Hey my wonderful people! I'm so sorry! I know that I've been slack, but I promise, updates WILL get faster! I'm not sure about the rest of you, but I have a long weekend coming up, so I'll be doing lots of writing – I hope you lot'll be doing lots of reading!

I know that the last few chapters have seemed a little slow moving, but I promise, it WILL get better!

Sparki: I own nothing!


It was getting colder. Soon, the snow would come, and with it, the heralding of a new beginning. The beginning of winter - winter, a time when everything was white washed and wonderful, and it seemed as though anything were possible.

But for Thomas, winter was just another season. The first snow meant nothing to him – it was no different than the first fall of autumn, or the first bloom of spring. When it came, he would surely lower the brim of his cap, and turn up his collar against the cold.

Thomas closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the stars; that night, they laughed at him, cackling in their twinkling tones at the utter magnitude of his stupidity, and his sentimentality.

You are a fool, Thomas Barrow, they said. And a fool soon loses all that he holds dear.

Thomas gave a small sob. Angrily, he brought a trembling hand to his face, and pressed the smooth skin against his eye.

"Oh hell," he whispered. "What have I done?" Struggling against yet another desolate sob, he pressed his head back against the worn bricks of the wall.

The wall was cold and grounding. It was a part of Downton Abbey. As was Thomas.

He'd never been a part of anything. Not a part of his family, not a part of London's streets. He hadn't a place to call his own - he hadn't a home.

But Downton Abbey was home. The grand, towering abbey, and the people who sheltered from the twists and turns of life within its hallowed halls. The realization made Thomas' cheeks redden with shame.

Was he weak, for craving acceptance? Was he selfish, in searching for love? Wiping once more at his eyes, Thomas shook his head.

"To 'ell with that," he mumbled, and rummaged for a cigarette. He wasn't certain he carried a lighter, but he prayed the familiar jiggle of a fag between his cold lips might calm his aching chest. Thomas hadn't known that heartache could hurt so terribly. Slowly, he pressed his gloved hand to his throat. He wasn't certain what he ached for, or who, if anyone.

Not James.

No. Not James.

"Is it true?"

Startled, Thomas spun around. His heel slid across the ever-damp cobblestones. He fought for a moment, struggling for balance. When finally he glanced up, he found Mrs. Hughes lingering in the open doorway. The aging housekeeper watched him, with warm, worried eyes. Slowly, Thomas straightened up. Absently, his fingers roamed his coat, refusing to give up their search for a smoke.

"Mrs. Hughes," Thomas mumbled. He felt a small roll within the folds of fabric. Desperately, he latched on. "Did you…," He pulled the cigarette from his pocket. "Did you need something?" As he watched, Mrs. Hughes nodded.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," she began, folding her hands neatly before her. Standing in the darkness, Thomas waited. Finally, Mrs. Hughes sighed.

"Mr. Barrow, I need you to be honest." Scowling, Thomas placed the unlit cigarette between his lips.

"Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Hughes?" he inquired. His nonchalant words betrayed none of his inner turmoil, or barely contained sobs. No, his words let forth nothing but a sense of dwindling curiosity. Mrs. Hughes, however slightly, narrowed her soft eyes, and her gaze sharpened.

"You know exactly what I mean," she murmured.

Thomas discovered his battered lighter, hidden in the deep pocket of his trousers. He lit up, taking in a lungful of the soothing smoke with relish. He watched the pale cloud rise slowly through the air, grateful for the distraction, no matter how fleeting. But all too soon, the smoke faded into nothing, and Thomas was forced once more to meet the probing gaze of Mrs. Hughes. He gave her a stiff smile.

"It's cold out," he commented, glancing up once again at the night's sky. "Perhaps we should go back inside-,"

"Not until you tell me the truth," the housekeeper ordered him, her words soft; neither wished to arouse the attention of any inside. Thomas let a slow trail of grey trickle through his lips. Mrs. Hughes remained, motionless in the doorway. Looking away, Thomas stepped away from the wall. He scraped the toe of his shoe absently across the cobblestones.

"I've told the truth," he muttered darkly. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't cost me everything, but I told the truth." Thomas could hardly believe the words that were slipping from his lips; he couldn't believe he was speaking them - not to Elsie Hughes. However, as he peered through the darkness, Thomas realized that there was none he would rather speak to than the slowly ageing housekeeper. She had a grip on his trust that few in Thomas' life could barely brush. Pulling his cigarette from his mouth, he gave a heavy sigh.

"It wasn't worth the risk," he said quietly, hanging his head, training his pale eyes upon the ground. "The last thing I need is a murder case following me around." Thomas shivered at the thought. He kicked once more at the shimmering stones. "Besides, it was an accident."

At this, Mrs. Hughes gave a small nod.

"I don't doubt that it was," she told Thomas, finally venturing forth from the doorway. "But whose accident, I wonder?" Irritated, Thomas ripped the cigarette from his lips.

"What are you implying, Mrs. Hughes?" he snapped. The older woman remained undaunted. She stepped closer and, to Thomas' surprise, placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"I won't watch your life fall to pieces," she sighed. "Not for James." Thomas started, glaring down at Mrs. Hughes. Without a word, he pulled away from her touch. He felt guilty; deep within his belly, the unfamiliar and unwanted emotion twisted his gut into knots. But the housekeeper's words - no, her perception - had cut deep.

"This has nothing to do with him," Thomas hissed. He turned slowly, fixing her with his cold gaze. "I have nothing to do with him!" Mrs. Hughes nodded, but Thomas could tell that there was more to her words than what she cared to admit. He supposed that this should worry him. Surely, he should feel a twinge of something other than shame. But he didn't. It was strange.

"Thomas," she began, folding her hands neatly before her, "please listen to me. Just this once." She offered him a small smile. When he didn't return the gesture, Mrs. Hughes continued.

"All I ask is that you think seriously about what you're doing now." She threw a small glance over her shoulder, back towards the doorway. Thomas followed her gaze, but they were alone.

"I've already told Carson," he responded lowly, noting her faint air of disapproval at his failure to include a 'mister' in his address. He almost smirked. "I'll have a reference tomorrow." He gazed up at the stars, wondering absently if he could count them. He knew the notion was futile, but he pursued it none the less. Mrs. Hughes watched him, her eyes slowly darkening.

"Well," she began. "Mr. Carson may accept your notice, but I most certainly do not." When Thomas didn't reply, she gave a great sigh.

"Where will you go?" Thomas chuckled quietly.

"London," he muttered. "America, Timbuktu." He fixed Mrs. Hughes with a pointed gaze. "Anywhere, as long as it is far from here." The words pierced his heart like a sharpened blade. Would he really leave this place? Could he truly ever be rid of the memories? With a small smile, Thomas lowered his head.

Did he truly want to be rid of the memories?

Mrs. Hughes looked suddenly saddened. All the disappointment and veiled suspicion had faded from her gaze. She studied Thomas with slowly softening eyes.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she murmured. Thomas frowned slightly.

"What is?"

Mrs. Hughes chuckled. "The paths down which life pulls us," she replied. Thomas took a long drag of smoke. After a moment, he gave a small nod.

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "It is."

Not for a single, fleeting moment had Thomas imagined that he could speak these words to anyone.

And yet, here I am.

What does that say about me, Thomas wondered?

"What about Miss Branson?" Thomas' head snapped around, and he glared at Mrs. Hughes.

"Leave her out of it," he hissed. Mrs. Hughes merely raised a brow. Feeling his pale cheeks beginning to burn, Thomas turned away. "I doubt she'd even notice," he muttered, as he fiddled with the buttons of his coat. "She'll have forgotten my name within the week."

Mrs. Hughes scoffed. "Oh, I'm sure!" Thomas scowled. At his stormy expression, Mrs. Hughes smiled.

"Can you really be that blind, Thomas?" she asked, venturing a little closer. "That child adores you. She looks to you, because she has no one else, and-,"

"She has her father," Thomas muttered. Unceremoniously, he dropped his cigarette upon the ground. It glowed for a moment more, but all too soon, its fire burned out. Thomas glanced quickly at the housekeeper, as he covered the dying sparks with his shoe.

"What?" Mrs. Hughes shook her head slowly.

"Why won't you stay, Thomas?" she asked quietly. "If not for me, than stay for Sybil's sake." She lowered her head.

"Please."

But Thomas shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. Without another word, he buried his hands deep within his pockets.

The walk to the open doorway seemed so very long. Perhaps it was the shadows stretching across the courtyard. Or perhaps, it was Mrs. Hughes gaze, that lingered on him and he stalked by.

For a moment, he stood in the doorway. Mrs. Hughes watched him, unmoving.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes."

And he was gone.


Sybbie closed her eyes for the first time that night, and allowed her small body to sink deep down into the feather mattress. She wasn't sleepy; for the little girl, sleep was something that she no longer seemed unable to grasp. But the bed, warm and inviting, provided a little comfort, and for the moment, that was almost enough.

Not quite enough though, to drag Sybbie's thoughts from her father. Rarely did they wander from his bedside; in her weary mind, the child sat quietly with her papa, watching as his chest rose, and fell, with each breath that that he took. In her dreams – though they were few, and far apart – Sybbie held his hand, and refused to let him go. How she wished that she could be with him – she missed her papa so.

Everyone told Sybbie that he would be alright. They told her, that he would come home, and soon.

But Sybbie remembered her father's face, that day in the big London hospital. She remembered his fingers, and how cold they'd been, wrapped up in her own. She could almost hear his breathing, ragged and shallow.

Everyone told her that he would be alright. But Sybbie was no longer certain. Sighing, she buried her face within her soft palms.

"Dear God," she whispered. "Please, look over my papa. I... I know that I'm not always good. But...," Sybbie took a deep breath. "But I promise, if you bring him home, I'll never be bad, ever again." She sighed once more, and hoped with all her might that God had heard her. The little girl knew that He was watching – she just wondered if He ever listened.

"Please."

There was a knock upon the door. Sybbie felt her heart leap into her mouth. Her stomach twisted in fear, and she sat up. The mattress creaked beneath the sudden movement. As the cold crept over her bare skin, the little girl tugged the blanket to her quivering chin.

"H-Hello?" she stammered. "W-Who is it?"

For a long while, there was silence. Sybbie raised a shaking hand to her chest, and felt her heart ramming itself against her small chest. The thumping hurt, so terribly, but she couldn't calm her racing fear. Desperate, the little girl held her breath.

"Miss Sybil?"

At the soft whisper, Sybbie felt her heartbeat slow. Carefully, she crawled to the edge of her spacious bed. Dangling her feet over the side, she smiled at the closed door.

"Thomas," she giggled, covering her mouth with her fingers. "What is it?" In response, the door creaked open. After a moment, the light of a flickering candle danced through the darkness. Sybbie blinked, allowing her tired eyes to register the glow. When she opened her eyes once again, Thomas stood in the doorway. He looked weary, and his pale skin was stained with heavy bags. But his blue eyes were bright, and the small smile he gave the little girl was genuine. Sybbie grinned, and hopped happily from the bed. As she watched, Thomas stepped carefully into her bedroom, shutting the grand door behind him. Turning back to the girl, he gave her a pointed look.

"We ought to be quiet, Miss Sybil," he whispered. The candle trembled softly, and he swayed slightly upon the stop. Sybbie smiled at his fretting, but she nodded all the same. Slowly, she reached out, and took his hand. Surprised, Thomas stared down at her. She smiled up at him, gently. And after a moment, Thomas smiled as well.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I was wondering," Thomas began, "if you enjoyed the story that I told you." Sybbie nodded eagerly.

"Very much," she assured him, and held out her hand. His smile growing, Thomas lowered the dancing candle into her waiting grasp. She smiled down at the candle, enjoying the warmth of its glow upon her face.

"Would you like to find out what happens?" Sybbie's head shot up, and she grinned.

"Yes, Thomas," she murmured. "Please tell me."


Little Fearless walked with the White Bear for many moons.

They journeyed through snow; the fine, white, cold powder seemed to coat every rock, and hide within every crevice.

"Where are we going, Bear?" Little Fearless whispered. The White Bear halted in his step, and turned to the small child. He studied her, with deep, all-knowing eyes.

"To a place," he replied slowly. "Far away from here." And he turned away.

Little Fearless watched him, as he trudged through the snow. But she couldn't follow. She tried, but she could not take another step.

"Please," she begged the bear. "Please wait." Once again, the White Bear turned. This time, however, there was a softness about his ancient eyes.

"If you are tired," he murmured, "then I will carry you."

Upon his back, Little Fearless travelled. After a time, she fell into a deep sleep.

When she again opened her eyes, the snow was gone. Before the pair, lay a vast range of mountains. She looked to the White Bear, with questions in her eyes. But the bear simply shook his great head.

"We have far to go."


"Goodnight, Sybil," Thomas whispered. From his pocket, he produced a small, folded piece of paper. He placed in gently upon the little girl's pillow. There it sat, awaiting the dawn.


I hope you all enjoyed it! Please, I'd really appreciate the reviews! Thanks wonderful people! : )