Author's note: Sorry it's been so long since I've posted. The demands of survival have an annoying habit of showing up uninvited. I've decided to break up the next event into a few smaller chapters to help me along. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping I still have some (very patient) readers.

Some confusion has been expressed by the first readers of the below chapter, so please allow me to give a clue from episode 6 of the TV series. In his second year of employment, Bates confessed to Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes, and Anna that he had been a drunk before arriving at Downton. Isn't it odd that Bates's alcoholism was never a problem for him during the TV series.

Raymond


CHAPTER 120, THAT OTHER THING

Bartholomew Hotel
The Bates Suite

An hour later

Thomas was stalling, and Bates knew it. He understood how much his little brother despised lying alone in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. The pair remained on the sofa where Thomas regaled Bates with that evening's adventures as a room service waiter. Some guests had greeted him as a bosom friend, some were inexplicably hostile, some tried to win his approval with excessive tips, and some ignored him completely. Some wanted a father confessor, some longed for companionship, and some longed for far more. The night had been an exercise in diplomacy. Upon conclusion of his duties, Thomas surrendered his tips to the young man whose shift he had borrowed. The neophyte was astonished by the sum and insisted Thomas keep half. In the morning, Thomas would hand over his share to Anna, who was the family treasurer.

Bates laughed indulgently at his little brother's stories, all the while wondering if he should gird himself and confess that other thing. Thomas had absolved him of the business about the model, but this was a whole other matter. This would be a shock. Still, Thomas was remarkably astute. If Bates came clean, Thomas might conceive a solution. But no ... he felt Thomas's head grow heavy on his shoulder and knew that the opportunity had passed. He pulled the shared rug from their legs. "To bed with you, Pooh. You're half gone."

"I am," agreed Thomas and pushed himself to his feet.

Bates followed Thomas to his bedroom and stopped at the door. "I'll get the light."

Thomas hung up his robe, draping it carefully to avoid wrinkles. Bates smiled to himself as his little brother arranged his slippers at an angle precisely perpendicular to the bed so he could pop into them in the morning. Thomas muttered something unintelligible from under the covers, and Bates strained to hear.

"What was that?"

"I said, someday I'll own my own bedroom."

"Someday."

"When that day comes, I'm going to sleep naked."

Bates chuckled. "Someday, Pooh."

In his own bedroom, Bates tossed aside his robe and slippers and eased himself under the covers. Once he and the covers had warmed each other, he rolled towards Anna and rested a hand on her back. His hand rose and fell in slow time to his wife's barely audible breaths, and he was filled with a deep sense of peace. Tomorrow's a new day, he thought as his consciousness faded. Perhaps I won't want a drink.


Late morning the next day

Thomas had awakened that morning just in time to see off Anna and the children on their quest. Timmy and Milly were determined to track down the most horrifying Halloween masks in all of Manhattan. Thomas enjoyed a solitary breakfast of grapefruit, codfish cakes, and corn muffins and returned to the suite wondering if Bates was still asleep. No sooner had he opened the door, than Bates came barreling out of his bedroom in his shirt sleeves. "Do you have a smoke?"

Thomas was less startled by the infrequent question than by its ferocity. He patted his pockets even though he knew they were empty. "No, but I have one of those new Snickers candy bars in my room."

"Snickers!" snorted Bates and turned on his heel. "Sounds like knickers!" He proceeded to ransack his bedroom. "Where are my goddamn mints?"

Thomas was baffled. "You must be hungry," he called. "If I had known you were awake, I would have waited for you."

Silence.

"I'll go now."

Silence.

"John? Did you hear me? I'll bring you some breakfast and a pack of cigarettes."

"Let me be!"

Thomas glimpsed Bates through the open door. He seemed to be arguing with himself, but Thomas could pick out only a word here or there. " ... why not ... tomorrow ... only one ... tomorrow ..." Again, Bates stormed into the living room, this time pulling on his coat, and headed for the door where Old Ram waited patiently. "Tomorrow and tomorrow," he mumbled.

"Wait, John, I'll come with you."

"Can't I have some peace?" Bates retorted.

Thomas stopped cold in his tracks.

Bates paused and leaned his head against the open door. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I want to do some sketching while the light's good. That's all."

Thomas was hurt but chose to ignore the uncharacteristic outburst. "You'll want your sketchbook then," he suggested quietly. He could see Bates's jaw tighten. His eyes followed Bates as the man retrieved a pad and some pencils from the side table by the sofa. The sofa reminded Thomas of the previous night, and he felt his cheeks redden. "John, I know why you're angry."

Bates stiffened. "Do you?"

"I'm sorry about last night. I know I was too close, too familiar, but I didn't mean anything by it, John, honestly. You make me comfortable, and I was tired and ..."

"God, I can't listen to this prattle!"

Stung, Thomas stepped back. He turned and ran to his bedroom.

"I'm sorry, Pooh." Bates called after him. "Can't we talk about it tomorrow? Tomorrow ... damn it, what's that from?"

Thomas stopped at his door. "What?"

"You know. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow." Bates hobbled towards Thomas. "What's that from? Dickens?"

"No, it's Shakespeare."

Bates stood close. "Which?"

"Which?"

"Which Shakespeare?"

"I don't know." The two men were the same height, but Thomas felt as if Bates towered over him. His senses were overwhelmed ... the older man's heat, his scent, the intensity of his gaze. "Macbeth, isn't it? What makes ..."

Bates took Thomas forcefully by the arms. "Tell me what it means!"

Thomas shrugged. "Macbeth says it, doesn't he? He says it when he finds out his wife's dead."

Bates gave Thomas a shake. "But what does it mean?"

"I don't know." Bates's grip dug into Thomas's arms, but he had no desire to pull free. "He's saying it doesn't matter. If she hadn't died that day, then she'd have died the next ... she'd have died tomorrow. I think he means that there's a tomorrow waiting for all of us, so what does anything matter."

Bates fell back. "Good god!" He turned and fled the suite with Old Ram.