Hey! I'm so, so, so, so sorry for being so long in updating. School's back, and the assessments are in, and... ugh! I've been working on this chapter for SO LONG, but I haven't had the chance to finish it... until today : ).
Thanks for all the support you guys have given me; especially Davy Tex – you are amazing!
Sparki: I own nothing!
Thomas and Jimmy sat together, their knees not quite touching. It was peaceful there upon the stairs, in a way that neither one had ever imagined it could be. The air around them was dark, yet unlike outside, the chill was hardly recognisable, in such a close proximity did they sit. Thomas' candle flickered ceaselessly, and the light was thrown against the wall, flooding the stairway in warmth.
It was late – or rather, very, very early. It was hard to believe that barely a day had passed since Thomas had carried an unconscious Sybbie through Downton's halls, and laid her gently upon her bed. Thanks to Mrs. Hughes' pleading with Carson – and Lord Grantham's gratitude for the safe return of his granddaughter – the three of them – Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas – had spent the following hours lost to the world, sprawled upon their cots, in a seemingly never ending sleep.
Thomas had woken first. He'd lain awake, bundled beneath his blankets, listening to Jimmy's gentle breaths as the younger man slumbered on. Jimmy was the deepest of sleepers; tonight, however, he tossed and turned, one minute on his side, the next of his back, facing the ceiling. He mumbled things, words that, more often than not, Thomas couldn't quite catch. However, it was when Jimmy whispered Thomas' name that the older man sat up in bed, and gave up entirely on sleep.
Thomas closed his eyes, and yawned. The cloud of fatigue still hung heavily around his head. He could feel Jimmy beside him; the younger man sat with his palms spread atop his knees. He'd spent almost two hours on his own, before the fair haired footman had stumbled down the stairs, and settled himself hesitantly beside him. "Couldn't sleep," was all he said.
Now, nearly two hours later, Jimmy turned to Thomas with a sleepy smile brushing his face. Despite himself, Thomas returned the gesture. "Everything will be alright now, Thomas," he muttered. The older man frowned.
"What do you mean?" Jimmy gave a small sigh.
"I mean, everything will be alright." He placed a hand against Thomas' shoulder. His skin burned beneath Jimmy's touch. It was a good kind of burning, like the feeling of warmth that Thomas would find, huddled by the fire in the midst of winter. "I promise."
Thomas knew that he should be angry. A part of him – a small part, much smaller than he cared to admit – still remained alight with the searing pain that had, only yesterday, threatened to overwhelm him. Thomas was still angry; only, not as angry as he thought that he should be. There was something about the way that Jimmy had touched his shoulder – something in his eyes and he'd promised that everything would be alright. It was something that Thomas had seen only once before, in the deep, dark eyes of Sybbie Branson; unconditional love. It made him uncomfortable, but at the same time, something inside that had long been dead and withered began to bloom again. And Thomas smiled. Gently, he touched a hand to Jimmy's cheek.
"I know," he sighed. "Thank you." As the words left the older man's tongue, Jimmy looked as though he might fly away. He closed his eyes, and it was only then that Thomas realised his fingers remained against Jimmy's warm skin. He pulled away. After a moment, Jimmy opened his eyes, and smiled.
"Can I kiss you?"
Thomas' head shot up. He stared at Jimmy, speechless at the younger man's blunt delivery. Jimmy watched him with something of a smirk lighting his eyes.
"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Thomas asked finally. Jimmy raised a brow.
"It's just a kiss," the younger man reasoned. "Just one before-," He suddenly dropped his gaze. Thomas frowned. "Before what?" he ventured. Jimmy only shook his head.
"Never mind." He waved a hand through the air. "You started all this," he pointed out. "The least you can do is let me finish it."
Thomas lowered his head. As he did, he felt a stab of fatigue ripple through the muscles of his neck. He grimaced, and titled his head ever so slightly to the left. He felt the tension lessen, and he gave a small sigh. Jimmy was watching him, and waiting for him to say yes. Slowly, Thomas turned, and nodded.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes. Gently, Jimmy placed a kiss upon each of the tender lids; first the right, and then the left. Thomas' eyes fluttered beneath the younger man's lips, and he felt Jimmy smile.
"Don't open your eyes," he whispered, and placed a hand against Thomas' cheek. Thomas nodded, his heart caught in his throat.
Slowly, gently…
Jimmy's lips were soft against Thomas'. There was nothing between them; it was just Jimmy, and Thomas. To Thomas, this was the first kiss.
Jimmy brought Thomas' hand to his mouth, and pressed a tender kiss against his knuckles. The dark haired man sighed, and in his sleep, pressed his forehead against Jimmy's neck. His warmth breath tickled Jimmy's neck.
Peering across the dimly lit room, he studied his empty cot. From where he lay, wrapped up in Thomas' arms, it looked cold and empty, and the loneliness it brought to Jimmy's mind churned his stomach. Looking away, he turned himself carefully, until his bare chest was pressed against Thomas'. He made sure not to wake him; Thomas looked so peaceful in sleep. Jimmy gazed at the man's closed eyes, and imagined the frozen blue he would find if they opened. Gently, he fingered a strand of Thomas' ebony hair, and fought the urge to wrap his lips around it.
Because he shouldn't be there.
Chastened, Jimmy pulled his fingers away. It had only been one kiss; one kiss, that had led to this. But he shouldn't have let it go so far; it wasn't fair to Thomas.
Thomas' arms were warm, and the very idea of them forever encircling him was enough to lull Jimmy to sleep. But instead, the younger man slowly untangled himself from Thomas' embrace. Sitting upon the edge of the cot, he gazed down at his friend. Jimmy's sudden absence hadn't disturbed; Thomas simply sighed, and slumbered on. Jimmy gave a small smile and, giving into the temptation, ran a single finger along Thomas' forearm.
"God, I love you, Barrow," he whispered, almost apologetically.
Careful not to stumble in the darkness, Jimmy found his abandoned trousers. Not bothering with a shirt, he pulled his sleeping gown across his chest, and fastened the tie in a bow. His slippers sat waiting by the door. As he stepped into them, he carefully turned doorknob. It let out a painful speak, and Jimmy winced. Across the room, Thomas stirred, and opened his eyes. For a few, short moments, his pale eyes roamed the room, struggling through the sleepy haze that blurred his vision. Finally, they rested upon Jimmy, and he gave an odd smile.
"Where're you goin'?" he mumbled. Jimmy forced a smile in return.
"I'm thirsty," he lied, watching as Thomas rolled onto his back. "I'm just going to find a drink." Thomas smiled again, and stretched his long arms. Jimmy lowered his gaze, and the blanket slipped down, revealing more of Thomas than Jimmy allowed himself to see. Quickly, he turned away. "I'll be back," he promised, and slipped out into the hall.
All was quiet behind the rows of doors. Jimmy slipped silently through the corridors, towards Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. He knew that she was awake; he'd heard her door opening, and had yet to hear it close. The light that spilled from beneath the sitting room door only served to prove his theory. He breathed a small sigh of relief, and knocked his fist against the wood.
"Mrs. Hughes?"
After a moment, the door opened. Mrs. Hughes blinked up at him, surprised. She wore a plain nightgown, almost hidden beneath her faded throw. Jimmy felt himself blush, as he began to re-think his idea. To his surprise, Mrs. Hughes gave a small smile.
"James." She nodded her head in greeting. "You're up rather late, aren't you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Jimmy agreed, "I am." He shifted his weight uneasily. "I… I was hoping I could talk with you." Mrs. Hughes frowned.
"At this hour?" Jimmy nodded, his eyes fixed upon the floor. He heard Mrs. Hughes sigh kindly, and the door creak as it was opened wide. "Come in," she told him. "We may as well not sleep together." Despite himself, Jimmy smiled, and stepped into the sitting room.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Mrs. Hughes asked, as she offered Jimmy a chair. He shook his head quickly.
"No, thank you," he said, and rested his palms upon his knees. Across from where he sat at the little old wooden table, Mrs. Hughes claimed the empty seat, tea cup and saucer in hand. She brought the cup to her lips, and took a small sip. The fragrant steam wafted around Jimmy, and he felt vaguely ill. His palms grew clammy, and he wiped them against his trousers.
"So, James, what seems to be-,"
"I'd like to hand in my notice."
The silence was deafening. Jimmy stared at the table, refusing – unable – to meet Mrs. Hughes' gaze. The soft clink of pottery against pottery broke the heavy quiet; after a moment, Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat.
"May I ask you why, James?" Finally, Jimmy glanced up.
"It's not right that I stay," he replied. "Not after… not after what I did to Tho- to Mr. Barrow." He winced at his folly, but Mrs. Hughes only sighed.
"I'm sure Mr. Barrow will forgive you," she reasoned.
"He has," Jimmy replied, a little too quickly. Mrs. Hughes raised a brow. "You sound very certain." Jimmy nodded mutely.
"I do not accept your resignation." Jimmy stared at the housekeeper, agape.
"What?" he spluttered. "W-Why not?" But Mrs. Hughes held up a hand.
"You can't go," she replied calmly.
"I want to go," Jimmy muttered. "It's my choice." Mrs. Hughes only shook her head.
"James, in less than two weeks, the Granthams will celebrate Christmas. You of all people should realise how terribly important it is that the staff be at full strength." Jimmy lowered his head, deflated by the heavy logic of her statement. "But-,"
"No, James." Mrs. Hughes rose from her chair. "You will stay until the celebrations are over. Then – and only then – if you still wish to leave, you will have my permission." With a sigh, Jimmy glanced up; after all, it was better than nothing. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured. The older woman gazed down at him with a strange expression on her face. She looked... almost sad.
"You will have my permission, Jimmy." At the sound of his favoured name, Jimmy looked up in surprise. Mrs. Hughes wore no smile. "But not my blessings." He looked away.
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. I understand."
When Jimmy crept into the darkened room, Thomas was asleep. He stood for a moment, watching the rise and fall of the older man's bare chest. Jimmy tried not to imagine the fine black hairs between his fingers, and he closed his eyes, refusing to let his mind jade the reality.
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