"You know, sometimes I wonder what my mother would think if she could see me now?"

Thomas watched as Lady Edith stirred her cup of tea, a slight smile forming on her lips. "I thought the same thing about my mother."

"Begging your pardon but I'd say my change in life is radically different from yours."

That caused Edith to raise an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, Thomas?"

He smiled back. "I believe it is."

He was taking a break from his paperwork to talk with Lady Edith, who had arrived to get a few statements from the General concerning reports of shortages for the troops that were pushing towards Germany. Normally the General would have been annoyed by a reporter coming to see him about such rumors but with Edith he made an exception and not merely because of her relationship with him. Edith was fair when it came to reporting news and rumors, only running with a story if she felt that it passed, as she'd once termed it rather ineloquently, the 'sniff test'. She'd explained that some rumors were like bull droppings dressed up to look like an elegant cake. Many reporters would merely see it, salivate, and then bite right in only to discover the horrid center that lay within. She preferred to sniff out such 'cakes' that juicy rumors could be and ensure that they were the actual thing.

As such when she got rumors she went out and actually asked the right people if they were true. Oh, Edith wasn't naïve to think everyone would tell her the truth; she wasn't like her father in that regard, who believed that all had honor especially if they had deep pockets. No, what made Edith so good at her job was that she knew who was honest and who was a liar and would go to the honest people to find out more. In the case of the General she would ask him about a rumor and he would either let her knew it was false… or admit it was true but inform her of the details she didn't know. In the case of the supplies that was true; there was sadly at the moment a shortage due to attacks along their supply routes. But the General was talking with their allies and within 48 hours new lines would be opened up and within another 72 hours all would be back to normal. Or as normal as it could be for the war. The General had traded that information, and the promise of an interview detailing the negotiations, in exchange for the paper holding onto the story for 2 days, to give him time to finalize the contracts and make sure everything was settled.

And easy choice for Edith.

She'd come to visit Thomas after that talk, wanting to check in on him.

"It's funny," she told him after she'd first sat down, "a few years ago we saw each other every day, first at Downton and then at the General's home. Now it feels like everyone is drifting apart, like boats that have let up anchor and now find the sea pushing them in different directions."

"Is that truly a bad thing?" Thomas had asked. "Sometimes it is better to have that distance, to allow one to grow."

Edith had considered that. "I suppose with Mary that is true. Our relationship has never been stronger than it is now. Perhaps because we don't see each other so much."

"If I might be honest, my lady, you two were tripping over each other at Downton and that did you no favors."

"I believe you're right," Edith had stated. "You know, I read that in the past the wealthy would foster their children with relatives and friends, so that their sons and daughters might be able to experience the world. Send them to a family friend in a different country or to an aunt or uncle that lived someplace far away and could teach them things they'd never learn at home. Relatives they might have only seen once in their lives… or complete strangers that would become brothers and sister." She smiled sadly at that. "Downton is my home… or was my home. I haven't quite decided like Mary if I am going to cut myself completely free of it. But I do know at one time it was my home and I loved it greatly. And I wouldn't give up those years now. Yet I can't help but wonder how better things might have been had I been fostered someplace else. Not had to live in Mary's shadow while she didn't have to fear me upstaging her. Where I could be seen as my own person rather than in terms of Mary."

"So," Edith said with a smile, bringing him back to the present and away from visions of what Edith's life might have been like outside of Downton (he knew his life would have been far more boring without those two fighting), "how do we settle our little disagreement."

"Is it a disagreement?" Thomas asked.

"It is because you don't agree with me," Edith said. "That makes you a terrible servant, you know."

"I can say this as I no longer work for your family but I was a terrible footman."

She waved him off. "That simply isn't true. You did the job swimmingly."

"Not the tasks. The attitude. How I handled myself when I wasn't around your family. I was…" he paused, trying to pick out the best words that wouldn't offend her with their coarseness, "…let us just say that I have a greater respect for Mr. Carson and how he put up with me. No, I take that back… Mrs. Hughes. I have a greater respect for Mrs. Hughes."

Edith smiled at that. "I've gathered from Tom as well that she was the one many of you turned too."

"She was," Thomas stated. "Still is, though it is rare I get to speak with her. Mostly just a letter or two a year, to let her know I am doing well." He did miss the old woman, now that he was away from Downton. She had been like a second mother to him when he hadn't understood what that meant and now he regretted not letting her know now that it was too far removed from those days for her to say it without it feeling awkward.

"Perhaps when the War is over you can arrange a chance to visit her," Edith said. "Or, even better, I can convince her to come visit. Mrs. Hughes could use a vacation."

Thomas chuckled at that. "People who work in service don't get vacations unless someone dies."

"Which is dreadful and horrible and I hope that all changes."

"You certainly have become a champion of the people. Has Sybil been rubbing off on you?"

"Well, I don't curse like an Irish radical, so no." That amused them both, how Tom had somehow, despite being utterly respectful around them all, managed to in private apparently curse so much as to get Sybil hooked on using colorful language when she was upset. And she didn't have his restraint either. Both of them had seen her in a foaming rage. "We still must settle our disagreement," Edith reminded him.

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" he teased just as the door opened. "Ah, introductions should be made," he said, standing up and running his hands over the front of his suit. "Edith Crawley, may I present Herbert Pelham."

"Bertie, please," he said with a smile. "Herbert makes it sound like I am the Marquess of Hexham." Edith raised an eyebrow at that and Bertie blushed a bit. "Sorry, I'm used to people understanding that joke. I was the agent for my cousin, the Marquess of Hexham. Though there were several people who got it in their heads that I was him and he I for reasons I never understood." Edith laughed lightly at that, easing the tension Bertie had been feeling. "I'm intruding. I'll-"

"Please stay," Edith said with a smile. "I was just visiting Thomas. If anyone is a bother it is me."

"Edith was here to ask the General a few questions."

Bertie suddenly smiled as he took off his coat. "You are the sister who is engaged to Michael Gregson, aren't you? Thomas was telling me about that."

"Nothing but good things, I hope."

"Very good things, I assure you," Bertie stated.

Edith suddenly pointed at Bertie. "He can settle our dispute."

"Pardon?" Thomas said, confused.

"Bertie here understands both worlds… that of servant and that of lord. He has his foot in both sides of society. Who better to settle things between us?"

"I'm sorry but what am I to settle?" Bertie said, looking concerned that he was about to be dragged into a feud that he honestly wanted no part of. He had made it a mission in his life to avoid such conflicts; he'd seen what could happen when high society went to war with one another, having witnessed his cousin deal with rumors and slander on his character.

Thomas, seeing the dread in the man's eyes, was quick to reassure him. "Nothing terrible. I made a passing mention of how radically different my life was and Lady Edith believes her life has changed more than mine. We were debating it just a touch and realized that we'd never agree."

"But now we can have Bertie settle it."

"You just want him to be the judge so that when he sides with me you can play the whole thing off as him being biased," Thomas playfully accused Edith. She merely stuck her nose in the air and gave a 'tut-tut' like she was the Dowager. "Very well, would you like to go first?"

"Thank you," Edith said before turning to Bertie. "We'll use the same time frame, as that is only fair. Three years ago I lived in country estate, the overlooked middle child who was ignored on my best days and made to feel completely inferior on the bad ones. My season was a disaster of kind smiles with no promises and I had found myself so desperate for love that I was nearly willing to consider men older than my father for marriage. Now I am a writer and editor for a paper along with my fiancée, a recently made knight who believes that a man doesn't not need a meek little wife but rather is made stronger by having one who feels deeply and is willing to express those feelings to him, so they might work together as true partners. I am respected in my field despite my gender and I'm better known for my writing than my bloodline. I live in London, have a much better relationship with my sister, and I think nothing of having tea with a former footman." She smiled and arched an eyebrow, challenging Thomas to beat that.

He obliged. "Three years ago I was a mere footman who had no hope of moving up at my current employer. I stole wine from the seller and shared gossip with those that would listen."

"You stole wine?" Edith said, surprised.

"I didn't interrupt you," he pointed out.

"When did you find the time to drink it?" Edith asked, confused. Because of course it wasn't the THEFT that bothered her but the logistics.

"Mr. Carson didn't tuck me into bed each night and wait for me to fall asleep," Thomas pointed out.

Edith couldn't help it; she began to laugh at the image of Thomas lying in bed like a five year old, waiting for Mr. Carson to finish reading him a bedtime story.

While she thought of that Thomas continued on. "My entire existence was dedicated to following the orders of others and dreaming of what it would be like if I were in charge. Now I have burned every bridge there is when it comes to service. I work for the army thanks to the actions of the Heir of Grantham. I manage my own department and have my own flat where I live. And not only am I comfortable enough having tea with the daughter of my employer but I just admitted to pinching her father's wine."

"What did you do with the bottles?" Edith asked, still hung up on that.

Bertie just kept looking between the two of them before throwing up his hands. "Honestly I don't know how either of you two managed to live the lives you once did and I am utterly thankful that I have a simple life."

"…well, I suppose that is that," Thomas finally said.

"Did you drink it all in one go?" Edith asked him, causing him to rest his head in his hands until she finally stopped playing and began to laugh at his stress. "I really should be off, Thomas. Thank you so much for the tea." She took a final sip, draining the glass, and then quickly rose. He knew it wasn't proper for her to rush off as she was, as it was expected of her to make idle chit chat and take her time like a proper lady… except Edith wasn't a proper lady anymore. She had a job, a fiancée, a home in London… she was very far from the girl she'd been a few years ago.

He silently admitted that while their lives had changed… she had changed more than he had. Oh, he was different… but she was a completely different person.

Edith made her way to the door just as Greg stepped inside with some other woman Thomas had never seen before right behind him, the snobby second son staring at her for a moment in annoyance. "Excuse me."

"No problem," Edith said with a smile.

"I was speaking about you," Greg said with all the high born uppitiness of Mr. Carson and the Dowager mixed together. "You are in my way."

"I was just leaving," Edith said, taking a step back to allow Greg a chance to enter and thus let her pass.

"You'd be wise to learn how to act and speak when it came to peers of the realm."

Edith shot Thomas a "is this man serious" look and he weakly waved at her to just go and let him deal with the prick that he was forced to contend with. Bertie, for his part, was no help as he was just smiling at the whole exchange. "Farewell, Thomas. Will I see you Sunday?"

"Unless something changes, yes."

Greg glowered at Thomas, only letting his female companion slip inside before he shut the door right on Edith, nearly clipping her with it. Bertie narrowed his eyes at that but Thomas just shook his head, motioning for him to remain seated. "It is already a stain on this office that they allow one of your… standing… to manage the affairs that should be handled by those of knowledge. But for you to invite strumpets in here, treating it as little more than a pub where you might talk and play cards…"

Thomas merely stared Greg down. "I'll be sure to let the General know that you don't wish for Lady Edith to visit."

The man paused at that. "Who now?"

"Lady Edith Crawley," Bertie supplied helpfully, enjoying far too much watching his co-worker squirm. "Second daughter of the Earl of Grantham."

"And a close friend of General Lothrop," Thomas stated. "As well as the fiancée of Sir Michael Gregson, owner and editor of The Sketch."

Greg looked like he'd just bit into a pie he thought was cherry but instead was filled with sore lemons. Or one of Edith's bull-drop cakes. "That… that was Lady Edith Crawley?"

"It was. Would you like me to list off some of her other connections? Her grandmother is the Dowager Countess Violet Crawley-" Greg actually cringed at that and Thomas wondered if he might invite the old woman to have tea with him just so he could watch her scare Greg half to death. The bastard still hadn't improved after his horrid scene in front of the general; in fact Greg's attitude had somehow only gotten worse as time went on and he continued to believe that the entire War Office should be under his control. Never mind that he was barely managing to keep up with his work the man believed he was a saint coming to help them all purely because he'd come from the loins of a rich lord. "Her sister, the Lady Mary Crawley, is married to Matthew Crawley, who was put in charge of the hospital constructed at Downton Abbey. He was also the man that chose me to run this office. Then there is her younger sister, Matron Sybil Crawley. I believe if you ask the medical circles about her you'll get some interesting tales of her ability to fundraise." Thomas smiled as Greg grew more and more pale, realizing just who he'd insulted. Sadly, Thomas was sure it had less to do with good manners and more that Greg was thinking about what having a woman like Edith in his corner could do for his standing in the world. The bastard probably was already thinking that he could woo her away from Sir Michael and claim her as his own.

"I… never…"

"Yes, you never," Thomas stated.

"I… I will go apologize at once." He turned to the woman who'd accompanied him and said hurriedly, "Wait here, my love, I will return."

"Of course," she said and with that Greg was off, not even allowing her to say another word. Thomas and Bertie shared a look and the former land agent rose with a sigh and moved to follow at Greg, to ensure he didn't harass Edith too much.

That left Thomas with Greg's companion. She was a beautiful woman, he had to admit. Not as lean as the Crawley girls but she carried the extra weight rather well, so that she didn't look plump but rather… full. She certainly was a curvy woman and he wondered if that was what had first attracted Greg to her.

'No, most likely not,' he thought as he watched the dark haired woman look about the office. 'More likely it was her title that drew him to her.' He stood up and smiled politely, though he couldn't keep the exasperated sigh from leaving his lips. "I am truly sorry, Miss. It seems you've been abandoned."

"Quite all right," she said. Her words were measured and careful, like she thought out each letter before letting it leave her tongue. He'd encountered people like her before and knew there were many reasons for speaking like that. Once there had been a stutterer who'd worked as a valet who needed to talk slowly and carefully to ensure he didn't trip himself up on his words. Thomas had at first thought him dumb but after listening to him discuss the first French Revolution he'd realized the man was rather brilliant but cursed with a mouth that didn't work properly; all the pity. Another had been a young lord's daughter who had been terribly frightened to be at Downon, not wanting to embarrass herself or her family, so she'd made sure to think before speaking. He couldn't help but wonder which person Greg's companion was.

"Would you like to take a seat, Miss-?"

"Travers. Millicent Travers. Millie for short. And thank you." She went over to the chair that Edith had been sitting in moments earlier, hands folded in her lap, a demure little smile on her lips. "You're Gregory's boss."

"I am," Thomas said, biting off 'despite what he wants' as he didn't want to make a scene in front of the woman or insult someone she was in a relationship with. Greg might have been an ass but that didn't make that Thomas needed to be an ass. 'And somewhere Mr. Carson just had to sit down and Anna is cheering and neither quite know why.' Realizing that he couldn't very well begin his work with his unexpected guest he set about cleaning up the remains of the tea time he and Edith had had. "Can I get you something?"

"No, I am quite good," Millie said politely. "Thank you though."

"Let me know if you change your mind. Not at all a trouble to get you a cup. I'm afraid I don't have much in the ways of food to eat… we usually go down for our meals though a few times we have worked late."

"Yes, Greg has told me."

'Complained, more likely,' Thomas thought. The man loved to whine whenever they were forced to stay late even though many times it was his own damn fault that Thomas and Bertie had work with him to clean up a mess he'd made. The experiment to get Greg to work in the office was nearing its conclusion, Thomas felt, and it was going to end in failure. The General had already offered him twice a replacement but Thomas, through stubborn pride, had wanted to attempt just a little bit more to get the man to see reason and behave as he should.

"He's told me a lot about the work you do. It all seems very important."

"It is," Thomas said truthfully. "A lot of people don't see that." Once more he held his tongue. He would not insult Greg. He would be the bigger man.

"That makes you rather important as well, doesn't it?" Millie asked, her words still measured and carefully chosen. "There are those that believe one's title and one's wealth make them important… powerful." She smiled softly. "But that isn't the case. It is what a man can do… what he controls and what he decides… that truly determines how powerful he is."

"I suppose so," Thomas said, turning so he could put the tea kettle away; he'd have to take it down to the sink across the hall to clean later on. When he turned he nearly fell back, for Millie was right there, staring at him, far too close than was proper. "Uh-"

"I've heard a lot about you, Thomas Barrow. Oh, very much." Her words were no longer slow and careful but loose and free. Her smile all the more lovely yet dangerous. "People talk, you know? They speak things that shouldn't be spoken, thinking that no one is listening. But they are… and sometimes the wrong person hears them… or the right person. Because that determines power too; what you know. Knowledge. Is. Power." She reached up and idly pressed a single finger against his shoulder and somehow that was more of a blow than if she had stabbed him. "I know things, sir. Important things. Secret things. Your things. Your importance." She leaned in and whispered, "Your secret."

Thomas' heart stopped.

"Oh yes," she continued on, "I know all about that. Your dark little secret. The one that would ruin you. Destroy you. Leave all that you have built in tatters."

He couldn't breathe. Yet he was hyperventilating at the same time. In his head the world went silent save for a million voices screaming "She knows! She knows!" He didn't know how, for he'd been so careful! Him and Jonsey… they made sure that they were never close when in public. Just appearing as friends, no different than him and Matthew. It was only in private, when they were secure and safe, that they showed how they truly felt about each other. But Millie knew… how did she know? How? And who else had she told? Greg? The General? The authorities? Were the police coming right now to arrest him, to destroy his name and all he'd strived to build for himself? Would he spend the rest of his days in a prison cell or living on the streets, trying to scrape by as society turned on him? How? How had she found out?!

"But," Millie continued, heedless of his terror, "you're secret is safe with me. Completely safe. I am good like that. And I think you'll find that it might be… nice to have someone like me know your secret."

And then she grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him.

No… not a kiss. She forced his mouth open and jammed her tongue half down his throat while reaching with her other hand and cupping his manhood, giving it a long sensual stroke. Thomas' eyes went wide and his arms flailed a bit as she slammed him into the wall, grinding her pelvis into his leg in what he was sure she thought was a sensual, mind-numbing moment but for him was utterly horrifying and disgusting. God it was like there was a fat worm in his mouth! And why was she grinding on him like a dog in heat?

And then she released him and licked her lips, eyes half closed and a sensual little smile on her lips. "Don't tell Greg," she told him before pulling away completely. "I'll keep stringing him along so I can see you… but don't worry, this will just be another secret between the two of us." And with that she left the office, the click of the door firmly closing being the trigger for Thomas to bonelessly slide down the wall.

"What the f-"