Not many of us ever get the chance to decide our fate- well, we decide it, of course, in a million little ways- but not in one great moment- not with one action- not in a way that we can look back on and understand. However Thomas was not many people- he was only himself- and there had been numerous occasions when he felt, truly, that he had been master of his fate, and sole arbiter of his own destiny. He could list moments off neat as you please- when he had taken his life in his own hands, for good or ill. It was something he took pride in, this modicum of control in a limitless and uncontrollable universe- the instances when he had fought the current of circumstance, and turned his own tides- a bad black market deal, a neat insinuation- a kiss- and, most strikingly, a single image- his own outstretched arm- his clean, unwounded hand- moments before a bullet had torn it through. If Thomas was ever thrown before the holy throne of God- of an imaginary God, in his opinion- and commanded to justify himself- to justify his own existence- he knew, clear as crystal, what he would say: I held my arm up. It trembled- but I held it up, of my own will.
It was something Thomas had always been glad of, in a secret way- secret because he knew he couldn't ever tell. It was one thing to be a coward, as society said- to commit such an act- and another to take pride in the committing of such an act. To see it as a thing of courage- or honor- would probably be regarded as the worst sort of perversion. Much like other aspects of himself Thomas took pride in- aspects which society reviled. Still he felt acutely his own surprise in himself, for being able to draw upon such wellsprings of strength- and the thought stayed with him always, the idea of being master of his own destiny. It was all in the lighter, the trench- the upward gesture- his shaking hand- and the moment before the gunfire. That- that, had been, as they say, the moment of truth, when the circumstances of his fate had turned in his own hands like a coin.
Or so Thomas would have forever believed- but. But somehow- miraculously- he'd chanced to look out of the window of the automobile, as Stark drove them back through Downton's little village- and seen Jimmy's back, as Jimmy disappeared into the train station.
Any combination of circumstances could have prevented him from glimpsing Jimmy- if Mr. Bainborough had not been possessed of the items Mrs. Patmore needed, and they had needed to drive further out of town, to see Mr. Froye- or if the rain had been any heavier, rendering vision impossible- or if Thomas had not turned his face, at that very instant, as if he had known that his gaze would find something unutterably important.
It was undoubtedly Jimmy- his cap and the driving rain obscured the color of his hair- but Thomas would have known even his back at a thousand paces. Jimmy wore his tan suit- and in his hand he held a valise. "Stop the car," Thomas said, before he realized he was going to say anything- and Stark obeyed, sliding him a puzzled glance. "I've just remembered something I must do," Thomas said. "You go on. I'll meet you at the house."
"Yes, Mr. Barrow," the chauffeur replied- Stark was too well-mannered to let his bewilderment at Thomas's behavior show very much- and Thomas climbed out of the car, his pulse kicking up by rapid notches. I should've known something was wrong with him earlier, Thomas thought. Should've known he'd try something mad-
It was true- Jimmy had seemed almost eerily calm, that morning- possessed of a level of composure that he'd not previously had after any of their romantic encounters. Thomas had wanted to think that it meant Jimmy was coming to terms with all that was between them, in his own way- but clearly he had been wrong. He's running away. The suitcase said it all- and Thomas was so immediately certain of Jimmy's plans for escape that he wondered if part of him hadn't expected Jimmy to try such a thing all along.
Thomas did not pause to think about what he was doing at he ran through the rain, which poured in torrents from the grey sky and soaked his uniform. When he'd put up his lighter, in the trenches, it had been a deliberate thing. The moment he'd chosen to do it was impulsive- but the thought of it- of escape from the ravages of war- had been with Thomas for a year at least, in some abstracted way, before he had actually gone through with it.
But Thomas's actions now were almost instinctual- he'd barely had time to thank Mrs. Patmore's perfectionism for the fact that he had a bit of coin about him- left over from the items he'd bought off of Mr. Bainborough- before he was using the money to buy a ticket.
"What route, sir?" The ticket-taker asked- and Thomas pointed at the train that even now sat idling in the depot. "Is that the train to London?"
The ticket taker nodded, and Thomas nodded in return. "That one, then." Anxiety made Thomas's voice clipped and his expressions rude, but he couldn't bring himself to care- and he snatched his ticket, and turned stiffly away- not quite running towards the train. He must have gotten on this one, Thomas thought- God I hope this is the right train-
It was only Thomas's intention to get on the train, find Jimmy, and drag him off- persuade him away from whatever rash thing he thought he was doing. Thomas, with anxiety spiking through his body, started deliberately in the last car- and began walking up through the train, his eyes scanning every passenger, even as they boarded.
Inside he felt both frightened and curiously elated- this was bad, very bad, and yet- and yet somehow Thomas could not have had a better confirmation of Jimmy's feelings for him. He must love me very much, then, Thomas thought, if he thinks the only way to escape his feelings is to run.
That could not be allowed- it was a vast and intimidating depth of feeling between them, yes, and Jimmy was undoubtedly in pain- more, Thomas believed, from some internal war that raged within him than from the actual experiences they'd shared- experiences which had been possessed of an- intensity- and a loveliness so deep it bordered, in Thomas's thinking, on divinity. But there was work to be done, and Jimmy could not perform a dramatic vanishing act at this moment. Even now Thomas would have to come up with some excuse to explain Jimmy's temporary absence. Thank god he did this after Carson left, and not before.
The conductor and the attendants were closing the doors - and Thomas still hadn't laid eyes on Jimmy. He was on the knife edge of a choice to be made- between leaving now, while he still had the chance, and finding Jimmy- and Thomas found that it was not even a question. His feet carried him past the closing doors, through another car. He felt a flash of panic- at the thought that Jimmy might somehow have gotten on another train, although there had been no others at the little depot.
The whistle on the train sounded, and they began to roll along the tracks- and Thomas scanned the seats, not seeing Jimmy anywhere. I'll never see him again, Thomas thought- and the thought overwhelmed him, making his throat feel as if it were shutting. But then- as he stepped into the next car- he saw Jimmy's back- Jimmy was situated at the very front end of the car, facing away from Thomas- but it was him, it was him- and Thomas's shoulders slumped in relief. Thomas knew that logically he had not seen Jimmy's face- and he should wonder if it was, in fact, Jimmy at all- or if he was just chasing phantoms. But he could not bring himself to question his own judgement. Obviously it was Jimmy- who sat with his head down, looking at something Thomas could not see.
Thomas drew surreptitious glances from the passengers near to him- though everyone was polite enough to carefully avert their eyes when Thomas glanced 'round, he could feel curiosity directed his way. Because of my cut-up face, Thomas thought. And he was dressed fully in his uniform: a traveling, bruised butler with no valise.
Thomas meant to approach Jimmy- but the train clattered away down the tracks, picking up speed- and Thomas hesitated- and sat at the back of the car, against the window. There was a decent chance that Jimmy would create a scene if cornered- and Thomas would be forced to let him go; he had no legal hold over Jimmy. And once Jimmy was out of Thomas's sight he could go anywhere, anywhere at all. To the Continent maybe. Lost forever. Is his state of mind really so bad, d'ya think, that he'd get the police involved if I tried to speak to him?
Thomas found he couldn't answer the question. He wasn't certain- he was never certain enough with Jimmy. He was only certain that Jimmy was afraid. All those questions about the Lieutenant and his brother, Thomas mused- and then it struck him, so obvious that it was laughable: the journal, Jimmy had his journal, and what he meant to do with it was unclear but ominous. Give it to the awful brother?
Thomas watched as Jimmy took off his wet cap- even from the back of the car Thomas could see that Jimmy's hat and shoulders were soaking wet- and Jimmy's gold hair caught the light, more brilliant than anything else in the train-car. There you are, Thomas thought. His hand went to his pocket, and he withdrew a cigarette- but then thought better of it- the smell, familiar as it was, might make Jimmy turn around.
Outside the rain continued unrelentingly, as they sped through the countryside. The land had turned unexpectedly vibrant- a dark emerald green, against the diffused light of the clouds. It's nearly Autumn and it looks like Spring, Thomas observed- there was a poem in that, too, maybe- though nothing could have inspired him now, he was much too keyed-up. The faintest mist touched the inside of the windowpane- and Thomas brought a finger to it, bringing away a droplet of water. Must've cooled down outside, Thomas thought- and in the middle of this mundane thought came a revelation, a powerful one: he didn't care what Jimmy did with the blue book- so long he did not lose Jimmy himself. Burn it, pitch it, give it away, Thomas said, internally. But I can't lose you-
Part of Thomas- the canny part- told him that he was being foolish yet again- being terrible- even- that he was even now chasing someone who clearly wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Following Jimmy. He was always following Jimmy. Pursuing the object of your love, who desperately flees from you, that's not a hero's role- that's the villain's bit. However Thomas was of two minds about it- and the other part of him- he was self-aware enough to know that it was the lovesick part- said that he was saving Jimmy, from some lonely fate of Jimmy's own design.
It's not just with wish of a lovelorn idiot, though. Thomas had evidence to back this up- spotty evidence, from an unreliable source, yes- but he could read much in Jimmy's behavior. It had always been an area Thomas felt he was lacking in. People's motivations eluded Thomas sometimes- even if he found a weak spot and pushed, it felt like a lucky guess... or the good fortune of an intelligent person- not specifically empathy, or anything. But Jimmy was different- Thomas, though he failed to see the whole picture, felt now that he could at least grasp the fundamentals of the other man, with more aptitude than came naturally. Jimmy had begun to- to let himself give in- these past two days. He had relaxed- he had touched Thomas- and slept with him, in each of their rooms- he had even attempted jokes about his own previous reticence. He seemed happy, Thomas thought- and he felt bad for Jimmy- an emotional pain that settled over the ever-diminishing ache in his chest. But then he realized... he realized he was letting his guard down-
And the fear of it had swallowed Jimmy up, and made him look for a way out. That was it exactly. Why should he be so afraid of love? Thomas thought, sourly. Much worse has happened to me, I'm sure, and yet I don't run from it, tail between my legs. But that was unkind. There was something wrong, something in Jimmy's own head- some fear he couldn't get past. And Thomas would have run from his feelings for Jimmy- it was simply too much, and too difficult- if he had been able to. But love and hope kept him tethered to Jimmy- painfully, helplessly, inexorably.
Lightning flashed, very close, and lit up the countryside- and then thunder clapped loudly overhead, making some passengers in the compartment gasp- but Jimmy did not turn- his attention stayed fixed on whatever he held. My book. Probably.
The train made several stops- and the car filled up, as they got closer to London. A man in a grey hat sat next to Jimmy, but Jimmy did not even glance up in acknowledgement, and Thomas found himself sharing a bench with a harassed-looking couple and their sizable brood.
"What's the matter with that man's face, mummy?" A little girl asked, pointing at Thomas- who smirked, and averted his eyes to the rainy landscape beyond the windowpane.
"Hush, Elizabeth," The woman said- and Thomas lost himself to his endless string of thoughts again, glancing between Jimmy's back and the window, until they were in London.
Now Thomas was worried- Jimmy could be taking another train, or he could lose himself in the streets- and as the train came to a slow halt in London Station, Jimmy rose, and stood close by the door. Thomas was stuck behind Elizabeth's family- and his body tensed- he rose to his feet as the doors opened and the orderly queue of passengers pushed forward- though it was so crowded that several people elected to remain sitting, until the car had cleared out somewhat. Thomas, ignoring all the niceties of being a passenger, climbed atop the bench, and stepped over it, into the next row- and then the next, stepping onto empty spaces on the wooden seats. Several people gave Thomas bizarre looks- and shifted in their spots, to put space between themselves and him- until he found an area on the ground that gave him a clear path to the door.
At that moment- of course at that moment- Jimmy, as he exited, elected to turn and glance back at the cabin, though he hadn't done so for hours- and his eyes met Thomas's. It seemed to happen slowly- Thomas almost had time to laugh, at the comical look of surprise that spread across Jimmy's face- and then Jimmy whirled around, very quickly, and walked straight out the door.
"Damn it to hell," Thomas said, under his breath- and he pushed rudely past a few people, throwing his elbows out- and darted off the train himself.
It was too thick with people in the station- Thomas could not see where Jimmy had gone, though Jimmy had only a few seconds advantage on him- and Thomas whirled around, looking quickly from face to face.
Where's he goin'- think quick, where would he go- Thomas's mind buzzed with nervous energy- and his footsteps carried him aimlessly, into the central room of the station, where dozens upon dozens of people waited- at ticket booths, or on long wooden seats, with their luggage and umbrellas spread out about them. Thomas looked them all up and down, walking in circles around the room- he looked at the queues of travelers, all waiting for tickets to their particular destinations- and he saw no sign of Jimmy. He's gone into the city, then, Thomas thought, feeling his heart stutter in his chest. Suddenly his injuries seemed terribly painful, as if they were leaching every bit of strength out of him. He's gone, gone-
And then- just as Thomas felt that he would weep- he caught a glimpse of Jimmy, speaking to a ticket-taker- he had been obscured from sight by a tall woman who stood just behind him, in a bright violet frock. Thomas stepped up beside the front of the crowd, garnering looks of irritation from the people waiting, and sidled up to Jimmy, just as he stepped away.
"Excuse me," The large woman in the violet dress said- "You can't step in-"
"I'm not," Thomas snapped- and Jimmy walked right into him, and halted, blinking furiously. "Oh- Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, as if they had just passed one another in the hall- "There you are-"
"Come here," Thomas said, furiously waving his hand- and he led Jimmy round to the far side of the counters, where there was an empty spot, with only a stone pillar and the occasional passerby.
Jimmy, to Thomas's surprise, did not bolt away- he faced Thomas, his expression almost totally neutral. You can't fool me, Thomas thought, watching Jimmy's left hand- the hand not wrapped tightly around his valise- and how it shook.
"I'm so glad to see you here," Jimmy said, nonchalantly- and he pushed his hair back from his forehead. "I'm going to Cornwall. I've gotten you a ticket, too," Jimmy added, looking guilelessly into Thomas's eyes- "If you'd like to come along."
"What?" Thomas asked, blankly- and Jimmy frowned back at him, as if Thomas were a bit dense. "If you would like to accompany me-" Jimmy began, again- and suddenly Thomas experienced a curious feeling. It all fell upon Thomas- Jimmy's anger, his blank nonchalance, the mask with which he faced the world- the way he had even now jeopardized both of their jobs- and Thomas, surprised at himself, realized that he was about to lose his temper.
"No I don't want to 'accompany' you to bloody Cornwall," Thomas said, angrily- his tone came out more cutting than he had intended it to be- but it felt good. When wronged Thomas was typically inclined more to plots of revenge and to sadness than to overwhelming anger- but now he felt wrath like a cleansing fire, burning through him, and laying waste to all of his anxiety.
"Haven't you ever for a moment thought about anyone besides yourself?" Thomas spat- and he took a step towards Jimmy, who shrunk back against the nearest pillar, his face going utterly white. "You want to run away from me- but- you want me to come along, as well? This is stupid- this- when you have- when you've found somebody who bloody loves you despite the fact that you're- that you're-"
Jimmy, his features darkening, tried to speak: "Now listen," Jimmy said, lowly- but Thomas talked above him. "You're a coward and an idiot- and a thief- and I don't care about any of that- but this is really too much- we could be fired-" Thomas went on, holding his fingers up one at a time, as he spouted off points in his disjointed litany of Jimmy's transgressions.
"I'm not an idiot," Jimmy retorted, hotly, and Thomas laughed, helplessly.
"You're a coward, though," Thomas said, leaning down, so that he looked directly into Jimmy's face- he could feel his expression fixing into an exaggerated look of contempt- "-aren't you, Jimmy? Scared because you're like me? Or scared because you love me-"
It was a line too far- or perhaps a shot too close to the mark- and Jimmy's face screwed up in utter rage, the change so sudden that Thomas took a step back from him.
"You go to hell, you stupid lavender bastard pouf-" Jimmy said, in a strange singsong of insults- and he stepped forward into Thomas's space- and struck out at him, with one tightly balled fist. Jimmy's hand connected with the sorest spot on Thomas's side- and as Thomas stumbled back, taking a sharp breath at the vivid pain, Jimmy advanced on Thomas- and the valise slid from Jimmy's grasp- perhaps deliberately- dropping to the floor and spilling open. Out came clothing and papers- and toiletries- all crammed into the space- and a gleam of blue. Out of the corner of his eye Thomas could just see the cover of his blue journal- but Jimmy looked only at Thomas- and Thomas watched, unable to look away, as Jimmy raised both his fists slowly, his face a pallid mask, devoid of anything except ill intent. "You bastard, come on then, you bastard- come on, if you want to fight," Jimmy said, setting his jaw- and he darted forward, as if he would hit Thomas again- but Thomas turned to the side, backstepping the assault- and Jimmy whirled around, advancing on him once more. "I'll show you what I bloody well am," Jimmy snarled- his hair tumbled into his face, and he charged at Thomas, lowering his head- and Thomas, feeling the stone pillar at his back, grabbed Jimmy's shoulders, pushing Jimmy backwards as roughly as he could. Jimmy stumbled away, his body slumping, as if in defeat.
"I- I don't want to fight-" Thomas said, taking a careful step towards Jimmy- who was half bent over, his hands on his knees and his face obscured. "You just need to get ahold of yourself-" Thomas went on, trying to keep his tone calm. At this Jimmy's head snapped up- and he ran at Thomas again, striking at his chest and sides- until they both collided with the pillar. Thomas banged his skull painfully against the stone, and saw stars for a moment- and he gripped on to Jimmy's lapels, temporarily blinded, and tried again to shove Jimmy away from himself. Jimmy fought back with an astonishing ferocity- and Thomas dodged a blow to his shoulder, bending away from Jimmy's fists.
"You bastard you stupid bastard-" Jimmy said- he was spitting out his words, through lips that were drawn frighteningly away from his teeth- and he landed a particularly painful blow to Thomas's abdomen, making Thomas lose his breath for a moment. "Aagh for godsakes Jimmy-" Thomas said, trying desperately to sound reasonable- though he could scarcely draw a lungful of air-
"S-stop for god's sakes I don't want to fight you-" Thomas pleaded- he exerted every ounce of his strength- and wrestled Jimmy's arms back, twisting his body, so that it was Jimmy who was trapped against the pillar. Jimmy surged forward, shoving Thomas with his own chest as if the building was burning, and Jimmy had to escape or die- with Thomas his only obstacle to freedom. But Thomas held on to Jimmy, grimly determined, against the onslaught- and Jimmy pressed up against him, twisting and turning furiously, spitting out vicious epithets all the while. "Show you- you stupid arse, you lousy- you awful fool- you sad- you pathetic bloody moron-" Jimmy ground out, half-yelling in a garbled tone. Jimmy shoved forward again, from where Thomas had pinioned his arms, trying to knock Thomas's hold on him loose with the force of his body alone. Thomas felt, against his body, as Jimmy tried to push past him, that Jimmy had an erection. Thomas could feel Jimmy's arousal distinctly- in the press of Jimmy's body against his- but Jimmy's face did not alter from a rictus sneer of anger. God, Thomas thought- the thought went on slowly, even as Jimmy managed to twist himself out of one arm of his suitjacket- he's so twisted up inside, he doesn't even know-
Jimmy, with one arm free, tried to spin away from Thomas's clutches- and when Thomas gripped his arm again Jimmy slammed his heel down onto Thomas's instep, as hard he could, making Thomas yelp in pain, and drop both of his hands.
"I'll show you," Jimmy said, flatly, raising his fists again- and for a moment Thomas peered right into Jimmy's face, which should have been flushed red from all the exertion of the fight, but was grey as rainclouds. With a cry Jimmy lunged forward, swinging his fists at Thomas- and Thomas, operating purely on reflex, reached out- and slapped Jimmy as hard as he could, across the face.
Jimmy's head snapped to the side, and a wave of pain- and then a tingling numbness- spread through Thomas's right hand, making him unclench and reclose his fist, at the discomfort. Jimmy went still in his tracks- his head still turned away, in the recoil of being hit so hard.
They were both too out-of-breath to speak for an instant, and they stood, gasping. Thomas lowered his head, internally cataloging his injuries- they weren't terrible, despite his weakened state. Jimmy remained still, though his chest heaved up and down, looking out at the crowded room- and Thomas looked as well, lest someone had taken an interest in their private drama, and called the police over.
"You'll have the bobbies on us soon," Thomas managed, unsteadily- and Jimmy turned to gaze at him. A handprint, starkly outlined, showed up obviously on Jimmy's cheek- and partway across his mouth. Thomas saw that he had split Jimmy's lip open, with the force of his hand- he watched the cut begin to well up with crimson, as blood rushed to it. Jimmy himself looked at if he could weep- his eyes were bright, anyhow, with tears- from the sting of being struck. With one shaking hand, Jimmy reached up to his own mouth- and winced at the injury there- but Jimmy's eyes did not leave Thomas's.
Thomas felt guilt crash through him in a wave, dissipating all of his anger- it was inexcusable to hurt Jimmy in such a way- no matter how provoked. In Thomas's head he heard his mother's voice, called up from childhood, telling him gravely how he must never raise a hand to anyone he loved, how it was a grave sin against man and womankind, as well as against God. "I'm sorry, my love," Thomas said- and he gently grasped Jimmy's shoulder. It was the most he could manage in sight of anyone who cared to look- who had probably just looked on as they'd fought- but Thomas wanted to comfort Jimmy, to apologize- to rub his fingers against Jimmy's brow and soothe away the lines of anguish that lay there. "I'm very sorry- that wasn't right-"
"You're apologizing to me," Jimmy said, sounding numb- and his bloodied mouth twisted suddenly.
"You're havin' a bad patch, and that's all right," Thomas said, gripping Jimmy's other shoulder. "That's all right. I think everybody's entitled to at least one in their lives."
Thomas saw how Jimmy's face relaxed, when Thomas touched him- and how Jimmy leaned into the pressure of Thomas's hands. "I'm... Thomas... I'm very-" Jimmy began unsteadily, sounding as if he were in a daze- but then he broke off, his eyes widening at something behind Thomas- and Thomas felt a tap on his shoulder.
Thomas dropped his hands from Jimmy's shoulders immediately, and turned around, coming face to face with a uniformed policeman.
"Havin' a bit of a row, boys?" The bobby said, gruffly- and Thomas looked into the man's face- and answered, smoothly. "I'm very sorry, Officer. My friend lost his head- but he's all right now."
"I'm sorry," Jimmy echoed shakily, coming to stand by him. "I'm alright. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make a scene-"
"His sister," Thomas said to the officer- who nodded, though he did not look entirely convinced. Thomas thought that perhaps his own bruised face was not helping his credibility, but he drew himself up, doing his best impression of Mr. Carson, and went on. "She died suddenly."
"This morning," Jimmy added- and for a moment he and Thomas glanced sidelong at one another- partners in duplicity as they were- and, though the situation was dire, still Thomas felt his heart skip in his chest.
"Well I'm very sorry to hear it," The policeman said, looking between them, "but you still can't brawl in the station."
"I'm sorry," Jimmy repeated- and Thomas kept himself from breathing an audible sigh of relief- he could see that the bobby had decided to let them go. "Don't go at it again, or I'll arrest the both of you, family death or no," the man said, brandishing a finger at them sternly. "And pick that up," he added- and Jimmy nodded- and bent to the ground, to gather the spilled contents of his valise.
"Thank you, sir," Thomas said, with as much courtesy as he could muster- and the policeman barked out a short laugh, and turned away. "A fightin' butler, I never have seen that," the officer said, as he went.
"He's over there but he's still looking at us," Thomas said, when the policeman was a safe distance from them. Thomas squatted down, wincing at the ache in his ribs and the new pain in his foot- and helped Jimmy to gather up his things- he watched as Jimmy tucked the journal into his own coat pocket, before pushing his clothes back into the case.
"Can we go home now?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy looked at him sharply- and then shook his head, a terse no.
"I'm going to Mevagissey," Jimmy said- and Thomas glanced up at him, confused. "What? Why?" Thomas asked- and then he groaned, at Jimmy's guilty look. "Is this to do with Jack Courten-"
"Jack Courtenay. Right, yes," Jimmy said, nodding. Jimmy folded one of his shirts with an expert hand- though the rest he had stuffed into the case haphazardly- and when Thomas held out a comb to Jimmy he accepted it, and dropped it carelessly into the valise.
"What d'ya want with him?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy rose to his feet, brushing off his suit- Thomas followed him, standing with a grimace. "Did I- did I hurt you?" Jimmy asked, his brow creasing- and Thomas shook his head, making his tone light. "No," Thomas said, following Jimmy, as they strode back towards the trains, away from the policeman's watchful gaze.
Thomas, now that his head had stopped spinning, found his cigarettes- and offered Jimmy one. "Here, take this," Thomas said- and passed Jimmy his handkerchief, as well. "For your mouth."
"Oh. Thank you," Jimmy said, quietly- and he pressed the cloth to his cut, wiping the blood from his lips with a pained expression.
Thomas waited a moment, making sure Jimmy seemed quite in his right mind- and then he lit his cigarette, and raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I stepped into your fight, at the fair, because you wouldn't've fared very well-"
"Oh, go to hell," Jimmy retorted- but he didn't look angry- he glanced up at Thomas, cautiously. "Will you come with me?"
"I don't understand why we have to go there," Thomas replied, in his most reasonable tones. "Is it- are you tryin' to give him back the Lieutenant's journal, is that it?"
Jimmy fixed his gaze on the ground, holding the unlit cigarette in his fingertips, and nodded.
"Jimmy," Thomas said, taking a risk and hoping that his words would not drive Jimmy into another rage- "If you want me to tell you that I'd choose you over a book- of course I would."
"It's not any book," Jimmy muttered.
"I would choose you over that book, the Lieutenant's book," Thomas said- there were people about them now, coming and going to various destinations, and so Thomas lowered his voice to a whisper. "I want you to come home with me. I love you."
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said- and Thomas saw that Jimmy had an expression of determination on his face. "I have to do this. I have to give him the book. He's waiting for me- and I have to do it anyways. For closure."
"He's waiting- what?" Thomas asked. They had come to the train that ran outwards, to the coast- and now they both stood before it.
"Closure isn't the right word, maybe," Jimmy said. He wouldn't meet Thomas's eyes. "But I have to do it. It's very important."
Thomas took a long drag from his cigarette, and blew out the smoke. He brought one hand to his temple and rubbed at a spot of tension there, looking at how Jimmy braced himself, as if waiting for a blow.
"If I try to drag you bodily onto the train to Downton, will you make another scene?" Thomas asked, after a pause- and Jimmy nodded, pulling his shoulders up. "I think so," Jimmy said, in a small voice- but then Jimmy seemed to draw upon some inner wellspring of strength- and he looked straight into Thomas's eyes. "Will you come with me?" Jimmy asked- he asked it a bit too loudly, as if he could not quite control his voice.
The longer they stayed out- and the further they traveled from Downton- the greater Thomas's chances of not being able to salvage the situation- of losing his job- and Jimmy's- in the process. Thomas knew all of this, of course- he knew that he was being quite ridiculous, chasing this man all over the country- but then he looked at Jimmy in front of him- handsome- beyond handsome- and well-coiffed- and outwardly so prickly, so detached- and yet- and yet somehow so vulnerable-
Jimmy regarded him, his mouth drawn across his face in a straight line, the red line of his split lip as decisive as an arrow. This is a test, too, Thomas thought. Make sure you pass.
"Fine. Yes," Thomas said, with a sigh- and Jimmy's mouth curved up, into a half-smile. "I think it's a terrible idea, however-"
"Yes, that's wonderful," Jimmy said, happily- and he set his valise down, fumbling around in his pocket, until he produced a pair of tickets. "There you are," Jimmy intoned- and handed Thomas his own ticket. Their fingers bumped together, but Jimmy did not draw his hand back overly quickly.
"We should go if we're going to," Thomas said, pitching his cigarette- and he and Jimmy boarded the train.
"But after this we're going home," Thomas said, as they walked through the cars, looking for a place to sit. The train to Cornwall was much emptier than the train to London had been- and people were dressed to go on holiday instead of in the dour colors of going-to-work.
"Yes. Directly after," Jimmy said, from in front of him. Finally Jimmy picked a car that was nearly devoid of other passengers- and Thomas slid onto the bench after him. They were at the back of the car- alone- and Jimmy still toyed with the unlit cigarette in his hand.
"I hope you didn't tell the awful brother who it was that stole the blue book," Thomas said. To his surprise Jimmy sat very close to him, letting their legs press together.
"No, o'course not," Jimmy answered. "I said I found it."
"I don't much fancy the idea of him readin' all my wretched poems," Thomas said- and Jimmy nodded. "I thought I'd cut out those pages," Jimmy said. "But I couldn't bring myself to-"
Jimmy looked up at Thomas again, very gravely- and then, with some solemnity, he drew the blue book from within his jacket pocket. Thomas could feel the tremor that worked through Jimmy, making even the muscles of Jimmy's thigh shake where it rested against Thomas's leg.
"I'm not going to take it from you," Thomas said, quietly- and Jimmy flushed, a little- at that, though he hadn't turned red during their fight. Strange, you're very strange, Thomas thought- but he met Jimmy's eyes. "I promise. I'll never do anything you don't want me to."
Jimmy turned a darker shade of crimson- but he nodded- and tucked the cigarette he held behind his ear. With shaking fingers Jimmy rested the book between them, so that the front cover was on Jimmy's leg- the back cover on Thomas's- and Jimmy flicked through the pages of the book, stopping on the very last page that bore writing.
"This-" Jimmy said, not looking at Thomas- "-this is my favorite of all." With one hand Jimmy traced the lines on the page- and Thomas watched his fingers, transfixed, for a moment, by Jimmy's beauty. Even the appeal of Jimmy's hands was enough to drive Thomas to distraction- and he realized it had been some moments since he had said anything at all, and so he hastily replied- "Well. That's the latest one, isn't it. Perhaps I've been improving."
Thomas could not keep the displeasure- or the incredulity, at the idea of his own words being things of beauty- out of his tone- and Jimmy's head ticked up, as if he were offended.
"This one is profound," Jimmy said, insistently. "I see what you mean by it, you know."
"Wonderful," Thomas said, dryly- but Jimmy wiped absently at the cut on his mouth that Thomas had put there- and asked, in an undertone: "Won't you read it? Please?"
"No, god," Thomas said, shaking his head. "We're in public."
"They can't hear us," Jimmy said, indicating the passengers at the far front of the car. The train had begun to move, robbing Thomas of all hope that he could dissuade Jimmy away from his plan.
"Please," Jimmy said, heavily- and Thomas smirked at the import of Jimmy's tone- and examined the book page. He could feel anticipation coming off of Jimmy in waves- and Thomas cleared his throat significantly, pausing.
"Get on with it, won't you?" Jimmy said, jostling Thomas impatiently.
"Ah, don't shove me," Thomas groused- and Jimmy looked ashamed. "I'm sorry," Jimmy said, immediately. "It was awful of me to go after you. I know you're not well."
"You're not well," Thomas shot back, before he could stop himself- and Jimmy scowled- but after a moment Jimmy nodded, looking worried- and Thomas felt poorly, at having made light of Jimmy's distress. "Alright, fine, here we go," Thomas said- and he scanned the page.
"Oh, one loved love, and one loved only fear," Thomas read, in a half-whisper- and as he read he was taken back, to the first night Jimmy had been in his bed- when Jimmy had begged him for the words, the words from this poem- the words that had calmed Jimmy enough so that he could find release. The memory was painfully erotic- but it was emotional, too, very moving- and Thomas struggled to keep his voice even.
"-and one held some specific temple dear," Thomas went on, noting how still Jimmy had gone beside him-
"And I loved him, and him, and his love, too
and I confess in many ways I knew
That evening, that I should have said- and you!
I love you, too! And you!
-Although it was a morbid admiration.
Oh, you seem sad, and you seem kind-
or quite remote, and dark of mind-
The spark, I hope, will leave us blind-
Without that rope, those apprehensions fade.
This starblown place- where they have met before
When pouring through a month of many moons
they conversed on a snowstorm, or a park
and shared some thoughts, and idly moved their spoons
against the cups of coffee they had bought-
Oh, a building or a gunshot in the dark!
A thousand roses, mailed out on a lark-
those yellow roses, yes, that met their mark-
Or pearls that dropped like rain in many worlds,
and petals that traverse some hands and lips.
These things discussed: a bomb, a flight of stairs-
Immortals, they are distant from our cares-
Mere mortals, we are shackled to our truths-
immoral man, a citadel, a roof-
A life I lived, too young for any proof-
A force above, a pinnacle, a spire-
the long walk back, evading heart's desire-
Or a strong back, or courage under fire-
and yet these things are meaningless to us."
When Thomas had finished he shut the book, feeling ridiculous- and glanced over at Jimmy, who stared at him, transfixed, with his lips slightly parted. Jimmy's cheeks were pink- and under Thomas's scrutiny Jimmy took a breath, and swallowed audibly.
"That one's my favorite," Jimmy said, again. "I know what you mean by that one. I do." Jimmy's tone was muted and his voice rather unsteady- and as Thomas watched, Jimmy crossed and uncrossed his legs, shifting on the seat.
"There's so much Eliot in there it's scarcely mine," Thomas returned, trying valiantly to ignore Jimmy's state- and, to Thomas's surprise, the hazy look of desire that had come over Jimmy's face vanished- and he scowled, snatching up the journal.
"Eliot?' Jimmy asked, harshly. "Who's Eliot, then?"
Thomas laughed aloud, and clapped his hand over his mouth. Jimmy stared at him all the while, looking put-out. "Not my lover, so don't worry," Thomas managed, through his laughter- and Jimmy relaxed, leaning back against the bench. "Good," Jimmy muttered.
The rain was letting up, as they moved further away from London- and for a moment, despite his nerves and his constant worry about what he could possibly say to Mrs. Hughes to explain his sudden disappearance- Thomas felt an odd thrill- a thrill that hearkened back to childhood. He was on an adventure with the man he loved- rather like a fairytale.
"What did you think, just now?" Jimmy asked, from Thomas's side. "You smiled to yourself."
"I'm not always thinking something interesting, y'know," Thomas said, and Jimmy scoffed.
"Yes, you are," Jimmy replied- and he leaned back further again the bench, his shoulder resting against Thomas's. "I'm goin' to shut my eyes for a moment," Jimmy said- and Thomas nodded- and checked to make sure there were no eyes upon him- and then he ran his hand through Jimmy's hair, once, drawing a smile from Jimmy as he did it.
"Don't do that, d'ya want to go to prison?" Jimmy asked, without opening his eyes- but he smiled, at Thomas's touch.
"Mmm, in prison we could share a room," Thomas murmured, and Jimmy laughed, tiredly.
"We'll just see Jack the Junior Behaviorist," Jimmy said- "-an' give him the book- and then- and then..."
But Jimmy did not finish his sentence. He was silent for a while, and Thomas thought he had fallen asleep- but then Jimmy said, in a undertone- "Thank you. For giving me back my cards."
"Your- oh. Been in my room again, I see," Thomas answered, softly, and Jimmy nodded, with his eyes still shut.
"I was sayin' goodbye," Jimmy said, quietly- and though Jimmy's eyes were closed Thomas could still read upon his face signs of distress. "I'm glad you found me, though," Jimmy added. "I'm very glad."
"I'm glad, too," Thomas said- and his chest felt so tight that for a moment it was hard to get a breath. Thomas reached down, well out of view of anyone curious, and stroked fingertips against Jimmy's palm- and Jimmy smiled, and said nothing else- but he left his hand there, for Thomas to touch, if he chose to.
After a few moments more Jimmy drifted off, and he slumped to the side, his head against Thomas's arm. Thomas himself could not sleep- but he felt an odd peace settle over him- like a sudden deluge over a sun-baked country- and he sat, for a long time, with his arm across the back of the bench- holding Jimmy as much as decorum would allow. Here we go, off into the unknown, Thomas thought- and around the train the clouds rolled slowly away, letting spots of sunlight in.