There was a knock at the study door and Michael Crowley grabbed the nearest sheet of paper, trying desperately to look busy. Once he felt reasonably confident that he could pull off the look (and turned the paper over the right way) he called,

"Enter!" There was a moment of silence which he swiftly used to put his glasses on, then one of the servants stepped in. It was a tall fellow with dark hair and one glove-covered hand, so Michael did not have to think for very long before he remembered the man's name.

"Oh, Barrow. What is it?"

"I I may have a word, sir?" The man was staring at the rug as if it was incredibly fascinating, leaving Michael to wonder if he had ever seen it before. He made a grand gesture with his hand that was completely lost since Barrow kept staring at the rug, but at least he tried.

"Of course, Barrow. Do go on."

"I wondered of your opinion of children amongst the staff, sir." Barrow's voice was about as steady as a duck on a pond that someone just dropped a boulder in.

"As far as I am aware, Downton does not employ children" Michael replied in his best master-of-the-house tone of voice. Mary always said it made him sound very impressive.

"No, my lord. I wondered if it was possible for a member of staff to bring a child onto the premises."

Michael frowned. He was a father himself, and as such he was fully aware of just how big an annoyance children were. They babbled and cried and talked incessantly and played with your shoes. And to let one of those loose downstairs?

"Impossible" he said with an air of conviction. "Absolutely impossible." Barrow's jaw clenched, briefly, before he drew a deep breath and finally looked up. He looked Michael straight in the eye with a ice-cold gaze.

"Then, sir, I regret to inform you that I must offer you my resignation. Effective immediately."

Michael gaped at him like a fish out of water.

When Thomas asked for a moment to speak in private, Bates figured it had to do with the letter he had received the same morning. It had left him pale-faced and solemn, and he had neglected his morning duties to go bother Master Michael. Thomas was a rather willful young man, but he usually could be relied upon. Therefore Bates was admittedly rather concerned when he saw Thomas pale face and pinched eyebrows.

"Very well" he said with a long-suffering sigh, "we can speak in my office."

Bates 'office' was really a glorified closet where he did the household accounts, but nobody dared to point that out to him. After the two men had crammed themselves into the tiny space and managed to wrangle the door closed, Thomas wasted no time.

"I have as of this morning resigned my post and will be leaving Downton tomorrow." Bates could not have been more surprised if Thomas had socked him in the face.

"Resigned?" He squeaked in a very manly way. "But… but why?"

"Lord Crowley will not allow me to bring my sister's young daughter to Downton. I will not leave her in the care of the useless drunk thinking himself her father a day more than necessary."

"But… your sister?" Bates tried, even though he could see from the look on Thomas' face that there was no point in trying.

"She is dead. That was what the letter was about. It was from my mother. Helen… passed away three days ago. Took the baby with her."

Bates, who had not known that Thomas had a sister, much less that she was pregnant or dead, tried his best to look understanding and compassionate. It failed miserably, but he got points for trying. Thomas, who was staring determinedly out the window, didn't seem to notice as he went on;

"Her husband is a drunk. And a layabout. I will not leave Abigail with him."

"Can't your mother-"

"No." There was an air of finality in that sole syllable that made Bates give up. Clearly, the man had made up his mind. It made him feel a bit torn: on one hand, he disliked Thomas greatly; the man was an unreliable bastard. On the other hand, he was one of the best workers on all of Downton. He knew where everything and everyone was at any given time, could always be trusted to carry out any task, and never gave anyone any reason to fault him. Well, except for that business with the footman… Bates sighed.

"We will miss you" he said diplomatically. Thomas shot him a dubious glance, but thankfully he said nothing. Instead he bowed his head as a show of respect and left, presumably to start packing and make whatever other arrangements he deemed necessary.

Thomas closed his suitcase with a final click and checked his watch. The evening was late, but there was a train for Nottingham later that evening that he would catch if he did not tarry. Once in Nottingham, he would have to take another train to Market Snodsbury in Worcestershire. He expected to arrive sometime the next day, most likely during the afternoon. Helen's daughter Abigail would be staying at friends in the meanwhile. As he stood and looked around the room to see if he had forgotten something, he did his best not to think of the fact that he had no work lined up for him. He had not thought that far when he offered Master Michael his resignation. The letter of recommendation he had received was full of praise, but that did not change the fact that all skills he had were that of the servant. The only place he knew of near Market Snodsbury was a placed called Brinkley Court, but he had no idea if the people there were looking for new servants. Or, if they did, if they would permit Abigail.

Oh, how Helen would have lectured him if she had known what he had done.

"Thomas" She would have said in that tone of part frustration and part fond exasperation that he hated so much, "how could you be so stupid as to give up a good position without something else lined up?"

But Helen wasn't there, was she? And that was the whole problem. Helen was dead, and that meant that Ambrose Caine was alone to care for his sweet Abigail. He could not, would not, stand for it. If nothing else, than for Helen's sake. He barely remembered the little girl, having not seen her for nigh on three years, but mother had written that she feared for the girl's safety and happiness. That was all he needed to know, really. If there was one thing he had learnt in this miserable world, was that family came first. And he had very little family left. Just his mother - and Abigail.

He was just trying to remember if the child had brown or blue eyes when he was interrupted by a harsh knock on the door. Sighing, he went to open it thinking it was O'Brien to give him another lecture on his stupidity on leaving to take care of his sister's brat when she had a perfectly good father. He was not in the mood to argue with her, she didn't listen to what he had to say anyway.

It took him a moment or two to realise who it was standing outside, wild-eyed and dishevelled as if he had been running.

"Jimmy?" He finally managed.

"Is it true?" Jimmy demanded, sounding as out of breath as he looked.

"Is what true?" Thomas replied, trying to buy time.

"That you are leaving Downton!" The younger man cried, and Thomas sighed deeply. He wasn't in the mood for another scene, so he stepped aside and made a vague gesture.

"Get in" he said. Jimmy stormed past him, his face turning a shade of red that would have been alarming if it hadn't been so cute.

The moment the door closed Jimmy was on him, hands fisted into his shirt.

"Tell me it's not true!" He demanded, breath hot on Thomas' face. It made certain parts of his anatomy sit up and pay attention.

"It is true" Thomas replied and felt proud of how he managed to keep his voice steady and his hands in check. Jimmy stared at him, still wild-eyed, as if trying to make him say that he was joking. He stared back, stubborn.

"Why?" Jimmy finally whispered, seemingly unaware of the proximity of their bodies. Thomas, however, was very aware of the nearness of the other man and glared at him in an attempt to cover up his growing arousal,

"Unhand me, Kent" he growled.

Jimmy jerked as if startled and let go with what Thomas traitorous heart immediately labelled reluctance.

"Why?" he begged, and it hurt to see those beautiful blue eyes. But then he thought of his little niece and it gave him new strength.

"Because of Abigail." He said simply.

"Who is Abigail?" Jimmy asked, bewildered.

"My niece. She is only seven and has lost her mother."

"Bring her here, then!"

"The Crowleys will not allow a child amongst the staff." Thomas sighed, feeling impossibly tired. It was what he wanted, but he was used to not getting what he wanted by now.

"But-" Jimmy seemed lost for words and, knowing full well that this was most likely the last time he would ever lay eyes on his beautiful face, Thomas couldn't help but feel a little bitter.

"Besides" he added coldly, "she is all I have." The comment struck harder than he had ever, even in his wildest dreams, dared to believe. Jimmy flinched back as if struck.

"You have me!" He protested vehemently and Thomas could not hold back short, bitter laugh.

"No, I don't. I never had you, no matter how badly I wanted to. Filthy faggot, remember?"

Jimmy opened his mouth as if to protest, but Thomas would not have it.

"It is settled. I am leaving Downton to-night to go to Market Snodsbury and try to make a life for myself and Abigail. You will forget me in a week or two. I am, after all, only the pathetic invert who is in love with you." That said, he pushed past Jimmy and picked up his suitcase. Jimmy stood frozen, staring at him with wide pleading eyes that Thomas chose not to see. He walked briskly down the stairs, nodding his last goodbyes to the other servants. He had said his goodbyes to the ones who mattered, and now there was nothing left to do.

As he settled into the back of the car that would take him away from Downton for the very last time, he did not look back. His pride forbade him to, even as his heart pleaded.