Hey hey! Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter! I just wanna take this time to apologize to those (cough cough, macyrose) who are disappointed in the turn this story has taken. I know that I have included a lot of Jimmy/Thomas (looking back, maybe a little more than I would have LIKED) but I just feel that is the whole story had only been Thomas and Sybbie, I would have quickly run out fresh, original story material. Sorry... you have no idea how much I a) value you as a reviewer, and b) value you're honest feedback.
And Davy Tex... gah, I love you!
Sparki: I own nothing!
As Thomas walked through the gardens, he felt that he was truly alone for what seemed the first time in a long, long while. Try as he might, the wintry sunlight and the heavy mixed fragrance of Downton's limitless floral, his mind – empty now of all distractions – continuously spun backwards, and he found himself once again immersed in the strange events of the past night.
He was glad that he'd kissed Jimmy; relieved, for it felt as though some cloud of unspoken want that had been hanging above his had finally cleared, and that he could breathe easily once again. The kiss had been... well, everything he imagined that it could have been. It wasn't perfect, but neither was Jimmy. Despite himself, Thomas gave a small smile.
But what happened afterwards... his smile faded.
"Thomas." Jimmy caught his hand as it crept along his waist. "Don't, please." Confused, Thomas pulled away.
"But I thought... that you wanted-," But Jimmy shook his head.
"Not now," he whispered. "Not tonight." He brought Thomas' cupped hand to his lips. "Just hold me, please."
And so Thomas had. He lay down upon his small, cold cot, and held Jimmy, until his sight begun to blur, and his eyes finally fell closed. When he at last awoke, Jimmy had stood in the doorway, about to slip away. The strange gleam in the younger man's eyes as Thomas had called quietly to him still hung in his mind. There had been guilt there; an apology, almost.
So it had not happened. Perhaps it should have, but it did not.
And so, in his confusion, Thomas had set out in search of the one thing that made sense, day in, and day out. He set out in search of Sybbie.
He hadn't seen her since the eve from Hell had dragged them all to London. He'd carried her home; happily, very happily. But she's been asleep – the way she clung to him had been purely instinctive. He'd asked after her, often, and Mrs. Hughes' response had been the same each and every time: "She's resting, but she'll be able to see you soon."
He heard her before he saw her. The coughing, heavy and violent, sent shivers down Thomas' spine. He rounded the corner, and found Sybbie curled up on her favourite bench, with a deep blue blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders. From where she sat by her feet, Iris let out a whine, and inched her muzzle every closer to the little girl's hand. Sybbie stroked her soft head, a small smile lighting her pale face. Taking a deep breath, Thomas stepped forward. As he did, Sybbie glanced up.
"Thomas!" Although she didn't rise, her face beamed with happiness. Thomas felt his heart smile. The girl held out her arms, beckoning him forward. Iris, however, bounded across the small distance, and leapt at Thomas. With a smirk, he stepped aside, and watched in amusement as the dog tumbled to a halt.
"Are you ever not going to fall for that?" he asked. Iris lowered her head, and slunk away. Thomas watched as she flopped down upon the path, and curled herself into a ball. He heard Sybbie giggle, and he turned back to his young companion.
"Mind if I join you?" he inquired. Sybbie shook her head, and shifted across the wooden seat. With a sigh, Thomas lowered himself down. Almost immediately, Sybbie fell back against his arm. Thomas glanced away, and buried his smile inside a heavy yawn.
"Are you tired?" Sybbie asked. He nodded.
"Yes." He glanced down at the girl. "Although, that's to be expected, when one spends all night running about London town, searching for... oh, who was it again?" Sybbie lowered her head.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. But Thomas only sighed. "I'm just happy that...,"
"That what?" Sybbie's tone was hopefully. Finally, Thomas gave in, and smiled down at his friend. "I'm just glad that you're here," he told her, and ruffled her dark hair fondly. She giggled, and pushed his hand away. "Don't!" she protested. "If Grandmother sees, I'll be in trouble!" Thomas smirked, and tugged at her curl.
"We can't have that now, can we?" he said, before pulling the velvety strand across her nose. She swatted his hand away. Thomas grinned, but his smile faltered when Sybbie began to cough again. When after a moment the spasm had not quietened, he patted her gently upon the back.
"Thank you," Sybbie sighed, when at last her coughing had eased. Thomas raised a dark brow. "For what?" he asked. Sybbie blushed, and leant once more against his shoulder.
"For being you," she replied. And for a moment, Thomas imagined that it was Sybil sitting beside him, and quietly, he took the little girl's hand.
Sybbie let Iris lick at her cheek, even though the big dog's breath was less than pleasant. When Thomas had reluctantly left to return to his work, she had immediately claimed his place, and within moments, her head was resting upon her lap. Sybbie smiled, and stroked Iris' silky ear.
"Miss Branson?" Sybbie looked up, startled by the sudden breach of silence. As she did, she felt her heart clench ever so slightly, and her cheeks warmed, just a tinge.
"H-Hello Jameson," she stammered, trying not to cough. The young footman sighed at the sound of his name. "How... are you?"
"Fine, Miss Branson," he replied. "Better than you." Sybbie frowned.
"What?" Jameson gave a shrug.
"Mrs. Hughes said you were ill." In his hands, he held a wooden tray, topped with a steaming bun, a glass of orange juice, and a hot bowl of soup. "She thought you might... like to eat your lunch in the sunshine." He glanced up at the blue, winter sky. "While it lasts," he added. Sybbie followed his gaze, and nodded. "Thomas think it will snow soon," she murmured.
"Yes," Jameson agreed, as he placed the tray down beside Sybbie, casting a wary eye over Iris, who followed the food like a hawk. "Mr. Barrow mentioned it to me, as well." Sybbie smiled her thanks, and took up the bun. She savoured the crisp dough against her tongue as she took a bite.
"Do you like Thomas?" she asked through a mouthful of bread. Jameson nodded.
"Very much."
Just then, a sudden, strong gust of wind blew through the gardens. Iris barked, and leapt from the bench, chasing the leave that skimmed along the ground, propelled on by the air. The remaining winter flowers shook in the cold, and those less firmly tethered than the others were torn from their stems, and thrown away by the breeze.
One such bloom hit Jameson in the chest. It was a lovely pink, soft and fragile; from where she sat, even above the wafting fragrance of Mrs. Patmore's soup, Sybbie could smell its perfume. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
Carefully, Jameson took the flower in his hand. With a smile completely devoid of his usual awkwardness and unease, he crouched down on the path, and up Sybbie.
"For you," he murmured, and pressed the lone flower into the little girl's waiting hand.
Thomas smiled, and turned away.
Reviews... pweese?
