The knock at the door was not welcome. It wasn't David. He never knocked and even when he did in their early days, the polite tap on the wood wasn't characteristic of him. Chris remained slouched in the armchair, curtains drawn despite it being close to midday. Richard had told him not to worry about coming into work, and even though a distraction might have been welcome, the dizziness brought on by endless days and restless nights wouldn't have made him much use in front of customers.

He ignored the second knock, a touch louder that time, hoping he would give the impression that he wasn't in.

The third made it clear Chris had little choice.

He pushed aside a cold cup of tea, only half drank and void of milk, to join two other cups on the table lined with a brown stain after two days of neglect. Standing up, he stretched and rubbed his rough, unshaven chin. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked a sight, not that he cared. He had no one around to impress.

After hobbling to the door, his leg stiff from hours of inactivity, his visitor called out his name. His hand hovered above the latch.

She was the last person he wanted to see.

A deep breath in and he wrenched the door open to be greeted by Helen, whose tidy appearance showed him up even further. "What do you want?"

Helen didn't speak for a moment. Chris felt her looking him up and down. Her eyes, though, spoke of something else mixed in with shock. Pity? Disappointment? Guilt? He couldn't be sure.

"So, are you here to stare at me, or do you have something to say? I'm busy, so you'd better get on with it," he lied.

"Can we talk?" she asked in a small voice. Her gaze jumped all over the place, landing anywhere but on him.

"We are."

"I know ... I mean properly."

"Don't you think you've said and done enough? Anyway, I said I'm busy," he said, stepping backwards, ready to close the door on her.

"You're not busy, you're not even at work. I went there first." Helen twisted her glove between her hands. "I won't be long."

"Fine. Best get it over with, don't you think? What is it then?"

Helen looked over her shoulder. Chris noticed how she was alone. Her son was nowhere in sight. It didn't surprise him – he was, according to her, a bad influence, a contagion worth avoiding. "Inside?" she asked. Chris held open the door, not moving aside enough, forcing her to squeeze past him into the narrow hallway. He saw no reason to play the polite host. A waft of her perfume caught in his nose, only highlighting how he must reek of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Helen said nothing of the untidy state of the small living room that, like himself and the rest of the cottage, he would normally take pride in keeping tidy and clean. She removed a crumpled newspaper from the chair opposite where he had fallen back into and perched on the edge. "Are you well?"

Chris almost laughed at the ridiculous question. "What do you think?"

"No, I mean, you're not ill. I mean, and I mean no offence, but the last time I was here, everything was ..."

"Ship shape? Yes, well, I have no reason to impress being the dirty degenerate that I am, so why bother? I don't want small talk, Helen, just get on with it."

Helen cleared her throat, clasping her handbag on her lap. "Have you seen –" She coughed again. "Have you seen him since...?"

"Who David? You can say his name, you know, it won't kill you. No, I haven't, no one except Mr Ellis briefly and a friend who came to check I wasn't rotting in a police cell." Helen winced at his last words. Chris narrowed his eyes at her. Something differed from the last time she'd been in the room two days ago. She hadn't held back on her opinions and insults since then. Now she had nothing to say on that front.

"I was angry Chris, and shocked. I didn't know what to think, and it scared me to think—"

"What? That you'd let your son be cared for by two queers and that now you fear he'll turn out like his uncle one day?" Chris scoffed, "That's pathetic. And if it was supposed to be some sort of apology, then it falls short."

"I'm not sure what it is. If I overreacted and scared you, then I'm sorry, but what you are is against the law. I was perfectly in my right, and you hear terrible stories of what some grown men do to young boys—"

"How dare you? I would care for your son as if he was my own and love him as you do. I can't believe you'd think for a moment that I'd—"

"I don't, but I was in shock." Helen swallowed and took her time to continue. Chris remained rigid on the edge of his chair, the pain in his leg gone through distraction. "I spoke to someone yesterday who made me realise I have not heard the full story, and that I cannot be able to decide about our future as a family if I don't know how things are for you."

"Who did you speak to?"

"Someone who said she's a friend, apparently. It was none of her business and I thought it rude of her to intrude at first, though upon reflection I think it was best she did. She has a child who will never know his uncle. We found some common ground, that's what I'll say."

Chris had a suspicion who Helen had spoken to and supposed that depending on the direction of this conversation, he'd either be thanking her or blaming her later. "You want the full story?"

"I know there are gaps, things you deliberately missed out. I can't pretend I am suddenly okay with you and David. If I ever am, that will take time, but I want to try. I'd like to understand a little, if you'll let me?"

"This isn't some trick?"

"No, as God is my witness."

"How appropriate," Chris muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Tell me about David."

Chris felt the flushed heat rise in his cheeks. He did not know how to talk about the man he loved in front of someone who, just two days ago, would have seen them both arrested. "He's ... well, he is … gentle. I mean if you bump into him on a darkened lane you'd think he could be a brute, being built the way he is, but no. He's patient – even when I was at my worst – funny, the most laid-back person I know – very little phases him. And whilst he gives the impression that he does not know what a hair brush is for, I …." Chris trailed off, lost in his thoughts of David's trademark unruly blonde hair, "I like that on him."

"As in ... attractive?" Helen asked.

"If we are truly having an honest conversation, then yes. But he's more than that. He saved me from myself. I've been in Downton for two years, him less so, and for that time when I hadn't known him I was surviving, one day to the next. You see, I had my eye on someone else. They had my heart good and proper but were with another, so it was impossible. David knew, even when he made his intentions clear, that he'd have to be patient with me, that I couldn't just let go of an obsession of several years. When we began together, he took his time and helped me. He dulled the pain in my leg since he is good with his hands—"

Helen blushed red, showing her thoughts about what went on between an all male couple were not ignorant to her. Chris allowed her to steep in awkwardness, realising it fell short of the discomfort she deserved.

"He was good at massaging the stiffened muscles in my leg."

"Right."

"I've had no one else to do that –" Chris hesitated, deciding she didn't need to know about the one time Thomas had helped him. "It won't be a surprise that a cripple doesn't make an attractive sight as a potential partner for anything long term."

"But that's not your fault. You were injured in service to the country. There are many others who are the same, if not worse off. That shouldn't be something people judge you for."

"David didn't. He saw right past this." Chris tapped his leg. "Even when I told him what really happened, he did—" Chris cursed inwardly. He'd gone too far.

"What do you mean, 'what really happened'?"

"I—You don't need to know that," he mumbled, while his fingernails dug into the cushion of the chair on either side of his legs.

"What happened to having an 'honest conversation'?"

"Some things..." Chris struggled to know how to continue. It had been a stupid idea to be so honest with a woman who'd been a danger the last time they'd spoken, even if she seemed to be genuine now. However, the problem was that he knew Helen - she wouldn't accept an empty excuse - so he had little choice. He swallowed, though owing to the dryness in his throat, he spluttered into a grating cough.

"I'll fetch you a—"

"No, no ... I'm fine," he said, catching his breath finally and waving her offer down. After she returned to her chair, Chris began, at first speaking to the window or the wall behind her for fear of catching her in the eye. "I didn't get injured in the war. I walked away without a scratch. This happened over five years ago." His fingertips had grown cold, his grip so hard was cutting off his circulation in his hands. "I was in prison for four years," he said, the words rushing from him in an explosive torrent. He held his breath and waited.

Helen let out a tiny gasp. "Prison? I don't understand. Where? What for?"

"For the ... for the same thing you ... the reason you almost ran to the police, though in different circumstances admittedly."

"Someone turned you in?" she asked, her voice a shadow of a whisper, keeping her eyes to the ground.

"Not exactly, maybe, we'll never know on that front. The police – they send out spies undercover all the time – so it's possible or we may have been unlucky."

"You say 'we'? Who else Chris, David?"

Chris shook his head. "I didn't know him then. Someone else, he was new to it all, met him in a pub and he eagerly came with me when I asked him. There was a gathering, somewhere secluded in York. I fancied him as company. It was only afterwards that I realised just how much, but I missed my chance there."

"What do you mean?"

"That doesn't matter." He was not about to divulge his four-year long, and if he were honest still faintly glowing, unrequited love of Thomas Barrow to her, no matter what she said. "The police raided it, burst in on what had been a pleasant evening of dancing, drinking, wonderful music amongst common company. They hurled their insults, threw out their brute force, and took us all. I didn't see freedom until a little over four years later."

"And your friend, what of him?"

"He got lucky. Someone got him out, pulled some strings. I'm glad of it, even if it cost me any chance of—" Chris paused, memories he thought long since buried whirling through his mind. "Obviously I wasn't as fortunate, though you probably think I deserve what I got."

"I-I didn't say that. But I am confused. I thought – though my knowledge of the law isn't spot on – that the punishment for ... gross indecency was two years, unless one is caught in the act of—" Helen coughed, her cheeks reddening.

"They wanted to make an example. They'd been cracking down on us at the time in the area."

"So when they arrested you, were they too brutal? Was that how you got your injury?"

"No, that came after. Prison isn't a comfortable place in case you're unaware, sister."

"No, but they don't carry out physical punishments like that anymore."

"Not officially. A queer a prison is treated worse than a murder by his fellow inmates. I could take most of it – I'm not a pushover – and words I've heard before. I gave as good as I got too." He relaxed as he remembered the man who'd attacked him and how, what was a handsome face, had been ruined by his own well-placed punch to his nose and teeth. It had been a small and hollow victory, but he'd clung to it all the same back then. The respite was brief, and over too soon, as he continued to explain. "A couple of them kicked me in. No one stopped them. The guard watched and did nothing. The injuries I sustained didn't heal correctly, and so here we are. I live with a permanent reminder of my time there."

Helen didn't speak for several moments. After several moments of silence, Helen's face turned white and her words lost the steadiness she had before. "Chris I'm ... I'm so sorry. Believe me, I'd never wish that on you again. I ... I've been such a fool and a terrible ... I was shocked but I never ... believe me?" she said, voice wobbling between her words.

"I do. And even though it may seem absurd, I'm glad of your reaction." Helen frowned at him as she wiped her eye with a tissue. "Not because you're upset, even if it surprises me to say it. I don't want payback for what you threatened. I only mean because it means we might have a chance of understanding each other."

"Oh... yes," Helen sniffed and said. "I see. But what about those guards at the prison?"

"If I raised a complaint, I'd have to explain why I was there, so no, it's best left."

"But what about your leg? Surely, if you saw a doctor or a professional, there might be something that could be done?"

"Again, I can't without giving away too much. It's not right, but it's the way it is."

"That's not right."

Chris did a double take before he smiled, a warm sense of relief filling him with hope. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For beginning to understand."

"After prison, though, what then? Did you find work here?"

"Most of my friends abandoned me. There was one, and he's still such a friend, who stood by me. He visits occasionally. I only started working at the bookshop back in late 1931 and became a partner in the business about a year later. Mr Ellis is a good man, and we became friends. It took a while, but I'm happy here. David was a big part of that. I struggled for years with recurring nightmares of my time inside. Nothing stopped them before he came into my life."

"How did you meet?"

Chris shook his head while chuckling softly. "It wasn't conventional. I was at the shop several hours before opening – I usually was in those days as I didn't sleep well so I always rose early – and found David standing at the bottom of the stairs to Mr Ellis's flat which he shares with a friend. He was clearly listening in to the conversation they were having. As far as I was concerned, there was a stranger standing in my friend's home. I always aired on the side of caution back then. Too much, I think. I assumed the worst until I could dismiss it and was on my guard all the time. It was an overreaction in this case."

"What did you do?"

"I jumped on him, pinned him against the wall, arm to his throat before he had a chance to even register I was there. Even then, he was remarkably calm. It's David's way, though he may have been in shock. I spouted off many threats and demanded to know why he was there, barely gave him the chance to answer, thinking about it." Chris stretched out his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle as he reminisced. Even though it had taken time for them to transition from friends to lovers, because of his infatuation with Thomas, David had caught his eye the moment he'd stopped shouting in his face. He'd felt it then: the little stutter in his chest as he took in David's ruffled yet handsome looks. But what had taken him in the most had been David's calmness, despite being on the receiving end of his threats. He'd also never forget how those blue eyes looked at him from that moment onward – not with sympathy, but with a patient understanding he'd seen in so few he'd known since he'd been out of prison.

"That is certainly a unique story to tell. You and him were together after that?"

"Not immediately. I had some things to deal with, but he was patient with me. We got there eventually. He was like some sort of miracle cure for my issues sleeping." Chris felt his cheeks warm again as a thought came to him, though it would have been a step too far in their somewhat tentative, but hopeful conversation to have mentioned how David had also caused many late evenings and subsequent lack of sleep – not to mention a broken bedside lamp shade. "I rarely have those nightmares now. It ain't only him either; being in Downton has introduced me to many friends, who I can trust. I thought of this village as a temporary home once, but I never imagined myself leaving now."

Helen looked into him through curious eyes, making him worry he'd said too much, been too open about his feelings. "Then it seems this place suits you well. I'd never have thought you'd be happy with country life but, it seems you are, and I don't only mean because David is a farmer."

"Don't blame you for thinking that. I wonder about it myself, thinking back."

"Chris," Helen began, leaning forward, clasping her hands together, " do you think we could start this again? I mean us and David. Things began badly, and it's all my doing."

"You don't need to say more."

"If you want some time, then I understand, but I'd like to try again."

Chris's lip twitched upward into a small smile that warmed him throughout. "David and I?"

"Only if you are happy, and if he is, too. The last thing I'd like is to push you into anything you're uncomfortable with."

"I'll speak to him, but I don't think he'd have an objection if I don't ... which I do not, of course. As I've explained, he's the forgiving sort. We'll take things at a gradual pace, for you as well as us. It will be best that way." Chris kept his composure, but inside he felt ready to burst with relief. He longed to see David: two days apart had felt like a lifetime.

"You will do one thing for me—no, for yourself, Chris? See him today. I've kept you apart for long enough."

"I can agree with that."

Chris knew what he planned to do and that the result would be what he feared he'd never experience again – to have David in his arms.

Note: Sorry this took so long to upload. As I mentioned in my last update, I have been away and since then, working on my own novel as well as extra hours at work. It's been hard to find the time to dedicate to this.

They'll be another Chris centred chapter next and then back to Thomas. Larry's issues will be addressed later on.