From his seat at the kitchen table, Thomas watched Richard from behind, busy at the sink. It wasn't the right time for anything, and Thomas had to be leaving for Downton soon, but he knew what he wanted and what he needed.

His mind had been restless. On top of the news about Chris and his sister – he hadn't been surprised by her actions, as in his experience people rarely live up the hopes placed on them – Thomas knew the time for him to decide about the funeral was closing in on him. He had slept little, and when he eventually drifted off with Richard lightly snoring next to him, his dreams filled with memories of how he had disappointed his parents as a son, mixed with the memories of the day he and David had ran away together.

Another day at Downton where people, however good their intentions, would attempt to convince – or bother – him to do what is considered the correct and respectful thing: attend a tedious ceremony where he would have to act as though his father was the ideal man everyone wished to remember. Thomas continued happily ogling at his partner's behind, the setting of his trousers – black and close fitting enough to allow him to appreciate his physique, contrasting with the crisp white of his tucked in shirt.

How did he get so lucky?

Thomas set down his spoon on the edge of the saucer and came to stand behind his man, who was doing a fine job of pretending to not notice being observed.

"You're heading off now?" Richard asked, drying off his hands on a tea towel as Thomas slid his hands around Richard's waist.

Thomas nuzzled his nose into the side of Richard's neck. "Not yet."

Richard chuckled softly, his laughter like a gentle breeze in the room. "You're in a good mood?"

"I'm not." Thomas kissed his neck, letting his lips hover above Richard's skin after.

"Then you're giving off mixed messages, Mr Barrow. It's early. My head is still muffled, I'm afraid." Richard exerted a little pressure onto Thomas's hands with his own, hinting at him to loosen his grip.

Thomas didn't hesitate, not wishing to be something Richard didn't want – he didn't know what he wanted either. "Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks burning, accompanying the pang in his stomach.

Richard turned around. "No Thomas, I didn't mean I didn't want you. I only wanted to see you." Their eyes locked onto each other. Richard leaned in and planted a gentle, reassuring kiss on his cheek. "It is only half five Thomas, I think we're both still groggy with sleep, but what is it?"

Thomas wasn't keen to tell him. Richard would tactfully try to tell him what he should do, and that was the last thing Thomas needed. "I'm not. I was wide awake, watching you."

"I know you were. Like what you saw?"

"I'm not here to indulge your vanity!" With a playful shove, pushed Richard back against the countertop, his hands finding their place on Richard once again.

"A yes then?" Richard's eyes sparkled with excitement.

Thomas didn't know how they did it, but without a word, they knew what each other wanted. Richard could see into his mind. It both amazed and scared him that his vulnerabilities and needs were on display before him, but whatever disadvantages that may have had, it was a comfort to know nothing had to be hidden from him. His life had been full of shame – only around a select few could he turn those things thought shameful into elements to be proud of. "Shut up." In a sudden rush of desire, he grasped Richard, his hand caressing his cheek while the other clasped his shoulder and pulled him into a fervent and electrifying kiss. Richard's breath hitched – Thomas felt the gasp against his chest – the surprise vanishing in a near instant. In response, Richard pressed his mouth against his, causing their kisses to quicken and grow more heated with each passing second. With a firm grip on Thomas' lower back, Richard pulled their waists together, his finger lingering on the top of his trouser belt. Thomas jumped, steadying himself with a hand on the counter as Richard's finger – still warm from the dishwater – pushed below his belt, loosening his shirt.

Richard broke their kiss for air, letting out a needy moan, mixed amongst his gasps. A metal tray clattered to the floor as they manoeuvred each other to the corner of the counter. Thomas's stomach tingled with desire as Richard took the hint and jumped back onto the counter. Thomas swiftly manoeuvred himself between Richard's legs, ready for the next move. Something else rattled in the cupboard behind. Thomas' pristinely arranged hair was a thing of the past. No matter, he'd blame it on the weather. "How do you feel now, Mr Barrow?" Richard asked, tipping his throat back as Thomas worshipped it harder than a devout Christian in church on a Sunday morning.

Thomas's mind was so frazzled he couldn't contemplate the notion of thought. His focus was on one thing and one thing alone. Richard's evident arousal was tantalisingly obvious. Maintaining unbroken eye contact, he moved his hands down to Richard's belt and proceeded to undo the buckle. "Can I?"

Richard's voice came out strained and breathless as he said, "You don't need to be so polite, Mr Barrow," his lips swollen and parted.

"Richard?"

"Be my guest."

...

Thomas peered at his reflection in the small mirror on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, smoothing strands of hair that had escaped its servant-neat arrangement earlier in the kitchen. Time had raced by – he was already late – their frantic session had not been the best idea, but if Richard's humming, as he finished tidying himself up in the bedroom, was anything to go by, it hadn't been a mistake. With a spring in his step, he fixed his black tie and pushed the hem of his shirt back into his trousers.

Back in the kitchen, Thomas rearranged the corner of the kitchen counter, replacing the clutter cast aside earlier, some to the floor, and checked nothing had broken in the cupboard behind. Warmth raced to the pit of his stomach as he busied himself. Despite being late, he had no intention of rushing away a perfect morning.

"Missed a bit, Mr Barrow." Richard stood in the doorway, arms loosely folded across his stomach, a hint of a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Hmm? Where?"

"On you. Your knees are still dusty."

Thomas's cheeks heated, rubbing the worst of the dirt off. "Of course, you'd notice that." Only they would know the reason his uniform was not immaculate.

"Next time," Richard began, sauntering over, "I'll make sure the floor's clean before."

"You're not subtle, are you? Well, you are in a way but at not at the same time." Thomas passed his hand over his face, undoing his earlier efforts to neaten his appearance up. "Don't say a word."

Richard's mischievous eyes sparkled. "It was you who started that moment, Mr Barrow." Richard rang his hands up and down Thomas's arms as he continued, "I'll be in a fine mood today thanks to you, and I doubt nothing will dampen your spirits at Downton now, right?"

"Right." Nothing, not even the snobbiest of guests, the irritating 'banter' from Mr Bates, or more mentions about his dead father would ruin the mood after a healthy bout of morning sex. It would be a perfect day.

"Let me sort that out," Richard said, thumbing through Thomas's once more disarranged hair.

A surge of anticipation rattled Thomas' senses once more. "You carry on like that and we'll find ourselves in round two."

"Not sure I'd mind."

"You'll also find yourself with a grumpy, unemployed lover."

Richard finished his work, setting Thomas's hair back in line as best he could. "Later?"

"Impatient?"

"Don't tempt me."

A knock at the door halted the beginning of round two.

Upon answering the door, a woman dressed in a green overcoat and mud-splattered boots and, likely a few years younger than Thomas, greeted him, carrying their cat, Wilde, in her arms. "I found him outside the door, looking rather miserable," she said, handing Richard their cat, his fur sparkling in the light on account of it being covered in hundreds of droplets of drizzle.

"Thank you," Richard said. "We must have forgotten to let him in." Wilde wriggled out of Richard's arms, landed without a sound on the stone kitchen floor, and set about drying himself whilst washing.

"You're Mr Ellis?" she asked.

"I am."

"Oh good. And Mr Barrow?" she said to Thomas, who stood slightly behind Richard.

"Yes." A defensive remark hung in Thomas's mind, sparked by the stranger's questions. Who was she? Had they been too loud earlier? He studied her whilst Richard made some small talk about their cat. She could have been local, but her face would be familiar even if her name was not. It was odd for her to be out so early if she was a visitor to the village. There was no chance that she found their cat outside the door by mere chance alone. What ploy was that about? And, more importantly, how did she know their names? "Have we met?" he interrupted in a clipped tone.

"No, but we have mutual acquaintances. My name is Emily Walker, I'm Matthew Tomlinson's daughter. I know you work at Downton; your friend David told me along with how to find you both. That's why I'm here so early. He said you'd be at Downton otherwise and I'd likely not catch you both together until the evening otherwise, and it can't wait until then."

Thomas inwardly cursed his overactive suspicion. A little caution was useful for people like them, especially when strangers turn up on the doorstep at half-past six in the morning, but Richard had got it right, not overthinking, not worrying when there was not the reason to do so. Thomas loved him for it and hated it at the same time: he made it seem so easy to take things in his stride. But any relief that they weren't about to find themselves in a similar situation to Chris was short-lived upon hearing her last words. "What can't?" he asked, his mouth rapidly growing dry. She had heard them. That must be why she was there and even though he'd trust Matthew, was it too much of an assumption to trust his daughter too?

"I need to talk to you about Chris Webster."

Richard glanced down the end of the alley that joined the main street and the shop front. "You'd best come in then."

"David told you about him as well?"

"No, Mr Barrow, I was there last night when your friend Larry Ferroland returned."

"I assumed Chris was safe, since we'd heard nothing?"

"He is Mr Ellis, though naturally distraught. I can't be here long and I won't keep you from leaving Mr Barrow, but I had an idea to help."

Thomas crossed his arms. "So, you're the guardian angel, then? Come out of nowhere to help out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Thomas!" Richard said through gritted teeth, glaring at him. "No need for that."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Walker. My friend can be overprotective."

Thomas refrained from arguing back, not wishing to part with Richard on bad terms after such a pleasant morning. "Ignore me Mrs Walker."

"It's alright, an offer of help out of the blue – suspicion is natural. I need to find Helen – Mrs Hastings – to talk to her. I think I know a way that might get her to think about what she is doing by cutting ties with her brother. We have something in common and I plan to use that. But nothing will happen if I can't find her. I thought, since you are in the middle of the village, that either of you may know how I could find her."

"I wouldn't have seen her since yesterday, and I don't know if she'd still be in Downton, but when she's popped into my shop a few times, though I don't think she will now as Chris works here with me. But she's fond of the river. I've seen her sitting on a bench there with her husband and son, sometimes without her husband. That might be your best bet if you want to talk to her alone," Richard said.

"She will still be in Downton. I know how people like her think. They'd want to watch their target, even if they never intend to them over," Thomas added.

"I'll try that, but Mr Barrow, can you really be sure?" Mrs Walker asked.

Thomas wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but she'd not asked to pry, only through concern. She was annoyingly, like her father in that way. "I know from experience." He stopped himself from elaborating. He'd already said too much. "Why, though, why help Chris?"

"Because it isn't right to throw away one's family over something as stupid as an archaic belief."

Thomas held back a response, waiting for a sign that she was lying or teasing them. Nothing appeared other than a firm stance in her eyes that Thomas reckoned could form into fierce determination.

"You think Mrs Hastings' belief are archaic?"

"I do Mr Ellis."

"And you know why Mrs Hastings has fallen out with her brother?" Richard's questions continued to test her, although Thomas supposed they both knew by now she could be trusted. Matthew wouldn't bring up his daughter to be narrowminded and ignorant – that should have been obvious all along.

"Every detail," she answered, jaw set, gaze unwavering.

"Chris will be glad of your help," Richard said. "I don't know how effective it will be – people like that can be stubborn, stuck in their ways – but he's got nothing to lose. Thomas? What do you think?"

Thomas wouldn't have blamed Mrs Walker if she'd slapped him in the face for being rude to her and dismissive. He could have pushed away a lifeline for Chris if she wasn't a better person than him. "I think ... I think you are every part like your father. Try whatever you have in mind. Chris needs his family."

"Thank you, Mr Barrow. I'll do my best."