Pathétique: Symphony For The Different

Warnings: none but those you would find in the TV Series. The slash is not evident yet, so nothing to worry about for those of you M/M haters. Of course, there will be mentions of homosexuality. THIS CHAPTER IS PARTICULARLY BIPOLAR, you may find it extremely angsty by the end.

Rated: T

Reader's Expectative: Pastel turquoise.

Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, nor any of its parts. I'm just a member of the fandom. Julian Fellowes wrote the TV series I decided to cry and derive upon, begetting this.

Note: It took me two days to write this but a whole week to plan it. The symphony itself has been helping me in inspiration, but today I discovered the best rendition you could possibly imagine of Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto in B-flat. Who? Daniil Trifonov at the piano showing amazing and virtuous technique and sentiment. Les Misèrables has also helped to revive the "Eroica" feeling inside of me as well as the zealousness to work and produce things, whetehr academically, in piano or here.

I must thank you all for reading this, and sticking up with my experiment. I have some Thommy ideas but those can wait for a while.

So now, enjoy this piece!

Cover Art: (24)(media)(tumblr)com+ /ae177dd7e1e2abe940809bd7ec85 bfd6/tumblr_mhbs1reBUW1qhqy82o1_

First Movement : Adagio - Allegro non troppo

Notice that each movement will begin with the original themes of Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony in B minor, but in the story,

they will have from two to four parts which will represent the movement itself, musically and emotionally speaking.

This means that the melodies and transitions from the First movement

will also be portrayed by the flow of the other musical pieces featured after the original movement.

"Its nice, out here isn't it?" her raspy voice said from behind. He hadn't noticed her arrival, even less the smoke tat was now coming his way. Sarah O'Brien had decided that going into the Servant's backyard to make conversation with an old friend wouldn't hurt. Both knew that their friendship had ended more than a year ago.

Thomas spared one side look at her and maintaining an uninterested face, he put the fag once again in his mouth. From the corner of his eye he could see how his face was being scrutinized and how her head turned frontwards and how the mouth opened once again before it even uttered a word. "I mean it. The whole house needs a rest, and I think we do too. I won't say you didn't deserve what happened, but I was also in the wrong." Her sentence finished with another cloud emerging from her mouth. They both looked at each other; his eyes looking surprised, hers calm.

"You proposing a truce?" his question was responded with a nod but before she could say anything more, Jimmy's voice resounded through the yard: "Mr. Barrow, a' you busy?". His volume earned him two exalted faces staring at him, and a few cuts from the knives Ms. O'Brien was mentally throwing his direction.

"I suppose not." and with that Thomas, got up, taking one last look at O'Brien, his suspicacity showing behind the irises. He walked towards the door where Jimmy was standing and smiled at him. "Now Jimmy, what is the matter?".

"Nothing really, just thinking that maybe, you know, you would, er, need to talk." Noticing Thomas' questioning face, he added: "I din't mean nothin'. I only thought that after last year, you would 'av needed someone, I dunno, to let it out. You know, a friend." At the evidence of his failure in trying to convey a clear message, Jimmy looked down and sighed. "I just want to help if you need anything".

Thomas expression was immediately ablaze with sincere happiness. Here he was, standing in front of a boy who had gone as far as forgiven him for assaulting him in the night. It had taken time and a few scars that were bound to finish healing in a few days, still, if it all got him a friend, he would present no complaints. Cracking another smile he voiced his gratitude: "Thank you, Jimmy. You're being too kind but I'm no fragile doll. I can handle it." Leaving a scorn at the end of the sentence, his heart felt the warmth of comraderie at Jimmy's small laughter.

Both men started pacing inside into the Servant's Hall to take a seat, but Thomas allowed himself to glance towards the yard in pride and contempt at the woman whose eyes iced their flames as soon as the attention was noticed. Smirking, Thomas, once fully inside, caught up with Jimmy and sat down at the table, making conversation while they waited for Mr. Carson to announce that they were leaving.

"No matter what you-know-who says, don't trust it. Bad air, that's it."

Jimmy raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Well, I bet its the moths in her hair." They both roared with laughter at his cheek, and kept on catching each other's infectious giggling. Stopping to breathe, Jimmy asked "What did the malum anus say?"

"A truce I think. To be partners in crime again. But what did you just call her?"

"Malum anus. Evil old woman." And with that, Thomas' joy erupted in a volcano of incredulous laughter, which increased in volume at Jimmy's failed attempt to hold back his amusement.

A scoff. "Mr. Barrow, James. May I be acquaintanced with your motives for such inappropriate behaviour? I don't believe the situation allows for such an act to be put up with." Now grimly faced, Thomas swallowed his cheer and looked with an apologetic expression at Mr. Carson.

"I apologize, Mr. Carson. James and I were just trying to cheer up. That is all."

"Yes, I suppose that would be needed." The butler sighed. "You are excused for now but don't make me repeat myself. Now, Mr. Barrow, before we leave, Mrs. Hughes asked me to tell you that you'll act as valet to Mr. Branson from now on." Anticipating Thomas' distress, he added: "You are to remain an under-butler, in title, but your duties will also include dressing and tending to Mr. Branson."

"I see..." Thomas actually didn't. Molesley was needed in Crawley house, serving Mrs. Crawley but Branson had always dressed himself. He decided he would ask Mrs. Hughes later on, he knew she would know something about it. It probably had something to do with that horribly forward housemaid, Edna. He didn't miss Jimmy's stare, showing anticipation, so he politely answered to Carson's report "I see- no problem Mr. Carson. Has Mr. Branson been informed? This morning, he was shocked to find me drawing the curtains of his room."

Carson blinked in distaste at the idea Thomas in Branson's room without him being informed. "Well, I suppose you will have to cure him of his ignorance otherwise. We are to leave in five minutes. Please tell the others."

Black shadows surrounded the female form whose slender frame dissipated any golden ray daring to leave its hot home now in frost-gilt. Where once a rich spectrum of oranges illuminated every corner of the village and every lavish architectural piece of the great Downton Abbey, icy spirits now prepared the living ones for early winter daydreaming. The heir was lying at their feet inside of the dreaded wooden object, showing the world's destructive will and cunning mechanisms.

Lady Mary reminisced the statue of a weeping angel who stoically stored the tears and emotions inside in a valiant attempt to represent the face of hope to all the sufferers that stood around her. Matthew would be safe and free at last, whether God took him or as a part of the world of nothingness. Either way, his suffering had ended, and with it his joy. She tried to lift her soul by revelling in the safety and peace Matthew was now graced with; it was useless. She helplessly but without lacking poise, looked to her left side and saw her family and their miserable eyes, going from her father's lifeless eyes to Edith's silent bloodshot-weeping. At her right, she saw her second family and more importantly the two faces whose warmth had helped her become a happy woman able to bear a child, Charles Carson and Anna Bates.

Her husband was now buried, few feet away from where her sister peacefully rested. Images of them, of Lavinia, of William, and the lives they could have led pierced her chest aiming to wound her body and force her to dwell into a pain she could not allow herself to fall into. Complete abstinence was easier and more bearable than trying to be moderate in the melancholic vice that threatened to take down the entire household in its irate tempest. She would remain strong, she had to. She must incarnate strength.

As the foreground of the funerary painting grew gloomier, in the background, family relations allowed tears to run down their faces as well as the short lengthed sighs. Standing closer to the gravestone in a strangled standing position was Thomas who occasionally glanced towards the rest of the servants, finding a matching face in O'Brien, an upset look in Jimmy, impermeable cheeks and slight trembling in Mrs. Hughes and Anna, heavy breaths and red eyes in Molesley and a pained Carson who was fighting the urge to run to Lady Mary and comfort her as a baby orphan in a nursery.

Then he saw Bates with eyes cold from sadness but his expression firm enough to allow anyone comfort. Anyone but Thomas whose lips began shivering as he realized how envious he remained of his strength, of his wilful nature and inherent kindness towards everyone, regardless of their living status. When Bates' eyes met his, he swallowed sharply, feeling his throat at pain and struggling to remain straight-faced. His gaze met the rest of the nocturne-inspiring environment, and before he could stop himself, his eyes travelled to Lady Sybill's grave. They remained there until he perceived movement and shaky but deep breaths caught his ear.

Uncontrollable sobs escaped Isobel Crawley's mouth as soon as the vicar ended the ceremony and people began to leave. Dr. Clarkson was acting as her physical grudge while the Dowager Countess walked by her side and did everything in her power to soothe her. Thomas felt a small warm hand on his shoulder and looked at its owner. Anna forced a smile beneath the tears.

"I think you should go to see her." came the soft voice."Nobody is over it, but few can endure more tragedy on the same day."

Thomas eyes shot down as he felt that every second she was near him brought with it a pair of cutting tears into his face. He tried to relax and looked at her so that she could see him nod. She was leaving when she heard the unexpected "Thank you" resound in the air. It was a stiff one but a welcome gesture nonetheless.

The path to her resting place was filled with scattered pieces of shattered crystals which became thicker and sharper with each step the under-butler took. His walk of agony flowed like a slimy river whose solitude was cured as clearer streams swam beside him, one before and one closely behind. Lady Edith had apparently left her fianc e behind and was now paying her sister the deserved remembrance She wore a sincere smile hinting nostalgia, and as she noticed the man approaching her, it seemed to grow. Their moment did not last long, for another presence drew up in its gallant melancholy, showing love to a dead wife.

Thomas stood between them uncomfortably and as he tried to distract himself, he thought about bringing flowers to Sybill in his next day-off. He wondered which ones would she like best. Perhaps he could get that out from Branson later on. That wasn't manipulative, not if he wished for something noble. He wished she was standing here, alive and irradiating kindness. She would have known how to lift everybody's spirits, and he could swear she would have the Jimmy-centred events a great deal easier. But then, if she were alive, he wouldn't have been as desperate for someone to show him affection, even in its least amount. He wouldn't have been swayed by the pretentious words that sickly tormented him into kissing Jimmy. His thoughts silenced when the clouds and the wind opened their mouths, and as if on cue, so did Branson.

"It's nice of you to be here, Mr. Barrow."

His lips slowly quivered into a smile. "She would deserve more, but thank you. Mr. Branson." His strangled breaths now matched Edith's crescendoing sobs and before he could realize what he was doing, he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it. "Here, m'lady. She wouldn't want you to spoil a face with tears."

Facing him in disbelief, Lady Edith accepted it and voiced a barely audible "Thank you, Thomas". She suddenly coughed and a faintly pronounced laugh escaped her lips. Seeing the confused looks from the other men she said "I'm sorry, it is just that...-Sybill was the strong one, and Mary knows how to hide her feelings. I-I-It just seems funny that I'm now asked to be both. Just, never mind me. Thank you again, Thomas. I can see why she liked you." And after those verses filled with tone swings, she handed back the handkerchief and walked away with another forced smile.

The chills running through the men's spines held them tense and cold. The storm would leave them on flooded ground and its glacier chill only encouraged them to remain still, fearing that any movement would make their numb cheeks to become frozen with sharply iced drops longing to show. Edith had left them cold in her confession as they each realized their helplessness at everybody else's suffering. Drowning into the whirlwind of self-pity whose silhouette threatened to materialize any moment, Thomas' scars began to burn and his breathing turned into agonized whimpering. Branson immediately noticed the change in attitude and before Thomas began coughing, he had his arm on his back and helping him walk away from the graveyard.

"Easy there. We are going back now, try to remain strong."

Thomas didn't brush off Branson's help but showed no sign of gratitude. He choked a few times on their way to the car where Edith had decided to wait for them in the only car left. As they approached the car, he released himself from the strong arm helping him and regained his composure He glanced at Tom, trying to coldly acknowledge his good intentions but found himself rooted to his position, trying to remain stiff but polite in front of his companion whose kindness only served to bring his curse into the surface. A curse no Enchantress could inflict on him.

Okay, so you had to wait but it was worth it, right? ...right? RIGHT? Haha I hope you enjoyed every interaction because I put many pianists' fingers and many pieces of my emotional mind into this. I want it to be a story, a good one, with styles flowing into each other making it too easy to read sometimes, while in other times its just unbearable. If you notice the pattern of the flow, please PM me so we can have a nice conversation. Otherwise, you may also be able to find some references or symbols which I may have dropped here and there. Oh, and if anyone knows Latin, I am a Spanish speaker so I kind of get when it sounds right or not, but I may make mistakes. PM so that I can correct them.

So now, just review please. I want to know your opinion. You noticed I made it longer for the early reviewers' pleasure and well put in more interactions and made it less stiff. Just drop a comment and make me smile!

Now, I answer the reviews from the Overture Pt. 2:

Failed-De-anon: I love it how you review every time! Thank you! I guess the mourning reaches its pinnacle here in the First Movement and its parts. But I try to show life behind mourning and how different characters find themselves thrown into the Lake. Beware colourful explosions may appear in the 3rd movement (I hope I get there...)

mentalillusions: Why, thank you! I love writing but such compliments make me feel more passionate about it! Thank you so much! You got the Jimmy-Tom thing, then. I'm glad. It will be Tom/Thomas but maybe, it wont last forever. Maybe it will. We'll see hahah

12whitewhine: Thanks for that! I'll try to make her a bit more complicated than just a trouble-maker because in the series we actually see her "feeling" more times than Thomas. Thomas is the true villain who may find redemption in S4, but i doubt it now. He is not good, but he's slowly becoming less bad.

Thank you to anyone who followed and favourited me or the story!

You are great!

This fandom is great!

Downton is beyond great!

And Maggie Smith is God on Earth.