[originally here on Oct. 14]

So this fic is based heavily off of this post by the Thommy Goddess Flippyspoon, who let me use her idea.

Spoilers up to 5x04.

As always no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

Thomas stared off into the dark, the cigarette in his hand unlit. He could smell rain in the air, but it wasn't here yet.

It was late, and he should have been in bed hours ago. He'd only come out for a nighttime smoke after dinner, but somehow he'd just gotten… stuck. He'd been standing in the courtyard like a statue ever since, unable to move. He couldn't make himself go back inside and he couldn't wander out into the yard—he couldn't even light his cigarette. He was fairly certain the last of something inside him had been snuffed out today. Maybe it was the treatment that had done it—maybe it had to crush a man before it could rebuild him anew. He hoped so, anyway. He'd been feeling so ill since he'd started the injections. If he collapsed a third time he'd be in trouble and no mistake. Baxter hadn't stopped badgering him, either, not since she'd found him that first day.

A raindrop hit his coat, and it made a soft pat against the wool. Then another touched his shoulder, and another, and another, and then all at once the black sky opened above him, and it began to pour down in buckets.

I suppose I should go inside now, Thomas thought.

And yet still he didn't move. Perhaps he'd stay out here all night, then, and tomorrow the hallboys would find him standing there like a ghost and everyone would be shocked at his behavior.

Thomas was dully imagining such a scenario when he heard a sound beneath the rain. It was growing louder, a kind of quick rhythmic shuffling in the grass.

Footsteps?

But who could be coming to Downton so late at night? Had to be robbers or angry revolutionaries, perhaps Sarah Bunting with a flaming torch. Who else would…?

All the breath left Thomas's body when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the shadows, the light from Downton's windows illuminating his face.

It was Jimmy.

"Thomas?"

Jimmy came towards him with what seemed unlikely speed, and Thomas felt a thrill of terror at his approach. When Jimmy reached him he made as if to embrace him, then seemed to check himself at the last second and instead clasped Thomas's forearms and squeezed, just a bit too hard over his bruises.

" What are you doing out here?" Jimmy asked breathlessly. "It's raining, let's go inside, you shouldn't be —"

Thomas found he could move after all. He jerked away from Jimmy as if he'd been burned. "No. What are you—what are you doing here, Jimmy?"

If you're here I won't be able to change!

Jimmy's eyes went wide at his accusatory tone. "Let's—let's talk inside, it's beastly cold and wet—"

"No, first you tell me what you're doing here. They won't hire you again so why would you ever come back?"

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said. He looked upset, now. "I—I came because I had a letter you were ill. I was worried, and—."

Thomas saw red at that. "Baxter?" he hissed. "Sh-she told you, didn't she? Thought she'd meddle in my personal affairs, have a good laugh over it, I bet!"

"What d'ya mean? Thomas, I don't know what you're so angry for, I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"Happy?!" Thomas seized Jimmy's lapels and pulled him close. "I'm not happy, Jimmy. And I know you're a liar, Baxter told you all about it and now you're here to try and stop me, aren't you? Well, it's not going to work!"

Thomas shoved him away, watching him stumble backwards with cold satisfaction. Jimmy's little gray cap fell off into the mud, and his face was the very picture of distress. Distantly Thomas felt a pang in his heart at that, like the pinprick of a needle.

"Alright, she did tell me about what you've been doing!" Jimmy confessed. "And I am going to stop you, and you can't stop me from doing that!"

"What's it to you, huh?" Thomas demanded, hoarsely. He'd never fought like this with Jimmy before, and he was shocked at how quickly the anger filled him. "Some pal you've been Jimmy, only writing me once in all this time! You can't do a damn thing to stop me, and it isn't any of your business!"

Jimmy's face went white, and he launched himself at Thomas. He gripped Thomas's jacket and pushed him back until he collided with the wall. He kept his hold on Thomas's lapels, and he shoved his body into Thomas's, too, pinning him in place. In his current state Thomas was too weak to escape him.

"J-j-just stop it, Thomas! Let's go inside and—and we'll settle down and talk about it. Please. We're still friends, no matter what you say!"

For a moment Thomas wanted to lash out again, perhaps push Jimmy away until he fell this time, but he looked into Jimmy's pleading face and found he couldn't do it. He closed his eyes against him and pressed his mouth tight… and nodded, once. Jimmy's tense body slumped with relief, and he pulled away.

Numbly Thomas turned and opened the door and led Jimmy inside, both of them dripping. As if nothing had changed at all in their time apart, Jimmy hung up his things on the coat rack, and together they shuffled into the servant's hall and sat down in their old chairs by the fire, just as they used to do.

Jimmy's golden hair looked dark when it was wet, Thomas noticed. He was painfully lovely. Looking at him made Thomas feel a rush of familiar, tender emotions, ones that had never fully left him. Clearly the treatment hadn't done its job yet, but then, it hadn't been long since he'd started. Perhaps it would just take more time.

"Christ," Jimmy breathed, suddenly. He was staring at Thomas.

Thomas was well aware of what he looked like under the bright electric lights. He was gray and pale as an old man, and his eyes were red and shadowed in their sockets. But it was the price he paid, wasn't it? If he lost his beauty but became happy at the end of it, he wouldn't mind, because he wanted that. All he wanted was to be happy, and not to be alone anymore.

Thomas waited for Jimmy to say something. He braced himself like stone for the barrage of words, but they never came. All Thomas could hear was Jimmy's shaky breathing mingling with his own.

"Might be trouble if someone finds you here," Thomas said eventually. "You didn't come to visit properly, during the day. Carson wouldn't like it."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Jimmy mumbled. "If someone finds us I'll say I forced meself past you. I won't have you in trouble because of me. Um, at least not this time—not ever again."

Thomas snorted in disbelief, but he let it slide. "Alright, better explain yourself, then. Why'd you come so late?"

Why'd you come at all?

Jimmy looked down at the floor. "I… I got into town on the last train. I rented meself a room and I were going to wait till tomorrow to come, o' course, but—but I just had this terrible feeling that I shouldn't wait. Thought I'd just have a look at the house for a bit and turn around, but… I dunno. Once I were here it were like I were being drawn in, right to the door. I've—I've missed this place, Thomas. I had a job in York but I—anyway, I'll go. I'll go now, shall I, and I'll come back to see you tomorrow. Just try and get warm and rest, and…"

Jimmy rose from the chair and Thomas panicked. His hand shot out and gripped Jimmy's wrist. "No—you're here already. Why don't you just say your little piece, and then leave me alone? Then you won't have to come back."

Oh, he hated how his voice trembled, how weak he was in this, always. And it hurt so much to be nasty to Jimmy.

"I'm not doing that, Thomas," Jimmy jerked his arm out of Thomas's grip. "You won't get rid of me so easy."

But he sounded uncertain.

"What, then?" Thomas sneered. "Want to come up to me room now, see what's in the box? Tell me it's dangerous and it won't work?"

Thomas expected an angry retort—or a denial—but he didn't get either. Instead Jimmy clenched his jaw shut and looked so much like a soldier that it silenced Thomas.

"Since you're offering," Jimmy said. He looked at Thomas as if he were daring him to do something, but this was as far from schoolyard mischief as night was from day. Thomas stared back, his face a mask. When Jimmy didn't so much as blink in return Thomas sighed, and stood up, too.

"Fine. Come on, then."

When the door had shut behind them Thomas went straight to his wardrobe and removed the box. His hands were shaking.

"Here," he shoved it into Jimmy's chest, and Jimmy took it clumsily. He wanted this over with—he didn't want Jimmy finding the time to chat, or catch up. If he did any of that, if he so much as smiled at Thomas, it might break him.

Jimmy moved slowly to Thomas's desk chair and sank into it. Thomas couldn't bear to watch him raise the lid, so he sat down on the bed and stared at the wall, his heart pounding.

Long minutes ticked by.

Thomas listened as Jimmy removed and examined the pills, the syringe, the spoon and the tourniquet. He heard him whisper, "Choose Your Own Path…" with all the horror of the trenches. Thomas listened as his most pathetic secrets were revealed to the last person on earth he'd ever want near them. If Jimmy pitied him he wouldn't be able to bear it. He felt as if he would vomit, or faint, but he wasn't sure if it were the medicine this time, or if it were Jimmy peeling back his skin and seeing inside him.

"Why, Thomas?" Jimmy whispered.

Thomas flinched. But why hide anything at this point? Jimmy already knew the worst; Thomas might as well tell him the full truth.

"Because I'm tired, Jimmy," he said softly. "I'm tired of being alone and unhappy. I'm sick of being different, apart from everyone else. I—I just want a normal life, like any other man. But I can't, not when I'm like this. So… I'm going to change. I have to try or I'll die alone. I know it."

He dared a glance at Jimmy then, and wished he hadn't. Jimmy was white as a sheet, and green around the edges as if he were the one about to be sick.

"But…" Jimmy said in a small voice. "But that night… you told Mr. Carson you weren't foul. Just different."

At first Thomas didn't know what he were talking about. His thoughts had been sluggish since he'd started the treatment. But then he remembered that painful, long-ago conversation with Carson after he'd kissed Jimmy.

Jimmy had been listening in?

"I—I used to believe that," Thomas said. "I still do, really. But— the world has never agreed with me, Jimmy. It's why I can never be happy, being the way I am. So I've got to… change. But if you're here I can't, so: you need to go. Please. Writing letters is all you need do for me."

"No."

There were tears standing in Jimmy's eyes. "No," he said again, stronger this time. "You've got to stop this, Thomas. You'll kill yourself with this snake oil potion, its rubbish! Baxter told me you've been collapsing, and that you haven't been eating and that you've been sick, and just look at you! You're not well. This is mad, all of it!"

Thomas was suddenly furious.

"Yeah, and what do you know about it?" he spat, standing up to tower over Jimmy. "How dare you say anything—you make your own trouble, Jimmy Kent. If you'd stop acting such fool your life would be a bloody picture show! Little ladies' man, so handsome—you'll find yourself a wife someday, and have loads of children and family and love. You could never know what it's like, living your life alone like this. I just, I can't stand it anymore. I'm done. You have a chance at happiness I'll never know, not unless I change. So…so stop giving orders. You don't know anything, especially not about me."

The tears were spilling down Jimmy's face, now. Thomas had hurt him terribly, saying those things. But they—they were all true, Thomas told himself. And Jimmy's hurt was surely nothing to his, because he couldn't know. He wasn't like Thomas.

"I just wanted you to be happy," Jimmy said, looking at Thomas through the tears. "I told you so, didn't I? When I said goodbye."

Thomas nodded. His own eyes were burning, now, and Jimmy's image wavered in front of him like a mirage.

"That's what I'm trying to do, Jimmy."

Jimmy took an unsteady breath, and swiped at his tears. Then with a suddenness that made Thomas gasp, Jimmy ripped off his jacket, unbuttoned the cuff on his right arm and rolled up his sleeve.

"What are you doing?!"

It was as if Jimmy couldn't hear him. He grabbed the tourniquet next and tied it around his arm, then he reached for the syringe, his hands shaking. Thomas had his next dose already loaded, and watched in horror as Jimmy held the needle to the vulnerable flesh of his inner forearm.

"Stop it, that's dangerous!" Thomas cried, stepping forward to tear the needle away from Jimmy.

But Jimmy snarled a warning and backed away, bent over the syringe at his arm. He moved it against the skin, a visible threat. "No!"

"Stop it, Jimmy! You're mad, that's not for you—it could hurt you! Please just put it down!"

Oh, god, if Jimmy injected himself without clearing any air bubbles, he'd die! Thomas raised both hands in surrender, trying to calm Jimmy who was like some wild creature, face red and twisted and pouring tears.

"No, Thomas—!" Jimmy sobbed. "I might as well—because I'm the same as you!"

Jimmy's thumb shifted on the plunger, and Thomas moved without thinking, flying to him and ripping it away with all the force he could muster. The syringe went spinning into the wall, where it burst and shattered, spilling the drug in a small puddle on the floor.

They stared at each other in the silence afterward, panting.

"What…what did you say, Jimmy?"

Jimmy's face crumbled up in anguish, and fresh tears poured from his eyes. His hands hovered between them helplessly, as if he wanted to reach for Thomas but dared not touch him.

And… it didn't require any thought in the end: it was instinct. Thomas went to Jimmy and pulled him into an embrace, and he didn't let go until Jimmy had released every tear and painful sob trapped in his body.

It took a long time.