The Hopeful, the Cunning, the Faithful

When Thomas and Philip returned from the party, they stumbled through the hotel suite in the dark, not bothering to turn the lights on as they went. Philip was familiar with the layout of the furniture, and Thomas trusted his guiding hand on his sleeve, so neither of them tripped en route to the bedroom. Inside, Philip finally found the lightswitch, and then he tossed himself onto the bed, sprawling backwards with his hands out. Thomas wasn't sure what to do with himself.

"Did you enjoy the party, Thomas?" he asked, looking up at the geometric patterns in the molding on the ceiling, a funny smile on his face.

Thomas didn't have the slightest idea how to answer that question truthfully, so he gave Philip the answer that he would want to hear. "Yes," he said. "Did you?"

Philip waved his hand in the air. "There was better company than usual." He chuckled, then sat up. "Can you stay?"

"For a little longer," Thomas said. He would have to be back at the Grantham estate early in the morning, and he would like to get some sleep, but at this hour he would already be sneaking back inside the house, so the precise time at which he did that hardly mattered.

Philip smiled. "Good."

Thomas finally made up his mind to move, and he knelt down at the duke's feet to remove his shoes, slipping his hand up the duke's leg as he did so. Philip made a contented hum and twirled a lazy finger through Thomas's hair. Although this made it quite hard to think straight, Thomas still had questions sitting in his throat.

"You don't think Lady Sybil will say anything to Lady Mary, do you?" Thomas asked.

"Why would she?"

Thomas was brought up short by this question. "She has as many reasons to talk as she does to keep quiet." He didn't think Sybil would say anything, at least regarding him, but she might make a nudge to Mary that the duke would be a poor husband.

"I feel like I have been quite clear about the type of wife I'm looking for, and Lady Mary seems to have no objections to that." He shrugged. Thomas had gotten his shoes off by now, but didn't feel like unhooking his socks from their garters, so he just set them neatly by the side of the bed, then sat next to the duke in order to pull off his jacket. "Lady Sybil looks as though she has an independent streak. If Lady Mary is similar, she would appreciate me as a husband." He chuckled. "She knows I spend most of my time on Phezzan, anyway, and she certainly understands that her mother's Phezzani fortune is what makes her appealing to most."

"I'm glad you think there won't be a problem." Thomas took the duke's hands in his so that he could remove his cufflinks. The duke was yielding.

"Why do you say so?"

"You ought to take me with you, when you marry her."

"Take you with me? As what?"

"A valet."

"I have a valet, Thomas," Philip said.

"One who's attached to his family on Odin," Thomas pointed out. "I wouldn't mind living on Phezzan."

"It's different there," Philip said. He shook his head. "The rules are different."

"I know." Thomas lifted the duke's hand to his mouth, kissed his fingers. The duke stroked his lips with his thumb.

"I don't know if this whole thing with Lady Mary is guaranteed to come off," the duke pointed out. "It's early yet."

"Even if it doesn't," Thomas mumbled around the duke's hand, "you should take me on."

"It's not quite that simple."

"It is for Count Lohengramm."

Philip was silent for a moment. "I expect Count Lohengramm will end up as a very beautiful corpse before he's thirty, so I can't blame him for living his life in such an incautious way. I'm sure he knows it won't make any difference to him in the end, which is why he does it."

"Why do you say that?"

"As soon as the Kaiser dies-" Philip's voice was unexpectedly melancholy. "Well, I don't expect you to care about court politics. I'm sure it doesn't matter to you."

"It matters to you." He reached for the duke's shirt, slowly undoing the buttons. Philip tilted his head to the ceiling again, exposing his throat.

"We've had thirty years of calm with Friedrich," he said. "That isn't going to last- anyone can see how fragile he is these days. I need to get married to someone whose money is already on Phezzan, so that I can ride out the storm there, no matter what happens here." He shook his head. "Lohengramm has made enemies of Braunschweig and Littenheim, and he's not willing to run away."

"He thinks he's going to change the universe," Thomas said.

"Who told you that?"

"His man. Siegfried."

The duke nodded. "Best of luck to him, then." It was an echo of what Thomas himself had said to Siegfried. Neither of them really believed it, no matter how much they wanted to. It pleased Thomas, in some way, to know that he and Philip were similar: practical.

"Will you take me with you?" Thomas asked. "It's not like I want to get caught in the middle of a civil war either."

"I can't tell the future, Thomas," Philip said. He cupped the side of Thomas's face. "If things turn out..." He trailed off.

That was the best that Thomas would get right now, he was sure. It would have to be enough.

Thomas walked back to the Grantham house in the dark, his phone flashlight the only illumination once he left the town's streetlights and got onto the long, winding road that led to the estate. It was cold, now, and he was exhausted, but he trooped onwards. Though he heard owls hooting in the trees a few times as he walked, he didn't see them, or any other animals either. It was a relief to finally see the lights of the Grantham house peeking through the trees, and he quickened his pace, veering off the main road to cut across the grass to the servants' entrance in the back. The lights were all on in the garage as he passed, though the door was shut, so Thomas couldn't see who was inside or what they were doing.

His shoes were wet with dew when he pulled around the side of the house, and he was shivering. He was in such a hurry to get inside that he didn't notice the man standing near the door, looking up at the sky, until it was too late to change course. When the man turned, hearing Thomas's footsteps crunch across the gravel, Thomas recognized it was Bates. He was wearing a jacket and shoes, but his pyjama pants were visible, and it looked like he wasn't wearing socks.

"I was wondering when you'd get back from your sortie," Bates said. His tone was unusually gruff, even for him.

"What's it matter to you?" Thomas asked. He wanted to edge past Bates to get indoors, but that seemed like it would be difficult.

"Herr Carson doesn't appreciate being lied to."

"Who says anything about lying?" Thomas asked.

"No one comes back from an afternoon doctor's appointment at three in the morning," Bates said.

"Is it your business where I go during my time off, Herr Bates?" Thomas asked. He discovered that he was still riding the high of the time he had spent with the duke, and this elevated his tone to something approaching superiority.

Bates took a step towards Thomas. The light above the door scrambled his features into harsh shadows and white planes, menacing in the gloom. His breath rose in a cloud. "The reputation of Lord Grantham is my business, and, by extension, the reputation of this house. For his staff to be out damaging that reputation-"

"What damage have I done?"

"You know exactly what you're doing," Bates spat. "I know your kind."

"My kind?" Thomas straightened. "If you're going to accuse me of something, say it. If you can't make an accusation without proof-"

Bates took another step forward. He was close enough that Thomas could smell his breath. Minty. He had just brushed his teeth. Thomas would have felt more comfortable if it had been beer that he smelled, but Bates was dead sober. That made him more dangerous, and more likely to remember anything Thomas said. "The proof is in you sneaking back here at this time of night."

"I wasn't sneaking, Herr Bates. I walked right up here, and I would have gone right in to bed if you hadn't stopped me." He paused, stared him down. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Would Herr Carson agree?"

"I could accuse you of something, Herr Bates. You're out here at night doing-"

This apparently touched some sort of nerve for Bates. He shoved Thomas back against the wall of the house, the rough stone scraping Thomas's back through his jacket. Bates grabbed the front of his shirt and held him by it, breathing heavily. Thomas was loose and floppy under the shove, but he stared Bates down, even as Bates hissed, "You shouldn't talk so much."

"Are you going to hit me, Herr Bates?" Thomas asked. The cheek was going to get him hurt, he knew it, but he couldn't help it.

"You reek of cologne," Bates said.

Thomas opened his mouth to say something in response, but before he could, there were footsteps crunching on the gravel, coming from the garage, and Tom appeared in silhouette in the foggy light.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, looking at Bates, who scowled and let Thomas go. He slid down the wall when he was released.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Bates said, and then, to avoid any further questions from Tom, turned and went inside the house, the door shutting hard behind him. Thomas took a second to calm his breathing, then straightened and dusted himself off vainly. Tom looked at him in mild concern.

"What was that about?" Tom asked.

Thomas almost said something rude, but Tom had never done him ill (in fact, in all the time that Thomas had been working at the Grantham house, they had barely spoken, since Tom spent most of his time in the garage), so he composed himself. "You ought to be careful about him," Thomas said, nodding behind himself to where Bates had disappeared. "He's taken it upon himself to have a special interest in where all of us staff go during our off time."

Even in the dim light, Tom's sudden anxiety was visible. "And why would I need to be careful about that?"

"You're not a very good liar," Thomas pointed out. "I saw you in the city, earlier. The day I borrowed the car. You went into some unmarked building on 42 nd Street. And you must have been there until late, since I didn't see you until the next morning. I was looking for you to give the car keys back."

Tom looked nervous. "Thank you for not mentioning that to anyone."

Thomas just inclined his head. "I am awfully curious about it."

"It's not worth your curiosity," he said. Although he tried to sound nonchalant, he was on the back foot still, and Thomas could pick out the half lie. "It's just a group of friends that I was going to see. We talk about politics, mostly. It's nothing special."

"Well, if you don't want Bates to know about it, you'd better be careful about coming and going."

"I won't ask where you came from."

"A doctor's appointment," Thomas said, as bland of a tone in his voice as possible.

Tom cracked a smile at that. "What was he doing out here, anyway?"

"No idea. Wouldn't ask him unless you want his hand on your throat, though," Thomas said.

"You're lucky I was here."

"I'm not afraid of him," Thomas said.

"Afraid's one thing. Bruised is another."

"He wouldn't have hit me. Carson wouldn't have it."

"If he believed you when you told him. Your word against Bates's."

"Why's his word any better than mine?"

"He's been in the house longer."

That made Thomas scowl. "That's not any good reason. It's not like he and I are any different."

"Well, it doesn't matter," Tom said. "It's better that you don't have to get Carson involved. And Bates won't, either."

"What were you doing out here, anyway?"

"Oh, just reading," Tom said, and this time his voice had the ring of truth in it. "I've gotten words when people see me up late in my own room, so I go out to the garage for some peace. But I keep the back windows open, to vent all the fumes, and I could hear you talking. Surprised you didn't wake up the whole house."

"Must be nice, to have your own little dominion."

"Yeah," Tom said. "Someday, I'd love to run a garage of my own, not just work for a family like this."

"Good luck to you."

Tom laughed. "I know. I'm never going to get the cash for that kind of thing."

Thomas shivered. Now that the excitement was over, he was freezing in the night air. Tom had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and goosebumps covered his arms. "We shouldn't stand out here, unless we're inclined to freeze."

"Right," Tom said. "I'd better lock up the garage."

Thomas trooped inside as Tom jogged away.

When he reached his bedroom, Thomas quickly went through his evening routine and lay down in bed. Despite how tired he was, he found it difficult to fall asleep, with all the events in the day still rushing through his head. It hardly felt real at all, any of it. It was like he had been in a dream all day. Wanting something to confirm that it all had happened, Thomas took out his phone and looked at the picture that Baroness Wesptfale had sent him. There he was, standing next to Philip, Philip's fingers just brushing his, ever so deliberately. Thomas studied it, a strange and warm feeling in his heart, until finally his eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Although the information that Thomas had learned about Tom was interesting, he didn't have much to do with it, not unless he wanted to go visit Tom's little hideout, or do any poking around in the garage. Both of those things sounded like plausible leads, but Thomas doubted they would give him much that he could actually use, and they would likely only get him into trouble. So, he left Tom and all his strange business alone for a few days.

One morning the next week, Thomas was serving breakfast. Things were the usual early-morning quiet, with only Count Grantham and Lady Sybil at the table, Ladies Mary and Edith not bothering to get up until later. Sybil had smiled at Thomas on her way in, and her voice was its usual bright and cheerful self as she spoke to her father, who was half-ignoring her to read the paper as he ate his eggs and toast. He was frowning.

"Is something the matter, Papa?" Sybil asked, mostly it seemed just to make conversation.

"Reading the capital news ever morning truly only makes me want to go back home," Lord Grantham said. "Remind me when the season is going to be over, again?"

"In about two months," Sybil said. "It can't be that bad. What's the gossip that's made its way into print?"

"It's not gossip." He flipped the paper down to show Sybil the stark black and white photograph on the page he was looking at. Thomas looked at it as best he could from his vantage point back near the food. He was startled to see a sight that he was intimately familiar with: the destroyed hulk of an Imperial military transport ship, its aft engines a smoking wreck. This one was only different from the hundreds he had seen during his service because it was on the ground, and the charred debris had fallen rather than forming a cloud, a kind of funeral shroud for the dead ship.

"What happened?" Sybil asked, concern in her voice. "Is the crew alright?"

"Terrorism," Lord Grantham said. "Which is the last thing this country needs."

"Terrorism?" Sybil blanched. "How do they know it wasn't a malfunction?"

Thomas could have told her right out that ships didn't malfunction like that, but he kept his mouth shut and just listened to what Lord Grantham had to say.

"That ship was supposed to take a load of criminals off-planet," he said. "They escaped in the chaos before they could be loaded onboard."

"Gods," Sybil said, face pale.

"It's bad enough that the line of succession isn't clear," Lord Grantham said. "I suppose everyone has decided that this is their chance to take advantage." He angrily shuffled the paper. "I will have to convince your mother to stay home next season, or at least until things blow over."

"Papa!" Sybil protested. "I don't think it's that bad."

"Today it's prison ships, tomorrow it's Duke Braunschweig's manor," Lord Grantham said. "You don't know what these types of people are capable of, once they've tasted blood." He shook his head. "My first priority is to keep you safe, and it looks from here that you will be safer at home than on Odin."

"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," Sybil said. "Odin is perfectly safe."

Privately, Thomas wasn't sure that he was blowing it out of proportion. Philip's anxiety about establishing a cash haven on Phezzan before the outbreak of civil war seemed perfectly reasonable, so Lord Grantham's worries probably were as well. Though, if he had a choice, Thomas would much prefer to follow Philip to Phezzan than be dragged back out to the outer edge of the galaxy with the Grantham family.

"Your mother will agree with me," Lord Grantham said. "And I hope to convince your grandmother and your aunt of the same. They should come back home with us at the end of the season."

"And what if Mary does get engaged? Will we leave her behind?" As Sybil asked that question, her eyes flicked to Thomas, who stood completely impassive. Lord Grantham didn't seem to notice.

"In another year, I'd say that the Duke of Crowsburg spending most of his time away from his estate and on Phezzan was foolish, but this year, I don't mind it. Mary would be safe there, along with the rest of your mother's side of the family." Lord Grantham studied the paper a moment more.

Sybil frowned and shook her head. "May I see that?"

Lord Grantham handed her the paper, and then he stood up. "I need to make some phone calls."

"About this?" Sybil asked, shaking out the paper and peering at the photograph.

"Not exactly," Lord Grantham said. "I'll see you later, my darling."

Sybil nodded absently, still reading the story. When she finished, she glanced up at Thomas. "Thomas, have you seen Tom this morning?" she asked.

"I haven't, but I expect he's in the garage, m'lady. I haven't heard any of the cars go out."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Would you like me to fetch him for you?"

"No, no." She folded the paper and tucked it under her arm as she stood. "I just am wondering if I shouldn't spend more time in the city, if Papa is going to make us all miss next season." She was lying.

"It's good to enjoy things while you can, m'lady."

She smiled. "It is."

Thomas was deathly curious about Sybil's desire to find Tom, so he made sure to keep an eye out the window at the garage, waiting for her to go out and find him. This luckily didn't happen until after Thomas was freed from his breakfast duties, having served Mary and Edith when they finally came downstairs to eat, snipping at each other the whole time.

When he spotted Sybil out the window beginning to stroll across the lawn, Thomas hastily ran down and out the servants' entrance of the house, then took the long route behind the garage. He was fairly sure he wouldn't be spotted, pressing his back against the back wall of the garage, where the dusty rear windows were perpetually cracked to stop fumes from building up inside.

He had arrived a while after Sybil, so they had already gotten into whatever conversation they were planning to have.

"I swear I don't know who was responsible for it, m'lady," Tom said.

"You don't know, but do you suspect?"

"It wasn't Martin. He would have told me."

"Would he have? It doesn't seem like the kind of thing that someone would go around just telling."

"Martin would trust me."

Sybil sighed. Thomas heard the crinkling of the newspaper. "Even if it wasn't your friends-"

"I don't think it was."

"Regardless. It's going to bring attention to anybody who looks like they might be involved."

"We look like a legitimate student publisher," Tom said. "There wouldn't be any reason for-"

"From what you've told me about the world, it seems like you have a little too much faith in the police to only target legitimate suspects."

Tom was silent for a long second. "I'm sure Martin is already prepared for that."

"Are you?"

"What are you asking?"

There was a clear anxiety in Sybil's voice. "What happens if that office gets raided, Tom?"

"There's nothing incriminating in there." A pause. "There shouldn't be anything connected to me in there."

"Fingerprints? Martin's surveillance footage of the door?"

"He erases that every night."

"Tom-"

"Are you worried about me?" There was a teasing note in his voice. "I'm pleased by your concern, m'lady."

"Yes! I am worried!"

"I'll tell Martin to look out," Tom said.

"Thank you."

There was a moment of silence. "What would you do, if something did happen?" Tom asked.

"What do you mean?" Sybil asked. "To Martin and the rest?"

"To me," Tom said. "If someone came to the door, here, and took me away- what would you do?"

Sybil didn't answer for a long second. "Why would you ask me that?"

"I'm just curious, m'lady."

"Tom-"

"Sybil."

There was a slight shuffling noise, someone taking a few steps. "I don't know," Sybil finally said. Her voice was firmer now. "I hope nothing happens. That's why you have to be careful."

"I will, m'lady."

"Good." Another sound of footsteps. "I'll see you later, I'm sure." The garage door rattled.

Thomas poked his head around the side of the garage, half obscured by bushes, and watched Sybil walk away, the newspaper clutched in her tight fist. She looked around furtively, but didn't see him, and frowned as she made her way back to the house.

Author's Note

apologies for the fade to black rather than having a horny scene there lol. i just didn't feel like i had anything particular to say with adding one . i leave it as an exercise for the reader's imagination

thomas... you have gotten your heart entirely swept away lol. much like the letters, the photograph is kept for somewhat ambiguous reasons, but he absolutely is going to fall asleep looking at it

tom... may or may not be lying here :) or martin is lying to tom. this is also deliberately ambiguous haha.

what was Bates doing up? :^)

Lord Grantham... is making some bad choices just slightly offscreen.

bit of a shorter chapter, but We Have Exited The Chill Zone and entered The Fun Zone. next chapter: the hunt. and reinhard pov makes a reappearance. it's been a while lol.

chapter title is from www. youtube watch?v=oFX_gODA-hk

thank you for reading 3 i'd love to hear what you think

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