Chapter 14

In which Thomas wakes up, finding himself in hospital.

"Shit."

Jimmy winced at the sunlight as he opened his eyes, rubbing at his pounding forehead. He stretched out in the comfy bed – much comfier than usual – freezing as his arm hit something warm and solid.

Turning his head slowly, dreading what he knew he was going to see, his gaze was dragged to Edith's sleeping form.

"Shit."

He sat up quickly, groaning as his head took a few seconds to catch up with the rest of his body. How could he have been so stupid? Just – Edith? Really?

The hangover.

Oh, yeah. The number of shots they'd each done after their first few pints might have had something to do with it.

"Mmhmm."

Jimmy determinedly stayed staring straight ahead as Edith stirred, desperate not to have to talk to her. There was a long silence. He felt the mattress shift slightly as she sat up, still resolutely not turning around.

"Bloody hell, Jimmy."

"That, er," he stammered, "That just about sums it up."

He still didn't turn as she pulled a blanket around herself, getting out of bed and grabbing her clothes which were strewn all over the floor.

"Where's the bathroom?" She asked quietly.

"Next door."

"Thank you."

As soon as she'd left the room, neither of them looking at each other, Jimmy picked up his own clothes and threw them on, not caring that they were from yesterday and smelt of sweat and spilt beer. Sitting on the edge of Matthew's bed he put his head in his hands, frantically trying to work out what had happened.

He remembered that Matthew had gone, that he was in Manchester, that his mother was seriously ill. He remembered going to the bathroom after Matthew and Mary had left, coming out to see –

To see Thomas, sitting and drinking and laughing with someone else.

Shit.

"Hello?"

He jumped up as Edith leaned around the door, looking sheepish and still not meeting his eyes.

"Er – hi."

"I should – I should go," She said. "I mean, we're going back to Cambridge soon."

"Good. I mean - "

"It's fine. I know what you mean."

There was a stiff silence between them, neither of them daring to acknowledge anything more than was absolutely necessary.

"I'll – I'll be going, then," said Edith. "I, um, hope that things work out. With you."

She was gone before Jimmy could work out what she'd meant.

Absentmindedly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the messages using the last dregs of the previous day's battery.

28 missed calls

9 messages

1 voicemail

Heart pounding, he opened the messages, his fingers trembling. What had happened? Was it Matthew? Had… had something happened to his mother?

28 missed calls from Mary Grantham

Why… why was Mary so desperate to get into contact with him? They'd never been particularly close, only knowing each other through Matthew and Thomas; what on earth could have happened that she'd be this determined to get in touch?

He opened the messages.

Mary: Jimmy, answer your bloody phone!

Mary: Where the hell are you?

Mary: Please ring me back, please, please

Mary: I need your help, you've got to pick up

Mary: This isn't funny, Jimmy

Mary: If you're still in the pub, I swear you'll regret it

Mary: Seriously, what is wrong with you?! This is URGENT!

Mary: Please. Please pick up. Please.

Mary: Just ring me when you can. Please.

He felt like he was going to throw up – and not from the hangover. This was serious; this was really, really bad. Heart in his mouth, he played the voicemail.

"Jimmy, it's me, it's Mary. I don't know where the hell you are but just… ring me back as soon as you can, please? Mrs Crawley is okay, I mean, she's not great, but Matthew's with her and she – she's not as – not as bad as we thought she might be. It's Thomas, Jimmy, something's happened, the college rang his father, and he rang me, I'm just about to drive us back down to Oxford – thank goodness I was up north – but he, he's in the hospital, I don't know what happened but it's bad, just go and see him or something. Please? I – okay. Bye."

Shit.

Everything was… odd.

He couldn't work out where he was; this wasn't his bed, he knew that, and the lights were much brighter than the thin cracks that trickle through the gaps in his curtains. As soon as he was awake enough to think, he ached; even breathing took an inordinate amount of effort, his head pounding, every inch of his skin tender where it touched the stiff bedsheets.

"Thomas? Thomas, are you – can you hear me? Please wake up, please! Thomas?"

He forced his eyes open, gasping in pain as the light increased the ache in his head tenfold. He tried to turn his head to where the voice was coming from, wincing at the pain in his neck and settling for just flitting his eyes around, trying to work out his surroundings. The room he was in was bright white and unfamiliar, and there was a chair by his bed where –

Where Edward was sitting.

"…Edward?" Thomas croaked, his voice dry.

Edward gasped as Thomas spoke, pulling his chair closer to the bed and going to take Thomas' hand before thinking better of it. "How are you – I mean, you – here, have some water, you'll need it…"

After a few seconds of the sound of things being knocked around Thomas realised that Edward didn't have his glasses on, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He tried to reach for the jug himself but as soon as he lifted his arm pain shot across shoulder.

"Here," Edward said, panicked, when he finally managed to pour a glass of water, splashing the table his hands were shaking so much. "I think there's a – yes, here, there's a straw, this will – this will help – and I'll, I'll call the nurse, where's the damn button - "

If Thomas hadn't been in so much pain and if his head hadn't still been trying to work out what was going on, he would have been mortified at the situation; here he was, struggling to move while a guy he'd been on one date with held a glass of water for him.

"Are you - " Edward stammered as he put the glass of water down. "How are you feeling? I know that's – that's a stupid question, really."

"Am I in hospital?" Thomas answered in response, still trying to get his bearings in the room.

Edward reached for his glasses, putting them back on. "Yeah, you…" He swallowed awkwardly. "You're in the hospital, do you – do you remember what happened?"

Before Thomas could respond the door opened as the nurse came in. "Good morning, Mr Barrow," she said as she checked the clipboard at the end of his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything – my – everything – hurts," Thomas said, still trying to figure out his surroundings. "What, what happened?"

"Here, let's sit you up," the nurse said, adjusting his bed so he was sitting up slightly. "How much do you remember, Mr Barrow?"

"We - " He glanced at Edward. "We were at a bar, we were chatting and we - " He threw Edward a look that told him that he remembered the flirting but did not want to tell the nurse about it. "I, I walked you home. That's all I remember."

"Okay, Mr Barrow," the nurse said sympathetically. "The doctor will be here in a moment, he'll be able to go through everything with you. Now, are you comfortable? In much pain?"

Thomas gave a small nod.

"Can he get anything for that?" Edward asked quickly, concerned. "Surely you have morphine or something?"

"Not to worry," the nurse smiled. "We've already got the machine right here; you can use this control right here to decide your own dosage. You're on the lowest setting right now, but you can set it to whatever you want."

Groaning in appreciation, Thomas reached for the controls and turned them up as the doctor came in.

"Hello Mr Barrow, I'm Doctor Clarkson," he said, taking the clipboard from the nurse. "I see you've gone through your morphine dosage… have you had some water?"

"Yes, yes he has," Edward said quickly. "And – and he's not sure - "

"It's okay, Edward," said Thomas weakly. "I – I'm not sure what, what happened. I can't remember."

"Well, that's not unexpected," said Dr Clarkson. "You took a serious blow to the head, so it's not surprising that you can't remember the events leading up to it. How long is your memory blank for?"

"I can remember us walking home," Thomas said, confused. "It was… I think it was just after midnight, what… what happened? I don't – I can't - "

"Mr Barrow, you were found in the early hours of this morning," Dr Clarkson said, clearly sympathetic. "You were unconscious, it appears that you've been attacked." He looked back down at his notes. "From what we were able to diagnose so far, you appear to have a dislocated shoulder, three fractured ribs, and I suspect some internal bleeding. I would also say that a concussion is likely, given that you have trouble remembering and you hit your head hard enough to bleed; we've given you ten stitches along your hairline. There are multiple other cuts and bruises that we've patched up, so they will be uncomfortable for a while as you recover. We're going to have to keep you in here for a least a few days until you're up on your feet, perhaps longer." He scrawled something down at the end of the notes. "Any questions?"

Still confused, Thomas stammered out, "I… I'm not sure I understand, I can't - "

"Maybe…" started Edward. "Maybe I should explain? That might be, might be easier."

"Okay, then," said Dr Clarkson. "Right, I see you're all set with your morphine, and you've got some water. It won't be long until lunchtime now, and if you need anything else? Just press the button to call the nurse."

"Thank you," Edward said, realising that Thomas was still completely overwhelmed. He waited until the doctor and nurse had left before speaking again, turning to face Thomas. "Do you… how much do you remember about when we, er, when we walked home?"

"We… I remember that we were walking down the high street, but nothing after that."

"Well," Edward cleared his throat. "We got to St Hilda's – the college that I'm at – and we…"

He trailed off, blushing lightly.

"What?" Thomas looked at him blearily.

"We talked for a bit, you know, and you said that you, you weren't out and you didn't want me to have to hide for you and I told you that you were being absolutely ridiculous and that didn't matter and why don't we just go on a second date and you said okay and then - " He paused, catching his breath, before looking down, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, mumbling, "And then we kissed."

"We… we did?"

Edward nodded.

"Edward, I'm sorry, I - "

"What for?" Edward said forcefully. "You don't have to apologise, it was, it was nice, and you're a really wonderful guy, and - "

"No," Thomas whispered. "I'm sorry I don't remember it." He turned his hand over so it was facing upwards, reaching towards Edward who instantly understood the silent motion, slipping his hand into Thomas'.

"And, and then," Edward continued, clearing his throat, "And then, I wrote my phone number down for you and you put it into your pocket before you walked back to Downton. And somewhere along the way… somewhere along the way, some people – some despicable, awful people – beat you up. And, um, you were found, a couple of hours later. They called an ambulance, and the doctor's found my number in your pocket so they rang me, and I told them which college you went to so the college gave them your dad's number and your dad's driving down now, with Mary."

Thomas shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of the muddled information in his mind. "So, so my dad's coming down, he shouldn't be coming, he has to run the shop, and – and they don't know who did it? Or, or what happened? And we… we kissed?" He tried to sit up, wincing, as he looked around for something. "You said in my pockets, where, where are my things?"

"In this cabinet here, look," said Edward, trying to calm Thomas down. "You're safe now, they're going to look after you here, I promise."

"And you'll stay?"

Edward smiled. "Yes; I'll stay."

For a brief second Thomas returned the smile, before his gaze fell on their joined hands, his face falling. "What am I – what am I wearing, why do I, why is this, what is this?"

"It's a hospital gown, you have to - "

"No!" Thomas shouted, breathing heavily. "I, I can't, I can't let you… you can't…" He snatched back his hand, crossing both arms close to his chest.

When he would look back, later, when he was less confused about what was going on, less panicked and worried, he would realise that Edward had known exactly what he'd meant, had known exactly how to deal with it, but all he felt at that time was relief when Edward reached inside the cabinet. "Here, your jumper's here – how about you wear that? Over the gown, I mean? And when Mary gets here we'll try and get you some pyjamas."

"Thank you," Thomas whispered, taking the jumper from Edward and tugging it over his head.

"You don't need to thank me," Edward said quietly. "This – this is all my fault, if it hadn't been for me this would never have happened."

Thomas looked incredulous. "What do you mean?"

"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have been walking back late in the first place, and besides, I – I should have called a taxi for you or something, it wasn't safe, I shouldn't have let you go back on your own!"

"Edward, listen to me. This was not your fault. Whatever – whatever happened, it's not your fault, it's their fault. I promise."

"You… you do?" Edward said in a small voice.

"Yeah," said Thomas. "I'm just… I'm sorry that you have to sit here with me, you don't have to stay, really." It was clear that already the fog was starting to clear from his brain, rational thought slowly returning.

Edward shrugged. "I… I want to stay, Thomas. Really." He put his hand on the bed next to Thomas, who took it. "I really, really like you, Thomas. And I know that this is a terrible place to do this, but I don't want to let you go; not just yet. If that's okay with you, of course."

Thomas only nodded sleepily, a small smile gracing his face. The morphine was clearly beginning to do its job.

"Well, okay then," said Edward. "I think you should, er, get some sleep. You need all the rest you can get."

"Okay," Thomas agreed. "But first – Edward, can you… can you kiss me? Only I can't remember the first one, and I just - "

He was interrupted as Edward leant forwards, swiftly and chastely kissing him. "Was that… okay?"

"It was wonderful," Thomas said, his smile widening as he sank back into his pillow, his eyelids drooping. "I'm – I'm sorry, I'm just sleepy - "

"I'll be here when you wake up," Edward whispered. He watched as Thomas' eyes closed, his dark eyelashes standing out on the pale skin of one cheek and the bruised purple of the other. Thomas was just drifting off when –

BANG.

The door flew open.

"Thomas? Thomas, are you okay? THOMAS?!"

It was Jimmy.