Note: This chapter was originally supposed to be longer but there was simply no way of me finishing it before Saturday evening like I usually do. Therefore, I split it into two and the next half will be posted as the next chapter and uploaded next weekend. As a result this chapter is pretty much 100% Chris focused.

Warnings also for violence, abuse and homophobia. Things get quite intense.

Chris stood outside one of York's many banks leaning up against a wall as he lit up a cigarette. He had just deposited the takings from the shop for a month and since he was technically originally hired by Richard to manage the figures, this was something that Richard usually left to him. He didn't mind. It was an opportunity to visit somewhere a bit more vibrant than Downton. His whole life up until recently had been spent in the city. He liked the life he had now, it was a huge improvement on how things were for him, but sometimes he missed all that a city could offer. He generally liked being around people, perhaps it was because he felt less alone, or maybe it was easier to hide in plain sight. People tended to mind their own business more here, but Downton, like many rural villages, can have the tendency for gossip. Any that surrounded his rather sudden appearance in the village almost a year ago has faded now. He has been living there long enough for people not to question him too much and any story about him people might like to conjure up would be old news by now and not worth the effort to gossip about.

It was mid-afternoon and he had a few hours to spare before his train back to Downton later that afternoon. York was a place with mixed memories for him. He had enjoyed many good times here, known people he'd like to have known more. He remembered further back to when he was a child and would play out on the streets with his friends or siblings, or when he'd go to the market with his sisters or mother. His early childhood had happy memories, it was just when he approached adolescence where things got complicated and the memories grew less fond. He had blanked most of them out of his mind, but the day he left home was vivid still. Left home was a polite way of saying that he was kicked out. He had been caught, not by anyone from his family but by a neighbour. He had just turned sixteen, and was 'celebrating' with a friend of his behind an old cotton mill warehouse. By this time things were uncomfortable between him and his parents and older siblings. The two that were younger than him were still too young to understand what was 'wrong' with their older brother. But the report from their neighbour sent things spiraling out of control. The neighbour didn't go to the police, probably hoping it was something that could be sorted out quietly. In short, after a huge argument between himself and his parents, he was told in no polite terms that he was no son of theirs and that unless he got out of their lives they would turn him in. Right before he left, his father said that 'he always knew that you would amount to nothing'. It was that last sentence from the man he had looked up too when he was younger that made him more determined than ever to find his own way and make something of himself. He was smart, he had done well at school, and so it didn't take long for him to find himself an apprenticeship at a shop on the other side of the city of course so people wouldn't know him or his family. He had worked his way up from that and despite the war and him finding he had no job to go back to after, he had built himself up again and found himself some stability in this cruel world. He did however miss out on someone to share it all with. He was still searching for that.

Chris finished his cigarette and decided that he would kill some time in a pub, one he hadn't been too before so no one would recognise him. He had many to choose from. York had a lot of pubs. He walked for a bit, his leg was not feeling the best today, but that was nothing new. He usually just told any pain to sod off and if that didn't work then he'd ignore it, unless it became too bad to ignore. It would help him though if he cut his journey short so he drew away from the main streets and cut through a few side streets and alleys that he knew the way through. Not somewhere that would be advisable to walk during the evening or at night, but it was sunny and perfectly light so the risk of being set upon was minimal.

Perhaps this put him so at ease that he didn't hear them coming, or maybe almost a year of living in the relative safety of Downton had caused his instincts to go soft. He only realised they were behind him when they were close enough to almost feel their breath on the back of his neck. Instincts kicked in eventually and he swung around quickly and punched one man clean in the face, knocking him back a few paces as he was caught off guard. Perhaps if it were just the one of them, then that would have been that, but unfortunately his quick reaction was not the best reaction after all, as there were three of them in fact. The man who Chris punched, and who would by now most likely be feeling the pain in his nose, swore and shoved Chris back into a brick wall before he even had a chance to think as to what his best options were. He needed to know the men's reason for attacking him. Were they thieves? Men who were too drunk to know what they were doing? Or was he about to meet his end by the hands of plain old killers? The answer became apparent when the man who Chris punched, a short but stocky man who appeared to be in charge in the little gang, walked slowly up to Chris, an evil expression on his face, one that conveyed he knew that Chris had no chance to escape them now. Chris had a throbbing pain in the back of his head where it had hit the wall as they pushed him backwards. He was somehow still standing, which was a miracle considering his leg and the current situation. It was not the first time Chris had been in this situation, he had been here before in prison as well as out of it after. The world was full of cruel people. He looked the smaller man in the eye. He did not want to appear weak. Vulnerable. So he put on a brave face, despite the fear inside him, and spoke first. "What can I do for you three gentlemen?," he asked, plastering a charming smile on his face as he spoke. The other two men, who were taller than their leader looked at each other. Perhaps they are more used to the begging or groveling sort of victim, he thought. I won't give them the satisfaction. Their leader though didn't react.

"Hmm, we've got one here that thinks he's smart," he sneered. He stepped closer to Chris not breaking eye contact. Chris was beginning to think that perhaps these three are all bark and no bite. That was until he heard the familiar click of a switchblade in the man's hand. Not good. I've pissed them off. They're armed and I'm not. "Hold him back," the leader said. Chris was no longer able to keep his mask of a smile on his face as the other two pushed him firmly back against the wall, holding his arms back. Chris was breathing rapidly. He couldn't go like this, not at the hands of men like this, and most certainly not without a fight. He didn't want to go at all. Things had finally got good for him and he couldn't let that go. He also had to see him again. He then felt angry. This wasn't fair. He was only here to go to the bank. He struggled in the firm grip of the men holding him back, and managed to use his elbow to hit one of the men in the stomach. The man, a tall balding who looked like he belonged on the inside of a prison not out in the world, let go of his arm as he gasped in pain. But Chris was no more free as the man with the knife then kicked him in the leg, his bad one. Chris cried out in pain and he was captured again and once more at their mercy. Chris was gasping for air now as the pain took over and he felt weak. "We can make this easier for all of us," the leader said holding the blade at Chris's throat. Chris was aware that if either of them moved then that would be the end of him. Chris stayed rigid. "We saw you go into the bank. Give us the money and we will be on our way."

Never that simple, Chris thought. "I can't," he said.

"Oh I think you can," the leader said.

"No I really can't. The bank has my money. I went to deposit it. If you want the money then you are more than welcome to ask them for it," Chris said. "Banks have more security than you three could ever manage. Shame you didn't catch me before I went in. If you had then the drinks would have been on me I reckon." He shouldn't be provoking them, talking back, but he couldn't help it. "I have a few shillings in my left pocket but nothing else."

"I told you," the man holding Chris's left arm said to his leader. "We should have followed the other guy we saw."

"Shut up!" the short man said. "Unless you want to take his place." The other men were silent. Neither of them made a move for the next few moments. "There's nothing for us here. Leave him, make sure he doesn't see us leave," he says to his accomplices. Chris then braces himself for a blow to the head or a cut to the throat but nothing came. The balding man, who had let him go now as he began to follow the short man and the other man away from the scene, was looking at him intently as if he was trying to read him. "Come on Adams, unless you want the coppers here!"

"I know him. Seen him before," the balding man who was apparently called Adams said.

"Oh how delightful," the short man said sarcastically. "Now come on."

"No wait, you don't get it. He won't call the coppers after us. He has more reason to fear then than we do. He's not a proper man," Adams said. The realisation hit Chris like a bolt of lightning. He looks like he should be in prison because he was. The other two men turned back towards him, just as Chris thought it was all over. "When I was inside several years ago, they had several queers there. He was one of them."

"Oh was he?" the short man said, approaching him again. "Not so smart are you now lavender boy?"

"I don't want any trouble," Chris said. His voice sounded weak.

"You're kind always want trouble, disgusting vermin that you are!" Everything then happened so quickly. He couldn't run, it was not his best option on a good day and his leg was still throbbing and his head was still spinning from their first attack on him. He felt a blow to his chest that winded him and caused him to collapse backwards against the wall. Several more came from all directions. He felt his skin tear as his back was pushed against the wall yet again the rough stone enough to attack him through his clothes. He felt a trickle of blood run down his face over his lips from his nose where another punch landed again and again. He didn't see who they came from now. He wasn't sure if that was because he had closed his eyes or if he had just blanked out of all reality.

"Hey we should be careful, don't want to spend too much time near him, or we might become faggots too," one of them jeered.

"Oh well you were near him the longest!" one of them said to the other. "Do you have a sudden need to kiss me?" They were enjoying making fun of him.

"Shut up you arse!" he said. "Come on let's go, he's as good as gone now anyway." That was the last Chris saw or heard through blurred vision and fuzzy hearing. It all went black after that.

...

There were shadows on the wall opposite him as Chris came around. He didn't know how long he had laid crumpled on the cobbled alley floor. He didn't know where he was or why he was here at first. All he could think about was the pain that was radiating from every part of him. He felt like he had been run over and trampled into the dirt by a herd of animals. He had been, in a way. He was beginning to remember it all now. Every punch, every cut, the tone in their voices, their words. It was nothing new to him. It had happened before, but he had stupidly hoped that maybe he had left all that behind forever when he started a new life in Downton. Downton, Thomas, Richard. They won't know where I am. I was probably due back hours ago, he thought through the thumping in his head which was comparable to the roman God Vulcan, hitting his anvil inside his head. He must have been here for hours. He was shivering, partly due to the state of him and partly due to lying on a stone floor for hours. Been there done that, he thought, his time lying on the floor of Thomas and Richard's kitchen flashing across his mind. His vision was clouding over again, and he wondered if someone would think he was already dead when they came across him, or whether people had passed him by already and just ignored him, thinking perhaps he was drunk or an unsavoury creature not to be approached. He was feeling himself slip into unconsciousness again when he heard a man and woman's voice approaching him. "I thought I heard something," the woman said.

"We should leave him dear, he might not be safe," the man said.

"And have him bleed out and die on the street alone! What kind of a man deserves a fate like that?" The woman said, determined.

"We should contact the authorities, they'd be better equipped. You can't help everyone Marion," the man said.

"And what if this man was our Richard, John? Would you be happy if someone left him like this because you know this could happen to him!"

Chris shut his eyes. Every sound sounded so loud, but the names they spoke sounded familiar. Chris heard the man sigh. "Of course I wouldn't, but this man might be dangerous."

"John Ellis, does he look dangerous to you!" the woman said angrily now. "I will help him, I was a nurse you know. If you don't want to then you can go home."

John Ellis, Marion, Richard, Chris thought over the names spoken in his head. John Ellis, Marion, Richard. Richard. Richard Ellis. Oh my God! He had good fortune after all it seemed and this realisation of who was nearby seemed to give Chris just enough strength to stay awake and speak. "You're Richard's mother?," he said. His voice sounded all croaky and dry after hours of not saying anything at all. Chris saw the woman who he assumed was Marion Ellis, Richard's mother, jump a little clearly not expecting him to speak, let alone know who she was. The last thing Chris wanted to do was frighten her so he continued. "Your son is Richard Ellis. He owns a bookshop in Downton and he used to be second valet to the King. He lives with a man called Thomas and they have a cat called Wilde," Chris said, hoping that these details might help.

"How do you know those things?" she asked.

"Richard," Chris paused as he winced in pain trying to push himself into a more upright position. "Richard Ellis is my friend. I work for him."

"You're Chris?" the woman asked. Her husband was still standing behind her.

"Yeah," Chris said. He was relieved that Richard must have mentioned him at some point to his parents or no matter how much he told them, they wouldn't know who he was. "I'm sorry if I startled you Mrs Ellis, I was hoping telling you these details would convince you that I'm not some sort of stalker."

"Of course you're not! You're exactly as Richard described," Marion said.

"Not exactly I hope, I don't look my best at the moment," Chris said, attempting a smile in his relief.

"We should fetch you an ambulance Mr Webster," the man said, who Chris now knew was Richard's father, John.

"No!" Chris said quickly. "No, you can't do that." He saw Richard's parents both look worryingly at him and then at each other.

"At least let us drive you to a hospital then? We have the car nearby," John said.

"No I can't go anywhere like that," Chris said. He didn't look them in the eye.

Neither John or Marion said anything for a moment. "Are you in some sort of trouble Mr Webster?" John asked.

"I'm always in some sort of trouble Mr Ellis," Chris said sadly. "I can manage, don't worry."

"Mr Webster with all due respect you look awful," Marion said. "There is no way that you will make it to the end of the street."

"And if you tried to board a train, I reckon they'd throw you off it," John said, attempting a bit of humor, which was silenced by a glare from his wife.

"Well I won't just leave you here. What would Richie say to us if he found out we didn't help his friend? No, if you won't see a doctor Chris then will you at least let us take you back home with us and then I'll patch you up the best I can? I have some experience. I used to be a nurse, a while ago admittedly but some skills are like riding a bike, once you learn you don't forget," Marion offered.

"You don't need to convince me Mrs Ellis. I'm not in a position to be fussy," Chris said.

"John. Go and fetch the car and park it as close as you can," Marion asked her husband. Chris reckoned Marion was in charge most of the time.

"You will be okay here on your own?" he asked.

"Of course dear, now hurry before he bleeds to death!" She turned back to him. "You're not as bad as that Chris but I had to get John to hurry up."

"I understand. He's only concerned about your safety," Chris said. He moved his head away from the wall it had been resting against and immediately regretted it when he felt himself go dizzy. Despite this he smirked before speaking again. "Understandable since you are in a alley with a strange man."

Marion laughed, which Chris was thankful for as if she hadn't got the joke then things would have been awkward. "Richard says you are all charm." She heard the sound of a motor just a few yards away. "Do you reckon you could make it to the end of the road?"

"Sure. I've been through worse," Chris said. He didn't see Marion's concerned expression when he spoke that.

…

"John, Chris needs to get his strength up. Make him some tea and put extra sugar in it. Alcohol should be left for now as I think he's hit his head," Marion asked her husband as they helped Chris walk in through their front door.

"Right on it dear," he said, knowing better than to interrupt his wife when she was looking after someone. Even if Chris didn't know their son, he reckons she would have insisted on bringing him back here to help him anyway. She was a caring woman and that was one of the main reasons why he loved her.

"And open a can of soup and heat that up too," she added.

"Yes dear," John answered, already on his way to the kitchen after helping Chris onto one of the sofas in their living room.

"I'm not sure I should be sitting here Mrs Ellis," Chris said. "I'm not the cleanest."

"The sofa can take second place in our priorities Chris. And call me Marion please, Thomas does when he is here," she said. "Now don't move anywhere Chris. I need to fetch some things from the bathroom." Chris followed John's lead and didn't argue. It occurred to him while she was gone that when she mentioned Thomas, she mentioned his presence here so casually, like it wasn't an odd thing for a man to bring his boyfriend over to see his parents. He knew that Richard's parents were good people, but it was still hard to comprehend. "Right, we'll see to your head first I think," she said as she came back into the room carrying a bowl of water in one hand with a cloth over her arm and a box of medical or first aid supplies in the other. For an older woman, she did not lack energy.

"You sure you don't mind me being here Mrs E- Marion?" Chris asked.

"The sofa is not important right now."

"No I mean here. In your house," Chris said. "Aren't you worried about what people might think?"

"Not really Chris. Both my husband and I stopped trying to appear as everyone would want us too ages ago. If we did then we couldn't welcome our son into our house as we do," Marion said. Chris didn't say anything to that. She looked at the back of his head and was relieved to find that there was no blood. If there had been then hospital would have been necessary despite his insistence not to go there. "You have a tough head Mr Webster."

"Um, thanks?"

Marion laughed. "Take the compliment, despite the look of you, I don't think you have any head injury. Nothing bad anyway. How do you feel though?"

"Weak, a bit dizzy," Chris said.

"Well that is most likely due to the pain and some blood loss," Marion said. "Ah, just in time," she said to her husband as she brought in a tray of tea for them all.

"Can you manage Chris?" John asked as he passed the cup to Chris. He reckoned Chris was trying hard to hold onto his pride so he was treading carefully.

"I can, thank you," Chris said as he took the cup and immediately felt a bit better as the taste of blood in his mouth was taken away by the sweetness of the tea.

"Well that should help you. Your body is in shock from what you've been through. Give yourself time," she said as she wiped some blood away from his face below his nose. The bleeding seemed to have stopped a while ago as all she was removing was dried blood and she was glad that his nose didn't look broken. There were a few cuts to his face that she cleaned and areas that were beginning to look a bit purple, but most wounds so far seemed superficial. There was blood coming through his shirt though and he was holding his leg painfully despite being seated. "We will need something cool to soothe your leg I reckon," she said.

"Warm works best," Chris said. "It's an old injury, I haven't walked normally since I got it. Those thugs took advantage of that. It's a war wound," he lied. He didn't want to lie to them, but he didn't know how much they knew about him.

"Lowest of the low," John said grimly.

"Can I see?" Marion asked gently. Chris nodded, he rolled his trouser leg up to his knee and tried not to look for long. Marion gently felt the area that had large purple bruises over it around the knee, presumably where he had been kicked several times. "The bone never set properly when you broke it?" she asked.

Despite everything he was feeling right now, Chris was impressed, he never mentioned he broke it. "No it didn't."

"I know the warmth would help you normally but something cold will help soothe the bruising," she said. "We have some ice, John be a dear and fetch some in a tea towel will you?"

John, who had just settled in a chair with his own cup of tea and a few biscuits, got up again. "Yes dear."

"Sorry," Chris said, feeling bad for being the cause of all of this.

"He'll live don't you worry," Marion said. "You still have a wound bleeding under your shirt still. Did they cut you?"

"One of them had a knife, they may have, it was all a bit of a blur," Chris said, undoing his shirt, that would not recover from this ordeal.

Marion had seen her fair share of injured men but it was still not a sight she would be numb too, seeing what men could do to other men. Chris had so many bruises, scratches, and cuts to his chest. Marion was beginning to wonder if this was just a bunch of thieves who did this. She had guessed that is what had happened to him, but now she was having second thoughts. "I will clean these but this one might need stitching up. She wiped away dried blood and dirt from the cuts. "This will sting," she warned as she put a dab of iodine onto a cloth.

Chris nodded and then winced as she wiped it on the deepest cut. "Fucksake!," he cursed. He then remembered who he was amongst. "Sorry Marion."

"I've heard worse, soldiers say much worse things than that," Marion said. Chris's admiration for Richard's mother was growing. "There. The only thing left now is to close this one up so it can heal on its own," she said, referring to the deep cut caused by the knife. "You reckon you'll be okay with me stitching it up here?"

"If you are," Chris said. "I've done that before myself, to myself."

Marion was getting more and more grateful that her son and Chris met and that he had him and Thomas as friends as she didn't need Chris to say it, but she knew he had spent too much time on his own fending for himself. Marion lit a match and passed the needle through the flame to sterilise it. "It only needs a few stitches Chris," she said. "Ready?" Chris nodded and dug his fingers into the chair and gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. "There, done." I'd say considering how you look and what happened you were lucky. No broken bones or serious head injuries, but you will need to take it easy for a while."

"The only way I was lucky is that you and your husband found me," Chris said. "I don't think i can ever thank you enough for that."

"There is no need to my dear," she said. "I would have helped you even if you didn't know my son. Now, do you fancy anything to eat?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Chris said.

"It's not. Soup okay?" Marion asked.

"Yeah that will do nicely," Chris said, feeling a little happier.

...

"I should try to get back to Downton," Chris said about an hour later. "I can't stay here forever."

"You are looking better, you don't look so pale, but you are still in no fit state to travel on your own," Marion said. "I will telephone my son and ask him to come and fetch you. I'm sure the people at Downton Abbey will let him borrow a car."

"He'll want to bring Thomas too," Chris said. "And he'll be working soon at Downton."

"I'm sure he can get away for you and it won't matter if Thomas comes too will it?" Marion asked.

"No, suppose not," Chris said. He didn't mind seeing Thomas and Richard of course, but he didn't want any more an audience to his troubles than he already had.

"But first, we should contact the police. What happened to you was wrong and those people should be caught so they don't do this to anyone else," John said. He saw the man sitting opposite him, who was now in one of his sons shirts, stiffen.

"I don't want anyone else to be attacked by them of course, but I can't go to the police. It will only end up worse for me," Chris said.

"Is this anything to do with what you said earlier? When you said that you were always in some sort of trouble?" Marion asked.

Chris sighed and nodded sadly. "There are things you don't know, well you wouldn't since we've never met before today."

"If that is about your resemblance to my son and Thomas then we know," Marion said.

"Richard told you?"

"No. He never did, he wouldn't share another person's secrets. But we guessed. Richard told us that he hired someone to help in his shop last year. Someone who had a past connection to Thomas. He said that Thomas was quite insistent that he should hire you and that he took it the wrong way and became jealous of your friendship with Thomas. But when all that was resolved he hired you and you became friends after that," Marion explained. "He never told us, but he said that you were a fond friend of Thomas and we drew conclusions from that. Perhaps it was wrong to jump to such conclusions, but I am glad that you three have each other."

"It's okay, it makes what I'm about to say easier," Chris said.

"Were you attacked because of who you are?" John asked.

"Not at first. They were thieves but I had no money as I had just deposited that at the bank, but one of them recognised me," Chris took a deep breath. He never spoke of this. "He had done time in York jail, he was there the same time as me, over four years ago. I was arrested along with dozens of other men. I was guilty of being me. I was arrested for dancing with Thomas Barrow." Chris looked down at his hands in his lap, then back up into their faces as they hadn't said anything yet. "Thomas never got as far as being charged with anything because-"

Marion cut him off. "-Richard got him out." It was a risk she and her husband wished he never had to take, but as things turned out, they were glad he did for him and Thomas.

"He told you that? I suppose he would have," Chris said, partly to himself.

"He never said you were the man Thomas left with. And he still hired you," Marion said. John was silent.

"He never had any bitterness towards me or Thomas for that. It was early days back then," Chris said. "But anyway, this man knew why I was in prison so that gave him and his mates a perfect excuse for a bit of fun at my expense," he said bitterly. "They knew that I wouldn't go to the police and report them as I had more to lose then they did. Basically they knew they could get away with it. People like them always can when it concerns people like me. The reason for me not wanting to go to a hospital was the same because the extent of my injuries might cause people to ask questions. They might have reported it to the police. But worse, if they had got to me and made the connection between myself and Thomas. And Richard. It could put them in danger too."

"I hate to think of them getting away with it but you are right," John said. "You need to protect yourself."

"You didn't injure your leg in the war did you?" Marion said rather suddenly. "This has happened before? The injury didn't look old enough to me to be from the war."

"No you're right and I'm sorry I lied, I've become so used to telling people the war is how I got it that I almost believe that myself," Chris said. "Some prisoners and a few guards did that to me in prison."

Marion shut her eyes and looked away from him. "I'm sorry if I distressed you," Chris said.

"No, no, it's not your fault. It's just easy to hit home how this could have been Richard. I'm so sorry." And with that Chris found himself being hugged by Richard's mother. That surprised him. He couldn't remember the last time he had been comforted like this. "Right," she said, blinking and smiling at him. "You are going to have a rest, I saw you yawn several times earlier so don't say you don't need it, and I am going to telephone my son and get him and Thomas over here now."

Chris was still reluctant for Richard to drive all the way out here just for him, but he didn't want to argue now. "It would be best you call Downton Abbey. Richard will be up there now I reckon. I suppose you know he's temporarily working as a valet again?"

"Yes, he told us. He seemed rather keen too," John said. "Probably more to do with Thomas than the job I reckon."

"Yes," Chris said simply. He yawned again. He wanted to sleep a bit, but before he let himself he felt the urge to say something to them both. "Richard is very lucky to have you both as his parents. He's blessed." He shut his eyes then, allowing them both to keep their reaction to that, to themselves.