Downton Abbey:

Guy(s) Night

by Mirwalker

Chapter Seventeen: Well Laid (Plans)

Actually getting in and out of the house beyond the realm of regular hours was never the hard part; that was just a door and lock. It was getting past the unsleeping eyes of the heads of staff that was tricky. But not impossible for the skilled, practiced and determined. Tonight, the worst part of the undertaking was simply keeping calm as Thomas said his goodnights, gathered his things, and waited for the right moment to slip downstairs. It was all he could do not to run into, through and back out of the servants' areas singing.

Without attracting unwanted attention, he got to the cottage and knocked, just as he finished calculating exactly how late he could sleep here, and still be back and ready for the Monday footman routine without raising suspicions. He took the hand that reached out to him and again let Ian lead him upstairs. Immediately on setting down his satchel, he set his clock; he'd keep it handy so he would be sure to hear it, but could silence it quickly, lest the neighbors be alarmed.

Only then beginning to remove his jacket and shoes, he turned to find that Ian had spread out his basic bedding before the fireplace, and was waiting to see whether his turn at hosting would be up to snuff. "I brought you some more paper and pencils…," Thomas started to explain, before he just trailed off on fully realizing that he was now undressing, so he could spend the night, alone and fireside, with this wondrous, mystery man. He found himself just staring, probably too admiringly, and certainly too obviously.

"What?" Ian glanced around, concerned something had given Thomas pause, doubts or regrets about his return.

"Nothing," the dark-haired man smiled, and led them to sit on the thinly padded pallet, facing one another in front of the hearth. Through his joy, he forced himself to be sensible as well, for both their sakes. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous and self-conscious. "Uhm, I need to know you're sure about my being here, about spending another night together…"

"I asked you to stay, to come back," Ian reminded, brow furrowing. "Did you not want-?"

"Yes," Thomas put his hand confidently on top of Ian's, "I did. Absolutely." He leaned into make sure that Ian could see the sincerity in his eyes, and was pleased to see some relief reflected in the brown before him. "Ian," he explained as he reached out slowly to cup and stroke the un-injured cheek in his other hand, "you are... beautiful..."

Mid-shudder, Ian's eyes flashed wide; and he pulled away—as if the fingers or phrase had actually burned him.

Startled, Thomas held out his hands to show no ill intent, no harm done. "What? I'm sorry—I thought… Are you alright?"

Breathing hard, Ian shook his head, relaxed slightly, and touched his cheek, at first as if recalling the caress, and then wiping it clean. His look had shifted very far away. "I— I— It's just…"

Thomas sat back slightly, giving him space; but decided to push nonetheless as his own eagerness gave way to the realization of another commonality they possibly shared. "Greenhall did that, said that to you; didn't he?"

Ian went instantly flush, looking up in shock at the introduction of that forbidden name and time.

Sorrow and anger whirled through Thomas as he pondered aloud, "That's why he pulled you out of the home, and took you to his; isn't it? Why you didn't share a bed there 'at first'? Why he was so quick to leave you to die on the roadside, and why you thought you deserved it the night we met? Why you don't want to go back to any of it? Because of what they gave you to him, for him to do."

Ian just stared back, unable to deny it, and just as unable to understand how Thomas seemed to know it. And the confusion in his face was quickly being replaced by a terror that it was going to happen again—that he'd been promised a brighter future, then lured alone to an isolated space, touched in ways he was expected to tolerate, and even reciprocate, to pay back.

Repulsed by that idea, Thomas turned to focus his roiling fury and memories on the fire, keeping his hands unfisted and visible to be clear he would not be demanding the same. "I know, Ian, because I've been there: I've had a 'noble' man tempt me with more than I had, with more than I was, even with a physical connection I had yearned for, for so long… Only to get burned when his promises weren't real, when the needs were different, and one-sided."

He laughed to realize what he had almost seemed to repeat those crimes on someone else, someone who deserved far better, and who also blamed himself for the worst he had received in life. Thomas continued to explain, hoping to reassure Ian, and remind himself, "And that time, and many others, I've blamed myself, hated myself for these... uncommon feelings I have. And I've read divine punishment into each and every time that acting on them has come back to haunt me.

"So you must know," he whispered to the figure that had remained still and silent through his confession, "there was nothin' about you that invited or approved his attention or actions then; nothin' that deserved my interest now. It wasn't you; and so you've nothin' to be sorry or punished for. That night you got away, when he threw you away, you could have let them finish you on the road, or laid down in the woods along the way, or gone back onto the lawn to die after Lady Edith saw you.

"But you didn't; you got yourself found, because you wanted to live. You are beautiful, yes; but you are also good, and smart, and strong. And maybe… maybe I sensed the pain, as well as the power in you, hoping they both might be in me too. But whatever else, and whatever the reason, in that moment and now, I want so badly to spare you that pain…, to help you be happy."

He looked over at Ian, his eyes raining down his cheeks, hoping he had read the signs right, and not just projected his horrible experiences on the younger man; and also hoping he was wrong—that Ian hadn't gone through anything like what he had just supposed. "Because, I genuinely care about you, Ian; I like you. Maybe more than I should, and maybe more than you do me. But I hope you've seen that I don't expect anything; that you don't owe me anything. And I don't want anything you're not honestly interesting in giving, not honestly feeling yourself."

A tear ran down Ian's clear cheek as he held Thomas once more in his inscrutable yet soul-searching gaze. Finally, he swallowed and asked hoarsely, "Your father found you with another boy, didn't he? That's why he put you out."

His insightful mirror turned back on him unexpectedly, Thomas sobbed quietly, and could only nod and marvel at the kindred soul that had found him too.

Ian leaned the distance between them, thumbed away Thomas' tear trails, and pulled them both up onto their knees so they could hold one another in the glow of their honest, vulnerable and strengthened connection.

As tears dried and bodies warmed, Ian slowly traced his face along Thomas' jaw and across his cheek, until they were nose to nose. Smiling as freely as he had since arriving, he closed his eyes and pressed their lips together, sealing the bond, and signaling an even deeper beginning.

Monday, 11 November 2012

"Seriously, are you feelin' alright?" O'Brien demanded suddenly, her piercing gaze focused on him, as if trying to recognize an unfamiliar face on someone she knew well. "You've had on that grin since you first came down this morning."

"Can't a man be happy for once?"

"Not this man; not in this house," she snapped. "Not ever! Unless… you've got somethin' workin', haven't ya?" she smiled at the realization. "C'mon; tell us, then."

"No, I don't," he smiled too sweetly, looking away as he exhaled a plume into the chilly air.

"You may be a good liar to some; but I know you, Thomas Barrow. You've either got a sure fire idea to start, or a payoff about to land. And I don't need to be a part of it; but I aim to know what's put that grin on your face, and spring in your step."

He smiled back at her guiltily, letting her know she was correct, of course. But inside, he knew he couldn't let her know the real reason for his sudden jump in happiness. And through his whole person, he knew she would not stop until she knew; she never forgot, or forgave, or let go. So he had to tell her something that she would accept as honest enough, without being so appealing as to keep her interested.

So, "Lady Edith," he blurted. "You know how obsessed she's been with finding her 'ghost'… She's asked me to help track down some police leads Mrs Crawley's told her about, using my contacts in York and London. All hush-hush, given how his Lordship feels about it. Well, I think I may have something for her that, if I play it right, could set me up well with all of them. Could be my ticket to the good life…"

She gazed at him with squinted eyes, scrutinizing his story and its delivery, as she held her smoke to one side. Finally, she smirked knowingly, "Dangerous game, that is: working between the Earl and that daughter especially. Careful your playing with 'angels' doesn't get you burned…"

tbc...

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and follows, especially to "Guest" (all/mostly same reader, I believe): Around work, this story is demanding my attention, and coming along quickly. Hope it continues to please with quality, beyond speed!