CHAPTER 2

"Ivy are you taking that tray up or are you waiting for it to grow legs and walk by itself?" a harassed Mrs. Patmore asked.

"I don't think I can," replied the kitchen maid. "We're not allowed in the men's corridor."

"Well somebody's got to take it up. Even Mr. Barrow deserves to get a meal while it's still hot."

In spite of her comment, the cook felt sorry for Thomas after the beating he'd had and she'd made sure his bowl of soup at extra bits of chicken in it.

"Hello ladies," Jimmy's cheerful voice floated into the kitchen a moment before he appeared in the doorway.

"You're in a good mood," said Ivy.

"And he has perfect timing for once," Mrs. Patmore smiled and foisted the tray on him. "Take that up to Mr. Barrow and mind you hurry up about it. Ivy's left it sitting here so long he might think we've taken to serving those fancy cold French soups."

Jimmy took the tray without protest and was once again surprised to see how Thomas' face lit up when he walked into the room.

"That's very kind of you Jimmy," Thomas smiled from his bed as he tried to sit upright. His expression of discomfort betrayed how much pain he was in as he pushed himself up on his arms.

"Stay as you are Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said quickly. "I'll help you."

He put the tray on the dresser and went over to the bed. With a hand placed gently on Thomas' shoulder, he fluffed up the pillows then eased him back until he was sitting comfortably against them. He noticed that Thomas' cuts looked worse and more swollen than the day before, and the bruises were turning every shade of black and blue. He was going to be a sorry sight for quite a while yet.

Even after his talk with Mrs. Hughes, Jimmy had been unsure about offering Thomas his friendship. He'd been comfortable with the way things had eventually settled between them; he, keeping a cold distance between himself and the under-butler, and Thomas staying respectfully out of his way. They only spoke to each other when they had to, and even then Jimmy cut him short with a few disdainful words or an icy glare. If he'd behaved that way with Mr. Carson or Mr. Bates he would have earned himself a sharp clip across the ear and possibly a formal warning. But Thomas said nothing. It was an uneasy truce, but one it seemed they could both live with. Alfred often asked him to go easy on Mr. Barrow, and even Jimmy had to admit to himself that he sometimes felt bad about the way he spoke and acted. But Mr. Barrow frightened him, or at least the feelings he was sure Thomas still had for him did. Even a year after that fateful night and everything that had happened since, Thomas still wouldn't hear a bad word about Jimmy. He covered for him when Jimmy shirked his duties and he watched him so closely that he knew just when to step in to help and just when to fade into the background.

Sometimes late at night when he couldn't sleep, Jimmy lay in bed and wondered how things would have been if Mr. Barrow wasn't the way he was. He could still recall the first day he arrived at Downton, the moment he passed the last cottage and rounded the bend in the lane, and there it was, the 'Big House' as the village woman who had given him directions called it. Big didn't quite describe it in Jimmy's view, it was huge, enormous, magnificent. Nothing quite prepares you for the first time you see Downton Abbey in all its spectacular glory. He'd walked around the back and into the courtyard, a maid had opened the back door just as he'd been about to ring the bell. He'd asked her where he might find Mr. Carson, but she just stared at him and smiled. When she did finally answer, she told him to go down the corridor to the door on the right. He'd walked in but all the doors were closed, both right and left, so he'd kept going until he found himself in the kitchen where he had the same strange, mesmerizing effect on the maids there. Jimmy was used to getting attention from the ladies but this was ridiculous. It was getting uncomfortable when suddenly a man walked in; tall, dark, and when he turned around, handsome. Very handsome. It was strange to think his first impression of Mr. Barrow had been how good looking he was. In spite of himself and his nerves that day, Jimmy had felt a little flutter in his chest, a little skip of his heart when Thomas, along with the maids, seemed unable to take his eyes off him , and smiling at him had asked, 'Who's this?'

He'd been glad to get the job and had started work the next week. He hadn't given Thomas another thought, hadn't even noticed that he wasn't there until the first night he was getting changed to go down to serve dinner, and heard a voice in the doorway of his room. Again he was struck by how beautiful Thomas was. It surprised him that his mind had chosen 'beautiful' to describe Thomas. Handsome, yes he certainly was, but he was beautiful too. But there was something beyond his looks that made you notice him. Whether it was the way he was always so perfectly groomed, his uniform looking like it had been tailored to exactly fit his body, his ink-black hair always so perfectly slicked back, never a strand out of place, or whether it was the way he held himself, the way he stood with his chin lifted just high enough to look aloof but not haughty, the way he strode the hallways with quiet confidence, exuding power and authority. Jimmy didn't know what it was about Thomas that made him stand out, but stand out he did.

That first night when he'd found Thomas, just back from a trip to London, standing in his doorway asking if he'd got the job and welcoming him to the household, Jimmy had felt like he'd fallen under a spell. Before he knew what he was saying he was asking Thomas if he could come to him for help if he needed it, since Thomas had once been a footman too. Thomas seemed a little surprised by the request but he'd smiled charmingly and said, 'Yes, why not.'

To this day Jimmy didn't know why he'd asked that. He'd been a footman in Lady Anstruther's house for three years, there was very little he didn't know about the job, so why had he asked Thomas if he could come to him for help? Had he been drawn to him? Had he wanted an excuse to be near him? Had he unknowingly picked up on Thomas' sexual preferences and was he unconsciously encouraging him? The thought rolled over and over in his mind every time he lay awake at night thinking about it. No he hadn't picked up anything strange about Thomas, if he had he might have expected the uncomfortably close attention Thomas suddenly started paying him. As it was, it came as a shock.

For many nights sleep would elude him as he lay churning over one possibility after another in his mind. Why had Thomas singled him out for attention? Why not Alfred? Why not one of the hall boys? Had he given off some signals? Had he secretly encouraged Thomas without knowing it? And then came the thought that he always tried to avoid, the one he always pushed to the back of his mind and refused to allow himself to ponder on... why hadn't he put a stop to it as soon as it started? Why had he let Thomas go on flirting with him and touching him? Yes he'd talked to Miss. O'Brien about it and she'd made it clear that if he didn't want to get his marching orders he should keep quiet and stop implying something so unseemly. But why hadn't he done something about it? Why hadn't he spoken out?

The answer always came in the same way to Jimmy, a tightening in his gut, a clenching around his chest that made it hard to take a breath. A rising nausea in his throat and beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He didn't do anything about it because he liked it.

The thought made him feel dizzy and sick. The realization that he liked it. He liked it when Thomas touched him, he liked the cool grey eyes watching him across the breakfast table, and the quick secret smile when they passed each other on the stairs. He liked the sound of Thomas' voice and he was fascinated by the subtle way it changed when he spoke to His Lordship compared to when he spoke to the servants downstairs. He loved the easy elegance and grace that Thomas carried himself with, the way he barked orders at the hall boys, the way he stood to attention in the dining room upstairs, his jaw tight, his perfectly shaped lips pursed together, always with a bemused expression on his face, his head never moving but those sharp grey eyes never missing a thing. So different from the way he leaned casually against a door frame downstairs, cigarette in hand, dropping his (usually sarcastic) two pennies worth into the conversation. Upstairs he wore an expression somewhere between suspicious and disapproving. Downstairs he always looked like he was watching, listening, planning. But Jimmy had seen another side to Thomas, one that he wasn't sure anybody else in the house ever had. He'd seen the smiles that weren't smirks, he'd seen those cautious grey eyes melt when they gazed at him, he'd seen a warmth in Thomas' usually cold countenance. The way his voice changed when he stood pressed close to Jimmy's back showing him how to wind the clocks. The way he spoke of them with warmth and passion like they were real living things. The way his hands rested so firmly on Jimmy's shoulders and guided his fingers so gently on the clock face. Jimmy hadn't learned much about winding clocks or dials or hands or springs, Thomas' voice had been drowned out by the pounding of his own heart in his chest. He hadn't been able to feel the resistance in the springs that Thomas had told him to watch for, all he had felt was Thomas' soft breath on the side of his neck and the taut length of his body pressed close to his back. He smelled of cigarettes and cologne, it was the most erotic scent Jimmy thought he'd ever inhaled, and he hated himself for it. He hated what it meant, and he hated what it made him for liking it so much.

Even more than that, he hated Thomas for showing his affection so publicly. Why could he not be more discreet? Why did he have to be so open about it? Stroking his neck at the piano in front of everybody, holding his hand under the table after Lady Sybil died. Standing so close to him by the clock, letting his hand linger for just too long when he passed Jimmy something, gazing too adoringly into his eyes when they spoke. Well at least he'd tried to kiss him in private, that was the only consolation Jimmy could give himself. But even that had been thrown open for the world to see. Bloody Alfred and his incredibly bad timing. Why couldn't he have come up to bed ten minutes earlier before Thomas even got into the room? Or ten minutes later when it was all over and done with? Why did he have to come into Jimmy's room at all?

And so the big 'why'. Or rather the big what. The big 'what if' question that kept Jimmy awake at night, breaking out in a cold sweat and grabbing for the glass of water on his bedside table to quell the rising bile in his throat. What if Alfred hadn't come in at all? What if he'd woken up with Thomas kissing him and nobody had disturbed them at all? What then? What would he have done? Shouted out? Kept quiet? Fought Thomas off? Or submitted to him? What did Thomas even want? Just a kiss? More than a kiss? Everything? Nothing? It was a question Jimmy could never answer because he could never allow himself to admit the truth. What would he have done? Really, he didn't know. He wanted to believe he'd have called out, shouted, kicked, screamed, punched and got Thomas off him in any way he could. But the truth was he couldn't say for sure, even if his life and soul depended on it, that he wouldn't have just lain there and kissed Thomas back.

It was an abominable thought. Foul, Mr. Carson had called it. Jimmy had been standing outside the door on the day Mr. Carson had called Thomas into his office, listening to what was being said inside. He'd wanted to let the whole thing go, just forget about it and hope Thomas never tried it again, but Alfred couldn't let it lie, he had to open his big mouth and by the end of a very difficult day he'd spoken to Mr. Carson and Thomas' world had come crashing down around him. And Jimmy was terrified his world was about to collapse as well. So he'd listened at the door, wanting to know what Thomas said about him, how much he was going to blame him. He wanted to be prepared to defend himself when he got called into Mr. Carson's office. But he never had to, Thomas did all the defending for him. From beginning to end he made it clear that Jimmy was the innocent party. It had all been Thomas' fault, his mistake, his misreading of the signs. And in the end just before Thomas opened the door, Jimmy slipped away, but not before he'd heard Thomas, in a quiet voice and with more dignity than he could imagine, tell Mr. Carson that he was not foul, he wasn't the same as him but he wasn't foul. And he'd been proud of Thomas for it, proud that he'd stood his ground and walked away with his head held high.

Everything that happened after that, Jimmy preferred to forget. He despised O'Brien for talking him into making such a fuss. He felt sick at his own weakness that meant saving his own skin at the cost of Thomas' ruin. But somewhere deep inside him, he knew Thomas would somehow survive it. Thomas was strong and self-assured, he'd fought his whole life against prejudice, it had hardened him, made him calculating and cruel, but it had given him the means to survive, to preserve himself, to pick himself up and carry on.

He'd truly believed that Thomas would be alright, that he had the strength and capability to survive anything life threw at him, that he was hard enough to take the knocks and get up again, fighting.

Last night he'd seen just how wrong he'd been.

He had stepped into Thomas' room after his talk with Mrs. Hughes and found a shy and vulnerable man sitting alone on his bed wearing just a tight under-shirt and a pair of striped pyjama bottoms. He'd been struck by how young Thomas looked with his hair all messy and flopping down over his forehead. How unsure of himself he seemed and how desperately hopeful he looked when he saw Jimmy standing there.

The confident man who usually had a cutting answer for everything was gone, and in his place Jimmy found a softer, almost fragile man. Through his severe pain he tried to smile and make light of it, but it only made him seem more breakable. He almost looked embarrassed when he shyly admitted that he'd been following Jimmy. His voice was pensive when he accepted that Jimmy would never give him what he wanted, but his relief and happiness were genuine when the pretty footman had agreed that they could start over as friends.

It was clear that Thomas still had strong feelings for him, and Jimmy began to realize how much his snide and stinging remarks must have hurt Thomas. He'd lain awake all night thinking about it. Mrs. Hughes' words tumbled over and over in his mind. Give him as much as you can. But accept only as much as you want to.

And now, as he found himself back in Thomas' room, delivering a dinner tray to him, Jimmy wondered just how much he could give, and how much he could accept in return. It felt strange to be so close to him after keeping him at arm's length for so long. But as he held Thomas' shoulder, plumped the pillows and eased him back against them, he realized he felt comfortable, relieved even, that they could have physical contract without there being some undercurrent of meaning to it.

"Can I get you something for your pain Mr. Barrow?" Jimmy asked as he carefully placed the tray on Thomas' lap. "It looks like you're a bit worse today."

"Dr. Clarkson left some pain powders, but that's very thoughtful of you Jimmy, thank you." Thomas tilted his head to his bedside table where a glass of water sat next to a pile of little folded papers.

"I'll come back for the tray in a bit," Jimmy smiled "I'll bring you up some tea if you like," he hesitated for just a second, then let his fingertips brush lightly against Thomas' bare forearm. He heard the raven-haired man catch his breath as their eyes met. Jimmy smiled and gently touched Thomas' arm again.

"Thank you Jimmy," Thomas said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

Jimmy wasn't sure if he was being thanked for the promised cup of tea or the tentative touch that Thomas had craved for so long. He started towards the door then he turned, and quickly, before he thought better of it, said, "I could stay if you like, keep you company while you eat. I could read the newspaper to you again."

"I'd like that," was the soft reply he got.

It was just as well that Jimmy stayed because Thomas' muscles ached so much and his arms were so stiff that he could barely lift the spoon to his mouth. The soup splashed back into the bowl and splattered onto the tray.

Jimmy watched him try again but was no use. He put the newspaper down and moved from the chair to the edge of Thomas' bed, sitting down facing him.

"I'll help you."

Thomas shook his head, surprised by Jimmy's boldness. "No, I'll manage."

"You've not done too well so far Mr. Barrow," Jimmy told him, taking the spoon from his hand and dipping it into the bowl.

Thomas opened his mouth as Jimmy held the spoon to his lips. He had to tell himself to breathe. A few short days ago, Jimmy would leave a room if they found themselves alone in it, now here he was sitting on Thomas' bed, helping him to eat. No, feeding him. It felt like a dream, it was more than he had ever dared hope for after everything that had happened between them. If this is all they ever shared, the closest they ever got, it would be enough for Thomas. Jimmy was concentrating on his task, his eyes fixed on the soup bowl and the spoon, leaving Thomas free to gaze at him unseen.

He watched Jimmy's fingers wrapped around the spoon. He looked at his delicate eyelashes, the lock of sun-kissed blond hair that fell forward over his smooth forehead. He stared at Jimmy's lips, he loved the shape of them, the curve of them, the way his top lip was ever so slightly fuller than the bottom one. It gave his mouth a bee-stung appearance. Thomas felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he remembered how good those soft lips had felt against his. He pulled his gaze away, looked down, followed the spoon as Jimmy lifted it from the bowl to his mouth. He opened his lips as the spoon went in, lifted his gaze again and found himself staring straight into Jimmy's calm blue eyes. The moment was fleeting but it was there none the less. Their eyes locked and Jimmy held his gaze for a moment before he flicked away. But Thomas saw the corners of his mouth lift almost imperceptibly, the shy, unsure bud of a smile. It filled him with hope.

Thomas would have been happy to sit in silence and just watch Jimmy, but the young footman was starting to feel uneasy. The silence was feeling awkward to Jimmy and he needed to break it.

"May I ask you something Mr. Barrow?" he said as he pulled the spoon out of Thomas' mouth.

"I'd like it if you'd call me Thomas. Mr. Barrow in front of the others, but Thomas in private."

Jimmy looked unsure, then nodded, "Right you are Thomas, I can do that," he said. The name felt surprisingly good in his mouth and it slipped off his tongue easier than he'd thought it would. He scraped up the last of the soup and spooned it into Thomas' mouth.

"Why did you get involved in the fight?"

"You know why. You'd had a bit to drink and I followed you to keep an eye out."

"Yes but why did you think you stood a chance? There were two of them and one was bigger than you. Why didn't you just run away like I did?"

Thomas bit his bottom lip while he thought about the answer. Why hadn't he run away? He'd got Jimmy out of their grasp, why hadn't he legged it too?

"I don't know, pride I suppose. I wasn't really thinking about myself. I didn't want to see you get hurt. I just wanted them to leave you alone. I thought I could protect you. I'd had boxing lessons when I was a lad in Manchester. I've thrown a few good punches in my time so I reckoned I stood a better chance against them than you did."

"I hope you never paid for those boxing lessons, they didn't go you much good," Jimmy gave him a cheeky grin.

Thomas chuckled, "They didn't teach me anything about what to do when you're being held down and having your face pummelled, I'll give you that. But the important thing is that you weren't harmed."

Was it the glow of the lamp on his cheek, or was Jimmy blushing? Thomas wasn't sure, but he didn't think he'd ever seen Jimmy look as beautiful as he did in that moment. It was torture knowing he could never reach up and stroke his cheek or brush his thumb across those kissable lips. It was Thomas who needed a distraction now.

"Take this away and read to me again," he said pushing the tray towards Jimmy.

The young blond picked the tray off Thomas' lap and put it on the dresser, then he sat back down in the chair and picked up the paper. He hadn't read more than a paragraph when the door opened and they both looked up to find Mr. Carson standing there with a tray, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see him.

"Is everything alright here James?" he asked in his deep, resonant voice. "You are not obliged to be in here. It is after working hours and you have every right to refuse Thomas' requests to read to him, or anything else he asks for that matter."

"Everything's fine Mr. Carson," Jimmy said, "Thomas ...uh … Mr. Barrow and I have reached an understanding. We've put all of that behind us and agreed to be friends."

"Glad to hear it," Mr. Carson said, still furrowing his brows suspiciously. "I trust your new found friendship will not require the intervention of the police?"

"No, Mr. Carson," Jimmy said quickly. Thomas remained silent. The grey-haired butler nodded and walked towards the bed.

"While it is not in my nature to wait on my staff," he said, making it very clear that such a thing would never happen again. "Mrs. Hughes insisted that I bring you a cup of tea on my way up for the night."

"Please convey my thanks to Mrs. Hughes," Thomas said with a small nod of his head as Jimmy got up to take the tray.

Turning to leave, Mr. Carson shot them both another warning look. At the door his hand hesitated on the doorknob for a moment but instead of closing it, he opened it just a touch wider. The two looked at each other, Thomas shook his head with a wry smile and Jimmy began to giggle.

"That must have taken quite some badgering from Mrs. Hughes to get him to do that," he said softly to Thomas.

It wasn't long before Jimmy's eyes were straining and Thomas was yawning.

"I'll let you get some rest now," Jimmy said as he folded the newspaper and stood up. "I'll look in on you in the morning."

"Thank you Jimmy. I really mean it, thank you."

Something in his expression and the sincerity reflected in his eyes touched something deep inside Jimmy. With his hand resting on Thomas' shoulder, he bent down and softly kissed his forehead. Thomas' eyes widened in surprise.

"You don't have to do that Jimmy..." his voice was no more than a whisper.

"I know, but I want to. Besides, I feel like I've owed you this for a very long time," Jimmy said as he bent again, lower this time and cautiously touched this mouth to Thomas' lips. It wasn't a proper kiss by any means, but for the moment it was as much as Jimmy could give.

Thomas was still sitting in his bed with a stunned expression on his face long after the blond footman had left the room and closed the door behind him.

To be continued….