm and heavy.

"Well then, you're all put together. Not a hair out of place," Jimmy grinned up at him.

Jimmy's friendly smile, like the one he usually wore when it was just the two of them joking through a cloud of cigarette smoke, was almost too much for Thomas in that moment. As though Jimmy's estimation of him had not changed when he had come to know Thomas's truth. His eyes stung from the effort of holding back more tears. Thomas looked down at his feet, balling his fists and taking a steadying breath through his nose.

"What you did for everyone at the seance, Thomas, it were a good thing. You've nothing to be ashamed of," said Jimmy bracingly. He reached inside his breast pocket to take out his handkerchief; unfurling Thomas's fist, he placed it there.

Thomas took the handkerchief to dab at the corners of his eyes, still cast down to the floor. "I'm not a kind person, Jimmy. For all the years I've been here, I've bullied and schemed to get what I want. I'm selfish and I'm spiteful. I've done terrible things and not lost any sleep over them. And the funny thing is, now that I've done something that other people see as good, I've never felt so ashamed in my whole life."

"But you had no control over it," Jimmy replied weakly.

"I suppose that's the point."