Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Thirty-six: Mutual Prodigality

Thomas spent the afternoon into evening catching up on chores he'd missed entirely the day before, on top of Mister Carson's usual Sunday lists. Even if he needed Mrs O'Brien to think otherwise, he was quite relieved to have everyone in the house resolved regarding the Guy Fawkes spectre, thanks to Mrs Crawley's luncheon announcement about the jesting runaway. But hosting the Crawleys for luncheon, and then the Dowager Countess plus Doctor Clarkson for dinner, had only added to the day's remaining pace and preoccupations.

Lady Edith and Mrs Crawley had both thanked him again in private for all his assistance, the latter reminding him them should act swiftly on Ian's London offer. And the Dowager Countess had obviously heard through her own means, and revived the castigations of the orphan for being one, the gentleman for letting his charity get the better of him, the police for letting it all get the better of them, and, ironically as she dwelt on it, the family 'round the table for showing any interest in such tawdry affairs.

And, on top of all that, despite the shared 'truth' and amidst the day's tasks, Thomas kept thinking he saw figures or eye-corner movements. Through the window. Up the stairs. Across the room. All the correct height, build, coloring and unrealness to appear as someone they couldn't be. So, he'd either fallen prey to his own worst version story about the runover runaway; or perhaps, Ian had returned, and was trying to make himself known. Or more realistically, Thomas was just that frantically eager to seek and find him, and his imagination only too impatient as to happily provide.

With all his actual engagements attended to, and everyone else finally turning in, he finally slipped out of the house, and stumbled his way to the hideaway through the dark, cloudy night.

On arriving, he found that the key was still unmoved from where he and Ian had hidden it weeks before; and he returned it there again after letting himself in. There was no fire, and so no light, as he entered the upstairs bedroom they'd shared; but from memory, he made his way to the hearth and lit some old newspaper he'd brought as kindling. As the firelight crept out into the small space, a quick glance showed the bedding and furniture unmoved since he'd left that morning. No hint of Ian, or other spirit's, return; no hope for the reconciliation he so desperately wanted.

Until a sneeze echoed from the far corner, beyond the desk under the covered window.

Thomas whirled on the sound, holding the fire iron out before him, breathless.

"I came back," a low voice chattered.

"Ian!" Thomas exclaimed, dropping the weapon and rushing to pull the shivering young man into the warmth and light.

Cold and stiff, perhaps due to the cold, Ian let the grinning, gushing man look him over for harm, settle him before the fire, drape a blanket and arm around him, and take his good hand. "I left a note," Thomas tilted his head toward the desk. It began Dear Wink, lest someone else find and understand, and continued simply, I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please stay. I'll check daily at our regular time. -Angel

"Couldn't read it," Ian reminded. Not due to lack of light in the shuttered room; but because it didn't contain any of the few words he could recognize, like his proper name. "But guessed you'd asked me to not to leave..."

Thomas nodded happily that he'd been understood in the end, even while realizing the extent of Ian's early "not good with letters" admission, and worrying the assumption would now come across as yet another mistake in understanding and supporting him. "I know why you left, in Manchester. I understand what I did, what it looked like," Thomas began confessing his sins instantly. Dug into your past against your wishes. Believed your defiler, and doubted you. Appeared to lead his lackey directly to you. Failed to trust, or listen, or be fully honest, and thus be worthy of your affections… "And I can't do more than say how sorry I am I hurt you, and let you get hurt."

Ian nodded silently at the unsaid list, and at the clearly pained apology. But he said nothing; he didn't return Thomas' grasp or gentle caress. He'd noted Thomas' still puffy lower lip, but didn't mention or return his gaze to it.

"Why'd you come back?" Thomas had to know, hoping his curiosity wouldn't come across as a challenge to or disagreement with the decision.

"Lots of reasons," Ian summarized, before quickly shifting his focus. "But first, I want you to know that I could have gone and never come back. I could have taken the food and shelter, the clothes and medicine, the pocketful of money and my freedom, and never looked back. Just like I could have could've any other time, or knicked any number of fancy things from your room, that house, this place or the Lady's.

"And I did think about doing all that, I did; yesterday and all day today. I may not know much else; but I knew I was dead to most, had me rail ticket, a doctor's note with a new name on it, and some good names I could use in London or wherever. I'm clever, I can draw, and have looks enough I 'spose; and I expect all that, with a bum arm, that's enough to busk or beg, at least to start..."

Ian glowed with an angry confidence Thomas hadn't seen since he nearly launched into Willy at the pub, or first enchanted Mrs Crawley at her home, the prior weekend. Working hard not to smile at that becoming strength, he focused instead on the truth it underlay. Ian could have done any of those things, and done them well and easily, at most any time across the past fortnight, never mind the past twenty-four hours; but for some reason, he hadn't. "I've no doubt," he said simply. "So, why didn't you?"

"'Cause leavin' would only make me look guilty, of whatever he told you I was doin'. And," Ian paused and looked up with his first soft expression of their reunion, "all I had that I cared about, was here; is you…"

Thomas sobbed through his largest smile all day, nodding that that truth was shared between them.

"But," Ian interrupted the teary attempt at an embrace, "I need to know why you even considered believin' him."

This chilled Thomas' heart, realizing Ian had a right to be curious, and the truth could be costly. But he couldn't think of an untruth that made sense, and didn't want to risk not trusting Ian again. After his own behaviour yesterday, he owed Ian honesty, however ugly. So, he took a deep breath, and dropped his head in sharing his shame. "Because what he was suggestin' you were up to, it's the kind of thing I might do myself, that I have done. Charmed people; used them; served myself without much thought about others." Thomas couldn't face him, beginning to worry that Ian might regret his choice to return, might regret his care, if he knew what kind of person others knew his love to be. "I am so much less than the man you know. Even before yesterday, I have not deserved you. And I'm sorry…"

Ian tutted, kissed his forehead, and lifted his chin for a proper kiss. "I couldn't be happier with who you are when it's just us. And as with our tales to Mrs Crawley and more, I'm sure you've good reasons for your other choices. Just no more such business between us; promise?"

Forgiven, relieved and faith renewed, Thomas sighed, kissed the good hand he held, and counted his blond blessings once again.

Stroking the happy hand, Ian offered, "And so, I owe you an apology too."

"What? Whatever for?"

"As much I care about you, I hated you that much more over this past night…" Blushing with shame, Ian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out evidence of his own crisis of faith. Haltingly, he displayed the only handy target of his Saturday displeasure: the original, pocket-sized sketch of Thomas, torn in ragged halves.

"I will never chide your passions, love," Thomas laughed and cried. "Sometimes anger's all we've got to get us through; and I'm sorry I earned it from you. But now we have each other again, and that's worth so much more."

Dark eyes gleamed at that last mutual repair; and the good hand pulled smiling faces together.

Warm and breathless for good cause, Thomas eventually leaned away, remembering his caretaking duties suddenly. "I'd completely forgotten to ask, Are you hungry? I brought a sandwich, and can put on some tea…"

Ian nodded to the question and for the proffered wrapped entree.

"Where did you go last night?" Thomas asked out of curiosity and concern, as he hung the kettle and scrambled to pull some tea from the provisions crate, noting it needed a refilling soon.

"At first, I just ran, just wanted to be away," Ian chewed and recounted. "But afore long, it was just dark and cold and unfamiliar. And while I was eatin' the whole extra pastry I had tucked in me sling for you, I realized I was alone in a city I didn't know or want to be in; and me best options were anywhere else. So," he continued, as Thomas sat down behind and around him to wait for the kettle, "I used me ticket to get to York, and slept in a rail car they'd locked poorly 'til I could pick a place to head today. Come morning, it was colder still, and I was cooler too. And, while eatin' a tea and scone from the counter there, I decided what I already told ya: I couldn't let ole Greenhalgh win. And more, I wanted to be here, with you."

Thomas kissed the honest head leaned against him. "And did you mean for me to see you this morning along the road, as we returned from church?"

"I hadn't thought about it, really. I wanted to see you, to see how that felt."

"And? How did it feel?" Thomas hoped.

"I'm here, aren't I…?" Ian grinned and reached into his pocket, as Thomas saw to the kettle before its whistling could give them away. "And, I have this," Ian laid out a handful of coins on the floor: the remainder of what Thomas had given him the day before. Without knowing it, and having nothing of his own, he was making a point to return the bulk of what little cash Thomas had had in the world.

Thomas paused in pouring their tea, yet again taken aback at the simple gestures this man made to make himself more loveable. And while appreciated and adorable, he recalled that Ian didn't know that this small largesse was no longer as financially needed as it would have been the morning before.

Grabbing his coat and retaking his seat with Ian, he stroked the fuzzy head and stole another kiss. "What I also didn't have the chance to explain yesterday," he shared in return, reaching into the deep pockets, "before we were interrupted, is what I also got from the old man I visited, as a 'farewell present' we'll call it."

With a wickedly warm smile, he set out Ian's dropped hat, and began filling it with stacks of currency bills.

"What's all that then?" Ian gaped, never having imagined there could actually be that much money in one place, much less in his presence.

"Our future," Thomas promised.

tbc... Not everything's settled yet!