Jimmy awoke the next morning to a finger prodding at his face and a distinctive Scottish voice softly talking to him.

"Hullo?" They said, giving his shoulders a gentle shake.

"Are you there lad?"

Slowly, jimmy fluttered his eyelids open to the sound, groggily gazing around the room. As he looked at his surroundings he realised that he was lying with his head and arms on the bed, and the rest of his body sprawled messily across the floor.

As he gazed upwards, he saw Doctor Clarkson towering above him, a sullen look spread across his features as his eyes flickered between Jimmy and the bed were Thomas' body lay.

Oh…all that was real? Christ…

"Ah, Hullo there-um, I'm sorry I don't believe I know your name?" The doctor inquired, his mournful expression still in place.

"Jimmy-no sorry-James" the footman crocked in reply, his mouth feeling dry, and his throat tight as all of last night flooded back into his memory.

"Ah yes. Well-Did you spend the night in here?"

Jimmy nodded his head weakly, slowly shuffling into a seating position, before rising to his feet, stumbling slightly, to stand leaning against the wall.

"Erh, yes Dr, I must of fallen asleep-and" Jimmy sighed heavily, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, to tired to even be embarrassed by his quickly thrown on pyjamas, and the tear escaping onto his cheek. He brushed it away dully.

They fidgeted awkwardly for a few seconds, before Clarkson began to speak again.

He gave a regretful sigh.

"I can't say I didn't know this day was coming, but still, it still feels terribly hapless none the less" he said, scanning the room with his eyes for a place to put down his case. In the end he settled on resting it on the already overloaded desk, picking up the medicine box on the way. He looked down at his feet at the broken bottle and sighed again. After inspecting the box, he said:

"Well, at least it looks like Mr. Barrow used the medication, that would have at least stopped the most of the pain and hopefully dulled some of the negative affects." He glanced towards Thomas again, and walked over to the bed. "Although he did put up quite the fuss."

He looked up at Jimmy, his eyes fixated on the footman's deceased lover.

"He was a difficult lad when he was young, and if you asked me years ago, I might have even said good riddance to his premature death, ah, but not now. The war made a man out of him. I heard he was finally starting to get on quite well with the others." He looked expectantly at Jimmy who merely 'hmmed' in response.

"Were you and Mr. Barrow close?"

Jimmy felt the question like it had cut right through his heart, as the brave face he was trying to put on slipped off into an unsophisticated sob, coughing in attempt to chock down the sudden outburst in tears.

"He was my friend-well actually more than a friend-oh you'll probably find out soon anyway!-He was my-my-lover!"

Well, it can't get any worse.

Clarkson merely nodded.

Jimmy felt himself breaking down completely as all of Thomas words came echoing through the room, sounding as if they were really there. The Doctor made no indication that he could hear any noise. A few thoughts stuck in his mind, as he continued to put all his knowledge together.

{'I have an errand to run that day'…'I was running an errand… 'I have a couple errands to run in the mourning'}

"Was he seeing you, at the hospital, whenever he went out?"

Clarkson took another deep sigh.

I wish he'd stop doing that, it's me who's had the significant lose, not him!

"Sit down" Clarkson said, pointing at the single one seater sofa in the corner of Thomas' room.

"It looks like I'm going to have a lot to tell." He said briefly flashing a glimpse at Thomas again before continuing. "But after that I really must get on with my work examining the body"

Jimmy complied with his orders, and walked unsteadily to the chair. He gripped to the arms nervously as he felt a dizzy haze wash over him.

"Thomas has been ill for a matter of months. At first, his appointments were scheduled for his off-days, as he didn't want his work to be disturbed, but eventually it came to the point where he had to notify Mr. Carson that something was wrong, but he refused to tell him exactly what, let alone that it would be fatal. I advised against it but, I'm sure you know that he can be stubborn. Never the less, he allowed him to take time off when he needed it. He was very insistent about keeping the whole affair quiet, only myself, I suppose Carson must have know a half truth, and-you?-knew about it."

"I didn't know." Jimmy said tonelessly, his head spinning as he tried to focus on his words, which were becoming increasingly distant and muffled.

Jimmy thought he looked shocked or surprised, but in all honestly he wasn't really focusing on looking at him anymore, his eyes drifting off to look behind the other man absently, staring at nothing in particular.

Time seemed to run patchy, and Jimmy kept on finding himself tuning in at random points of the conversation.

"…spotted certain symptoms in him? Like, drowsiness, tiredness, weakness, irrational behaviour perhaps, achiness, some people experience heightened frustration and senses…"

Somewhere in this list jimmy blacked out, and yet again found himself being shaken awake, although slightly more forcefully this time, by the doctor.

"This is obviously a very traumatic time for you, so please contact me if you're in any need of help. I'm going to start to get to work and making arrangements for the body to be removed after the house has been notified. I suggest you go to your own room and get ready for the day. I came early, so everybody's only just getting up."

Somehow Jimmy found it back to his own room, managed to get dressed, albeit sloppily, and he soon found himself staring into the mirror of the vanity table. He looked a horrific mess. Normally he would have freaked out and rushed about trying to make himself more presentable, but today he didn't even care, nor have the energy to do so.

It's going to be a shit day for everyone anyway, might as well blend in.

Jimmy thought wearily, taking note of dishevelled hair with random strands sticking up, and his eye bags revealing his extreme lack of sleep and stress. He looked at his unmade bed with disgust.

Urgh, and on top of everything I have to sleep in a bed of death!

The words him and Thomas had exchanged over the past few months continued to circle his head. He brought his hands up to shakily cover his eyes as if it would stop the increasing noise haunting his mind.

{'Just got to accept things and get on with them'…'I don't want to let you go. Not now, not ever'…'Everything I do is for you'…'trust me and know that I have my reasons for doing so'…'I am well and truly in love with you Jimmy Kent'…'Men like us; it's not our place to demand'…'I'm not parading around like the worlds gonna end, like my heart has beaten and battered, like I'm going to die'…'time will eventually tell you all you need to know'}

Fuck time!

God, I've been such an arse…will I never be allowed to forget it?

"SHUT UP! EVERYTHING JUST SHUT UP!" jimmy shouted, looking up from his hands into the mirror.

As he looked past his reflection, to the bed behind him, he could have sworn that his heart momentarily stopped beating. The few seconds that he sat staring at the familiar reflection in the background felt like hours, like time had briefly stopped as he caught sight of the vaguely transparent figure sitting nude on the mattress, watching his back.

"Thomas?"