Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey.

Summary: What if Doctor Clarkson had been forced to leave the garden party early, before Thomas had had a chance to speak to him? What if, following a suggestive comment by a colleague, the First Footman had decided against joining the British Army at all? What if, instead, he'd decided to join the Royal Navy? How different might things have been for him?

Warnings: Slash, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Violence, First World War.

A/N So the idea for this particular story has been rattling around in the back of my mind since I attended the 'Mountbatten Festival of Music' back in 2016 during which there was a memorial piece for the 100th commemoration of the 'Battle of Jutland.' I knew then that I wanted to do a story focusing on the naval aspects of the First World War which isn't as well known as the land based aspects, mostly due to the fact that the evidence of the battles are at the bottom of the ocean and can no longer be seen. Now, I don't claim to be a historian so please excuse me if I get anything wrong despite my research in this particular subject.

A/N 2 please be aware that whilst HMS Warrior was a real ship and I have managed to find a list of her crew I have opted to used entirely fictional characters for the use of this story so as not to dishonour any of their memories. In terms of the naval facts that I am including in this story I am from a naval family, my great-grandfather was killed during World War Two, my grandfather served during the final year of the war and my husband served back in the 1980's, and as such want to be as accurate as possible so have done as much research as possible (mostly using a fantastic book from the Jutland Museum at Portsmouth Historic Dockyards called '36 Hours. Jutland 1916. The Battle That Won The War.' Which I would highly recommend to anyone interested in the subject.) I am, however, not a historian and so there may be some factual errors so please forgive me and enjoy my work of fiction.

THE BOYS IN NAVY BLUE
CHAPTER TWELVE

Downton Abbey
February 1919

Thomas was a little surprised by how easily he settled back into life at the Abbey, despite his new role, and after a week it almost felt as though he'd never left. It was only the presence of his gloves and the scars they concealed that reassured him that he had served in the war.

On the morning that the Army were due to collect the last of the equipment they had left carefully stored out of the way, or rather out of the way of the family but completely in the way of the busy servants, Thomas was up with the dawn so that he has plenty of time to go through his personal ablutions before heading down to the servants hall for his breakfast.

"Good morning, Mr. Barrow."

"Good morning, Mr Bates."

The friendship born of mutual respect and understanding between Thomas and his former rival had taken him by surprise every bit as much as it had everyone else. His time in the Royal Navy had matured him, at long last as some of his old colleagues were prone to muttering under their breath when they though he couldn't hear them, and with that newfound maturity came an understanding of what the bond between Mr Bates and his Lordship must be like after serving together for so long. He could still understand why he, then a jealous young man who was desperate to better himself so as to prove to the world that he wasn't the complete waste of space his father had once branded him to be, had reacted poorly to the other man's arrival but now, what with his own situation being so similar, he could understand why His Lordship has chosen to hire his old batman instead one of the other possible candidates that he had been presented with at the time. There was a trust born of serving in the military together, of being in brutal combat together, of staring into the face of death together and emerging victorious, that simply couldn't be replicated.

And so the two valets were now, for lack of a better word, friends.

"Good morning, Anna," Thomas addressed the young woman sat, as ever, beside his fellow valet as he helped himself to a couple of slices of freshly made toast, covering each with a liberal quantity of butter and a healthy serving of Mrs Patmore's homemade marmalade. It was a simple breakfast but delicious all the same. "You're looking particularly perky today."

"Longest nights sleep I've had in weeks, if not months," the pretty young woman responded with a light chuckle, her own relationship with Thomas having improved alongside that of Mr Bates. Thomas was beginning to wonder if either of them would ever admit the feelings they had for each other, the feelings that were obviously mutual. He knew there was a wife, had been filled in on the gossip by one of the hall boys before Mr Bates himself had shared his own wartime saga with him, but surely once the divorce was finalised they would have

to put an end to the ridiculous pining and longing that he'd witnessed. "All the young ladies retired early last night so I was able to head to bed early as well, what with there being no mending to be done and their outfits already sorted for today. It felt quite naughty heading upstairs at such an early hour but I must confess I needed the extra couple of hours sleep."

Thomas nodded his thanks, his mouth full of toast, when she poured him a cup of tea whilst finishing off her explanation and carefully slid it across the table to him. Such an action would never have happened before the war no matter how generous of a soul Anna was.

A bell rang on the board, drawing all of their eyes up to it to discover who was the first to be called for. It was His Lordships room and so, with a murmur of farewell to those seated around the long table hurriedly eating their morning meals, Mr Bates began his journey upstairs. Watching him go, his limp noticeably bad that morning, Thomas was grateful that whilst his injuries were unpleasant to look at they only restricted the extreme movements of his fingers. He wasn't sure that he had the fortitude of spirit to survive an injury such as the ones Mr Bates and Thomas' employer, Mr Crawley, had and so it was a blessing that his leg, despite being burned, had suffered no lasting damage apart from a rather unpleasant scar.

He was just washing his toast down with the last of his cup of tea and contemplating another slice when a second bell rang on the board, prompting them to look up at it.

This time it was Her Ladyship, prompting the unusually silent Miss O'Brien to rise smoothly from her seat and make her way upstairs without offering a single one of them a goodbye.

Whilst Thomas relationships with the rest of the staff had improved since his return his relationship with Miss O'Brien has become somewhat strained as he had refused to fall back into his old ways. It had been his petty behaviour, brought about by the jealousy he had always suffered from, that had brought the two of them together shortly after he'd arrived at the Abbey as a young footman. It was painfully evident that Miss O'Brien wanted things to return to how they were before the war but they were both too changed by their own experiences for that to happen. Unfortunately she had yet to realise this fact and so saw his pulling away as an act of betrayal rather than a chance for her to enter into a new type of friendship with him, one born of respect and not a need to control him and cause trouble.

His time in the Royal Navy had taught him many things, one of them being patience, and so he was content to wait and see what happened. It wasn't his place to pressure his former conspirator into changing her ways. To do so would have the opposite effect, he knew, thinking back on all the people who had tried to force him to change his ways over the years and how he'd responded. It was only when he had decided to change himself, under the guidance of the Royal Navy, that things had begun to change. The same would be true of Miss O'Brien. One day something would happen to change his friend's outlook on her life.

He just had to wait.

At the head of the table Mr Carson began issuing instructions to the gaggle of housemaids and hall boys, setting them their tasks for the morning. Thomas knew that the Butler was still wary of him, waiting for him to slip up and to return to his old ways, but that was understandable all things considered and so Thomas had resolved to simply ignore the watchful gaze until he had earned the older man's trust. The same could be said of Mrs Hughes, to a degree, although the kindly housekeeper was already treating him better than she ever had before. His attentive care of Mr Crawley had served to endear him to her, it seemed, and she was far more observant than most people gave her credit for. He believed that she saw him for exactly what he was; a changed man trying to make a life for himself.

Two bells rang almost simultaneously.

Lady Mary and Mr Crawley.

"Shall we?" Thomas murmured, offering his arm to Anna as the two of them rose from their seats and made their way towards the stairs. Chuckling brightly she slipped her arm through his and allowed him to lead her up the narrow winding staircase that the servants used, the two of them conversing cheerfully about nothing of consequence until they parted on the landing; Anna heading towards the wing that housed the three Crawley daughters whilst Thomas headed for the guest rooms which were known as the bachelors wing. It wasn't a wing, not really, but who was he to correct the family? Arriving at the largest of the guest rooms, the only one with a private bathroom and dressing room attached to it, he knocked on the door and entered when bid to. "Good morning, Mr Crawley. I hope you slept well."

"Like a log," Matthew responded from where he had pulled himself up to rest against the padded headboard of the elaborate bed. His blonde hair was as messy as it always was in the morning. "I dreamt I was back aboard the Caroline in my cabin and the rocking motion, even though it was only in my head, was just what I needed to get a good night's sleep."

"I know what you mean," Thomas responded with a smile as he set about getting things ready in the bathroom for his employee to have his morning wash. The family had spared no expense, bringing in someone to lower the sink and mirror so that he could use them from his wheelchair. "Sometimes when I close my eyes I can feel Warrior's engines thrumming."

"I'm glad it's not just me that misses life at sea," Matthew sighed, shifting himself towards the edge of the bed once Thomas had brought his wheelchair across, bracing it so that the former officer could manoeuvre himself off of the bed and into the cushioned seat. They had agreed on his first day that Matthew should do as much as he possibly could, Thomas assisting only when it was necessary or if his duties as a valet insisted. As such he wheeled his employee up the sink and then left him to it, instead collecting Matthews clothes for the day from the dressing room and bringing them through to the bedroom, laying them out on the bed ready to go. "I suppose it must be worse for you, Barrow, given that you only left the service a week or so ago. I, at least, have had time to acclimatise to life on land again."

"Don't forget it was on a shore base that I served on last and that doing so drove me out of the Royal Navy, sir," Thomas chuckled, peering closely at the right cuff of the jacket they'd selected the night before. It was starting to look a little worn due to rubbing against the wheelchair when the occupant tried to move himself around in it. Thomas would have to look that over to see what could be done for it. "I don't miss trying to serve drinks during rough weather, nor do I miss carrying that tea tray up to the bridge multiple times a day."

"God, I remember one time on the Caroline when the weather was particularly bad and our poor steward ended up wearing my cup of tea," Matthew laughed, pausing with his safety razor blade an inch away from his cheek so as not to cut himself as he shared his tale. A grin settled on Thomas' face; it was very easy to picture such a scenario as he had come worryingly close to doing something similar on more than one occasion. "His white front had a tea stain on it for weeks before he finally managed to get it out. He was mortified."

"I would've been, too," Thomas announced. "You wouldn't believe how long it took me to adjust to sleeping in a proper bed, be it a simple bunk bed in the stewards mess deck, after four years of sleeping in a hammock. To be honest, sir, I'm still not entirely use it it now."

"Good lord, I'd forgotten that you slept in a hammock," Matthew gasped cheerfully, his hands carefully completing his morning shave before wiping away the left over soap with a towel. He then moved onto sorting out his hair. "That must have been difficult to get use to, both going from a bed to a hammock, then back from a hammock to a bed. They're so..."

"You would not believe the amount of times I fell out of my hammock during my first month at sea," Thomas confessed, shaking his head in fond recollection. It had been a bonding experience with his fellow stewards, all of them offering him advice on ow to get into his hammock, which way was best to lie in his hammock, how to sleep on his side if he wanted to, how to get out of his hammock. "I'll say this for hammocks, though; once I'd got used to it I've never slept better than I did being rocked by the motion of the ship in my hammock."

He paused, jamming thoughtfully before concluding softly,

"It was oddly comforting, almost like a hug."

Thomas frowned at himself.

Why on earth had he said that?

"Sounds nice," Matthew sighed, putting his comb down with a flourish. "Alright, I'm done."

Making his way into the bathroom Thomas took hold of the wheelchairs handles and pulled his employer backwards out of the small room, unable to turn him round in the space that was available to them. That done they set about what could only be described as the "team effort" of getting Matthew out of his striped pyjamas and into the charcoal suit he'd picked.

His top half wasn't a problem, other than the chair making it a little awkward at times, resulting in the occasional knocked elbow as he worked his way in an out of his shirts.

No, it was his bottom half that was the challenge.

Matthew had perfected the art of lifting himself up using the flimsy arms of his wheelchair, holding himself a couple of inches off of the seat of the chair. This allowed Thomas to strip him down with quick, practiced motions with a cloth draped across his lap to preserve his dignity. So as not to strain himself Matthew would then rest for a couple of minutes before lifting himself up again so that Thomas could quickly dress him in his fresh underwear and trousers, his touches entirely professional despite how easy it would be to "accidentally" allow his fingers to brush against Matthew's member. Pre-war Thomas wouldn't have hesitated to cop as many feels as he could; post-war Thomas respected the man that he was dressing too much to take advantage of his employer in such a devious and despicable way.

Soon Thomas was slipping the Crawley heirs socks and shoes on to his surprisingly ticklish feet, straightening his tie, smoothing out his lapels and then he was ready to head down to join everyone for breakfast, every bit the image of the smart, capable young man he was.

"Thank you, Thomas."

There were two possible methods for getting Matthew up and down the grand staircase, dependent on how many people were available to help at the time. If there were enough physically capable servants to hand then he would simply be carried down seated in his wheelchair. As it was that morning they had to go with the alternative method; Thomas carrying his employee down on his back in a strange sort of piggy-back, carefully depositing him on the bench which was conveniently located just to the left of the bottom of the stairs before retrieving his wheelchair. It wasn't Matthews favourite mode of travel but it was better than being carried like a babe in someone's arms as had happened the first few times. It was also better than being trapped on one floor until enough servants became available to help him; at least this way he could move about as and when he wanted to.

Positioning the wheelchair in the correct place Thomas offered his employer his left arm to use for leverage as he transferred himself from the padded bench to his mode of transport.

"Thank you, Barrow."

Wheeling his employer into the dining room Thomas placed the wheelchair at the table where a place had been laid out but the chair had been taken away. It was between Lady Edith and Miss Swire, the two women greeting Matthew warmly even as Thomas waited patiently for the former officer to inform him what he would like for breakfast. Everyone else would serve themselves from the buffet style breakfast the family tended to favour.

"Just some scrambled egg on toast this morning, please, Barrow."

"Certainly, sir."

"And a strong cup of tea."

Nodding to Mr Carson who was stood at the end of the buffet table nearest the door, on hand in case the family needed anything, Thomas set about preparing Matthew's breakfast, setting the plate down before his employer before returning to collect his cup of tea. It was strong, as requested, but nowhere near as strong as some of the cups of tea he'd had to prepare during his time as a steward; some of the officers had preferred their tea so strong it was almost think enough to stand a spoon up in, or at least that how it looked to Thomas.

"Can I get you anything else, sir?"

"Not for the moment, Barrow, thank you."

Nodding respectfully Thomas retreated to stand beside Mr Carson, waiting for when he was next needed. This was how he spent most of his days, waiting to be called upon, but this was nothing new; both as a steward and as a footman he'd forever been stood waiting for someone to call on him. As it was Matthew had no need of him until they'd all finished his breakfast, bidding Thomas to take him through to the library so that Lavinia didn't have to.

"I don't mind, you know?"

"I know, my dear," Matthew chuckled, reaching out to take his pouting fiancés hand as she walked beside his chair. "I just don't want to be too much of a burden for you, that's all."

"Matthew Crawley, if you call yourself a burden once more I swear I shall scream," Lavinia huffed, opening the door to the library before Thomas could move to do so and allowing the valet to pushed the occupied wheelchair inside without pausing for a moment. "You are no more a burden than I am. Now, I believe we have to settle on the flowers for the wedding."

She retired a large book from one of the bookshelves, opening it to the first of many pages that had been bookmarked as she sat in the chair besides where Thomas had just parked the wheelchair, leaning across to place the book in Matthew's lap so that he could see it.

"What do you think of freesias? They're in season and would add a lovely bit of colour," she murmured, gesturing to the hand-drawn image of the flower in question before quickly turning to one of the other pages she had previously book marked. "Or some peonies?"

"What of their meanings?" Matthew enquired. "Isn't that important at a wedding?"

"Well, yes, it is but I didn't realise you'd be interested in their meanings," Lavinia confessed. "All of my ideas have suitable meanings. Freesias represent innocence and thoughtfulness."

Matthew hummed in approval upon hearing that.

"Whilst peonies stand for bashfulness and compassion."

"I see," he returned. "I like both, honestly. What colour were you thinking?"

"If you'll excuse me, sir?" Thomas interjected politely before the blissfully happy young woman could answer her fiancé. "I should be getting on if you have no need of me?"

"Of course, Barrow," Matthew responded warmly. "We shall ring if we have need of you."

Nodding his head Thomas slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him, and just had time to dodge out of the way of a couple of men in military green carrying a wooden crate between them. Huffing at their lack of apology for almost running him down in their haste he tugged on the bottom of his jacket, purchased in York the day after he'd arrived to accept his position with Mr Crawley, using some of his wartime pay along with an advance from his new employer to purchase two suitable black suits for work and one charcoal grey suit in a more casual style for him to where out and about. He'd also purchased a new pair of shoes, seven crisp white shirts, some new underwear, socks and three ties; one black, one charcoal grey and one light grey. His last purchase that day had been a suitable hat.

Of all the things he'd bought his hat and shoes had been the most expensive.

Due to the continued lack of footmen both Thomas and Mr Bates had agreed to assist Mr Carson in completing the duties usually done by the junior members of staff and so, with none of his own duties in need of completion just then, Thomas headed downstairs with the intention of making a start on polishing the dining service ready for dinner that evening.

He was making good progress when a telegram arrived.

"Mr Barrow," Daisy called out from the doorway of the Butlers Pantry, disturbing him as he was just finishing off one of the serving trays. "This telegram has arrived for Mr Crawley."

"Very well, I shall take it up to him."

Removing the gloves and apron he had donned to protected his skin and clothes, taking the time to slip his own everyday back on to conceal his scars whilst his back was turned to the young kitchen maid, Thomas took the distinctive envelope from her and made his way back up to the library. Nodding to Mr Carson as they passed each other just outside the door to Thomas' destination he slipped inside and cleared his throat to draw Matthew's attention.

"Telegram for you, sir."

"Thank you, Barrow," Matthew murmured, accepting the envelope and opening it without hesitation so that he could read the message it contained. They had finished selecting their flowers, it seemed, and we're settling in for a cup of tea. That must be what Mr Carson had been doing in the library, he surmised, as the tea had yet to be poured indicating that the tray had only just arrived. "It's from my old firm," he explained as his eyes scanned the slip of paper. "Enquiring as to whether or not I intend on returning to my previous occupation."

"That's nice of them," Lavinia murmured. "To remember you after four years."

"I shall have to inform them of my current difficulties," Matthew sighed regretfully, rapping the knuckles of his empty hand against the arm of the wheelchair. "I can hardly work out of a first floor office where the stairs were almost too narrow and twisting for me when I had the full use of my legs, let alone now that I'm stuck in a wheelchair. I don't think my chair would even fit in the staircase, it was so narrow. They shall find a replacement, I'm sure."

Lavinia reached out to give his hand a comforting sneeze.

"Can I bring you anything, sir?"

"No, Barrow, thank you," Matthew responded, obviously upset by the decision he had been forced to make despite the logical reasoning behind it. "I shall write my reply this evening."

"If that's all then, sir?"

Exiting the library once permission had been given by way of a gentle smile and a nod from his employer Thomas found himself faced with the arrival of Sir Richard Carlisle, following the Earl of Grantham inside with Branson carrying his luggage behind the two gentlemen.

Mr Carson appeared out of nowhere to greet them.

"Carson, please have tea brought up to the library for Sir Richard and I."

"Begging your pardon, milord, but I have just served tea for Mr Crawley and Miss Swire in the library. Will you be joining them or would you prefer a separate tray be brought up?"

"Why don't we join them, Sir Richard?"

"Why not?"

Thomas nodded respectfully to the two men as they passed him on their way to the library.

He had heard of Lady Mary's fiancé from the rest of the servants although this was his first time seeing him in the flesh. Personally he couldn't help but think that she could do better.

Then again she'd lost Mr Crawley for reasons that weren't entirely clear.

Perhaps she really couldn't do better than the owner of a newspaper, or was it a magazine?

Thomas wasn't entirely sure.

"Mr Barrow," Carson let out a relieved sigh upon seeing him, gesturing towards the luggage Branson was setting down just inside the building. They were new, Thomas noticed, and an obvious display of his wealth, all three cases embossed with his initials in gold lettering. "I hate to ask this of you but would you be able to see to Sir Richards things? He doesn't have a man himself, you see, and during his last stay I myself saw to him but as you can see I'm…"

"Of course, Mr Carson," Thomas interrupted the strained explanation of the situation. "If need be I'd be happy to serve as Sir Richards valet for the duration of his stay, so long as neither he nor Mr Crawley find the idea of sharing a valet impossible, given that they have both at one point or another been invested in Lady Mary's future. I imagine that must be…"

It was Mr Carson's turn to interrupt him this time,

"Quite. Thank you, Mr Barrow; I shall broach the subject with the two gentlemen presently."

"Want me to help you cart these things up to his room?" Branson enquired once the butler had slipped away. "I don't know how long he's planning on staying for but I swear he's packed everything including the kitchen sink, if the weight of his cases is any indication."

"That would be greatly appreciated, thank you," Thomas agreed, grunting as he picked the largest of the three cases; it truly did weigh an absolute ton. "…what has he got in here?"

"Bricks, I shouldn't wonder," Branson snorted, his bright eyes sparkling with merriment as he picked up the smaller cases and followed Thomas up the main staircase to the bedroom that Thomas had heard Mrs Hughes order the housemaids to prepare for Sir Richards arrival soon after he'd hidden himself away in the pantry. "I don't envy you unpacking these if they really are just filled with his clothes. I knew he was a bit of a peacock but this is ridiculous."

All too soon Thomas was alone with was, in fact, three cases packed to the seams with more clothes than he'd ever seen one man possess let alone travel with and that included both of the Crawley he had served over the years. Everything was just as new as the cases were, he noticed as he set to work putting everything away; another display of his wealth, no doubt intended to make himself appear to be the best possible candidate for Lady Mary. Thomas felt certain that whilst such a blatant display of his wealth would have worked on men and women of his class, the nouveau riche, it would have the opposite effect with a family like the Crawleys. They came from old money, despite a lack of funds resulting in His Lordship opting for an American heiress when he was searching for a bride, and therefore had firm beliefs on when they should and shouldn't display their wealth. Sir Richard would have to learn how such things worked it he wanted to elevate his social standing through marriage.

It took Thomas twice as long as it should have done to get everything unpacked, given the sheer amount of clothes and the fact that it was necessary to get a bit creative with their storage in order to get everything to fit, and it was a relief when he was finally able to take the cases up to the attics where they would live until they were needed. He'd been forced to concede that for all his showiness Sir Richard had excellent taste in suitcases as the three were designed to be stored like a Russian doll, one inside another, which meant that he was able to carry them up to the attics in one trip and that they took up significantly less space.

"Will you miss the extra staff, Mrs Patmore?"

"Not really," Mrs Patmore responded to Anna's question just as Thomas reached the bottom of the stairs, their voices carrying out the kitchen. His stomach rumbled loudly in response to the delicious smells in the air. "When push comes to shove, I'd rather do it myself. Though God knows what I'm to feed them. There's nothing out there to be had."

Slipping into the kitchen Thomas spied a cooling tray overloaded with fingers of homemade shortbread just waiting to be pinched and so, smirking to himself he carefully reached out…

Only to let out a sharp hiss when a wooden spoon rapped against his knuckles.

"Oh, no you don't, Thomas Barrow," Mrs Patmore scolded him, still brandishing to spoon like a weapon. His knuckles throbbed, particularly where the spoon had caught part of his scar tissue, and he couldn't stop himself from cradling the injured limb to his chest. "I wouldn't stand for that when you were footman, I won't stand for it now you're a valet."

Anna cleared her throat, mercifully changing the subject when she spoke,

"I suppose the hospital will revert to the way it was before the war."

"I should think so…"

Before any of them can say anything more the dressing gong is heard, prompting both Anna and Thomas to leap into action. Whilst Anna went straight to Lady Mary's room to meet her there Thomas made his way to the floor of the stairs where Matthew and Miss Swire were speaking softly together. Clearing his throat so as to announce his presence Thomas inclined his head towards them when they turned their faces towards him, both of them still smiling.

"Barrow," Matthew greeted him. "Perfect timing as ever."

Carrying his employer up the stairs was significantly more challenging than carrying him down, gravity no longer on his side, and he was puffing lightly by the time they reached the top. He was therefore relieved to find that Miss Swire had somehow found the strength to carry her fiancés wheelchair up the stairs by herself. Murmuring a sincere thank you to the thoughtful young woman Thomas lowered his employer down into the wheelchair, his hand throbbing even worse than it had been before warning him that the blow, however light as been, had done some sort of damage to the scar tissue. Flexing his hand a couple of times to see if that helped Thomas then set about manoeuvring the wheelchair into Matthews room.

Changing him into something suitable for dinner utilised the same methods as getting him dressed in the morning, minus the cloth they used to preserve his modesty as there was no need for Matthew to change his underwear and therefore he wouldn't be stripped naked.

This fact didn't stop Thomas' mind from conjuring up ideas that were far from proper.

It wasn't just about his proximity to another man in a state of undress, although that had been a part of it to begin with as it had been so long since he had been able to be with one of his lovers; being on a shore establishment had made things entirely more dangerous. No, it was the young man in question. He'd always considered Matthew to be something of a handsome specimen of the human race, ever since he had first stepped foot in the Abbey, to the point where he had been disappointed not to be given the opportunity to serve as his valet at the time. The arrival of his then lover, the Duke, had appeased him, of course, not that anything more than his dismissal would have come out of him trying to seduce the new Crawley heir back then. Now that he knew the measure of the man it was even worse, if he was being honest, for as well as being physically attracted to his employer he couldn't help but admire his strong convictions, his intelligence, his work ethic, his compassion, his dry wit and his kindness. A lot of this pre-dated his time in the a Royal Navy, Thomas knew, but it was only on board HMS Warrior and in the hospital afterwards that he had come to see it.

His engagement to Miss Swire made perfect sense, given how similar they were, but that didn't mean that there wasn't a very good chance that Thomas might end up falling in love with his employer. As he brushed the lint off of Matthews shoulders he conceded, if only to himself, that there were worse things that could happen than him loving Matthew Crawley.

It didn't mean it wasn't going to be painful for him at times.

"There, sir," Thomas sighed, setting the brush back where it lived on top of the dresser. "If you're happy I'll get you downstairs but the. I must assist Sir Richard as he's without a man."

"Excellent work as ever, Barrow," Matthew complimented him sincerely, nodding to show his acceptance of the plan that had been laid down for him. "I believe I shall pass muster."

Carrying Matthew down the stairs as carefully as he could so as not to ruin all the hard work he'd put into his employers outfit Thomas then left him sitting in his wheelchair at the foot of the stairs so that he could wait for Miss Swire, as per Matthews request, and headed up to the guest room he had spent so much time in earlier. Knocking on the door he waited to be admitted, slipping into the room with a mask of indifference on his face as he enquired,

"How may I be of assistance, Sir Richard?"

Lady Mary's fiancé had already changed into the crisp white shirt and inky black trousers that he intended to wear to dinner, the matching jacket hanging up on the outside of the wardrobe door, but had made no attempt to dress himself any further. Instead he stood in the centre of the room glaring at the door, his glare only intensifying when Thomas entered.

"About time you got here. I can't find where you put my cufflinks. Fetch them for me."

Moving swiftly and silently Thomas retrieved the traveling box containing the unpleasant mans cufflinks from where he had stored it, the same place everyone always stored their cufflinks he wanted to point out, and presented it to Sir Richard so he could select a pair.

"I'll wear the malachite ones."

Thomas nodded, placing the box on the top of the dresser so that he could retrieve the vivid green cufflinks and it wasn't until he was preparing to secure Sir Richards left cuff that he realised that the design of the cufflinks was that of two gold claws clutching the egg shaped stones, as though they were being stolen by a bird. He found them rather unpleasant to look at but said nothing as he got to work, securing Sir Richards cuffs in no time at all.

"Is it suitable for a valet to wear gloves such as those?"

"I am permitted to do so, Sir Richard," Thomas explained, his voice somewhat tighter than was appropriate for a member of the household staff, as he helped the taller man to slip into his equally crisp white waistcoat which had been abandoned on the bed until then. "My hands were badly burned during the Battle of Jutland and the scars are rather unpleasant."

"And the family still hired you?"

"Mr Crawley hired me himself, sir," he responded, his even more clipped than it had been before as he forced himself to get to work tying Sir Richards bow tie. "We served aboard HMS Warrior together. I received my injuries whilst helping to free him from beneath The piece of wreckage that damaged his spine. He offered me my position by way of thanks."

"Ah, I see," Sir Richard murmured, turning to admire himself in the rooms mirror even as Thomas fetched his shoes and knelt to slip them onto his feet, tying the laces. "Very nice."

What an unpleasant man, Thomas couldn't help but think to himself as he rose to his feet.

He wouldn't be surprised to learn that the newspaper owner had managed to avoid being conscripted somehow and had spent his war making money off of the suffering of others.

What did Lady Mary see in him?

"Will that be all, sir?"

Carlisle dismissed him with a wave of his hand, still focused on his own reflection, and it was a good thing Thomas could turn his back to him or else he might have seen the scowl that such an action brought out on the valets face. He wouldn't have stood for that when he was only a footman let alone now that he was the personal valet to the future Earl of Grantham.

He had just stepped out of the room when he heard Sir Richard call out suddenly, halting his motions as he went to pull the door shut behind him, only it wasn't his name that he heard,

"Anna?"

The young ladies maid who had been walking past the guest bedroom looked equally as perplexed as Thomas to why Sir Richard was calling out for her, even more so when Thomas was forced to step aside so that the gentleman in question could step out of his bedroom.

"It is Anna, isn't it?"

A quick glance at Thomas, her confusion evident, pre-empted her polite response,

"Yes, sir."

"I want to ask a favour of you."

Thomas did not like the sound of that.

Not at all.

Evidently neither did Anna.

"Of me, Sir Richard?"

"Yes, you. I was hoping to catch you at some point," he confirmed with a rather unnerving smile, gesturing towards his room. "I wonder if you could step into my room for a moment."

Anna hesitated, understandably so, and met Thomas' concerned gaze before ducking her head and slipping into the room, glancing back wards Thomas once more as the door shut.

Thomas stared at the door for a long moment before moving forwards to press his ear against the wood, determined to be there for Anna should he try anything untoward.

"You attend Lady Mary and her sisters, don't you? In addition to your other duties."

"I do, sir, yes."

"You must be kept very busy. I hope it's worth your while."

Thomas' opinion of the man dropped even further when Sir Richard went on to say,

"Because I would be very willing to increase your stipend."

Something about the way the offer was phrased didn't sit well with him.

"If this is about coming with Lady Mary when you marry, it's very good of you, sir," Anna responded softly. "But you see, my fiancé, Mr Bates, works here and I don't think that I…"

Thomas didn't have time to process the fact that Mr Bates and Anna were apparently engaged without any of them knowing a thing about it due to Carlisle interrupting her,

"No, it's…it's not that. Although, it's a pity. Lady Mary's very fond of you."

"That's kind."

"You see, I'm anxious to make Lady Mary happy."

An unpleasant shiver ran down Thomas' spine.

"Of course you are, sir."

"And to that end, I feel I need to know a great deal more about her than I do," Sir Richard continued, seemingly unaware of the fact that Anna's voice had taken on a disapproving tone in response to what he was suggesting. "Our customs are so strange in this country. A couple is hardly allowed a moment alone together before they walk down the aisle."

"I'm not sure I understand, sir."

"I'd like to know more about her interests."

That wasn't overly bad, Thomas supposed…

"Where she goes, whom she sees, what she says to them."

Thomas couldn't help but rear back in disgust.

To propose such a thing…

He almost forgot that he would hear a thing without his ear pressed to the wood.

As it was he almost missed Anna's response,

"…use me, sir, do you mean you want me to give you a report of Lady Mary's actions?"

"It'll be extra work, but I'm happy to pay."

"I'm sure."

Thomas didn't think he'd ever heard Anna sound so disgusted before.

And quite rightly so…

"But I'm afraid I wouldn't have the time. Thank you, sir."

"Well, it's your choice, of course. I'd be grateful if you didn't mention this to Lady Mary."

Thomas snorted.

"I wouldn't want her to think I was checking up on her."

Hearing footsteps he had just enough time to duck around the corner so that Sir Richard wouldn't catch sight of him as Anna all but stormed out of the room, her face twisted in disgust. She let out a yelp upon seeing him but silenced herself quickly when he placed a finger to his lips, nodding towards the still open door of the bedroom. They waited, both of them all but holding their breath so he wouldn't notice them, until the bedroom door shut.

"Did you…?"

"I heard," Thomas informed her calmly, both of them keeping their voices low. "I didn't like the idea of you bring alone with him. He could have done anything. And to ask you to spy…"

"I wish I could say I'm surprised but I'm not," Anna muttered, shaking her head before setting out towards the servants stairs. Thomas easily kept pace with her. "He's always struck me as a bit too controlling, a bit too insistent on always being the one in charge."

"Lady Mary won't like that…"

"No, she won't," Anna agreed, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "And that's what worries me. I hate the idea of not going with her after they're married but I can't leave…"

"Mr Bates. Your fiancé."

He wasn't surprised when the colour drained out of her face.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to," he reassured her with a smile, his words obviously easing the worry that had just overtaken her. "I assume you not wanting anyone to know has more to do with everything that happened with his first wife and not…"

"Yes," she hurriedly agreed, cutting him off. "Some people might think it'd too soon."

"Quite," Thomas agreed. "Are you going to tell Lady Mary about this?"

"I don't know if I should."

"Perhaps you should start by informing Mr Carson? He'll know what to do."

Anna blinked up at him for a moment before nodding.

"Would you…would you come with me?"

"Of course."

They had to wait until after dinner, both the families and the servants, as there was simply too much for the, to do. It was as he was taking a five minute break that he noticed Lady Sybil, of all people, sneaking out to the garage. Curiosity peaked he couldn't help but watch as she she, in her evening gown, met and talked with Branson, covered in various motor oils.

"Well, well, well…"

He almost dropped his cigarette when he spotted Sybil reach out to touch his face.

Now, wouldn't that put the can amongst the pigeons if her family found out?

Friends with the chauffeur?

More that friends with the chauffeur?

This was the juicy piece of gossip he would have once used to blackmail Branson or would have shared with Miss O'Brien to use in some scheme. As it was he decided to keep their illicit rendezvous to himself for the time being, to wait and see what happened in the future.

"Mr Barrow," Anna greeted him as he returned to the servant's hall. "Are you busy?"

"No, I'm not busy," he responded warmly, glancing towards Mrs Hughes' sitting room where the Butler and Housekeeper had retired after dinner. She nodded. Beside her Mr Bates wore an expression of barely concealed anger so Thomas assumed Anna had told him everything, as was her nature, and his opinion of Carlisle was the same as theirs. "Shall we then, Anna?"

Anna rose from her seat, discretely giving Mr Bates' hand a squeeze as she used the table to push herself up, and allowed Thomas to escort her to Mrs Hughes' sitting room. As they approached the cosy room they could hear their superiors muffled voice through the door,

"I wish I could understand," Mrs Hughes was saying, regret filling her lilting voice as she continued. "To me, Lady Mary is an upity minx who's the author of her own misfortunes."

"You didn't know her when she was a child, Mrs Hughes."

"We should wait," Anna suggested. "I wouldn't want to interrupt their conversation."

"I remember once she came in here, can't have been more than four or five years old, she said, Mr Carson, I've decided to run away and I wonder if I might take some of the silver to sell," Mr Carson announced, his deep voice rumbling as he shared his fond memory. It took Thomas by surprise, both the story and the tone of his voice. He nodded his agreement to Anna; it wouldn't do to interrupt them just then. Mrs Hughes bright chuckle brought a smile to his face. He'd always been fond of the housekeeper, ever since she had been kind to him on his arrival as a young second footman, and his opinion had only grown as the years past. "Well, I said, that could be awkward for His Lordship. I suppose I'll give you a sixpence to spend in the village instead. Very well, said she, but you must be sure to charge me interest."

"And did you?"

"She gave me a kiss in full payment."

"Then she had the better bargain."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Perhaps now would be a good moment to interrupt," Anna murmured, reaching out to knock on the door when Thomas murmured his agreement. It took only a moment for a voice to call out for them to enter. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I'm afraid we need a word."

"Mr Barrow? Anna?" Mrs Hughes murmured. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not wrong, but certainly worrying," Anna explained as Thomas shut the door behind them so as to give them as much privacy as possible. "I've had a request from Sir Richard that you really ought to know about; before dinner he asked me to join him in his room so that…"

"He asked you to what?"

Mr Carson looked almost as though he was about to explode, his mind having come to a much more sinister conclusion than was the truth. With that in mind Thomas spoke up,

"I had just finished dressing Sir Richard when he made his request and, concerned about Anna being alone with him in his room, I made the decision to listen at the door so that I would be able to interrupt if something were to happen. As it was he only wished to talk."

"Thank you, Mr Barrow," Carson murmured, his anger deflating temporarily. "You did the right thing. No male guest should ever order one of the female staff into his bedroom…"

"What did he want to talk to you about, Anna?"

"He wanted me to spy on Lady Mary for him," Anna answered Mrs Hughes question simply, her words obviously shocking both of their superiors. "To report what she did, who she saw, what they talked about. I refused, of course, but Thomas agreed that you should be made aware. You see, I'm not sure what, if anything, I should tell Lady Mary about the request…"

"…and you heard him make this request, Mr Barrow?"

"I did, Mr Carson," Thomas confirmed. "It left me feeling very uneasy."

"As such a request should."

Mrs Hughes nodded to show her agreement with the butlers statement.

"I would expect any loyal member of staff to behave just as you have done, Anna," Mr Carson continued, nodding to the young woman who offered him a bashful smile. "Now regarding the matter of whether or not to inform Lady Mary. I believe she has a right to know what occurred this evening however I think it best that I be the one to speak to her."

It was agreed, Anna looking visibly relieved that the decision was no longer hers.

Thomas returned to his duties for the evening, cleaning the shoes that Matthew would be wearing the following day until word reached him that his employer was ready to head up to bed. Meeting him at the foot of the stairs they went through the routine of getting first Matthew and then his chair up to the first floor, Lavinia having gone to bed almost an hour earlier meaning that she wasn't around help out this time, and then once they were finally in Matthews room the two of them went through the reverse of the morning routine to get him stripped, washed and into his pyjamas. Once he was changed Thomas braced the chair so that Matthew could lift himself out and all but fling himself onto the bed, pulling himself around until he was suitably tucked under the covers that Thomas had pulled down earlier.

"Barrow, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, sir. Anything."

"If I started to feel a…a tingling in my legs, what do you think that might mean?"

Of all the things that he had been expecting Matthew to ask this hadn't been one of them.

Could that mean…?

"Have you told Dr Clarkson?"

"Yes," Matthew sighed deeply, annoyance flooding onto his face. "He says it's an illusion."

An illusion?

What sort of a Doctor dismisses his patients concerns so casually?

"A memory of a tingling, or something," Matthew continued. "But, I mean, I do know my back is broken, I understand that I won't recover, but…I do keep feeling it, or I think I do."

"I should wait and see," Thomas answered at length, his hands automatically gathering up Matthews dirty clothes. "I think if something is changing, it will make itself known. Now, will that be all, sir? Or would you like me to fetch you anything before I turn in for the night?"

"No, that's all, thank you."

He hesitated, clearly uncertain about something.

"Sir, are you sure…?"

"…please don't tell anyone about this, Barrow," Matthew blurted out, gesturing towards his legs. "I couldn't bear it if…Miss Swire or…Mother or…or anyone started to hope and then..."

"I won't say a thing," Thomas reassured him. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Barrow."

A/N Apologies for how long this took to get out – have been suffering with a nasty bout of writers block on all of my stories but I think I'm finally past it. As you might have noticed we're getting into the original storyline but there are a few twists to come. Some things will stay the same; others are going to change quite dramatically. Comments welcome. Marblez