Hey guys! Now, just a word of warning: this is a very long chapter – well, at least in regard to the lengths of my previous chapters.

This chapter is a very important chapter –hopefully, it will answer some of the questions (all of the questions) that you have, regarding Jimmy and Mr. Higgs. It also opens the door for your questions about Thomas and Jimmy to be answered. By the way, to avoid confusion, the night 'five years ago' is not that night in S3, where Thomas tried to kiss Jimmy. No, the details of 'that night five years ago' will be revealed in due time... Du-du-duuuuun! ;)

I know that I don't usually include the lyrics to songs in my stories – especially not in this one. However, as I was writing this chapter, I had Greyson Chance's Slipping Away on replay. Now, I'm not a huuuge fan of Greyson Chance, but this is a really great song. When reading this chapter, please try to think of the lyrics as coming from Jimmy's perspective.

Thanks so much for the continued support from you guys. Massive *virtual* hug for lizzy384, Saya White, Davy Tex, and . You guys are amazing!

Okay, my ramblings are done... read the story.

Sparki: I own nothing!


"What the hell was that?"

Standing in the night's biting wind, surrounded only by the courtyard's cold stone, Thomas could feel his fury rising. It filled his chest, burning within him, and driving away some of the evening's sting. He glared through the darkness, his pale eyes resting upon James' turned back. The footman stood apart from the under butler, his face safely hidden. As Thomas watched, his shoulders rose and fell. They shook, as though the younger man were trying to hold back tears.

Oh God. Please don't let him start crying.

"What were you thinking?" Thomas demanded, stepping forward. "Do want to give Carson a reason to dismiss you?" Thomas knew that he shouldn't be yelling – not as he was. It wouldn't help a thing; it wouldn't force James to turn, or to listen. If anything, it would give the younger man reason to walk away, to leave Thomas fuming where he stood.

But he couldn't stop.

Thomas could feel his anger, and his pain, and his ever-deepening sadness. Never before had he felt so clearly, so keenly. Each emotion – unwanted, unbidden – seeped and tainted, staining itself into each sharp-tipped word that slipped from his mouth. He knew that he should turn, and leave James to his turmoil. He didn't care.

I don't care.

But he didn't.

"When are you going to grow up?"

As Thomas watched, James lashed out, striking the old woodpile with his foot. The brittle beams broke beneath the man's infuriated force. The pile fell to the ground. The great crashing its collapse caused rang through the shadowed air, shattering the stillness, and setting Thomas' teeth on edge. Any moment, someone would come running. And then James...

No. I don't care about James?

"When am I going to grow up?!"

Thomas met James' gaze. The man had turned, and stood among the fallen wood. He shook, with anger, and with unshed tears.

"When am I growing to grow up?" James sounded incredulous. "I am grown up, Mr. Barrow," the man hissed, his blue eyes shadowed and fierce. "I haven't been a child since I was fifteen." He shook his head, and gave a mirthless, broken chuckle.

"No," he murmured. "Jonathan Higgs made sure of that." He spat the man's name; a curse upon the earth. Despite himself, Thomas frowned.

"Jonathan Higgs?" he ventured, his words cold and guarded. "What has any of this got to do with Mr. Higgs?" James sneered. In the moonlight, his face was ashen, and an unquenchable fury marred the gentle contours his once handsome face. In the darkness, he looked like a monster. For the first time that night, Thomas was afraid. He knew that the door was but a few steps back. All he had to do was turn. All he had to do was run.

But then what?

"What's going on, James?" Thomas whispered, barely able to find his voice. "What is all this about? Who is Jonathan Higgs?" James laughed once more. It was a horrid sound; empty, a frozen cry ringing from one whose joy had once been so warm.

"Jonathan Higgs is a bastard," James snarled. Thomas started. "A bastard?" he asked, confused. James looked away.

"Yes," the younger man replied. "A bastard who don't deserve the air in his own lungs." He raised his head, and glared at Thomas. "A bastard, who should be cold and buried."


Oh Lord, it's cold!

It's so cold, that I feel as though I've been dunked in a tub full of snow. I wish I had a warmer coat; perhaps I should have borrowed Papa's. But I didn't, and now, I'm freezing.

I know that Papa said to stay with my mother. But Ma fell asleep; she won't miss me. Besides, I should be with my father. I'm not a child anymore, and if I'm to inherit this farm, I need to know everything he does. I'll need to know every last bit.

I can see them. They're just up ahead, trudging through the snow. I can see my father; tall and strong, his hands hidden deep inside his pockets. And I can see Mr. Higgs. His body seems to jiggle with each step he takes. He's also buried in a coat. He looks a hell of a lot warmer than me.

I can't hear them – I'm too far away. If I sneak closer, I might be able to nick a word or two. Or, they'll hear me, and then, there'll be the devil to pay. I don't feel like a scolding; not tonight. Crouching behind a thistly bush, I pull my coat tight around my shivering body. It's so cold!

Smart move, eh, Jimmy?

They've stopped walking. He's talking, Mr. Higgs is. Papa's listening, I can see. I still can't hear them, but it must be important. My father looks serious; he never looks serious. Not unless he has to. I let out a yawn, before frowning in irritation. I'm not even tired! As I watch, my breath turns to mist, and hovers about my nose.

They're still talking. Mr. Higgs, his fat lips flubbing and flapping, pulls a smoke from his jacket. With it dangling from that flabby mouth, he continues to talk. Papa nods, and reaches into his own jacket. Probably searching for a light. My father doesn't smoke, but I'm sure he'll have somethi-

"Oh God!"

I don't understand! Nothing makes any sense!

"Papa!" I leap from my hiding place, and pound across the snow. I can hear Mr. Higgs yelling; he's screaming at me. I can see him now, bumbling down the snowy slope towards me. He looks angry, but I don't care.

I can see my father. He's lying still, sprawled at the bottom of the hill. His coat blows in the breeze.

"Papa!" I scream, but he doesn't move. I can hear heavy footsteps behind me.

"Come here, you little bastard!" But I keep running.

My father doesn't move. Even when I kneel beside him. Even when I shake him, hard, by the shoulders. Even when fat, meaty hands grab my arms, and drag me away. Even when I scream for him.

"Papa! Papa! PAPA!"

My father's murderer holds me tight. I'm so frightened. Oh God, I'm so afraid!

"Let me go!" I scream. With all my might, I lash out. I kick Mr. Higgs, and watch as he crumples to the ground, moaning in pain. I twist myself free.

Back to my father, I go. Back to my papa.

But he doesn't move.

He doesn't even breathe...


Thomas stood, staring at the ground. He studied each crack and crevice. As he watched, and trickling trail of rain water ran across the dampened snow. It slipped between two crooked cobblestones, and buried itself into the dark earth. But even after it had disappeared, Thomas remained still, staring at the space where only moments ago, the droplets had clung.

He knew James was crying. He could hear the man's tears, in each and every breath he drew. Thomas felt his own breathing slow; each draw was laboured, and seemed to sit uneasily upon his chest. But what else could he do?

What else could he do but breathe?

For there was nothing that Thomas Barrow could say, that would make the darkness go away. Not for James Kent.

"Why do you hate me?"

With a start, Thomas looked up. James stood, his hands clenched by his side. He was watching Thomas with a pensive, piercing gaze. Thomas could see his tears, as they made their unhurried way down James' cheeks. The stars collected in their salty rivulets. Thomas felt his heart beginning to thump, painfully against his ribcage. He felt like a mouse, cornered. Trying to control his emotion, Thomas cleared his throat.

"What are you on about?" he asked the younger man, feigning indifference. James, however, remained immovable.

"Why do you hate me?" he hissed again. In those words, Thomas heard confusion, and a tinge of guilt. He heard hatred, and anger, and sorrow. But this tempest was all but shrouded by the burning need to know why.

"Are you truly that...," Thomas' voice trailed away, as he searched for the right word through the blanket of his anger and disbelief. "Are you truly that blind? Do you really not know?"

"So you do hate me."

"I have every reason to hate you!" Thomas shouted, because he could not bring himself – not even in the face of James' despair – to utter the truth.

No, Jimmy! No, I don't hate you – I could... I could never hate you. I-

"You broke my heart," Thomas hissed, refusing to meet James' eyes. "You took my heart, you played with my heart, and then you threw it in the dirt!" In a moment of rage, he kicked at the ground. The rough cobblestones streaked a long and wiry scratch upon the black leather of his shoe.

"You -," Jimmy began, but Thomas' glare silenced him.

"You are a bloody monster," he snarled. James froze.

I didn't mean it, Jimmy.

I didn't.

Thomas was stronger, but James was angry. With a shattering cry, he threw himself at the under butler. He grabbed the collar of Thomas' coat, and gave the taller man a hard shove. His shoes slipping on the damp cobblestones, Thomas almost found himself in the dirt. Regaining his footing, he glanced up, only to see James come at him once more. The man swung his fist, but Thomas avoided the careless blow with ease.

"I hate you!" James all but screamed at him, and Thomas felt that never in his whole life, had he so desperately longed for someone to shut up. If anyone heard... if any one came running... there would be hell to pay. For the both of them.

Straightening his shirt, Thomas glared at the younger man who stood, seething before him. He was still beautiful – that unfortunate fact had not changed. Even through the disfiguration of his anger, Thomas could see the glimmer of blue eyes. Blonde wisps of hair fell upon James' beaded forehead. Yes, he was still the most beautiful creature Thomas had ever seen.

But there was something in those eyes, a glint of madness, that forced Thomas to take an involuntary step backwards.

"I hate you," James hissed again. Thomas' glare intensified.

"The feeling is mutual," he assured the footman, and the icy finality of the lie stung. It stung both of them. His eyes hard, Thomas looked away.

There was no warning. No cry. No words uttered through clenched teeth.

There was nothing.

James simply lunged at him. It was not until he was pinned against the cold stone wall, that Thomas retaliated. He struggled, trying to knee James in the stomach, the groin – anywhere that would hurt. But the footman slammed his forearm against Thomas' throat. His breath coming in ragged gasps, Thomas forced his humming body to still.

For five years, they had been teetering upon the edge of this encounter. For the last five years, Thomas had lain awake at night, a part of him fearing that James would slip into his room, and cut his throat. And so, for the last five years, Thomas had avoided James. As adamantly as humanly possible.

But after so very long, he was tired. And as James held him there against that wall, Thomas realized that he no longer cared. With a sigh, he let his eyes slip shut. Silently, he awaited his punishment.

Let it be fast. And let it hurt... please.

Through the darkness, he could hear James, all but gasping. After a moment, Thomas peeked down at the man. But James, the man... he was gone.

Standing before Thomas, was the lad who had stolen his poor, broken heart, and then torn it into nothing. He was the child, who in Thomas' eyes, had died that night, so many years ago.

It was Jimmy, not James, who, with a heaving sob, slammed his lips against Thomas', and kissed him.

The world stopped turning.

The stars stopped twinkling.

The entire earth held its breath, and waited.

Waited for something to happen. As surely, it would.

Thomas couldn't breathe.

Thomas couldn't think.

Thomas didn't want to think.

All Thomas wanted was to disappear.

But he could not. He could not disappear.

And so, he screamed.

With a cry of absolute, uncontainable anguish, Thomas punched James in the chest. He pushed the man as far away as he possibly could. James gave a startled cry, and fell hard upon the cold, wet stone. He cursed, loud and strong, but all Thomas could do was turn away, and force himself not to vomit.

As he hunched, gasping, gaping down at the grey ground, Thomas struggled to gather his scattered wits. In his state of panic, he wasn't certain what he found more unthinkable; that James had kissed him, or that he had hated every single second of it.

"What... what the bloody hell are you d-doing?" he hissed, glaring down at the man, sprawled upon the stone. James returned his hate-ridden gaze, but there was something else in his eyes; a desperation, a need.

And it frightened Thomas.

"What's wrong with you?" he stammered, stepping away. James watched him, unmoving..

"You tell me," he murmured.

Without another thought, Thomas turned, and he ran.


Because it only breaks my heart,

To see you going through this

And there's nothing that I can do.

And it only breaks my heart,

You don't have to do this

I've got nothing to hold on to

And it only makes me sad,

To think we almost made it

You know as well as I.

And I take you in my arms,

And I pull you close to me,

But every time I try...

Should I give up?

Should I let go?

My mind says yes,

But my heart says no...


As the darkness faded into the grey of dawn, Thomas lay awake, frozen upon his bed. The silent tears that trickled from his cold eyes felt alien against his pale skin. Twice, and only twice, did he rise from that bed, and shuffle to the far corner of his room. There, Thomas vomited into a small, wooden bucket. On the second occasion, he could bring up nothing but bile and silent tears. Yet still he shook, doubled over retching into the pail.

Thomas was not certain what it was that had turned his stomach so. He didn't know why he suddenly felt as though every fatal disease known to man had been injected into his bloodstream, and was now making straight for his heart.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that his life – his carefully constructed life, once so easily torn apart – now lay in tatters. And there was not a single thing he could do about it. Because, after all those long and lonely years, Thomas Barrow was still in love with Jimmy Kent.

It was odd, to hate someone so violently, and yet, at the same time, love them so very much. He wished, with all his strength, that James was dead. For one could not love a corpse.

James did not return to the room that night. And so, Thomas sat alone, staring into the darkness as each hour crept away.


You keep slipping away,

A little bit more every day,

It feels like I'm running in place,

Just when I get you alone,

It feels like I'm on my own.

And just like the tears running down my face,

You keep slipping away...


Told you it was long... but I hope you enjoyed it ;)