A/N- I'm so sorry about the wait between this chapter and the last, I've had a busy couple of weeks at uni! Hope you enjoy this chapter, please review to let me know what you think.

Huge thanks go to Naughty Captain Crieff, you are a wonderful person. Thank you so much for all your help!

"Go get sat down." Mrs Patmore tells him as she spoons kedgeree into a silver serving dish. "There'll be a tray through for you in a minute."

"Thank you, Mrs Patmore." He says and offers her a small and tired smile.

She sighs and mutters something under her breath and Thomas would think she was annoyed at him if he hadn't seen the relief on her face when he had appeared in the kitchen only second earlier.

He turns to leave when Ivy asks, "what was all that about last night?"

There's a sudden quiet in the kitchen as everyone's eyes fall on him. Ivy and Daisy pause mid-action while Mrs Patmore tries to look like she's not interested in what he has to say as she continues to empty the pan of kedgeree and Jimmy and Alfred stand by the kitchen counter, dressed in their livery and ready to take the platters of food up to the breakfast room once it is served.

And they're staring.

They're all staring.

Words stick in his throat and he holds his head high even as heat colours his cheeks.

Ivy breaks the quiet, looking between Thomas and Alfred with wide eyes, "why were you screaming, Mr Barrow?"

Memories of bodies and blood and death cloud his vision and he clenches his scarred hand into a fist.

It feels sore and stiff.

"Mr Barrow?" Daisy asks.

"I think I started to remember." He says at last.

Ivy gives him a tentative smile, "that's good, isn't it?"

"I suppose." He murmurs and he pushes the memories away as bile rises in the back of his throat. "That's why that doctor's here. To make me remember."

Ivy's smile crumples into a look of worry and Mrs Patmore clears her throat, "alright, you lot, that's enough of that. His Lordship'll end up being down before everything's has been taken up at this rate. Alfred, don't just stand there! Get this taken up, will you?"

"Yes, Mrs Patmore." Alfred says and he takes the tray from Mrs Patmore, disappearing from the kitchen but not without frowning at Thomas first.

"Will it always be like that?" Ivy asks him, toying with the corner of her apron. "When you remember?"

"Ivy, am I talking to myself? Get that toast off the flame before it burns." Mrs Patmore barks and Ivy rushes to do as she's told, her cheeks turning pink.

Daisy is still looking at him, though, her eyes huge, "was it the war?"

Thomas's heart starts to beat faster in his chest, "yes."

"Leave it alone, Daisy." Jimmy tells her, almost harshly.

"Are you still here?" Mrs Patmore asks.

"The tray's not ready yet." Jimmy says.

"Not you." Mrs Patmore says and Thomas realises that she means him. "Go sit before you fall down, Thomas. I'll bring your breakfast through in a minute."

He nods and retreats quickly to the servants' hall and tries to ignore the fear that twists at his insides.

He doesn't want to think about the night before but he knows he can't avoid it.

He's not stupid enough to hope that what happened could be forgotten by the rest of the staff, not when he had woken them up the way he had, screaming and covered in sick, and he knows it won't be for a long time yet.

And he knows they'll have questions that they'll want him to answer and he feels that he owes it to them, after all that they've done and put up with, to answer them.

And yet…

And yet he doesn't want to answer them.

He wants to keep these memories to himself and have something that only he truly knows about.

He wants to have secrets and motivations and reasons for his actions and be human.

He's tired of being the empty canvas that everyone else paints upon.

But he knows it can't end and it won't end.

Not now.

Not for a long while because, until he starts to remember, he's nothing but a stranger with a familiar face.

He hates the person he is not and knows that he has to remember if he ever wants to live without fear of the unknown clinging to him and dragging him down.

He cannot afford to cause more disruption to the lives of those around him, not after Miss O'Brien's warning the previous day, and so he knows he must remember.

However scared he is, however reluctant he is, he must remember.

"I'm glad we can meet like this." Dr Edwards says once they are settled in the parlour with a tray of tea that Thomas pours for them both. "I feel we will get a lot more accomplished in a private setting like this. It must have been ghastly for you yesterday with your employers watching on."

Thomas gives a slight nod of his head and rests his cup and saucer on his lap, not quite sure that his shaking hands would be able to keep from spilling.

"I must ask for your forgiveness in yesterday's business. You must understand that I intended for our meetings to be private from the start. I could not, however, refuse Lord and Lady Grantham's attendance for the first session when they asked it of me, not without seeming impertinent, that is. I am, after all, a guest in their household."

"I understand." Thomas says.

"Good." Dr Edwards smiles at him and Thomas thinks that there might be more to the man than he showed the day before. "Now, would you like to discuss what happened last night? Mr Carson tells me there was some kind of disturbance."

"There was." Thomas agrees and takes a sip of his tea as thinks of what to say. "I think… I think that I remembered some things from the war."

"I see." Dr Edwards nods and waits a moment before speaking again. "And do you want to talk about what happened or would you prefer to have time to think about what you remembered? Memories of the war can be very unsettling, even for those in full possession of their memory's context."

Thomas frowns, "you're not the man you were yesterday."

Dr Edwards smiles, "we all have our masks that we must wear. Lord and Lady Grantham had certain expectations that I felt must be met. They are paying me, after all."

"They're paying you?"

"You didn't think my services were coming out of your wages, did you?"

Thomas opens and clothes his mouth a few times before saying, "I don't know what I thought."

A mixture of gratitude and wonder build within him and he finds himself warmed at their generosity.

"Lord Grantham is a kind master, is he not?"

"He is." He agrees even as the Earl's words from the night previous rise fresh in his mind. It takes him a moment or two to work passed the hurt that surrounds them but he thinks he understands Lord Grantham's intention now. "He is very kind."

There is a momentary silence where they both sip at their rapidly cooling tea.

"May I make a suggestion?" Dr Edwards asks.

Thomas nods.

"Let us leave talk of the war until another day. I believe such memories are best not being reclaimed by an unready mind and, from what I can gather from the talk I've heard of last night, you are most unready. Let us talk about your early years and your family, it is possible we may find happiness there." Dr Edwards tells him.

"But it's not a certainty." Thomas says and he tries to hide a frown.

"We each have good and bad in our past, Thomas." The doctor tells him. "One may outweigh the other but we each have both. I expect you will remember both in time."

"I hope so." Thomas says and he truly does.

He doesn't want to remember anything else from the war.

He wants to remember the good.

He wants to remember his mother and his father and what it felt like to be loved and love in return.

Dr Edwards pulls a small notebook from his suit pocket and flips through the pages until he finds the one he's looking for.

"Before we go any further… I must tell you that I know what you are and I don't judge you for it." Dr Edwards pauses as Thomas heart pounds in his chest and he tries to think of what the doctor means. "My son, Walter, was of the same… persuasion. It took his mother and I some time to come to terms with and we were very cruel to the boy during this time. He ran off to war in shame and, I'm afraid to say, got himself killed." There is another pause and Thomas is still fighting to understand. "I see now that his affliction was not through choice but simply the way he was put together. There was nothing that could be or should be done to change him or other men of his kind, I know that now. I bitterly regret treating him so unkindly when he could do nothing to stop himself from preferring the company of men over women."

"Oh." Thomas says and, without meaning to, he thinks of Jimmy.

"You must be careful, Thomas." Dr Edwards warns. "There is a prison sentence for those caught acting upon their feelings so I would advise the utmost discretion if you decide to do anything. Not everyone thinks as kindly of your sort as I do and, while I believe Lord Grantham may be reluctant to have you reported to the police, you may find yourself in trouble if it becomes common knowledge. You would most certainly lose your position here at Downton Abbey and at this time I think this is something you cannot afford."

Thomas nods and the fear of the previous night, the fear of losing his job and his home and everything he knows, flares in his chest, "thank you, Dr Edwards. I will be careful."

"Good." Dr Edwards smiles at him before looking down at his notebook, "now, shall we talk about your family?"

"I think I'd like that." Thomas tells him as the fear fades and is overcome with longing to learn about the people who are responsible for bringing him into the world.

"I gathered the majority of my information from the records so I do apologise if my speech is a little dry." Dr Edwards says and Thomas nods, anticipation building in the pit of his stomach. "You were born in the rooms above Barrow and Son's Clock and Watch Repairs on York Street in Manchester on the 22nd January 1891. Your father's name was William, like his father and his father's father, and he was the third generation of Barrow to own the shop on York street. Your mother, Molly, was the only child of Irish immigrants Thomas and Kathleen Byrne and she, unfortunately, died a week after your birth."

"What?" His stomach drops.

"She had childbed fever." Dr Edwards explains. "There was nothing that could be done."

"I see." Thomas says and his heart aches for the woman he never had the opportunity to know.

This isn't what he was expecting.

Where were the good memories?

"Your mother's parents moved in with your father and they helped raise you and your brother and sister."

Thomas started, "I have a brother and sister?"

"William and Ruth, they were eight and nine respectively when you were born."

"William and Ruth." Thomas repeats and their names feel alien on his tongue. "There was a footman at Downton called William. He died during the war. We were never friends… I think that was my fault."

He doesn't know where this talk of William the footman comes from, words slip from his tongue as hope bubbles in his chest and his mind tries to process what he has been told.

He has a brother and a sister.

He is not alone.

He is not alone.

But there's something wrong.

He can feel it in his gut and he can see it on Dr Edwards' face.

"They're dead, aren't they?" He asks.

"William was killed in action at the Somme. He was part of the 16th Manchesters." Dr Edwards tells him, his face grim. "He was survived by a son and two daughters. His wife died of the Spanish flu shortly after the war's end."

"And who looks after the children now?" He asks and the hope is back and it is stronger than ever.

He has family.

He has a nephew and nieces and he is not alone.

"Your sister."

"She's still alive?"

He's smiling now, so wide that it hurts his face, because he has a sister and she is alive.

His sister is alive.

He is not alone.

"Did you speak to her?" He asks. "Is she okay?"

"Yes, I spoke to her and I can assure you that she is quite well. She and her husband took over the shop after William and his wife died, the children live with them and their own daughters."

"More nieces?"

"You have five in total."

Thomas is sure that his face is going to split in two, "I have a family. I thought I was alone but I'm not… I have a sister and nieces and a nephew and a brother-in-law."

It is then he notices the pained look on Dr Edwards' face.

"What's wrong?" He asks and his smile falters.

"When I spoke to her… I don't quite know how to say this." The older man avoids looking at him.

He is crushed by the doctor's next words.

The session goes on for another hour but he barely notices the passage of time.

Dr Edwards describes the house Thomas grew up in and the street he lived on in minute detail. He lists even more family members, telling him their occupations and where they lived and when they died, and tells Thomas second-hand stories of his childhood learnt from an old neighbour.

Dr Edwards drones on and on and on and Thomas struggles to distinguish one word from another.

He is too numb and the words do not sink in.

He is not surprised when they spark nothing within him.

Not like words about war which had made him tremble and quake and remember.

He has remembered nothing and he feels nothing.

He is empty.

The hope he had felt has been cruelly snatched away and he's just so empty.

So, so empty.

He wants to scream.

He wants to scream and pour all the emptiness out.

He wants to feel and he wants to hurt.

He wants to hurt so badly because hurting means he understands.

And, more than anything, he wants to understand.

He's had enough of life's games and yet the world still mocks him.

He wants this to be over.

He wants to be strong and sure once again.

He wants to wake up and continue on with the life he cannot remember and dismiss this one as nothing more than a terrible nightmare.

But knows he cannot.

The scar on his hairline, the one that his fingers brush when he combs his hair in the morning, the one he tries to avoid whenever he looks in the mirror, is very real and cannot be put down to his imagination.

No matter how much he wants it to be.

This is real.

This is his life.

This emptiness is his life.

He hates it.

He wants to remember.

He wants all that is good and bad about his past to come back to him in one great rush so that he can become himself once more and return to his previous existence.

He's tired of being an empty shell.

So, tired.

He makes it halfway down the back staircase before he has stop.

His breaths are coming in short gasps and his vision is clouded by tears but it all feels so separate, as if it isn't happening to him.

And maybe it's not because he's not Thomas Barrow.

He's not the Earl of Grantham's valet.

He's not the son of William and Molly Barrow or the younger brother of William and Ruth Barrow.

He is not an uncle or a friend or a work colleague.

He is nothing.

He feels his knees give out and he registers the cold of the floor as it seeps through his trousers.

It is hard to breathe and it is hard to see.

He does not feel real.

He wonders if he's dreaming.

It feels like it.

Everything is drifting away from him and nothing feels real.

Perhaps it's not.

Perhaps nothing is real.

Perhaps everything that Dr Edwards told him is something he has concocted in his troubled mind to punish himself for the night before.

To punish himself for being the horrible person he was.

To punish himself for waking instead of dying.

This sounds right.

It sounds right and it doesn't frighten him as much as it should.

The idea of death.

Had he ever been frightened of death before? In his waking life?

He has, he knows he has, because there was blood and bombs and bodies…

The war.

He was afraid of dying then.

Now he's only scared of being alone.

No, not scared.

Terrified.

And he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't want to be alone.

He hears footsteps then, echoing off the cold tile of the stairs, and a sob catches in his throat.

"Thomas… Mr Barrow, are you alright?"

Thomas doesn't have to look at the other person, he knows by voice alone that it is Jimmy.

"What's happened?" Jimmy asks and suddenly his warm body is pressed into Thomas' side. "Have you had a turn?"

Thomas shakes his head.

He doesn't know what's happened but it's easier now with Jimmy next to him. He finds that he can breathe and blink away the tears and remember that he is not alone.

That Jimmy is his friend and he is not alone.

"I just needed a minute." He tells the younger man and he wonders, vaguely, if he is lying or speaking the truth. "After speaking with Dr Edwards."

Jimmy looks at him, dubiously, but doesn't say anything.

Instead he wraps an arm around Thomas' shoulders and tugs him against his body.

Thomas freezes, remembering Dr Edwards' warnings, but eventually lets himself sag against Jimmy, his head coming to rest on the younger's shoulder.

Jimmy is his friend.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said the other day." Jimmy murmurs after a moment or two. "You shouldn't have to remember if you don't want to. It's your life, after all."

Thomas smiles, faintly, "I don't think I have any choice. Dr Edwards seems to think my memories are going to come back whether I want them to or not."

"Oh." Jimmy says.

"I just wish they'd hurry up about it." Thomas says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't like living like this."

"I-."

"My, my, don't you two look cosy?"

They both spring apart at the newcomer's words and Thomas' stomach sinks when he spies Miss O'Brien on the stairs behind them.

"I should be getting back to work." Jimmy says in a rush and he takes the stairs two at a time on the way down.

Thomas pulls himself to his feet and feels suddenly cold at Jimmy's absence.

Miss O'Brien is looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look in her eyes, "you like him."

He starts down the stairs, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Miss O'Brien is close on his heels and he can hear his heart pounding in his chest, "come off it, Thomas, we were friends once. I know about you."

Thomas pauses at the bottom of the stairs, his mind falling over itself to try and work out the meaning behind her words, and turns to face her with a frown, "friends don't threaten like you did yesterday."

"I didn't threaten." She tells him and try as he might he can't read the look on her face. "I only meant to warn you. I don't want to see you getting into trouble."

"I don't believe you." He says and watches as her nostrils flare.

"Perhaps you don't." She says. "But we were friends once and that counts for something with me."

He shakes his head and turns to leave.

"You like him." Miss O'Brien says again and he stills at her next words, "and he likes you, too."

"What?"

Miss O'Brien keeps her mouth closed as a housemaid walks passed them, "perhaps we ought to talk somewhere a little more private."

He follows her through the kitchens, ignoring the curious eyes that follow their progress, and to the courtyard outside.

She pulls a cigarette case and box of matches from a pocket in her dress and he watches as she lights one and takes a long drag. She offers the cigarettes to him, "do you want one?"

He's about to turn her down when he catches a mouthful of smoke.

Something in his mind stirs, "we've done this before."

She smiles at him and he thinks she's genuinely happy, "more times than I can remember."

He takes a cigarette and the box of matches and the instinct that guides his hands when he's repairing something of his Lordship's has the cigarette lit within seconds.

He takes a long drag and can't help but match Miss O'Brien's smile as the smoke fills his lungs.

It feels comfortable and familiar and the smoke smothers the emptiness within him.

"Now do you remember?" She asks.

He nods because he does.

Miss O'Brien's face is veiled in smoke and it is flashing before his eyes as the seasons change and her face regains and loses youth.

Yes, he remembers.

Nothing specific, no words or feelings, but he knows there is truth in her words. They have stood together in this courtyard, cigarettes in hand and smoke in their lungs, more times than either of them can count.

"We were friends, Thomas." She tells him. "Why can't we be friends again now?"

"What you said yesterday." He reminds her.

"Like I said, I was warning," she takes a quick puff from her cigarette, "not threatening."

He nods, though, he is not fully convinced.

They smoke in silence for a minute or two before Thomas clears his throat, "what is it you were saying about Jimmy?"

Miss O'Brien is smiling at him again but it is different this time. This difference sets him on edge, "he likes you."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nods, "Alfred tells me he doesn't shut up about you. It's always 'Mr Barrow this' or 'Mr Barrow that.'"

"We're friends is all."

"Of course you are." She says. "You don't have to keep secrets from me."

"Then why do you keep them from me?" He asks and suddenly it doesn't matter how much smoke he inhales, nothing can stop the emptiness from consuming him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You said we were friends before." He says and he drops his cigarette to the floor and stamps it out. "So why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me think I was alone?"

"Why didn't I tell you what?" Miss O'Brien asks, her eyebrows knotted together in confusion. "I don't know what you're going on about."

"Why didn't you tell me that I have a family?"

Her eyes widen and her cigarette falls from her fingers but he doesn't know if it by design or from shock, "family?"

"I have a sister in Manchester."

"You've never spoken to me about her."

"Why?" He asks, though, he doesn't expect her to answer.

He can feel tears building up in his eyes again and he runs a hand over his face as he wills himself not to cry.

"She spoke to Dr Edwards when he was in Manchester, looking for information about my past." He tells her and he knows he shouldn't. "She told him that we haven't seen one another for eleven years, not since our father's funeral."

She puts a hand on his forearm and he wipes away the tears the stream down his cheeks.

The emptiness is gone now.

It has been replaced by a hurt that burns him from the inside out.

Still, he doesn't understand.

"She told him that she doesn't want to see me, not even now. Not after he's explained what had happened." He closes his eyes and folds his arms around his middle. "Why? Why won't she see me? What could I have possibly done?"

Miss O'Brien doesn't say anything.

Instead she offers him a handkerchief and another cigarette.

"And how did your meeting with Dr Edwards go this morning? Much better that yesterday's, I hope." Lord Grantham asks as Thomas helps him dress for dinner.

"Yes, my Lord." Thomas says. "Speaking to the doctor has been very helpful."

"Good, I'm glad to hear." He holds his left arm out and Thomas attaches his cufflink. "Pompous sort of chap, isn't he?"

"I don't know about that, my Lord." Thomas says with the smallest of shrugs.

They are quiet then and it isn't uncomfortable.

Thomas' hands don't shake as he holds out Lord Grantham's jacket for him to step into but he thinks there's something in his expression that makes the older man frown.

"Barrow…" He says and he sounds tired. "You must forgive me for the way I spoke yesterday, it was not my intention to upset you. I see now that you were only trying to do your duties and relieve some of the pressure your condition has put on Carson and the rest of the staff."

Thomas tenses and Lord Grantham's face falls.

"That's not what I meant." He says.

"I understand, your Lordship." Thomas says and he offers the Earl a small smile. "I won't let what happened affect my work. I promise I'll do better."

"That's not what I meant." Lord Grantham repeats. "I only meant that I approve of your dedication to your work and to myself. But that does not mean I would have you push yourself beyond your limits to see to me. If you are unwell, Barrow, then I must insist that you rest and not risk your health. Do you understand?"

"But Mr Carson-."

"I have spoken with Mr Carson and he agrees with me." Lord Grantham cuts him off. "I think that business last night must have given him a fright."

"You know about that?" Thomas asks, swallowing thickly. His surprise almost makes him forget that he is talking to his better but he manages to tag a "my Lord," onto the end of his sentence to keep himself from being rude.

"I imagine everyone does."

Thomas shifts on his feet and hopes the horror he is feeling does not reflect on his face.

It is one thing for the rest of the staff and Dr Edwards to know but his Lordship and the rest of the family?

It makes him feel ill.

He wonders if they're all laughing at him for being so stupid and weak or if they are wearing those fake looks of sympathy as they hungrily eat up any gossip they can get their hands on.

He feels guilty then for thinking so badly of people who have only been kind to him, even if they do sometimes stare at him as if he were a character from a penny dreadful.

"There's no need to be ashamed." Lord Grantham says. "The war was a ghastly thing. I doubt anyone has pleasant memories of it and in the present circumstances..."

There's a knock on the door then and Carson enters, "I'm sorry to disturb you, my Lord."

"Not at all, Carson, I think we're just about finished in here. What seems to be the problem?"

"It's Lady Sybil, my Lord." Carson says and then he clears his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Dr Clarkson has been called for."

Thomas is dismissed and Mr Carson tells him to instruct Mrs Patmore to keep dinner on hold and send the footmen up to serve drinks before both he and Lord Grantham make hurried exits.

The kitchen is a rush of activity when Thomas arrives with Mrs Patmore shouting orders to her staff and Alfred and Jimmy setting out trays, bickering between themselves.

"Heavens!" Mrs Patmore cries, looking to the ceiling and muttering to herself before turning to Thomas once again, "and pray tell, how long are we supposed to keep the food warm for?"

"Until the baby's born, I suppose." Thomas says with a shrug, not understanding why she's asking him.

Jimmy snorts and Alfred fails to hide a smile and Mrs Patmore rolls her eyes at the lot of them.

"Get out of my kitchen, the lot of you." She says. "I have enough on my plate without having to listen to your cheek on top."

"Us as well?" Ivy asks and Thomas notices the way she smiles at Jimmy.

"You're a daft mare, Ivy Stuart. Of course-."

"Mr Carson wants the two of you upstairs." He says, nodding at Alfred and Jimmy and cutting Mrs Patmore's tirade off before it can really begin.

He searches out Mrs Hughes after that and passes on what's happening upstairs before retreating into the servants' hall.

Miss O'Brien catches him before he can sit down, "fancy a smoke?"

"Go on then." He says and follows her into the dark of the courtyard.

It's a relief to be outside, away from the hustle and bustle of the servants' hall and the kitchen, and he smiles, faintly, as the cool night air brushes his face.

"You're going to have to see about getting your own." Miss O'Brien says as she offers him a cigarette.

He gives her a non-committal sound as he takes one and she rolls her eyes at him.

They smoke in silence.

Thomas stares up at the stars and feels comfortable in what he now recognises to be their familiar quiet.

They don't speak until they've finished their cigarettes.

"About earlier…" he starts.

"Save your breath." She tells him. "What you've told me won't go no further."

"I appreciate that." He offers her a smile that he is sure doesn't reach his eyes.

He's still not sure if he can trust her but knows he has no choice now.

"What are you going to do?" She asks him.

"About what?"

"Your sister." She says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Are you going to write to her?"

"I haven't thought about it." He tells her, his body tensing. "I don't know if I'm going to do anything."

She nods and lets the subject drops for which he is thankful.

They have another cigarette and as they stub their ends out Miss O'Brien lets out a long sigh.

"It's going to be a long night." She says. "Come on, let's see about getting a cup of tea."

He follows her into the warmth of the kitchens without a word.