The door opened, and Thomas stumbled out. He glanced up and down the hall, seeing if anyone was visible. It appeared empty and he didn't want to linger outside the room. His mind was still racing, and he felt the surge of adrenaline that accompanied his fear. He made his way down the hallway as quickly as his fumbling legs would take him, and paused at the top of the stairway to grasp the guardrail. He heard a voice behind him. Mr. Bates spoke.

"Mr. Barrow, I heard the evening went well."

"What?" Thomas snapped, turning to face Mr. Bates, one hand still grasping the rail.

Mr. Bates frowned and stepped closer, but Thomas backed away quickly and fled down the stairs, murmuring something about feeling tired as he left. He could feel Mr. Bates' eyes on him as he retreated, and realized quickly that he would have to regain control of himself. Mr. Bates had the instincts of a hound, and would easily discover that something was wrong if he didn't get himself under control. He could hear Mr. Bates limping down the stairs behind him, but Thomas continued on to the servant's area, headed to the kitchen. He checked himself in a mirror on the way, ensuring his suit was tidy. He stepped into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Patmore, the area was otherwise empty.

"Ah, Mr. Barrow. We wondered how long you'd be. Everything's ship-shape down here, everyone's been packed off to bed. Mr. Carson says he'll be back tomorrow around mid-day. I must say, it's very nice to see him looking so happy. But my word, Mr. Barrow! You do look frightfully pale! Are you still tired? Here, have a sit down and a nice cup of tea." She pulled a chair out and poured a cup of tea that had been set out obviously for herself.

He sat, his head still whirling, but attempted to look calm. He reached for the tea but set it down quickly after some tea slopped over the side from his shaking hand. He pressed his hand flat against the table, willing away his tremors. Mrs. Patmore fussed about him, feeling his forehead and mopping at his brow with a cool cloth. It was all he could do not to flinch away from her touch. "Oh Mr. Barrow, I think I should brave that horrible telephone and call for Dr. Clarkson! You really look very unwell."

"No," he said quickly, his voice only shaking slightly. He was slowly regaining his composure. Years of practice in hiding his true self made it feel like a well-practiced routine. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore, but I'm fine. All I need is a good night's rest and this excellent cup of tea." He reached for it again and succeeded in taking a few sips without spilling any. If she rang for Dr. Clarkson, he might force him to take a day or two off, and Mr. Peterson had made it very clear what would happen if he was suddenly taken ill. The thought almost made the tea come back up, and he stood abruptly. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. Is everything prepped for breakfast?" She nodded at him, still looking concerned. He did his best to give her a smile. "I'm feeling much better, but I think I'll head to bed. See you in the morning."

He passed Mr. and Mrs. Bates in the hall, and exchanged a quick good night as they headed out to their cottage. Mr. Bates had given him a piercing look worthy of Lady Grantham, but he had assured him that he was fine. He made his way to his room, and only after closing and locking the door behind him did he allow himself to break down.

Deep sobs racked his body as he sat on the edge of his bed, reviewing the events of the evening in his mind. His chest still hurt from the blow he'd received, and he felt as though he needed to scrub himself clean. Nothing had happened, he reminded himself. Nothing. Mr. Peterson had stood and watched as Thomas had removed his clothing, taking in the sight with a glint in his eye. He'd complimented Thomas on his physique, and even gone so far as to walk around him looking him up and down thoroughly. He'd grabbed his wrist and peered at the half-glove, removing it and frowning at the scar. He'd then noticed the scars on his wrist and grabbed the other wrist to compare. He'd said nothing, but lifted an eyebrow as he looked Thomas in the eye. Thomas had stood there trembling for what felt like ages as Mr. Peterson had looked him over. Mr. Peterson had then stepped away, beginning to remove his own clothes, and the fear Thomas felt at the sight nearly overcame him. Then Mr. Peterson had said simply, "You can go now." Thomas had hurriedly put his clothes back on, and just as he was leaving, Mr. Peterson's voice rang out once more. "You're to be my valet throughout my stay, just as I said before. You'll regret any disruption in…service." Thomas had nodded and fled the room.

What was he going to do? He could run, pack all his belongings and flee into the night. But what would that gain him? No reference, very little in the way of savings, and the end of his career. He'd have no way to support himself. Maybe if he went directly to Lord Grantham and told him what had transpired, he would be able to help. But how could he confess to it? And had his value to the family really increased enough that they would believe him over a gentleman? He highly doubted it. His value would always be tarnished in their eyes by his history with them. First his prior thievery, then his manipulative behavior over the years, and lastly by his unwanted advances on Jimmy. They might believe him, but how could he be certain? Was it worth imprisonment? He'd no doubt that Mr. Peterson would be true to his word.

What about the servants? Had he gained their trust enough for help? He thought about Mr. Bates and was halfway towards the door before he stopped. Mr. Bates would go directly to His Lordship, he couldn't risk it. Mr. and Mrs. Carson might believe him, but he had no idea how they could possibly help. Mr. Carson would insist on taking the matter to either the authorities, His Lordship, or Lady Mary. Mrs. Baxter would help him, he thought desperately. She had been there for him during the two lowest points in his life, despite everything he'd done to her. He'd nearly resolved to go to her when he again decided that there was nothing she could do. Mr. Peterson had made it very clear what would happen if he resisted or went for help. But could he just allow it to happen? He doubted very much that the man wouldn't take it further. A cold voice inside him whispered that he deserved it. He was a freak, an outcast. Not only that, but he was also a manipulative man who'd hurt nearly everyone close to him. Maybe this was his comeuppance?

He lay in bed for hours, trying to find a way out of his situation. No viable options presented themselves, and he hardened his resolve. If this was the way it had to be, then he would shut himself off. He'd been raped before and had made it out the other side. He'd wall off every part of himself he needed to protect, and get through the coming week. This Mr. Peterson may have him backed into a corner, but he couldn't take everything from him. Do what he will, Thomas Barrow was not one to be defeated. Sleep slowly took him, and he woke to the hall boy calling out that it was 6 in the morning. He squeezed his eyes shut, hardened his resolve, and prepared himself for what was to come.

XXX

Everyone rose as he entered the servants' dining hall, and he sat stiffly at the head of the table. One of the kitchen helpers poured his tea, and he set to eating what was in front of him. He noticed some glances from Mr. Bates, but did his best to appear calm and collected. The first bell rung just as they were finished eating, and he stood. Everyone followed suit, and every eye turned to him.

"Mr. Talbot and Mr. Branson will be going into town today for some business, I believe their friends will be accompanying them." He looked at Andy. "Please be sure the chauffeur has a car out front by 10am for them." Andy nodded. "Well, everyone knows what needs to be done." He nodded at everyone, and they fell to.

His stomach twisted as the bell to Mr. Peterson's room rang, but he merely smiled casually at Mr. Bates. "Shall we?" They headed up the stairs together, Mr. Bates following behind Thomas. When they reached the top of the stairs, Mr. Bates grabbed his arm and Thomas forced himself not to flinch away.

"Mr. Barrow, if there was something wrong, would you tell me?"

Thomas smirked. "Why Mr. Bates, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were concerned for my health." Mr. Bates released him and returned the smirk.

"Well we can't have that, now can we?" He nodded at Thomas, and they made their way to their respective duties.

Thomas paused outside the door to Mr. Peterson's room, closed his eyes, and steeled himself. Whatever happened, he would allow it. One week of misery and he would be free to return to his life. He knocked on the door and entered quietly. Mr. Peterson was sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes. It struck Thomas as odd, seeing such a common action being performed by such a monster. "Good morning, Mr. Peterson. Breakfast is waiting downstairs; do you have a preference on which suit to wear?"

Mr. Peterson yawned and smiled. "Why Mr. Barrow, are you really that unflappable?" He said it in a flirtatious tone, and Thomas inclined his head. He stepped toward the closet and removed a suit, brushing it off slightly as Mr. Peterson got out of bed. "May I call you Thomas, Mr. Barrow?"

"Whatever you prefer, sir."

"Well then, Thomas. How did you sleep?"

"Very well, sir. Thank you." His voice sounded casual, and he was pleased to hear it.

"I slept like a baby myself. I had delicious dreams of scarred wrists and excellent physiques." Thomas inclined his head again and began to prep the suit. When Mr. Peterson turned his back, Thomas stepped forward to remove the robe, which he promptly placed in the closet. Mr. Peterson then turned to face Thomas at a slight angle, and placed his hand at the small of Thomas's back. Thomas's breath hitched in his throat, and he squashed the fear as best he could. His voice betrayed him when it came out slightly higher than usual.

"Breakfast will get cold, sir."

"This will only take a few minutes, Thomas." He grabbed Thomas's hand and forced it against him. "Well, I suppose that depends on how good you are, really." He smiled at Thomas and raised his eyebrows. Thomas focused on his breathing, closed his eyes, and set to work.

XXX

When he arrived downstairs, Andy was in place for him serving coffee. Thomas caught his eye and stepped into his place, allowing Andy to leave the room. Thomas had hoped he'd escape Mr. Peterson's room fast enough so that Andy wouldn't have to fill in for him, but it'd taken at least a half hour of torture before it was finally done and he'd been allowed to assist Mr. Peterson to dress for breakfast. He'd had to swallow back vomit once Mr. Peterson had left him alone to tidy up the room. He adjusted the clothes that would be needed for the day, and the rest would be addressed by the housemaids.

Thomas finished pouring coffee and tea, inquiring politely of Mr. Bentford and Mr. Peterson which they preferred. Mr. Bentford preferred tea, and Mr. Peterson preferred coffee. Thomas stood in his place while the family and guests ate and chatted amiably. Mr. Peterson didn't appear overly happy, and Lady Mary commented on it, inquiring if he slept well. She received a noncommittal answer and dropped the subject, happy to converse with her husband about his plans to show Mr. Bentford and Mr. Peterson their auto shop. Tom Benson joined in on the conversation on occasion. Everyone slowly filtered out until only the four men were left. They rose as one, and Mr. Peterson allowed the others to leave before him. He lingered for a moment to allow the others time to leave, then stepped up to Thomas.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm so glum, Thomas? I did sleep well, as you already know." His voice had a hard edge to it and Thomas swallowed hard.

"Perhaps your day in town will lift your spirits, sir."

"I'm afraid I was very disappointed this morning, Thomas. You'll have to do better in the future, or I might have to complain about my treatment." He lifted an eyebrow, snatched a biscuit off the tray Thomas had been about to pick up, and sauntered out of the room. Thomas leaned against the table for the second day in a row, but stood up quickly as Andy entered to help clear.

Andy paused to look at him, but chose not to say anything. They both set about their work quickly, and Thomas's mind went over the morning in desperation. He'd done what Mr. Peterson had wanted, hadn't he? He felt his mental wall fracturing slightly, and struggled to keep calm. He apparently hadn't pleased the man, and he felt a surge of anger towards him. So he wanted Thomas to not only do as he wanted, but he appeared to also want more from him. More than mere compliance. "Damn!" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, and Andy looked at him again.

"Mr. Barrow, are you alright?" Andy looked genuinely concerned.

"Yes, thank you. I just realized I'd forgotten to ask Mr. Carson something. How is Mr. Mason's farm coming along? Still enjoying the work?"

Andy brightened immediately at any mention of the farm and Mr. Mason, and rambled on for a few minutes about the inner workings at the farm and how much he had learned. He babbled merrily as they descended the stairs.

XXX

The day went smoothly, and Mr. Carson was headed home for the day just as the Valets and Ladies-maids headed upstairs to assist in dressing for bed. Thomas's anxiety increased with each step, and he struggled to keep control of himself. Mr. Bates said something to him, and Thomas hoped a smile and nod was enough of an answer, as he had no idea what the man had said to him.

He knocked on the door and entered the room, only to see Mr. Peterson already in his pajamas and laying in bed with his eyes closed. Thomas hardly dared to hope as he backed out of the room quietly, turning out the lights as he went. He positively fled down the stairs and headed out into the cold night air for a cigarette. Mrs. Baxter had apparently finished early with her ladyship, and had seen him go outside. She stepped up beside him and took his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He sighed and rested his cheek on the top of her head gently. They had become very comfortable together, despite their history. Mrs. Baxter was, in Thomas's opinion, the kindest soul he had come across. She'd been through so much, a great deal of which was because of Thomas, but had come through it with her generosity intact. He sometimes thought she could read him like a book. She didn't pry, she simply stood there with him to remind him that he had a friend, and for that he was eternally grateful. The smoke rose up slowly, wafting around in the soft breeze.

"Thank you, Mrs. Baxter."

"You're welcome, Mr. Barrow."