Please be warned, this chapter does contain NON-CON ELEMENTS TOWARDS THE END! You have been warned!
Anna and Thomas walked back to Downton. Thomas took back his bags and left for his room. He began emptying and inspecting their contents. For most things he pulled out, it was his first time seeing. Having left the duty to shop with Anna, he had very little input in what his money went towards. Mostly everything he could account for, blankets, nightgowns, bonnets, and rags. The big things like a cot and changing table would have to be ordered from a catalog or crafted from a local carpenter. He wouldn't have to worry about such things now or at least until he moved rooms.
It was just past lunch when he decided to ponse a spot of lunch from Mrs Patmore. This time he came out in an oversize woolen jumper, something cozy and comfortable. He squeezed passed some of the maids who had already begun preparing for the dinner. "What's all this?" Thomas remarked, filling a kettle full of water.
"Don't you dare, take two steps back." She ordered. Thomas instantly put the kettle down onto the hob and took a stride backward, not yet having lit the burner. "The kitchen is jammed tight as it is." She looked scattered, overwhelmed by a feat.
"The Queen coming?" Thomas asked sarcastically.
"Don't be daft. It's Lady Edith's birthday."
"Ahh, I just wanted some lunch." Thomas sucked in as much as he could as people made their way around him. He could help but feel like an iceberg in the chaos. He eventually took the initiative and squeezed his way out of harm's way.
Mrs Patmore sighed heavily, she couldn't help but feel pity as Thomas stood, arms folded across his chest waiting for his scraps. "There is some left-over corn beef sandwiches under the dish," She commandeered a mixing bowl from Daisy and asked, "Daisy, make some tea."
"I can-" Thomas protested.
"Just sit there and look pretty, will you?" She pointed quite harshly with a wooden spoon to the chair over by the fire. Thomas didn't stop to think twice as he lowered himself down into the plush fabric.
Daisy handed Thomas a plate full of sandwiches, "How are you feeling today?"
"Well, thank you, Daisy." He muttered through a mouthful; the edges of the bread had been slightly crispy but he was too hungry to care. Daisy waited for the water to scream before making some tea. "The whole family coming?"
"Most of them." Daisy placed a cup and a saucer of milk on the small table at Thomas's feet.
"Mr Carson will be busy no doubt." He wasn't bitter or anything – or maybe he was. It couldn't be helped. Feeling pretty redundant now had him in a slump but of course he understood that going upstairs was not an option whilst he was pregnant.
Mrs Patmore had been all too quick to call her back just as soon as she was done. "Enough chit chat, this cake isn't going to cook itself."
"Sorry." Daisy hurried back.
Thomas had taken an extraordinarily long nap, right in front of the fire. His insomnia was terrible at the moment, in the last few weeks he could count on one hand the number of nights that he'd fallen asleep and stayed asleep. Therefore, naps were essential. He'd woken up just as the dinner rush was starting, and already Carson looked like he'd worked up a sweat.
It was odd to be observing rather than participating, seeing the others in their smart liveries and what looked like a hall boy standing there with shaky hands. Thomas stood up and stretched, arching his back. Carson glared at him, temper rising. "What are you doing just standing around, and why aren't you dressed?" He shouted.
Thomas took a moment to look behind his shoulder after all Carson couldn't have been barking orders like that to him. "Charlie..." Mrs Hughes nudged the old man. Carson had forgotten himself.
"Right, yes." He coughed awkwardly, having now come to his senses. "As you were." He replied.
"Thomas laid a palm across his stomach and walked towards the table, "I can help you take the food upstairs, nobody will see me if they're all in the dining room."
"No, no. Definitely not." As much as he needed help, he was far too proud to admit so. "It's far too risky, besides, I'm sure Mrs Patmore could use your help down here."
"Let the boy help." Mrs Hughes stated boldly, "there's no harm."
Carson would have argued back had it not been for his undying respect for his companion. "Fine." He grumbled. "Only as far as the resting area, and nothing too heavy, I can't have you dropping anything," Carson said bitterly. "Go and get your jacket."
He did as he was told, Thomas grabbed his smart jacket and checked himself out in the mirror. The jacket didn't compliment his casual sweater vest, and his hair was a little ruffled from the nap, but he had to remind himself that he wasn't going to be serving the family. His stomach stuck out far past where his jacket could cover, which made him well up slightly. He coughed loudly, his hormones were not going to get the better of him right now.
Back at the kitchen, he was handed a platter to carry up the stairs, strategically in the middle of the parade as to not draw any attention. "Nice waddle." James laughed.
"No matter how big I get, I'll still kick your ass." Thomas joked, but not really. He was scrappy and his hormones could be a lethal driver.
"Never had a fight with a hippo before." James poked.
"Was that supposed to be funny? Must have just forgotten to laugh." Thomas took no offense to the banter, if anything, he'd missed it. James responded with a sarcastic belly roll.
Thomas assisted with the dinner service as much as he could, helping bring food upstairs and take empty plates back down again. It was the most useful he'd felt in days. The only downside, seemingly, would be his tired feet at the end of the night. He retired to his room for some much-needed rest.
His door was ajar. It was obvious even from a distance. Everybody he knew was still in the dining hall or tending to the family upstairs. He was in no condition to fight off any intruders Instead, he approached expecting to have to yell at somebody to leave, being in his personal space uninvited. With confidence, he swung open the door, it slammed a little too hard against the stopper behind him and rebounded backward.
A small chuckle came from the right corner of the room, "I suppose I shouldn't laugh, but it's just…you haven't changed a bit." Bile rose up Thomas' throat at the familiar voice. With his back to Matthew the entire time, he closed the door. Frustrated, he rested his forehead on the wood. He refused to turn around and be civil with the man who ruined his life. "I just had to come and see for myself whether the rumor was true." Matthew hated to be ignored, so Thomas' prolonged silence drove him crazy. "How long had you known, and kept it a secret? Serving at my dinner table."
"It doesn't matter." He slipped up beside Thomas, hands gliding up his arms. Coming in closer, whispered, "Haven't you missed me?" His breath tickling Thomas' neck. "Turn around, let me get a look at you." His sensual touch turned into a tight grip as he flipped Thomas around.
Thomas reverted to the frightened child that he'd reduced himself to during their last interaction. He had his eyes drawn tightly shut and head facing the other direction. Knees trembling as Matthew laid a hand on his stomach, over their baby.
"On the night of your incident, I was in London – seeing a doctor. You see, Mary and I are having a hard time conceiving. This doctor told me not to worry, that a Crawley baby was imminent. How right he was." Matthew gazed Thomas' cheek with his thumb. "This is marvelous, you are marvelous." Matthew admired.
Curious as to how Thomas' new body felt, he crept a hand up underneath Thomas' jumper and shirt. The skin soft and smooth which made Matthew hum with excitement. Nosey hands explored the roundness of Thomas' stomach and eventually crept up further to cup the small milk-filled breasts that weren't there on the night of conception. Helpless, he let Matthew explore at his own will. Like nothing hand changed.
Matthew's hand dug its way passed Thomas' waistline and into his underwear. If he were brave enough to defend himself, he'd have done so long ago. Instead, he retreated to the happy place in his mind that'd been vacant for quite some time in order to escape the humiliation. A combination of jerking and stimulating his nipples had him reach climax, with each shudder of his body came a new level of self-loathing.
"I've missed you." Thomas knew that what Matthew wanted to say was, that he missed this – the abuse. "I want you to know, all the while I am to inherit this house, you and our child will always have a home. Although, if Lady Mary were to find out of the secret of its birth…" He began. "You don't have to say a thing, I believe we have a mutual understanding." Matthew wiped his hands on a hand towel hanging on Thomas' radiator, his fingers had become sticky with ejaculant and colostrum.
Hands clean, he cupped their baby and lent in for a kiss. Thomas edged his head, trying to avoid Matthew's lips. It hadn't worked as Matthew chased his target. The kiss was cold, forceful and empty. After everything between them, he could always guarantee that Matthew's kisses were passionate and longing, even that had changed. There was nothing between them anymore.
Matthew left, and Thomas angrily threw a fist at the wall several times until his rage subsided into tears. Sliding down the wall and to the floor. He sobbed loudly and full of pain. Thomas wallowed in his own foolishness, having yet again been taken advantage of and been too soft to defend himself. It was stupid, he was stupid. It wasn't too long ago that he'd rescued James from being mugged, putting himself in harms way for a man who didn't even care for him. Yet, when matters of Matthew were involved, he turned into a weak mess. There was something about his soft skin, beautiful blue eyes, and lustrous voice that made it impossible to hate him despite the monster that lived within.
Matthew now knew his secret, and there was little that he could do to prevent Matthew from seeing their child after it was born. If he were to live in the same house, just staircases apart, then he might have to accept his fate.
A subtle knock interrupted his moment of self-pity. He rubbed the runny snot from its position hanging below his nose and sniffed hard. "Thomas, are you alright? I heard your banging on the wall." Mr Bates asked, concerned.
He coughed to clear his throat, "go back to bed Mr Bates, please." He tried to maintain a normal voice, despite the lump rising in the back of his throat. "I know you mean well." He continued, not wanting to sound entirely ungrateful for the uncharacteristic outreach.
"So long as you're sure." Bates had a bad feeling about Thomas' mood. He'd only caught a glimpse of somebody a little further down the hall, through the windowpane in the door. Whoever it may have been, he could assume that the ruckus was their doing. For the rest of the night, or until he eventually fell asleep, he kept a close ear out on the landing, making sure that nobody else was coming or going during the night.
Meanwhile, Thomas spent the entire night crying, taking breaks periodically to throw up. He'd felt so sad and dirty. The following days were just as emotional. He wasted three days in his pajamas, wrapped in his blanket. Most of the day he'd been isolated in his room, still feeling sick. Those whom he came into contact with on his trips to the bathroom only noticed his bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and swollen cheeks.