Stephen yawned as he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes to will the tiredness away. The time on the clock next to him was unforgiving but it was necessary in order for Daniel to have time to leave before the rest of the house started to wake up. It had been three days since they had found out the welcome news that Richard Ellis was going to be okay. After that moment and the period of relief that followed, things started to slowly fall back into some sort of normality. Mr Mortimer was not such a permanent feature in the servants hall and neither was Mr Webster. Mr Mortimer had returned to working for Mr Tomlinson, and Mr Webster had taken charge of the book shop. However, both were never away from Downton for long, they were always made welcome and provided Mr Barrow with much needed companionship. Mr Barrow was still not completely himself, but he was starting to fall back into a daily routine. He is occupying his old room for now and probably will do so until Richard is able to come back home again. He was clearly missing his partner and Stephen felt saddened as well as a little frustrated that he couldn't just visit Richard in hospital, even just once. It wasn't fair, but none of it was, they just had to do the best they could. If things were different, Daniel would not have to sneak out of Downton like a thief.

"Are you okay?" Daniel asked him suddenly as he dressed. He must have seen him frowning to himself.

"Um, yeah just thinking."

"Anything I can help with? I can't leave you here if you're worried about something." Daniel sat down on the edge of the narrow bed and gave him a concerned look.

"Not really. I'm just thinking about Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis. How it's unfair that they can't see each other when they need to the most. Just prompted some frustration that's all, at how you have to leave now like this, that you can't stay, and what we risk by you even being here."

"It's the way it is isn't it? But we do our best don't we? We have our time together."

"We do, and I'd never want to push my luck, our luck, anymore than we should. Plenty aren't so fortunate. But I wish there was something I could do to make things a little better at least." Stephen looked away from Daniel as he tried not to let his frustration get the better of him. The walls were thin and they could listen if they chose to.

"Your concern for them is one of the reasons I love you. You have a tenderness." Daniel's fingers lightly touched his chin, gently lifting his face back towards him. "There might be something."

"Something?"

"Eventually Mr Ellis will be discharged from hospital and will need to get home again. I thought I could drive him back? As long as he doesn't mind sitting in the front of a butcher's van." Daniel chuckled.

"What?" Stephen asked suspiciously. "You're not going to do anything stupid are you?"

Daniel grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Me? Stupid? I would never be that my love. But you don't suppose your employers would let me have one of the cars to pick him up, do you?"

Stephen rolled his eyes. "No, I don't think so. They don't lend out cars to everyone you know? But I think that would be a great way to help, you could always offer, closer to the time." Stephen felt his spirits lift and that was thanks to Daniel. He always seemed to know the right thing to say and the right way to say it too.

"I um…" Daniel looked towards the door of the tiny room. Stephen had heard it too, the sound of a door down the corridor either opening or closing. It was an unwelcome reminder that Daniel had to leave now unless he risked leaving too late and being discovered. "...I suppose I should be going."

"Yeah," he answered reluctantly as Daniel stood up and quickly finished dressing. "But are you coming here later?"

"I will, yes, I might have to be here a bit later though. My mother mentioned yesterday, I think she was joking, but she said that I seem to like it here more than at home. I'll need to stay home for dinner at least. I could sneak out later."

"You could leave it until tomorrow then? I don't want them to start getting suspicious." Stephen knew they had to be careful about giving people reasons to question anything about them.

"I'll come tonight. I'll be careful. Don't worry," Daniel said, planting a tender kiss on Stephen's forehead, shutting his eyes momentarily. He stood up again and slowly turned the handle of the door, so that any sound was kept to an absolute minimum. He stood and listened before slipping out of the room.

Stephen waited until he heard his footsteps disappear from earshot. He waited to hear any possible voices of people who Daniel might encounter if he was unlucky and anyone else was up by now. Satisfied with the silence, he flopped back down on the bed and looked at the time. He only had half an hour or so, until his day would begin. "Not much point in falling asleep now."

…

One person, or rather, one creature who had taken to the changes of late rather well was Mr Barrow and Mr Ellis's cat Wilde. He had taken to Downton Abbey as his temporary home very well. Stephen often saw him scrounging in the kitchens downstairs or sitting on the little bed of old blankets and a donated jumper in Mr Barrow's office happily washing himself. The problem though, as he was starting to painfully realise now, was that Wilde didn't respect the difference between upstairs and downstairs. To him, it seemed that he had adopted the entire house as his new home and was choosing to roam its rooms and corridors as though he was in charge.

Stephen had first seen Wilde in the breakfast room later that morning. He had crept in without a sound, as cats are experts at sneaking around unheard, and had almost caused him to drop the tray of plates he had in one hand. Wilde had only wanted attention it seemed, affectionately winding himself around Stephen's legs as he struggled to regain the balance of the tray. He had given him a small corner of left over toast in the hope that it would keep him occupied, but Wilde had just licked the butter off the toast and left the rest on the floor before strutting off out of the room, leaving Stephen to clear up the soggy piece of bread off the floor.

The next time he saw him was after he had taken one tray downstairs and had returned for the second. In days gone by the task of clearing the table would be completed in one trip as there would have been two or even three footmen. Wilde had been sitting half way up the staircase in a little patch of sunlight, his black fur shimmering a little in the brightness and the tip of his black tail twitching contently. Stephen had put the tray down on a table and slowly approached him, hoping to catch him and take him back downstairs to Mr Barrow. Wilde had other ideas. He waited until Stpehen was just a foot or so away and then ran up the stairs in the direction of the ladies' bedrooms.

The two failed attempts to stop Wilde moving into Downton had therefore led him to the position he was in now. Stephen knew he shouldn't be up here and he would likely be in trouble if he was discovered snooping into each room he came across where the door was open. The house was largely empty with the exception of the servants, which was his only saving grace right now. He gently pushed the door to one of the guest bedrooms open, just in time to see a black tail slip under the bed. "Got you," he said triumphantly to himself as he pushed the door closed behind him and knelt on the floor next to the bed and peered underneath. Wilde was staring back at him with big black eyes and if he wasn't so much mistaken, he could have swore that the cheeky cat was smiling at him as if to say 'I'm rather enjoying this little game!' Stephen looked cautiously over his shoulder and listened for the sounds of anyone approaching one last time before crawling under the bed, pushing past the edges of the sheets that hung over the side of the bed like curtains. Wilde didn't move this time and so Stephen found himself under a bed in twilight, with a cat's face inches away from his own. Wilde let him stroke him as Stephen tried to build up some trust between them before he then attempted to pull the cat out from under the bed. "Now be nice okay? Don't hurt me."

"Stephen? Is that you?"

Shit. He never heard the door open. Nor did he remember that Charlotte would be coming up to change the bed sheets soon. He tried to wriggle out backwards but only succeeded in banging his head on the bed above him. "Ahh!" His game was up and to make things more insulting, Wilde walked right out past him, knowing full well he had won. "Yeah it's me," he admitted, his dignity in tatters as he finally pushed himself out from under the bed.

Charlotte had chuckled as he bit her lip, in her attempt to laugh louder. Stephen stood and brushed himself down and tried to straighten out his livery. "I would ask what you are doing but I think I can guess."

"I couldn't just leave him wandering around the bedrooms, what if someone else found him? Or if he decided to bring in a mouse or something? But Wilde thinks it's hilarious I bet. I should go, I'm not supposed to be up here either."

"You take him back down again, give him some milk from the pantry, it might distract him?" Charlotte suggested as she put the pile of fresh linen she was carrying down on the bed. "If anyone asks, you were helping me carry these up here okay?"

Stephen smiled gratefully, "Thanks. I don't know how long we can keep him distracted though. Cats will be cats." He picked Wilde up and positioned him so that he was sitting on his arm with his front paws on his shoulder. "Right come on then you silly thing."

A thought did occur to him as he made it to the safety of the servants stairwell that perhaps Wlde wasn't just curiously exploring as cats often do. Perhaps like Mr Barrow, he was missing Mr Ellis too. Maybe he was looking for him?

...

Thomas hurried down the stairs later that day, descending them two at a time as he heard the telephone in his office ringing, his heart pounding in his chest from anxiety more than anything. He shut the door and picked up the receiver with shaking hands before he could sit down. He barely managed to get the formal greeting out. "Hello this is Downton Abbey, Mr Barrow the butler speaking," he rushed, all in one breath.

"Thomas, it's Marion."

Thomas immediately recognised the soft female voice of Richard's mother. It did not help his nerves. "Is he okay? Has anything happened?" he asked, not holding back.

"He's alright Thomas, I'm calling from home. We've just returned from the hospital. I thought I should call you, I should have done before but everythings been—" Thomas heard her take a breath —"It's been difficult."

"It's okay, your first priority has to be him, and it should be." Thomas sat down heavily in his chair.

"Are you able to talk now? You sound out of breath."

"Only from running, when I heard the telephone I was coming down the stairs. Downton has a lot of stairs. I was in the middle of something, but it can wait. I was going to call you later actually. I wanted to yesterday but I didn't know what I was going to say," he admitted. He recalled sitting in this exact spot yesterday and the day before just staring at the telephone as if it would put the words he couldn't find himself into his mouth. "So how are you both doing?"

"As well as can be expected Thomas," Marion answered, as Thomas thought about how tired she sounded. Normally, despite her age, she had a lot of energy. "We have fallen into a bit of a routine, and I think in a way it helps. We visit Richard every day during afternoon visiting hours. It's difficult seeing him so...I'm not sure how to put it exactly, so unlike himself."

"But he's okay though? I mean I know not exactly, but he's doing alright?"

"He is. The doctors tell us that he was lucky, and that he will most likely make a full recovery, but he's still very weak. He spends most of his time sleeping. Neither John nor I actually talked with him until yesterday. We talked to him, and I think he could hear us. But yesterday he was awake for a little while, yes. He immediately asked after you. He knows how tricky it is for you to visit."

"He did?" Thomas found himself craving every detail, he wanted to know what he said, the exact words and how he spoke them. His breath stuttered as he closed his eyes to prevent his emotions from showing too much in his voice.

"He wanted to know if you were okay. I told him that you were surrounded by your friends, by good people. It brought him some comfort but he's impatient. He insisted today that he could manage. I had to tell him not to be silly or rushing his healing would only end up slowing him down."

Thomas chuckled a little. "He's a determined man. Tell him I can wait, and that I want him to recover properly and that I am okay." He did want this as it was the best thing, the right thing, but the selfish part of him wanted Richard home now, in whatever stage of recovery he is in.

"I will, but how about you Thomas? How are you?"

"I'm fine." His answer was too quick to be believable, it was automated and Marion didn't fall for it, not for one second.

"Really Thomas, how are you?" she insisted.

"Better now. I too have gotten myself into a routine. If I'm distracted, kept busy then it's better, but when I have time to think...All I see is how he was, weak in my arms and I couldn't do anything." His voice trembled a bit. "The first day was the hardest as a result, I didn't know...I didn't know...If he was alive or not." Thomas sniffed and shook his head rapidly as if it would stop his eyes from watering. "After I knew he was going to be okay, I could—" He wiped his eye with his finger— "Not relax but allow myself to think of other things. Before, he was the only thing I could think about."

Marion was quiet for a moment and Thomas thought he may have been too honest. It was a hard thing to judge, when someone tells you to be honest or to speak freely, how honest he should be. "You are wrong though Thomas. You did do something. John and I, and Richard, we thank you for buying him some time."

The tears became harder and harder to hold back, they were ready to burst forward like an overflowing dam. "But I-I didn't do, I couldn't do anything. I was useless."

"You kept him talking, you woke him up when he started to drift away. You were strong for him Thomas."

"I didn't feel it, and my methods of—" He wondered for a moment if John or Marion knew that he had kissed Richard to rouse him. Had Richard remembered? Had he told them? "—Of waking him weren't very scientific."

"Thomas at this point none of us care if you summoned a witch and performed a spell to keep him alive! It worked," Marion joked through her relief that was obvious to him in her tone.

He smiled through his tears. "You're right, yes, you're right." He looked at the time. He had to be going. "Marion, before I go, can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Of course Thomas dear."

"Can you tell him, tell him that I lo—" He couldn't risk it. Conversations were not completely private. "—Tell him that I look forward to seeing him again when he is recovered. Marion, I-I hope you know what I mean?"

"I do Thomas, I know. I'll tell him," she answered sincerely.

"Thank you."

"Bye Thomas, we can speak again soon."

"Yes, we can. Bye Marion."

…

Richard woke after a fitful sleep. Sleeping deeply was difficult when the drugs they gave him to ward off his pain started to wear off. Breathing deeply just made his chest hurt, any sudden movement sent jabs of pain like shards of glass through him, and he would find himself trying to hold his breath and then struggle to breathe out slowly to stop the pain from reoccurring. Lying on his back, keeping his body as still as he could, he carefully turned his face so that his nose was half in the pillow. It was light still, and the shadows on the wall from the sunlight that shone through the window to the right of his bed were still small, so he reckoned he hadn't slept through visiting hours again. He hated it when he did that. His parents never woke him, probably because they wanted him to rest, but he wished they would sometimes. He didn't see anyone else and it was getting lonely, especially when all he wanted was for Thomas to be here. He knew he couldn't be. There was a clock in the room. He couldn't see it right now as he didn't dare push himself upwards again. He could hear it though. The tick tock rhythmically measured the passing of time and the unknown countdown to his full recovery that the doctors insisted he would make. It was rather hard to believe right now. He had not remembered much from after he had closed his eyes for a little rest in the woods, despite promising Thomas he would not, it was too tempting and far too easy. He knew at the time he shouldn't and he knew why. He hadn't been afraid in the end, he was at first. Being shot was not the way he had wanted to go. He had wanted to be in Thomas's arms, but at the same time he did not as he knew what torture he would put Thomas through if he had died. He did remember one thing though, he had been pretty sure that at some point between him closing his eyes in the woods and waking up in hospital that someone had kissed him. It could have been his mother, but it was a kiss on the lips and he recognised them. He had convinced himself that it was Thomas who did, but he had dreamt so much that he wasn't sure which memories were the real ones now.

A bird tweeted on the outside of the window. There was a tree almost level with it and when he was able to sit up more he could sometimes see the birds on the tree branch. He had little else to do so he had given the regular visitors to the tree names. There was a crow called Charlie, he had thought about calling it Chris but it felt weird, a blackbird he called Bob, and a pigeon who might have been a Peter but he then reckoned was actually a Poppy. He would have to decide whether to tell Thomas about this activity or not. He would tease him, but he missed him so much he wouldn't care now if he did. He had been told that they had removed the bullet from his chest in surgery and he took their word for it as he didn't remember that either. He remembered his parents talking to him and of course he remembered seeing them yesterday and the day before.

He breathed in, slowly and carefully so he didn't hurt his broken ribs. They didn't bandage broken ribs, they healed well enough on their own with time and rest apparently. But he had a large dressing on the left side of his chest. The nurse changed this each day, he never looked as she did so. He might dare himself to look sometime, but for now he didn't have the courage. The people here were nice enough. There was doctor, he didn't remember his name, who made too much of an effort to appear jovial. His jokes were appalling, but Richard appreciated the attempt. It was better than the older nurse who didn't seem to know what a kind smile was. There was a younger nurse earlier today who sorted him out and if he was younger and normal in the eyes of the rest of the world then he might have thought her attractive, but she was gentle and had kindly told him that his parents were visiting in a few hours. The pillow he still had half his face buried into smelt clean. That was good but it was too clean, too clinical. It wasn't homely. When Thomas had washed his hair before going to sleep for instance, the pillow would smell of shampoo a little in the morning.

The door to his room clicked as it opened. He turned his head in the opposite direction, away from the window. His mother smiled at him as she shut the door behind her, walked over to his bed and kissed him on the forehead, just as she always did when she arrived. "Where's dad?" he asked, though his voice came out a bit rough. His mouth was dry.

"Gone to park the car properly and to fetch us some refreshment. He had to drop me by the main entrance and find somewhere better to park, he'll be here soon," she said, sitting down on the chair next to the bed on the side closest to the window.

"Could you pour me a glass of water?"

"Of course dear." She didn't stop there and although his dignity cried out in protest, he let her help him sit up a little to drink it.

The water helped and he felt able to speak again. "Did you speak to Thomas? You said you would try," he asked.

"I did, I told him how you wanted to just get up and walk out of here right now. It made him laugh and he said that you are a determined man."

Richard smiled in spite of himself. "I think maybe he was being polite mum. Maybe he means foolhardy?"

"Maybe he does!"

"You're supposed to tell me I'm not," Richard joked. But his smile fell before he spoke again. "Did you ask if he was okay? Is he?"

He saw his mother hesitate. "He's doing better than he was. He is missing you badly, but he doesn't want you to rush things."

Richard appriciated his mother's honesty, even if she may have been tempted to make things seem better than they are for his benefit, but he never expected Thomas to be okay completely because neither was he. "He's at Downton then? He's staying there? You suggested that he was yesterday."

"He is, as is your cat Wilde apparently. I can imagine a cat would find himself very comfortable in such a house. And Chris is looking after the shop, Thomas told me to let you know that as well so that you wouldn't worry about it."

Richard nodded. "Good, glad to know it's in good hands. But mum, I have got a question, something that I can't work out. Why am I in a private room and not on the ward? You and dad could never afford this and neither could Thomas or I."

Marion frowned. "Your father and I had the same query. We asked about that yesterday, wondering if some mistake had been made, but apparently it's all paid for along with a substantial donation to the hospital as well. We thought that maybe Thomas's employers may have had something to do with it but, whilst I didn't ask Thomas when I called him, I would have thought he would have mentioned it if he knew." Marion smiled. "Still, whoever the well wisher is, we should be thankful I think, as long as you are happy here?"

Richard reckoned his parents' guess at the mystery benefactor could be right, but he had another theory that he wanted to put to Thomas, although he would have to wait a while until he could. "I am. I can see out the window if I'm sitting up a bit and I'd rather not be on a ward, brings back memories." He didn't need to explain, his mother knew what he was referring too.

The door opened and Richard's father, John entered. As he closed the door behind him, putting his keys in his pocket, Richard saw he was carrying a small square tin. "You left these behind my dear," he said to his wife.

"Oh of course, yes!" John handed her the tin.

"Shortbread Richard," John said sitting on the end of the bed. "From Mrs Potter next door, she knows that you like them."

"I do yes, thank you."

"There has to be some perks of being stuck in bed right?" John said with a wink. "But we'd have to hide them as I bet that grumpy old bat who was in here yesterday or the day before would disapprove."

"John!" Marion scolded. "Don't be rude, she has a difficult job to do, nursing isn't easy you know."

"No, of course not. Sorry dear," John replied obediently, but not without grinning in his direction when Marion happened not to be looking. "Still, I wouldn't mind one."

"They're not for you John."

"He can have one mum, so can you. I won't eat them all anyway." He took a biscuit and licked his lips with delight, the little home comfort was appreciated. After a couple of biscuits he started to feel tiredness beginning to overwhelm him. He tried to stifle a yawn.

"You can sleep if you want too Richie," Marion reassured him.

Richard yawned again. "I think I will shut my eyes for a bit, but if I don't wake before you have to leave, can you tell Thomas, the next time you speak to him, tell him I love him okay? I mean you can't say that exactly but if you can in a way he would understand?"

"We will don't worry. But he wanted me to tell you the same, that he loves you," Marion took his hand and gently squeezed it.

A fragile smile formed on his face, one that prevented any tears from falling, just about. "I know." He shut his eyes and allowed sleep to take him into his dreams, where he hoped Thomas would be waiting.