"Richard!" Thomas screamed, but in reality he didn't know how loud he shouted or if his desperate words came out as a mere choked wimper. Richard was unresponsive, heavy in his arms. There was a fine mist falling around them, chilling Thomas to the bone but he didn't care. The darkness surrounded them. They were alone. He was alone. Thomas tried to calm himself but his breathing was shaky and uneven. He couldn't think. He willed himself to think. He had to do something. He knew that the only thing that could save Richard now was surgery, he needed to get to hospital but the woods were still deathly quiet. No one was coming to save him yet. In the back of his mind he worried that David was lying out there injured or dead. He had sent his best friend out into the woods alone, knowing that Martin Lee might still be out there waiting for him. If David was dead then he would lose them both. Thomas took Richard's limp wrist in his hand and tried to find a pulse. His hands were shaking and he couldn't keep them still enough to hope to find one. He took a deep breath in, and another out. But below his fingers, came a tiny but definite rhythm, an indication that all was not lost quite yet, that there was still hope. He had never been a very hopeful person. He had been faced with the cold reality of life so much that he preferred not to hope, but Richard was his hope. He always had been, and now he had hope in him. It was enough to calm him and in that he had an idea. It was not one that was taught when he received his medical training, it was an idea that felt more at home in a fairytale, but he had little to lose. He recalled the many nights they had fallen asleep next to each other and how Thomas had, on many occasions, kissed Richard as he slept. Richard would always react in some way. Perhaps a smile, or a happy sigh. Sometimes he would wake up. So Thomas pushed himself closer to Richard, leaned over and slowly kissed him gently on his cool lips. That part didn't feel right, Richard was never supposed to be so cold. Thomas pulled back, he didn't feel any response. He searched Richard's face frantically, for any signs that he felt it. No. He sat back, filled with despair. What was I thinking? He was silly for thinking that would work. He glanced down at Richard again. Thomas's heart jumped. His eyes. They flickered. Didn't they? Am I seeing things? In disbelief he watched, hoping for confirmation. Richard's eyes remained closed but there was a movement below his eyelids. Faint, but it was there. "You felt that?" Thomas said to him, a lone tear falling onto his cheek. He clutched Richard's hand tighter now. "Stay with me."

Out the corner of his eye he saw a light. At first he ignored it, thinking it was the moon, making another fleeting appearance between the clouds. But then he heard voices. He looked up, brushed another tear from his eye so that he could see more clearly. He felt it again. Hope. Coming through the woods towards them were several spots of light from torches, glaring in his eyes and dancing around the ground as the people holding them walked. "Over here!" he heard a gruff sounding voice shout. The lights became people and Thomas, still kneeling on the ground, was looking up at the faces of three or four men in medical uniform. "How long has he been unconscious for?" the gruff sounding man asked.

Thomas didn't realise he was being spoken to for a moment. He was feeling overwhelmed. "I er, about, about—I don't know. In and out of it. He sort of blinked a minute ago, but his pulse is weak and the bullet is still in there."

"We'd be best getting Mr Ellis straight to York," the man said. Thomas assumed he was talking to the other men present and not him.

"He's holding his hand sir,'' another voice said. Thomas hadn't realised. Nor was he going to let go for the sake of offending anyone right now. Lucky though he didn't need to worry about explaining himself.

"Well of course he is!" The older man, who Thomas now assumed was in charge, with the gruff voice, sounded annoyed. "What do you expect him to do Smith? Stand a respectable distance back while his friend dies!"

"No sir," the other man replied meekly.

"Were you in the war, Smith?"

"Yes sir."

"Then you will know that men would do anything for comfort. I heard full grown men cry out for their mothers. Now stop being so silly and get on with your job, unless you want me to make sure that this is the last call out you ever do?"

"Yes sir. No sir."

There was no more talk on the matter and as they lifted Richard carefully onto a stretcher and carried him away towards the waiting ambulance, Thomas didn't even notice letting go of his hand until he was almost out of sight. The majority of the men had carried Richard away, and he was left with the older man, who he had decided he liked a lot more than the others. "I can't go with him then?" Thomas asked. He knew the answer to the question. He knew the rules and the older man confirmed it.

"Not unless you're family. Are you?"

Yes, yes in every way he's my— "He's my...he's my friend. No we're not," Thomas sighed with a heaviness in his heart.

Unless he was mistaken the man gave him a sympathetic understanding look. Thomas didn't have the mind to consider reading anything into that. "Can I drive you somewhere Mr—?"

"Barrow. Thomas Barrow. No, I'll manage. I don't want to slow you down with getting to the hospital."

"You won't. My team will already be on the road as we speak. We bought two vehicles and I wouldn't be doing my job if I left you out here alone to make your way back. You are shaking Mr Barrow, from cold and from shock. You need to get somewhere you can feel safe right now. So where can I drive you to?"

Thomas didn't hesitate. He didn't want to go home now. Not when home would be empty and full of reminders of how, just a few hours ago, everything was perfect. "Downton Abbey, you can take me to Downton."

...

The door bashed against the wall as Chris hurled it open and stumbled inside. He had gotten home as soon as he could and thanks to ignoring his pain for the most part he was now in agony. He tumbled down onto the small hallway floor with a thud, gasping for breath. He pushed himself up on his hands and pulled the rest of him upwards again by grabbing on to the doorframe. He left the door open. He wouldn't be long anyway and he knew exactly where everything was that he needed. He had come up with a plan to stall Martin but it would only work if he could find him and that depended on his hunch on where Martin would go to ditch the weapon, being correct. He flicked on a light in the living room and practically dragged himself to the kitchen where he flew open a cupboard door, pulled out various packets or pots until he found what he was looking for. Painkillers. Strong ones. He pushed a few into his mouth and cupped his hands under the tap, not having the time to find a glass for water. They would work quickly and unlike others he wouldn't become sleepy, and he couldn't be drowsy when trying to accurately aim a gun. He may be good but not that good. He left the jars and packets scattered over the worktop and the floor. Next he hurried back to the living room, sat down on the floor to try and give the painkillers a bit of a chance to work whilst he pulled out the contents of the cupboard that the revolver was hidden away in. Junk he didn't need, whose only purpose was to hide the location of the revolver from him so he wouldn't have to think about it, was tossed aside as he grabbed the box and yanked it out of the cupboard and onto the floor. More junk was carelessly cast aside until at last he reached what he was looking for. The revolver was still unblemished by dust, and he still half expected it to be warm from the last time he held it in his hand. It wasn't of course, it was still cold. Cold, unfeeling and heavy. He loaded it with several bullets, he didn't know how many he would need, clicked the safety on, and stuffed it down the back of his belt. The pain was beginning to ease, tolerable but still there. It would have to do. Chris glanced around the room, thinking quickly if he needed anything else. As an afterthought he pulled open a draw and took his grandfather's compass. It wouldn't do for him to get lost.

...

It was tricky to keep his footsteps as quiet as he could whilst trying to walk quickly and limping at the same time. He had to get the balance right. Too slow and he may not reach Martin in time. Too fast and whilst he would have more time to find and stop him, he would be in too much pain to do anything to stop him or Martin would hear him coming and get away. He had taken the torch too. It had been several hours since he had set off with the others and he hoped the torch would last long enough to get this done. It was pitch black in some places, especially when the moonlight was hidden by another thick black cloud. It had been raining on and off and the ground was slippery. He was hesitant to use the torch though. He had no idea how close he was to Martin. Like earlier when he had mistakenly punched David, he needed the element of surprise.

He had been walking in the general direction of the village and the river. However his aim was to reach a small cliff above a hollow in the woods. It was all that remained from surface quarrying that had taken place there hundreds of years ago. The hollow was always in the shade and full of leaves and mud at this time of year. He had to be careful. In the daytime someone could come across the cliff edge before they even realised, but at night the danger of reaching it unexpectedly and falling over the edge was much higher. There were some tall oak trees at the top of the cliff, this was the part of the woodland that changed from pine to oak so he used the changing types of trees as indication as to how close he was. Eventually he neared the top of the cliff edge. He slowed and crouched down, travelling the final few feet on his hands and knees so he would not be so likely to be seen from the top of the cliff by anyone below him. His hands were covered in mud and dead leaves. He wiped them on his trousers and took out the revolver.

He cautiously peered over the edge of the cliff and tried not to look directly down to the thirty foot or so drop below. At first glance it looked as though no one else was around and he worried that he had guessed where Martin might go incorrectly. But then he saw a movement in the corner of his eye. Creeping into the hollow, looking constantly all around him, was Martin. Chris breathed a sigh of relief that his hunch was correct, but any relief was short lived as now he had to try and stop him from leaving. He watched. It was not easy to see him peering through the darkness from his vantage point from above but he saw Martin looking around on the ground, kicking the dirt in one spot or the next. He then took a stone and began pushing sodden earth aside to form a hole. Chris watched as he buried the gun. He needed to remember its location as it would need to be reported to the police later.

Chris didn't know how long he lay there on the ground watching the man who had come after the love of his life and who had gravely injured one of his best friends. There was an evil feeling within him that he tried to ignore. A temptation that if given any more thought would become too tempting. He had the ability. The skill. The revolver in his hand. All he needed to do was aim and pull the trigger. He shook his head to himself. Not unless I have no choice. I will not be like him. Spying and waiting was something he had done many times before in the war but it had been a while and his arm was beginning to fall asleep below him. He tried to move it without making a sound but then he accidentally knocked a small rock which tumbled over the side of the cliff and clattered far too loudly onto the rocks below. You idiot!, he cursed himself as Martin jumped up and hurled around looking in his direction, rigid and alert. Chris didn't think he could actually see him but now he was no longer just an observer.

Martin let out a sinister chuckle. "David? Is that you hiding up there? Changed your mind now you have seen I mean business?"

Chris stayed silent. His mind turned over and over wondering if he should answer back. In the end he made up his mind. Now that Martin knows he's being watched he will run. Chris couldn't let that happen. He didn't bother trying to muffle the noise from his movements as he clutched the revolver in a double handed grip and rested it on a rock in front of him. With a steady eye he peered down the weapon so that Martin was right on target. He could do it now. Pull the trigger right now. But he held back. "David is not here." Chris spoke loudly and with as much confidence as he could muster. There was an echo on his voice as he spoke, his words rebounding off the tall and unforgiving cliffs of the quarry. "I would like to ask you something though Mr Lee. Don't you think it is strange how a voice can echo off a place such as this? The sound may appear to be coming from one location but in reality the true origin is completely different."

"You don't fool me. I know where you are and I will come right up there and find you. I know you can't run away. I recognise your voice. We've met before haven't we?" Martin's voice was unwavering. Chris's attempts to unnerve him seemed to have failed.

"We have and you are right Mr Lee. If you found me I would probably be a dead man, but you shouldn't go into a chase blind. You don't know all the facts," Chris challenged. Maybe it was bad, maybe he didn't want to feel this, but part of him was enjoying this. In his life, he had very few moments where he was in control, where he held the power over someone else. Perhaps that was why he broke into those houses in York all those years ago? To feel control.

"Oh don't I? So what great secret are you hiding?" Martin asked dryly. Chris almost thought he sounded bored, despite the fact that he was now a man on the run.

"If you move, just a step, then you're dead. I'm armed and since your weapon is under a foot of soil, you are not," Chris said, maybe a bit too smugly.

"Your bluffing." Martin ignored the threat and started walking towards the edge of the quarry where the slope from the woods above was easy enough to walk up. Chris didn't hesitate. Bang! The sound ricocheted off the cliffs and Martin jumped as the bullet hit a tree just an inch or so from his head, splintering the wood on impact. Chris actually felt a little shocked himself. A revolver was not his prime choice for a weapon for this kind of work. He thought he would be at a disadvantage without a rifle, but his aim was true.

"I see...so you mean it. You missed though."

"That was a warning. Now unless you are able to turn your back and dig up your own weapon faster than the speed of my bullets then I suggest you listen to me," Chris threatened. Now he had him. Either way Martin would pay for what he did. Chris listened, he thought he heard some voices out in the distance. He hoped he did.

"You don't have the guts to shoot me. Most people can talk a good game because words are easy, but very few can actually carry out what they threaten."

Chris knew that Martin was likely to be right. He didn't think he could actually kill him. But if pushed, would he? Could he end his life with just a movement of his finger? He's done it hundreds of times before. He had to at least give the appearance that he could, or Martin would run. So he spoke his words like he meant them. "I was a sniper in the war, Mr Lee. Chosen because I never missed. I taught myself not to care, I dismissed any humanity from my mind as I had a job to do. I didn't care and I never thought about it afterwards. So don't underestimate me or what I am willing to do!" It was a lie of course. He did care. He cared back then and he cared now. He never forgot. But he did what he had to do.

"Perhaps I have made a mistake then. Maybe I should have hired you and not bothered with David? He never had it in him, but you have a darkness about you. I cannot see your face, but I know that." Martin's words frightened him. Not because of the threatening edge of his tone but because of the truth of them.

Chris didn't answer because at that moment he heard them. Martin did too and looked around in the direction of the sounds of several heavy footsteps and the bark of dogs. He waited, he didn't need to keep Martin here for long. Trouble was though that even after a minute or so they didn't sound like they were coming any closer. They're going in the wrong direction! He couldn't allow that to happen. He had to get their attention somehow, so he aimed the revolver up into the tree tops and fired. If anything was going to get the attention of the police, it would be a gunshot and not long later he saw them. Martin decided it was worth the risk so he ran. Chris followed him with the aim of his revolver, his finger gently pushing on the trigger but not hard enough to fire. He couldn't do it. Not even to someone who deserved it.

Martin never made it out of the quarry. The police surrounded the quarry below him, dogs straining at their leads barking and growling. "On the ground now!" Several of them shouted. Martin didn't budge at first. "Get on the ground now!" The second time he surrendered, but not before looking directly at Chris up on the cliff. Chris didn't know if he could see him, but he felt his glare and was glad for the thirty foot cliff that separated them. He watched until they handcuffed him, and dragged him up. After that he crawled backwards and sat down against the trunk of a tree, his back to the quarry and the chaotic scene below.

He chuckled quietly to himself. "Never thought I'd be glad to see coppers again." He clicked the safety back on his revolver and then remembered that the police wouldn't know where Martin's gun was buried. He could show his face now and tell them. On second thoughts though he thought that would be unwise and anyway, if they were York police he didn't want to be recognised. He would report the location of it anonymously later.

As the noise from the commotion below died down and faded as the police left with their prisoner, Chris felt the adrenaline that had been driving him dissipate. His work was done. Whatever happened to Richard, it was done. And so in the darkness of the woods outside Downton village, Chris covered his face with muddy shaky hands and wept.

…

Mrs Hughes was too anxious to go to sit down or to go to sleep like a few of the others have done, or perhaps to be more accurate, had tried to do. Anna had gone upstairs to one of the vacant rooms on the women's side of the attics with their son so that he would settle and sleep, but Mr Bates was still sitting downstairs as was Phyllis and Alfred. Mr Mortimer was also downstairs, and was looking a lot cleaner having washed and been lent a change of clothes, however he was restless also. He would sit down at the table for a bit, then get up, walk out into the hallway or down towards the door, and back again. Other times he would step out into the yard and just stand there, then come back in saying he thought he heard something. His face was tired, worn and his eyes were heavy, and unless she was mistaken, looking wet from tears. She didn't know Mr Mortimer well, she only knew that he was an old friend of Thomas's and had become friends with Mr Ellis and particularly, Mr Webster. He usually had a witty sense of humour, but he didn't even smile now. She understood as there was not much to smile about right now. He was understandably worried for his friends.

She knew that she should try to rest a little. She would feel terrible tomorrow otherwise but she wanted to wait until everyone was back at Downton, safe and accounted for. Stephen and Daniel were still out and she was beginning to regret allowing them to leave, but tried to reassure herself by thinking that they would look after each other. They are as thick as thieves those two. She didn't know where Mr Webster had gone, Mr Mortimer didn't elaborate when she had asked earlier. He just said that he had gone to sort something out for him. Mrs Hughes did not feel reassured by that explanation. Her main concern though was for Thomas. She reckoned that he would not be able to go with Richard to hospital. If his injuries were as bad as Mr Mortimer suggested then she didn't think the hospital in Downton would be enough. She reckoned he would have been taken to York. How on earth was she supposed to comfort a man who's partner in life is hanging on by a thread and who is many miles away by now? She felt a spur of anger that Thomas couldn't be with him. It was unfair, but the way of things unfortunately. It would be too much of a risk to get Thomas to the hospital. She hoped he would come here, but she didn't know what he would do now or where he would go.

Her thoughts were abruptly halted though when she thought she heard the sound of a motor outside. Perhaps she was hearing things and becoming as restless as Mr Mortimer, but he also jumped up from his seat. She listened some more and then decided that guessing would do no good so she opened the back door, which had been left unlocked in case anyone should return, and peered out into the shady backyard, the drizzle falling all around making it harder to see. She then saw him. It was as if she was looking into the past, back to a time where she had come across a distraught and broken man who was cowered on the ground like a child.

Thomas was sitting on the ground by the wall, partly hidden by the shadows of a couple of wooden storage crates that were piled on top of each other. He was staring vacantly at the cobbled ground in front of him and didn't look up as she cautiously approached him. Behind her, in the doorway, Mr Mortimer was hanging back. "Mr Barrow." He still didn't respond, he only looked down at his shirt that she could now see was streaked and spotted with blood stains. Richard's blood. She could only imagine what he must be thinking. She tentatively touched his left arm, as though he was a frightened animal that might lash out at any moment. Thomas often resorted to anger or spite when he was hurting. It was in his nature. But what really worried her was when he didn't even do that. In those moments she knew that he was in darkness. "Thomas." He looked up at her through hopeless eyes. "Come inside, let us help you." She waited until Thomas decided to stand and when he did she put her arm around his back, which she could feel was soaking wet and cold, and guided him inside. She expected to see Mr Mortimer in the doorway where he was a moment ago, but he had gone.

Before they stepped inside, Thomas stopped. He cleared his throat. "I've lost him." His voice croaked as he spoke, raw from the cold. "I tried but he, he...I can't, I can't lose him." What could she say? No words would make this better, only knowledge that Richard would be okay, and she couldn't tell him that because she didn't know if he would be. She couldn't give him false hope. She pulled him into a hug and let the crumbling man cry.

...

David had a feeling it would be Thomas. He wanted to comfort him but as he saw his friend sitting in the dark and the rain motionless, he didn't feel able to. This was his fault. If he hadn't run to Downton knowing that Martin would find him eventually then none of this would have happened. It was all his fault—it really was. He thought that he would be the last person that Thomas would want to see right now. So he let Mrs Hughes bring him inside and he retreated to the servants hall, hanging back inside the doorway.

"Is that Thomas?" Mr Bates asked, getting up slowly from his chair.

David heard the muffled sobs from down the hall too. They all did. Mr Bates walked over to the door but David shook his head, indicating that he shouldn't. "He'll be embarrassed."

Mr Bates nodded. "You're right. We shouldn't crowd him."

David tentatively stepped out of the room though, he was driven by guilt, he had to do something. Mrs Hughes was leading him down the hallway towards the stairs. David felt rooted to the spot, undecided at what he should do. But Thomas stopped and looked at him. "Will you come up with me David?"

David didn't feel able to answer, he was just grateful that Thomas was speaking to him. But he was overwhelmed with grief at the moment. Perhaps the hate would come later? Mrs Hughes nodded at him. "You go and help him David."

"Thank you Mrs Hughes," Thomas whispered.

...

David waited for Thomas outside the bathroom. Thomas had shut the door but told him he'd leave it unlocked. He had told him not to worry, that he won't do anything silly. David recalled Thomas's confession about his attempt on his own life years ago, and understood what Thomas was telling him. David would have helped but Thomas never liked to be fussed over too much and he was still unsure about what he could say. He did think though that Thomas only asked him to help him so he could speak to him in private.

Thomas opened the door. He was drier and in clean clothes, his hair was wet after washing dirt out of it. He must have felt him looking. "It will dry on its own." He looked around the empty corridor. "Can you come in a minute?" David, feeling nervous, nodded and followed his friend inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Tommy I—"

"No," Thomas said firmly. "I just need to say this okay? I feel like you're afraid of me. I, I can't have that. Not now."

"Okay."

"I don't blame you for this. Perhaps if, if things weren't so bad, then maybe I would. But I can't. I need him David, but I can't lose you too. Okay?"

"Okay." David nodded and they were silent for a moment as he took in the fact that his best friend did not hate him after all. "You can hit me if you want."

Thomas frowned. "What?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did despise me now. I am not keen on myself right now either."

"No."

"If you're sure? One time offer Tommy."

In spite of himself David saw a small smile on Thomas's face. "I am. Chris wouldn't forgive me if I did. Where is he anyway? I thought he'd be here."

The moment of light relief passed, all too soon. "I don't know. He hasn't returned yet. I saw him on my way back here in the woods and I asked him to do something."

Thomas looked worried. "What?"

"I said we couldn't let Martin get away after what he did so...I asked him to follow him...and to stop him from leaving the woods." David held his breath as he waited for Thomas to say something.

"You told a man who cannot run fast to go after a murderous psycho alone in the woods in the dark?" If Thomas wasn't angry before he might be now.

"No one else could Tommy. I had to get back to Downton to get help and you were with Richard so it could only be Chris—"

"What about the police? Never thought about letting them do their job and deal with him?" Thomas raised his voice in anger driven by fear.

"They wouldn't get there in time. If he had reached the village then he would have disappeared and come back again for me. Tommy, believe me, Chris didn't go after him without a plan, and he was armed too."

Thomas frowned at him. "Armed? How?"

"Oh I thought you knew. He has a revolver. He keeps it hidden in his cottage. He stole it years ago and only recently rediscovered that he had it. He can use one well enough."

"Yeah I know, I saw him once." Thomas calmed down. "Well I suppose at least there is that. Did you ask him to kill him then?"

"No! No of course not! I just told him to stop Martin from leaving. But as every minute goes by, I am regretting ever getting him involved in something he doesn't have to be part of! I've put him in danger and if anything happens to him…I won't be able to forgive myself."

They were silent again, the only sound was the occasional drip from the tap into the basin behind them. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. I just, I just don't know where I am right now. Chris is my friend too and it's all a lot to deal with." Thomas blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes and sighed out a shaky breath. "But he'll be okay. I'm sure of it."

David could tell he was trying to hold back his emotions, trying to hide them behind the mask he often wore. He wished he could tell Thomas that Richard would be okay as he pulled his friend into a hug. Thomas hid his face away from David's by burying it into David's shoulder. "You don't have to hide from me Tommy," he said quietly. "Let it out okay."