A/N I wrote this by hand in a tent on the DofE practice expedition, three days without Internet or warmth I thought I would die! But on the plus side I could get my ideas down quicker, even if they weren't typed. Thank you to my kind reviewers, I'm glad to know someone's reading this!

Sorry for the delay, exams and real life once again got in the way!

Enjoy

They didn't talk about what Seb had done. Nor did they mention Thomas's recent heroics except for Seb to ask how he was feeling before they settled down to play cards. The answer was always the same, 'I'm well thank you.'

They didn't talk, not really. It was Seb's own fault he knew it, he had built a makeshift wall around himself when about Thomas. It was flimsier than the one he wore around the staff and at work with upstairs. However it was still there.

His work had been less frequent since the death of Mr Matthew Crawley. None of the family seemed to want to leave the house, only Lady Edith and Mr Branson ever left, for work purposes, and both of them preferred to drive themselves, though Lady Edith was rarely at Downton anyway, as she spent most of her time working in London. The only people Seb drove now were visitors to and from the train station, either people arriving to offer condolences or unwanted officials such as Mr Murray.

This was why Seb found himself sitting at the servants table, one Tuesday afternoon, drinking the cup of tea Daisy had brought him (though he preferred to make his own). He had literally no work to do. He had cleaned the car until it gleamed, checked every part until he was sure it would work for another decade and had even given his uniform twice the needed brushing. He had even washed his oily overalls. He had just finished another letter to his sister, yet again asking for forgiveness- though as usual he didn't expect a reply. Re-reading over it he sighed and decided he would post it tomorrow, in case he changed his mind and decided he didn't need forgiveness from anyone, let alone her, like he had done many a time in the last 12years. Sniffing away the lump of emotion in his throat, he rose to wash out his enamel mug, just for something to do.

The kitchen was filled chatter and clanging, two sounds Seb didn't welcome. As another clang of metal on metal resounded in the air, loud enough to be heard from outside in the corridor, he stopped, images of gunshots and prison flashing through his skull. Stumbling he leaned on the wall, shaking his dizzying head to clear it of the unpleasant images. Once he had struggled to control his breathing he stood straight, still pale and sweaty, only to be sent back against the wall by the shout of a frantic hall boy in the kitchen, apparently Ivy had let something over boil.

Yelling rang in his ears and he flinched at the ferocity of the sounds, sounds which he rationally told himself were part of his memories. They still felt very real. He was still standing there, staring at the wall without seeing, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He flinched expecting an attacker. He didn't even hear his own name being called; only hearing insults. He couldn't breathe, the panic rising in his chest. It was happening again.

"Sebastian!" As he came to, he felt tears running down his face. Shame was bubbling in his chest, usually became part of the mask, and nothing could get through, but lately he'd been on edge, fearing rejection everywhere rebuilding the wall but forgetting to replace it with a façade.

It was of course Mr Barrow. Dressed in his under butlers uniform he cut a dashing but concerned figure before Seb, his uninjured hand still clamped on his shoulder, the other hand holding the enamel mug. He'd either prised it from Sebastian's hands in fear he'd drop it or had picked it up off the floor when it had fallen.

"Come on, let's get you out if here", Thomas place the mug carefully on the floor, and moved the hand on Seb's shoulder to his upper arm to guide him. Seb was still in a semi-panicked daze, shaking from head to toe and unable to utter a word due to his dry throat.

Quickly and quietly Thomas led him up the stairs to Seb's own room, he'd declined his own cottage, and, opening the door, sat him down on the bed. At some point Thomas had also prised Seb's chauffeurs cap out of his other hand as now placing it on the top of the chest of drawers, before turning back to Sebastian, who was staring at the floor, flinching every few seconds.

"Come on Seb, snap out of it!" Thomas hovered, not entirely sure what would be appropriate, Seb had been distant, these past weeks.

It tooke several moments, in the silence that followed, for Sebastian to feel himself again. Or rather his old self, the one without the wall or the mask, scared young Sebastian. Taking several deep breaths, he wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand before, on Thomas's disapproving stare, he reached into his bedside draw and brought out a blue plaid handkerchief.

"Sorry", though Seb didn't know if he was apologising for being unhygienic or for the entire episode. Right now he wasn't sure what he was thinking, it felt like several trains were running through his head with their steam and smoke pouring out of his ears, nose and mouth, especially his mouth, it was so dry his voice had had gone hoarse. Upon this Thomas made over to the washstand and, after checking the water was clean, hand Seb a glass of water.

"Drink slowly, everything will be okay" Thomas sat beside him, on the bed, ensuring he did drink slowly.

"How can you say that, nothings ever okay," Thomas shushed him so he could drink more water, his voice kept cracking.

"Look what happens to us, we're wrong! How is that okay? There are people out there who'll kill us Thomas. The only people who care are us, you and me, and we don't have a voice. How can we."

He broke off sniffing, more tears running down his face and nose, his shoulders shaking. Thomas took up the sodden handkerchief and began wiping at Sebastian's face, tears swimming in Thomas's own eyes though Seb couldn't see that as he was so intent on looking at his hands. Seb was picking at his skin with his nails, hoping to direct his emotion elsewhere and turn it into pain. Thomas's hand steadied his own, the other one, the injured one cupping his face with the handkerchief, forcing Seb to look him in the eye.

"Stop that" his voice was gentle, "I can't promise if everything will okay, but we can make it better. You told me I had everything to live for, but so do you!"

Seb sighed with semi-relief and, without thinking; he leant in and presses his wet lips to Thomas's dry ones. It was messy and wonderful; Seb hoped he was conveying the right amount of gratitude through the kiss. He felt Thomas stiffen beneath him and quickly pulled away.

"Sorry, I don't… I mean… Thank you…sorry…what was…sorry" Seb pulled himself completely out of Thomas's grasp, and sat still, on the other side of the bed, his elbow s resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

"It's okay, I understand" It wasn't as Thomas hadn't kissed anyone like that before. At least this time the feelings were mutual, or he hoped Seb felt something for him, something other than thanks. However this wasn't the time to tell Seb this. Right now Seb needed someone to lean on and Thomas vowed he would be that person.

A/N Yay!

I hope this isn't so bad, it was written after an exceedingly uncomfortable night in a freezing tent, when we got up (at 5.50 in the morning) there was ice on the tent! Hope it's okay!

Again, sorry for the wait,

MissGracieKathy