When Thomas Barrow opened his eyes, he was alone in the small room he occupied. Slowly he let his eyes wander to survey the room while his body remained still. The brown curtains on his left were drawn to the side, giving the weak rays of sunlight enough room to find their way to his pillow, grazing his face like a gentle touch. With every blink his eyes wandered indifferently to a new object: a white bowl on a wooden table to his left side, a black door that was ajar, a dark brown shelf with solid cabinet doors and simple black doorknobs standing opposite his bed, and next to his bed, there was an old red armchair which was only used by a woollen blanket as a resting place. He saw everything, yet recognised nothing. The emptiness of his mind, however, did not trouble him, as he was already falling asleep again, solely accompanied by the peaceful rhythm of his heartbeat.
It took 14 hours until he woke up again. This time the room was painted black and occupied by a second person, who was softly humming an old nursery rhyme. The only source of light was a lamp on the wooden table.
"Oh my-," Anna gasped, as she felt the silver blue eyes staring at her, "You are awake." Thomas, on the other hand, didn't feel awake. He felt cold and weak. His body was too tired to tremble under the heavy blanket that had been placed upon him. He felt trapped, and he didn't like this feeling. His eyebrows drew together in dissatisfaction.
"Do you want some broth?" Anna asked, her eyes darting from his fragile body to his hollow face. In the past five days Thomas Barrow had lost so much weight that he couldn't weight more than a child at this moment, and Dr. Clarkson's words echoed in her mind, 'He might starve if he doesn't wake up.' And even though they had been able to feed him some water and broth in the past days, it had not been enough to maintain his strength.
Without waiting for an answer, Anna reached for the bowl that had been placed on the table hours ago. Even cold it was rich in taste and provided the much needed energy. As she turned back to Thomas, she noticed that he hadn't moved at all, instead he was still watching her tiredly.
"Do you want me to help you up?", she asked, her fingers clutching the bowl tightly. This situation proved to be more difficult than she had expected. Instead of finding him tired and ill-humoured, he was strangely passive, and the eyes that were usually sharp and calculating were hazy and blank.
Thomas blinked as he bit his lip. Then as if he hadn't heard her, he moved his eyes lazily to the window, watching something she couldn't see.
"Thomas?", Anna asked again. When he didn't answer, she sighed, and took the cloth that was neatly folded and placed on the table and put its tip in the broth. As soon as enough liquid had been absorbed, colouring the white cloth brown, she brought it to Thomas' mouth. It didn't take long and tiny drops found their way on his dry lips. His eyes widened as the salty taste filled his mouth, and to Anna's surprise his eyes darted back to her and he started smiling.
"Do you want me to use a spoon?" Anna suggested. It was eerie to see Thomas Barrow smile, she thought, before a blush of shame rose to her face. Despite his actions, he was a human being after all, she chided herself, a young man with—and the following thought had never crossed her mind before— a contagious smile. To stop her thoughts wandering, she decided to move into action. Thus, she placed the bowl back on the table and grabbed Thomas under his armpits to help him sit up. Due to his weight loss it was an easy task and a pillow behind his back allowed for a comfortable sitting position. Anna's movement were swift and precise. She didn't hesitate to touch him, even though he was awake. For a second she even wondered if in all those years at Downton somebody had touched him affectionately and if somebody had hold him in a warm embrace after a long and tiring day at work, before she remembered all those walls of spite and envy he had built up and maintained rigorously over the years. However, before she could get lost in all the memories and unanswered question, a sound of laughter brought her back to the present.
Anna froze and goosebumps covered her arms, before she asked tentatively, "Are you ticklish?" The only answer, however, was a smile; white teeth in an even row and framed by apricot-coloured lips. And then he giggled again, and Anna's mouth went dry as waves of cold blood were pushed forcefully through her body by her vibrant heart. She glanced to the door that was still ajar whishing that someone would come and help her and relieve her from a situation she was no longer able to handle, but neither Mrs Hughes nor Mr Carson came to her aid. So she took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she grabbed the bowl and put the spoon to his mouth. "Let's get some food into you, before you fall asleep again," she murmured, "And then I'll get Mrs Hughes."
He ate four mouthful before his eyelids started to drop. Therefore, Anna put the bowl away, removed the pillow from behind his back and helped him to lay down again. She also checked his bandage which was still dry and tightly wrapped around his head. Then as gently as a woman with a new born, she put the blanket up to his shoulders. Her face was close to his that she could smell faint traces of cigarette smoke that had always been a part of him but somehow didn't seem to fit anymore.
"Thomas?" she whispered, and an urge to stroke his head passed through her, but she didn't dare to disturb his peaceful sleep. Shattering the silence, a deep voice suddenly crawled through the room and momentary thoughts of affection were forgotten as Anna shrieked and turned around.
"Do you need a hand?" Tom Branson, shrunken by guilt, stood in the doorway, "You've been up here quite some time." He whispered, his eyes flickering to Thomas for only a second before he watched Anna again. She was surprised to see him, because he hadn't entered the room since the day of the accident. In general he had not only avoided Thomas but also the servants' hall; instead he had spent more time than ever with Lord Grantham's cars.
"Yes," she said, "Could you please fetch Mrs Hughes. Thomas woke up."
And maybe he wasn't the only one.
