Jimmy had been silent for a while now, but Thomas hadn't let go of him yet, and Jimmy's hands were still tightly fisted in Thomas's shirt.

If what Jimmy had said were true—and it must be for him to say it— then Thomas had been wrong about him. So very wrong, about so many things. Jimmy must have been suffering something awful for a long time, and Thomas—his dearest friend—hadn't known it.

How had he not known it?

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Thomas said heavily. "I'm sorry for those things I said. About you. I didn't mean them."

Jimmy sniffed. "I-I know. And I'm sorry, too, Thomas. You can never know how sorry. But you were right—I have been a fool."

Thomas shook his head, and tightened his hold around Jimmy's shoulders.

They were quiet again, and Thomas couldn't help but close his eyes and enjoy the feeling of Jimmy in his arms. He hadn't been so close to another human being in so long, and he'd never held Jimmy before this. It was almost unbearably sweet. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jimmy was warm even as damp as they both were. His hair smelled like rain and cigarettes and cheap soap. Apart from anything else he'd missed Jimmy terribly these long months he'd been gone. The pain of his absence had been the last straw for Thomas in more ways than one.

But even as sweet as their reunion was, eventually questions began to occur to him, intruding on the contentment he felt in Jimmy's arms.

Why hadn't Jimmy ever said anything about this before?

Why had he gone after Ivy and Lady Anstruther, if he were really like Thomas?

Did Jimmy want Thomas, specifically? Had he ever wanted him? Or was it some other man Jimmy had met who had won his affections, and he considered Thomas a friend only? That would certainly explain a lot.

Or maybe Jimmy hated the way he was, truly, and his bluff with the medication hadn't been entirely a bluff. Maybe he'd never wanted any of it and had meant to live a lie as many men did, or perhaps he didn't believe in drugs to cure him and instead wanted some other form of assistance; there were more than one option, as Thomas had cause to know.

It was all too much to think of, and Thomas's legs were starting to ache with fatigue for standing so long. His body had been weakened greatly. As much as he hated to, he pulled away from Jimmy.

"Alright, now?"

Jimmy sniffed and nodded, not meeting his eyes. "How… how did no one hear us?" he asked, attempting a watery smile.

Thomas shrugged. "It's been raining fit to drown us all in our beds, could be covering the sounds."

The rain was loud and heavy on the roof and against the windows, but it was a roar he hadn't heard over the drama that had just played out between them. Their fight in the courtyard seemed years ago already.

Jimmy nodded again, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

"Let's… sit down," Thomas reached around Jimmy and scooped all his paraphernalia back into the box, and forced the lid shut over the messy contents. Then he gently led Jimmy by the elbow to the bed, where he sat him on it. Thomas took the chair this time, keeping Jimmy well away from the box.

"You should burn it, Thomas," Jimmy muttered darkly.

Thomas swallowed hard, but didn't answer. He didn't know what he wanted to do with the box now. All he knew was that Jimmy's stunt with the needle had scared him badly, and had resurrected some logical voice inside him that had been missing since Jimmy's departure.

If it's frightening and dangerous to think of him doing it to himself, the voice asked, why should you do it to yourself, either? Those drugs are powerful poison, nothing more, and you know it. They haven't changed your nature one bit, they've just been giving you a slow death, one you could pretend wasn't suicide. You just wanted to check out and pretend you weren't giving up.

Thomas's own thoughts terrified him. He wrestled them into silence with an effort, and forced himself to focus on Jimmy. That wasn't so hard: when Jimmy were in the room he commanded Thomas's attention, always.

"Jimmy…" Thomas asked as delicately as he could. "Why did you never say a word about this before? Did you not trust me?"

Jimmy closed his eyes and shook his head emphatically. "I trust you more than anyone, anyone I've ever known me whole life."

That meant a lot, but Thomas put aside his warm feelings for now. "So, why?"

"Why do you think? I were afraid."

"Afraid of what, exactly?"

Jimmy gave him a disbelieving look. "Of all the usual things, Thomas. Damnation by God, censure by the world, bloody prison, personal ridicule… all of that and more."

Thomas's heart ached for him. He'd had those same fears himself, but they'd mostly been in his youth, when his body had first started to develop into a man's. But bigger problems had soon taken over his attention back then, and his internal conflicts had been largely swept away in the face of them. When he'd grown older and gotten off the streets, he'd begun to have time to think at last, and to think for himself with the mind of an adult instead of a child. He'd instinctively understood how wrong the world was about many things, and about people like him in particular. His fumbling with other boys hadn't been evil— his desire to find true love someday with a male companion wasn't any more evil than a normal person's desire for the same. Still, even then there'd been a part of him that was still ashamed, and still frightened of being... wrong.

Then some years later there'd been the Duke, so unapologetic and full of divine wisdom. He'd painted another picture of the world for Thomas, one that had long been in Thomas's heart already but had needed the Duke's knowledge to give it proper form and texture. Philip had given him books and scientific theories and poetry and philosophy, and he'd taught Thomas all the things men could do together in bed.

After that, even with its messy ending and cruelty on both sides, Thomas's fears had dissipated into near-nonexistence, only coming to light if Thomas happened to think someone knew about him, and might report him to the police. But those were practical concerns only—as for his more spiritual fears, those had gone from him. He'd been unashamed and confident in his sexuality for many years, hopeful that one day he'd find another man he could love for the rest of his life. Somehow.

Since he'd first met Jimmy, he'd wanted that man to be him.

But of course, nothing had worked out the way he'd hoped, and over the years he'd only suffered more, and more, and still more. In Jimmy he'd found the perfect dream made flesh, and Thomas loved him dearly. But Jimmy hadn't been like Thomas in that way—or so he'd thought—and he certainly hadn't loved him in return.

Jimmy cleared his throat, startling Thomas from his thoughts. "But that's not really why I never told you. The truth is I didn't fully realize— or-or accept it, anyway— until the night of the fire. But enough about me for now," he added with surprising conviction. "Thomas—I think you're full of shite."

Thomas was sure he'd misheard him. "What?"

"You—that stuff you said, about being lonely and tired and wanting to change so you won't die alone—it's bollocks."

Thomas was too bewildered to even be angry. "Oh, is that so? How is it really, then?"

Jimmy was shaking, Thomas noticed. But his voice was hard as stone. "I'm sure you really mean it, and believe it," Jimmy amended. "And it might be true—probably it is. But it's more than that. I think—I think you're ashamed. I think somehow you've lost yourself and become ashamed of who you are. Maybe you even hate yourself now. You're like… you're the same as I was all me life."

"Like you were?"

Past tense?

Thomas couldn't think. Jimmy's words were painfully resonating in his head, but he couldn't assess either their truth or their falsehood right now.

"And still am, sometimes," Jimmy admitted. His lower lip trembled as he looked at Thomas, and Thomas watched him bite it to keep it still, his eyes fiercely wide to keep the new tears from falling.

"How long have you known?" Thomas asked. Before Jimmy broke down a second time he had to know something definite or he'd go mad.

Jimmy huffed and smiled without humor, blinking rapidly. "You've probably known it all your life, I suppose."

Thomas shrugged and nodded to save time. It were more or less true, anyway.

"Well, not everyone's so bloody clever," Jimmy said. "I thought I fancied girls because they fancied me so much, even when I were just a boy. But—but when I were older and the other lads were always mooning about this girl or that, I thought they were all mad. I could care less about girls. Any girl. 'Cept maybe Phyllis Dare."

Thomas nodded again, to encourage him further. His heart was pounding—it were like he were really seeing Jimmy for the first time.

"And I tried it on with a girl, once, during the war," Jimmy admitted. "I… didn't like it much, but it weren't terrible, either. Still I didn't see what all the fuss were about. But I didn't think… well, sometimes I had a thought or two, about men when they smiled or changed clothes in front of me, but I thought it weren't anythin' to be truly worried about. I thought men like that—" here Jimmy laughed bitterly. "Men like you and me—were deviant animals, and that they weren't real men—and I knew I couldn't be one. Well, I hoped I wasn't. In the end I decided my troubles would be solved if I could just find a special girl to set me right."

"And you thought Ivy…?" Thomas asked incredulously. He hadn't meant to interrupt but dear lord, Ivy bloody Stuart?

Jimmy shrugged. "Well, all the blokes around here and the village fancied her, didn't they? Alfred certainly did. I thought it must be because she had something to her. Couldn't see it meself, but… " Jimmy looked chagrined. "I thought maybe if I had it off with her I'd understand it, and I'd fall in love and that, and I'd be… normal. Ah, but o'course it didn't work, especially since I already…" Jimmy faltered to a stop, his eyes flickering over Thomas briefly before he returned his gaze to the floor. He cleared his throat. "So I decided she weren't the right one after all. She were too simple and inexperienced to be of use to me, and too dull to be my girl."

Thomas's stomach clenched. "So… Lady Anstruther?"

Jimmy nodded, shamed-faced. "Well, you know— I told you I started playing with her, but I didn't really think she'd take it seriously. But she did, and she came here and I panicked. I'd changed me mind. And anyway she'd—she'd frightened me a bit when I worked for her before, though she were never unkind. But then I thought, no: this might be a perfect opportunity for me. I knew she just wanted—well, she didn't want all the things Ivy wanted, obviously, so she were safer in that way. And she might be able to fix me after all since she were older and knew what she were doing. Then you tried so hard to help me, and I…"

You went to bed with her and got sacked and left me here alone… again Thomas felt sick with jealousy and anger, mixed with a healthy dose of guilt. He'd pushed Jimmy into it, after all, under the guise of trying to be a good friend. But in reality it had been as much for his own self-interest as Jimmy's. He'd wanted Jimmy to have it off with a woman right under his nose because he'd been trying so hard to stop loving Jimmy. He'd hoped if Jimmy confirmed himself a lover of women that it might help kill Thomas's painful love for him, and allow him to be free of it.

But it hadn't. Thomas had only assisted in breaking his own heart yet again where Jimmy Kent was concerned. That had been a terrible night even without the fire. And now to know Jimmy's true feelings on the matter… his guilt deepened.

Jimmy covered his eyes with his hands. "And…Thomas, it were horrible. It were even worse than the first time I did it."

Thomas wasn't sure he wanted details, but Jimmy continued before he could frame a response.

"I had to close me eyes for most of it," he said shakily. "And I had to think about—ah, a m-m-man, so I could even —you know. But she wouldn't stop bloody talking while we… so in the end I couldn't even fi—so I had to pretend it. Not sure she noticed, to be honest, though she were as kind to me as she could be, I think."

Thomas had nothing to say to that.

Jimmy dropped his hands, at last. "After that I couldn't lie to meself anymore," he confessed. "I've always been so good at that you know—me whole life. I don't think anyone in the history of the world has ever been so good at it as me. Until then I never knew meself because I hid from meself so well…" he snorted a laugh, tears welling up and spilling down his red cheeks. He rubbed them away impatiently. "Or could be that I'm just that thick."

More tears. Jimmy covered his face again and leaned forward, his shoulders shaking silently. Thomas was in too much shock to move for a long moment, but at the first sound of a muffled sob he went to Jimmy and pulled him into his arms.

"No—no you don't have to," Jimmy pushed him off, but his efforts were so weak as to barely be felt. "This isn't about me, it's about you, you daft bloody soppy bastard. Get rid of that fucking box, burn all of it and never go back to that awful place. Please, Thomas."

"Jimmy I—I don't know wh—"

Jimmy pulled away, his bloodshot eyes desperate. "Promise me, Thomas! No matter what else happens to you from now on, no matter what the world says or does or how much everything hurts—don't listen to them. You're perfect just as you are, and you sh-should never be ashamed. I was wrong to be, and you were right! You were right. So please, please don't hurt yourself ever again. I couldn't bear it. I'd—I'd die if anything happened to you."

Thomas found himself nodding. Some part of him had made that decision already, it had just taken until now for his mind to catch up with his heart.

"I promise," he whispered.

And he meant it. In some strange way Jimmy's story had served as a mirror to himself, though their actual experiences had differed so wildly. Thomas knew now how wrong he'd been, seeing the pain Jimmy had suffered in his own denial.

Jimmy closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath, his hands blindly finding Thomas's. Thomas returned his grip. "That day I had to leave Downton I almost told you I—but when we were saying goodbye I could see how much I'd hurt you and I realized you still loved me. I hadn't been sure you still did, you know."

Thomas nodded, though Jimmy couldn't see him. Of course I still loved you, he thought with some ferocity. And I still do, and will always.

"But I were going away and I thought you'd do better without me," Jimmy said. "I didn't deserve you— never did. All I'd ever done was hurt you and cause you trouble."

"No, Jimmy," Thomas managed. "You were always the best thing."

Jimmy swallowed and opened his eyes, a shy smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

"Yes."

The smile came out, tentative. "I were going to come back anyhow, you know," he said. "I changed me mind about saying anything almost as soon as I got in that damn carriage. But I didn't have enough money to come back for a long time. I wrote you only one letter because—because it hurt too much, and I was ashamed, and I couldn't find the right words for it—I told you I'm not much for letter writing. But eventually I did have enough money to come back and I were trying to form a plan, and to work up the courage to… but I thought I might wait until I had a bit more saved, first."

What was Jimmy trying to say? It almost sounded as if he…

"But then Baxter sent me that letter," Jimmy's fingers clenched, digging into Thomas's skin just briefly enough to hurt. "And I was so frightened. So I came back as soon as I got it. I—I didn't even ask permission. Suppose I've been sacked again."

Thomas cleared his throat, his heart beating erratically. "So… did you meet someone in York?"

Jimmy looked confused. "Meet someone…?"

"Yes. I mean a—a man. That you fancy."

Because surely the missing piece to the story was Jimmy's ultimate catalyst—a man he'd met who'd confirmed his nature to him, and solidified his convictions about right and wrong.

Jimmy stared at him, clearly shocked. "Haven't you heard a word I've said? I love you, you idiot."

Thomas felt dizzy. "That's not—that's not what you've been saying—"

"It is so! Christ Thomas—"

"I don't believe you," Thomas said, getting up from the bed and backing away.

Jimmy followed him clumsily, eyes wide. "Don't be stupid, Thomas, I love you madly and have for years! How did you not notice?"

"Well h-h-how am I to believe that?"

The world had been turned on its head tonight and no mistake.

"I'll prove it to you!" Jimmy caught his face in his hands and kissed him too quickly for him to pull away. "I'll do whatever you want, I'll tell you a hundred times a day!"

Thomas stumbled away from him like a drunkard, his lips burning where they'd touched Jimmy's. "But you've lost your job—" he protested foolishly.

"I'll get another in the village, I'll dig ditches if I have to! I won't leave you again. I can't!"

Thomas's knees threatened to buckle, and Jimmy darted forward and steadied him.

Then it was Jimmy leading Thomas to the bed and laying him on it, muttering soft reprimands and curses and loving endearments. Thomas's head whirled with hope and disbelief. As soon as Thomas was settled on the pillow Jimmy climbed up next to him and buried his face in Thomas's chest, holding Thomas's gloved hand in his and giving it a fierce kiss.

"We were dearest friends for so long," Jimmy said at one point. "That's got to count for something. You really don't believe I love you?"

Thomas trembled. "It might—it might take me some time."

"That's alright," Jimmy kissed his hand again, his lips warm and soft. "Take as much time as you like, I'll wait."

"You really won't leave again?"

"No. Not even God himself could make me."

Thomas wept.