Shamelessly, Hayden Christensen was my face claim/reference used to describe Coburn's character.

'cause you brought out the best of me
a part of me I'd never seen
you took my soul, wiped it clean
our love was made for movie screens

All I Want – Kodaline

After the incident with Jimmy, Thomas tried keeping his mouth shut a little bit more, tried to be in the way a little bit less. He still worked just as hard as before and made distasteful remarks at the dinner table, but he felt even more on edge than he had before, like everyone had a collective eye on him, waiting for a slip-up. And despite the friendship Jimmy had agreed to, there was a lot of underlying tension and discomfort between them.

Thomas felt like he was suffocating.

He stopped using his days off to look for men in the city because whenever he got back to Downton, everyone eyed him like they could smell the scandal on his coat. Instead, he used his free time to stake out a shady patch of land on the property and sit back, either to read a book or write a letter or be. Sometimes he explored the forest. Once, he offered to walk Isis, but she had bowed her head and dropped her tail between her legs and he hadn't brought it up again.

He was just coming back from one of these afternoons, borrowed book about braille tucked beneath his arm (because he still thought about Lt. Courtenay sometimes and wondered whether or not he would have liked to learn). The sun was setting behind him and the core of an apple dangled from the fingers of his left hand while a lit cigarette rested between the fingers of his right. He didn't feel light, exactly, not like he wished he did, but after a day spent completely by his lonesome, he did feel more refreshed. He knew that as soon as he felt the gazes of the rest of the staff find his face, the darkness in his stomach would once again unfurl and he would be left drowning in the shame they had forced upon him.

He tossed the eaten apple into the compost bin His Lordship's new gardener had set up next to the woodpile. He took one last drag on his cigarette before throwing the butt in there as well, simply because he hated Pace almost as much as he hated Bates. He had a God awful mustache that should've been shaved years ago and he walked with a hunched back that Thomas thought was downright shameful. Plus, he had been allowed to have dinner with them after his cottage caught fire last spring and he hadn't stopped coming round since, no matter how many times Thomas dropped not-very-subtle hints that he was no longer welcome. But he showed up at every meal with his loud, obnoxious voice and his outdated opinions. To make it worse, he always smelled like pond scum.

Inside, Mrs. Patmore, Ivy, and Daisy were finishing up preparing supper. Thomas could tell by the smell that it was the same stew they had had last Tuesday, but he didn't say anything about it. Last time he had, Mrs. Patmore had bitten his head off. Ivy pulled a batch of rolls from the stove and set them out on the countertop, giggling a bit when she noticed Jimmy and Alfred drift in. They hovered near the tray, waiting for the women to turn their backs. Jimmy smiled at Thomas and widened his eyes a little bit, gesturing to the bread with his chin.

"Afternoon, ladies," Thomas said. Daisy greeted him amiably as usual. He supposed it was because she still didn't know exactly what had happened but had welcomed the change in his behavior, no matter how minute. Mrs. Patmore saw the footmen sneaking glances at her bread rolls and squawked, shooing them out of the kitchen with her arms. Thomas took this distraction to knick one, slipping it up the sleeve of his day shirt hurrying out of the kitchen after them.

"Here you are." Jimmy caught the bread Thomas tossed to him and promptly ripped it in half, offering part of it to Thomas, who shook his head. "Give it to Alfred. Lord knows the boy could use a bone."

Jimmy chuckled and took a bite. He gestured to the two bags sitting on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. "The new chauffeur came in today. Nice chap. Name's Daniel Coburn or something of the such. He's going to supper with us and then go down to see the garages with Carson after we serve. I reckon he's hired already."

"We've got a gardener and a chauffeur at the tables with us now." Thomas shook his head. "What's next? We'll have the stable boys and dog handlers."

Jimmy laughed. "You bite your tongue, Mr. Barrow. Times are changing."

"That's for sure." Thomas looked through the doorway into the dining hall where everyone was starting to assemble and shook his head. "I'm going to wash up before supper. I'll be down in a little while."

Jimmy pushed himself up off the wall and finished off the last of the bread. "Don't take too long, now. I don't want to get roped into a conversation with the help."

Upstairs, Thomas deposited his bag on the bed and tugged off his shirt. It had grass and pollen stains and he was sure Mr. Carson would have his head for wearing it to supper even if they didn't have a guest. He traded it out for the white undershirt of his livery, but left the jacket hanging in the wardrobe in favor of something a little more casual. Finally, he pulled on a new pair of trousers, washed his face in the basin on his dresser, and joined the rest of the staff at the table downstairs.

He was running a little late; even Pace, who usually showed up halfway through dinner with mud still smeared on his face, was seated in his usual seat across from Jimmy. Thomas almost bumped into Daisy, who was hovering in the doorway, checking to make sure she had done all that she needed. When she saw him, she smiled and scurried back into the kitchens.

"Mr. Barrow," Carson boomed, eyeing him from the head of the table. Thomas slid into his chair and reached for his teacup.

"Sorry, sir. Didn't think you'd want me still in my day clothes, did you?"

Carson ignored him and moved straight into business. "This is our new chauffeur." He nodded towards the end of the table where a new face was sitting next to Alfred. He was handsome, no doubt about it, but Thomas put that thought off by focusing on his eyebrows, which were a darker shade of brown than his hair and obnoxiously large and low on his face. They weren't exactly to the same caliber as Carson's, but they were nevertheless a flaw in his appearance and Thomas clung to that.

The man cleared his throat and stood up, reaching across the table to offer his hand to Thomas. Thomas stood as well and accepted it. "Daniel Coburn," he said.

"Mr. Barrow." They both sat down. "I'm the under-butler."

Mr. Coburn opened his mouth as if he was about to respond, but Pace cut across him and started complaining, rather loudly, about the cigarette butts he kept finding in his compost bin. Thomas exchanged a look with Jimmy and ate a spoonful of stew to keep his grin at bay.

"So Mr. Coburn," Anna called when Mr. Pace was finally silenced. By this time, everyone had almost finished. "Is this your first chauffeuring job?"

Mr. Coburn wiped his mouth with his napkin before answering. "No. My last job was down in Leeds. There were three of us on this massive estate. You've heard of Lord Darby?"

"Sure," she said. "My sister was a housemaid there before she married."

"Great family. Anyway, they lost the place due to financial problems and had to cut down on their staff when they moved into a smaller house out in Bradford. I was one of the unlucky two who were let go." He fiddled with his spoon. "No matter, though. I was the newest, but I'd still worked there for almost a decade. Before that I was a hallboy-turned-footman for Lord Cyril in York."

"A working man," Anna said in approval. "We're always impressed to see a man who has worked up to where he is today."

Coburn grinned crookedly. "My father was a stable man for Lord Cyril, and my mum a cook, so I practically grew up downstairs. I know what hard work looks like."

"Are you married, Mr. Coburn?" Ivy asked, and Thomas wanted to strangle her. Instead, he tightened his grip on his spoon and reached for a bread roll to tear apart.

Coburn shook his head and tilted his shoulders back, just a little bit. "No, m'am. I don't know how interested I am in settling down at the present time. Working doesn't leave one much time to meet other, ah, potentials."

"Just don't go marrying any of the upstairs ladies," Jimmy replied, trying to iron out the grin on his face by sucking his bottom lip in. Thomas met his eyes and shook his head, allowing himself to smile just a bit.

"James," Mr. Carson warned. Coburn had one awful eyebrow raised.

"Sir?"

"It's not our place to speak of the lives of our employers," Mr. Carson replied at the same time Jimmy leaned around Alfred to say, "The last proper chauffeur, Branson, convinced the youngest Crawley daughter to run away with him."

"Oh," he said, looking honestly surprised. Carson sighed long-sufferingly. "Don't worry; I don't have any plans to seduce anyone."

"Branson didn't either," Jimmy said into his tea. Ivy looked slightly put out.

"That's the end of this discussion," Carson demanded. "James, you are out of line speaking in that way. Mr. Branson is a member of the Crawley family now and we do not speak of them in such a way."

"Sorry, Mr. Carson." Thomas stifled another laugh. He recognized that tone; he'd been using it for the last ten years. He caught Coburn looking at him and cleared his throat.

"Is there anything I can help with tonight?" Coburn asked, sliding his gaze to the head of the table. "You said you'd show me to the garages after dinner and I'd like to be useful in the meantime."

"I can show him," Thomas said. He looked away from the uncomfortable expression Jimmy had adopted and spoke instead to Mr. Carson. "I haven't got anything going on tonight. I'll just be out having a cigarette anyway."

"Very well," he said. "James, why don't you go up and sound the gong? I think it's just about time to start dressing."

There was a bustle as everyone quickly finished their stew and vacated the table, leaving Thomas, Pace, and Coburn the last seated. Daisy and Ivy returned to clear away the plates; when Coburn tried to help, they slapped his hands away.

"Men only clear the tables upstairs," she said, smiling flirtatiously.

"Ivy, leave the poor man alone," Thomas said. She rolled her eyes at him and went back into the kitchen, laden with plates. Pace was still slurping his stew noisily in the corner and Thomas let himself regard him with disgust for a moment before turning back to Coburn. "Ready to see the garages, now?"

"Yes, sir." They both stood and Thomas led him out to collect his bags and then through the kitchens to the back door. Coburn stopped to thank and compliment Mrs. Patmore on the stew and Thomas could see it, could see her starting to adore him even as she slapped his arm. She was blushing when they left.

Once outside, Thomas lit a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. He offered one to Coburn, but he refused.

"My father got sick from smoking those," he said. He buried his hands deep in his pockets and tilted his head back, looking up at the stars. "I used to have one or two when I was idle, but I haven't really touched one since he passed."

Thomas nodded. When he spoke, the smoke poured out from his mouth and dissolved in the night air. "I picked it up from me father. He's a clockmaker. I used to help him. That's what we did together, smoke and fix clocks."

"That's nice." Coburn said it genuinely and Thomas abruptly began to walk in the direction of the garages. "I didn't really have that relationship with mine. I think a lot of what made me quit actually came from being in the trenches, actually. My father died from smoking, but I saw so many men die on the battlefield, I decided that I wasn't going to. I'm not going to die."

"Ever?" Thomas arched an eyebrow at him.

Coburn laughed. "No, of course I'm going to die one day. But I'm not going to let it be from something as meaningless as a cigarette. I want to die when I'm too old to work. That way, I've done my part. I like working. It's like being part of a well-oiled machine."

"I'd rather die young," Thomas responded thoughtfully. He took another drag on his cigarette. "The second I have to start relying on other people, I'd better croak."

"That makes me sad, Mr. Barrow. You don't even want to travel?"

"I was in the war too, you know." He waved his hand noncommittally. "That's enough traveling for my lifetime."

"You got a scar, too?" He excitedly pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to expose his arm. In the little light the setting sun allowed in their direction, Thomas could see he was well-built and pale, the bulge of his forearm barely noticeable but still very much there. The skin there was smooth and freckled except for a puckered tear starting at his elbow and disappearing up the cloth of his shirt.

Thomas thought he was rather excitable, almost like a Golden Retriever. Also, he had abominable eyebrows. Thomas focused on those instead of thinking about what the skin would feel like beneath his mouth.

"This German soldier snuck up behind me while I was patrolling one night and just sliced me open," he said. "There was a lot of blood."

"Why didn't he just shoot?" Thomas could see the roof of the garages of the hill.

"They say he went mad from the stress of being out there. He ran out of his camp and nobody knew where he was. Then he just popped up in that field and attacked."

"You heard all that from the Germans?"

"I have my ways." He grinned. "I'm just glad I lived. I did get sent home, though, so there was that. What happened to you?"

Thomas quite deftly changed the subject and hoped that Coburn, like a dog, had a short attention span. He pointed down the hill. "Those are the garages there." To his dismay, he could see Coburn's eyes linger on him for a moment before snapping forward. At least he could take a hint.

"Not too far of a walk," he said approvingly. They walked in silence until they reached the garages.

"You have the key?" he asked and watched Coburn dig in his breast pocket. Thomas took it from him once he produced it and jammed it in the lock, twisting and pushing the door open. He reached around and flicked on the light before stepping in. Coburn followed.

The attached cottage wasn't much, just a kitchen open into a living area with a couch and an empty bookshelf. There was a small table near the refrigerator with two rickety chairs. Thomas supposed the stairs in the corner led up to the bedroom and washroom.

"I've never actually been in here before," he admitted. "But if I'm not mistaken…" He crossed to the door next to the bookshelf and pushed it open. Sure enough, it led into the garages. Coburn dropped his bags in the living area and followed him.

He whistled long and low, circling the two cars. He touched the hood of one before snatching it away like he wasn't supposed to be near it in the first place. He looked at Thomas in awe. "I really get to drive these?"

Thomas was a little taken aback by how excited he seemed. By the time he regained his train of thought, Coburn was on his back on the ground, dragging himself beneath the car to see the underside.

"We didn't have anything this new at Darby's estate. We probably would've, five or six years ago, but not at the end." He scrambled even further beneath the car and Thomas stepped forward, ducking his head to watch his progress. Coburn popped up on the other side and went round to the front. He wrenched open the hood.

"You do know how to drive one though, right?"

"Of course I do." Coburn chewed on his lip for a moment, brow furrowed, and Thomas' trust went out the window. "You want to take it for a spin?"

Thomas stared at him for a moment then, unexpectedly, burst out laughing. Even Coburn looked surprised. "You don't know how to drive the car," he said. "You want me to get into a car that you don't even know how to drive?"

A smile grew slowly across Coburn's face. "Yeah," he chuckled. "Yes, I want you to get into a car, but I do know how to drive it."

Thomas shook his head but nevertheless crossed to the car and opened the door. Coburn slammed down the hood and looked at him through the windshield for a moment as if he couldn't exactly comprehend what was happening. Thomas couldn't quite either. He should be making snide remarks about fraternizing with the chauffeur. He should be on his way back to the main house, cigarette in hand, ready to make nasty comments to Jimmy about Coburn.

But he wasn't.

Today had been a good day. And Coburn was good-looking and it felt good to hope. It felt good to not be judged and hated because of mistakes he had made in the past. Coburn was a clean slate and he was going to enjoy it as long as possible.

Coburn pushed the garage doors open and jogged back around to the car. He stopped at the front to start the car up then climbed in the driver's side, eyeing Thomas sitting next to him.

"I've never driven with someone sitting next to me," he commented. "With three chauffeurs I only ever drove two people. They always sat in the back."

"You want me to move?" Thomas teased. He reached for the door handle and Coburn laughed, swatting at the air in his direction.

"No, no. But I do want you to hold on. It might take me a second to get settled in."

"You mean it might take you a second to figure out how to work this thing," Thomas was intending to say, but he only got halfway through the sentence before he cut himself off by throwing his arms out so he didn't go right through the windshield.

Coburn whooped as they tore out of the garage, flying down the road toward the gates of the estate. Thomas watched the trees fly by far faster than he had ever seen them go before and he felt it inside him, felt the giddy lightness that goes with doing something foolish with someone you shouldn't be seen with. He listened to Coburn laugh beside him and let himself forget, just for a moment.

Then Coburn started to break, slowing down the car as they reach the gates. He slowed almost to a stop, leaning forward to make sure no other cars were coming, before he pulled out and U-turned back onto the estate road. His cheeks were flushed and he was grinning stupidly and Thomas figured he looked much the same.

"Do you always try to kill the under-butler on your first day?" he asked. They started up the drive at a slower pace.

"Don't lie, you were enjoying yourself." Coburn glanced over at him and grinned wide. "You don't look like you do that often." Thomas didn't respond. Coburn cleared his throat and backtracked. "No, by the way. I don't always try to kill the under-butler. You must be special." Thomas tried not to smile back but failed.

"You're going to have to learn the town, you know," he said. "You'll have to find the Dowager Countess' quarters and Lady Isobel Crawley's house. And the general store and the post office and the train station."

"Are you doubting me? You should be amazed. You should have better faith in my skill. I did only just learn to drive this car in the last five minutes, you know."

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Thomas stared at his horrendous eyebrows instead.

"You didn't say much at dinner," Coburn continued. "You know my story. What's yours?"

It had been so, so long since anyone had asked him anything about himself, let alone about his past. Thomas didn't know where to begin. He didn't know what to say.

After a moment of silence, Coburn tilted his head in Thomas' direction. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to tell me. Maybe another time." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Do you want me to drop you off at the servants' entrance?"

Thomas nodded. "I'm not angry with you," he told Coburn after the quiet enveloped the car again. He didn't know why he was saying it, but it felt necessary to make his excuses. "I don't talk about myself."

"I understand." He followed the road around to the back of the house and slowed to a stop outside the servants' door. It was so quiet out there, but Thomas knew what it was like inside. Contained chaos, noise and ruckus, everybody on the move. No time to think, no time to breathe. Tomorrow, Thomas would be a part of that. Tomorrow, he would be Mr. Barrow again.

Madly, he considered kissing Coburn and skipping all the in-between. He would be looking at Thomas the same as everyone else downstairs in due time, so he might as well shock and disgust him now.

But then he remembered You have been twisted by nature into something foul and There's nothing between us except my fists and crying in the rain, feeling so, so alone. He looked at Coburn with his atrocious eyebrows and his freckles and his gorgeous, pale skin and decided no. No, it was not worth seeing hate in those blue eyes.

"Thanks for showing me the garages," Coburn said after a moment.

"Anytime." Thomas played with the door handle, trying to find a way to stall out of going back inside without being improper. "Thanks for not killing me."

Coburn grinned at him and that, that was enough. Thomas felt all the tension from the past few moments drain away. He hoped desperately it would stay like this between them.

"See you at supper," Coburn laughed. Thomas finally got out of the car.

When Coburn pulled away, Thomas could see he was still smiling. He allowed himself, just for a second, to hope.

xxx

Thomas suspected Jimmy could see what was going on in Thomas' mind. He seemed more skittish and uncomfortable than normal.

"You've taken a shining to the new chauffeur," he commented one morning as Thomas was passing him in the hallway. His expression was tight, his mouth drawn, and Thomas recognized that look. There's nothing between us except my fists.

Coburn was in a constant cheerful mood. He seemed to have found an ally in Anna and kept up a conversation with her most nights over dinner. The hearts in Ivy's eyes grew larger with each passing night and she would moon at him over the table, asking questions and dropping hints that she was free. The line of Jimmy's mouth stretched longer and thinner each time Coburn ignored her attempts and Alfred just constantly looked put out.

Three weeks after Coburn's arrival, Thomas was going up to change before the big luncheon. One of the Lords with an estate down in a nowhere town outside of Ripon was bringing his wife and their three sons for dinner in an attempt to marry at least one of them off. Lady Mary was still sheathed in black in mourning of Mr. Crawley and Thomas thought it foolish of her parents to even consider that she would be ready to be paraded around, especially when she still clutched at George like Branson clung to baby Sybil.

Hearing voices on the landing above, Thomas stopped abruptly and strained his ears to hear. He could make out Ivy's voice, blathering on about something. He peered up the stairs and was surprised to see Coburn there too, hat clutched in his hands. He was nodding politely but kept glancing upstairs in such a way that Thomas wondered what was waiting for him up there.

Thomas rolled his eyes and heeded his previous caution. When his footsteps became audible to the two upstairs, Ivy trailed off and Coburn looked vaguely relieved.

"Why don't we ask Thomas to come along?" he asked her. "We could bring Daisy and Alfred, too. It was be great fun to all go together, don't you think?"

He could feel Coburn's fingers on the inside of his arm and didn't even really care what he was agreeing to when he said, "Yes, sure. Why not?" The insistent pinching stopped and Coburn retracted his hand. Ivy pouted visibly and sighed.

"Okay," she said. "I'll ask Daisy if she'd like to go as well." She slumped down the stairs, leaving Coburn and Thomas to watch her go.

"Thank you," Coburn said, putting on and straightening out his cap. "She's been at me for ages and I didn't know how to turn her down."

"What did I agree to?" Thomas asked. He didn't even try not to look pleased.

"We're going to see a film tonight in the village. They're showing some American flick that she's been dying to see." He rolled his eyes a little bit, good-naturedly, and sighed. "Honestly, I think films are a waste of time. But to each their own, right?"

"What are you doing up here anyway?" It did seem a little odd to have the chauffeur standing on the landing so close to the bedrooms. Thomas tried not to think too hard about that.

"Oh." The tips of Coburn's ears turned a light shade of red. "I was looking for you, actually. Wanted to see if you… wanted to go to the films tonight. But I guess that's been taken care of, yeah?"

"You just said you hate the films." Thomas smiled at him. Coburn looked a little bit flustered. Thomas was thinking about pressing him up against the narrow wall of the staircase and kissing down the line of his jaw right down to the prominent Adam's apple that haunted his dreams. "You're going to need to clear it with Carson, anyway."

Coburn ducked his head. "I did? I was going to make you go with me. You didn't really have a choice."

"I would've said yes," Thomas told him. He felt silly enough to be Ivy, but Coburn was looking at him through his eyelashes. Stubble was beginning to appear above and around his mouth. Thomas started to wonder what it would feel like against his skin, then very determinately stared at Coburn's ghastly eyebrows.

"I should get changed," he said finally. Coburn cleared his throat and stepped back, and it was only then that Thomas realized how close they had drifted together.

"I guess we'll all meet in the kitchens after supper," he suggested. "See you, Thomas." He tipped his head slightly and jogged back downstairs. He must have run into someone at the bottom because there was a small burst of commotion and laughter from below.

Thomas went off to change and did not think about the promise tonight did not hold.

xxx

They all sat in a row of seats about mid-cinema. Thomas was pleased with the view and told Coburn, who sat beside him, as much. He was even more pleased to see Ivy wedged between Daisy and Alfred, three seats down and far away from Coburn, but he kept this bit to himself.

During the film, Coburn stayed close to him, his whole body sort of inclined towards Thomas. This made the whispering easier. Generally, Thomas found it irritating when people spoke during a flick, but these addendums didn't particularly irk him. In fact, he kind of enjoyed having Coburn so close, the phantom touch of his nose bumping against Thomas' cheek.

Coburn mentioned that the leading actress looked like his younger sister Marjorie, who lived in New York City with her husband. They had a son named Peter who Coburn adored and sent chocolates to whenever he had some spare change. He whispered to Thomas, "Remind me to show you a photograph," his voice rumbling over the film's music. Thomas could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

"My mother used to love these kinds of movies. She liked the dancing, mostly, but the romance gave her something to complain about to my father. 'Why don't you ever bring me flowers?' 'When was the last time you told me I looked beautiful?' 'Why don't you dance with me like that?'" Thomas could see Coburn's grin even in the semi-darkness. "You would like her. She's a nice woman." Coburn turned back to the movie. "Oh, bollocks, what've I missed?"

xxx

"I was going to take the car," Coburn said a little sheepishly. They were walking back from the cinema in two groups: Daisy, Jimmy, Alfred, and Ivy were huddled together up in the front and Coburn and Thomas were bringing up the rear, slowly letting the others get further and further ahead. "Then everyone else decided to go along and I didn't think petty theft would sit as well with them as I supposed it would with you."

Thomas ignored the burning sensation in the stomach. "You were going to steal the car?"

"I was going to borrow it. Temporarily. Without permission."

"You devil!" Thomas laughed delightedly.

Coburn snickered. "Nobody uses the cars after nightfall anyway. I would've taken home the Dowager Countess then swung back round to get you. Who else would need a ride at that time of night? The ghost of Matthew Crawley?"

"I hear he's big on pubbing now that he has the time." Thomas grinned when Coburn bumped his shoulder.

"What'd you think of the flick?" he asked. Thomas shrugged and bit back a smile.

"Couldn't really follow the plot." Coburn laughed once and nodded.

"I quite agree. But then, there were much more interesting characters in the room." Coburn gave him a shy smile. Thomas was a hundred and ten percent sure he was reading the signs right, but he held himself back. He wanted Coburn to keep looking at him like that. He wouldn't risk it.

Ivy had suddenly fallen back from the crowd and appeared between the two of them. She slipped her arm into the sling of Coburn's and looked up at him.

"Did you like the film?" she asked. "I liked how Norma Talmadge had her hair done. It looked so modern. Do you think I should get my hair done like that?"

Coburn looked over her head at Thomas with a helpless expression on his face. Thomas avoided his gaze.

"I thought it was fine," Coburn said finally. "Did you ask the others what they thought?"

"Everyone else liked it," she said simply. She continued talking, describing another of the actress' films she had seem before and how it compared to this one. Coburn was nodding politely. Thomas slowed his pace, creating a berth between them and a third separate group. He pulled his matches out of his pocket and lit up, pretending he was too occupied with his cigarette to notice Coburn looking over his shoulder.

He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he walked, his flat cap pulled down over his face. He kept thinking I didn't know how to turn her down, and that was enough to get him back to Downton.

xzx

Thomas' next day off dawned dark and rainy. Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the house deep in its roots. The air itself seemed damp and unforgiving. Thomas felt like he could drown just by breathing. Might as well. He had planned to go into the village, maybe take a train down to Ripon to window shop or go to the pub there or browse for some new books. He needed socks, too. His had holes in the toes. Weather like this, though, made his hand ache. He wouldn't go down to the village.

He dragged himself downstairs, dressed to the lowest standard he could without being told off. He didn't care what the others thought of him anymore. They had all seen him at his very weakest; it wasn't worth putting up the charade when he felt achy, deep and solemn, in his bones.

To his surprise, Coburn was sitting at the table with the rest of the staff, eating the lumpy oatmeal Mrs. Patmore served trice weekly. Thomas took his usual seat and reached for the teapot, eyeing Coburn as he did so.

"Didn't expect to see you here this morning," he commented. Coburn smiled.

"You were going into town today, yeah? Thought I'd give you a quick lift to the gates. It's getting muddy out there."

Thomas' immediate reaction was suspicion. He was so used to doing things for himself and not being offered any favors that someone being nice to him, no matter who, was foreign and strange and made him feel defensive. Once the thought settled, though, he recalled the insane drive they'd had on Coburn's first night, and being invited to the cinema. He realized, suddenly, that he had made a friend. It had taken him ten years, but he finally had a proper friend.

(O'Brien didn't count – she had been someone to sneer at the others and to conspire with. He couldn't remember if she had ever paid him an honest compliment that didn't have a hidden meaning or ulterior motive. He couldn't even say that she had done him any favors that didn't also benefit her or spent time with him just because.)

"Oh," he said finally. "That would be nice."

After breakfast, he followed Coburn through the kitchens and out of the back door, where they huddled under Coburn's black umbrella. They just stood for a moment, watching the rain. Thomas closed his eyes and focused on the warmth he could feel through Coburn's sleeve.

"I'm not going into the village," he said. "I usually go there when the weather's not bad, but I don't know what I would do there today. On sunny days, I usually go out and read or hike through the woods. I was anticipating doing such."

"Why are you so often on your own?" Coburn asked, but, in some silent understanding that had developed between the two of them, it was rhetoric. "You can use my cottage, if you'd like."

Thomas looked at him. "What?"

"You can use my cottage," he repeated. "You can sit and read or write or do whatever you want. I'll be in the garage or out on the road most of the day, so it'll still be an escape."

Thomas considered this for a while. He imagined himself among Coburn's things, drinking out of a teacup Coburn's mouth had touched before, sitting in the place he possibly sat every night. He tried not to let the thought overwhelm him.

"Why not," he said. Coburn looked down at him and smiled widely. Thomas met his gaze and considered it thank you enough.

The air in the car was just as damp as it was inside the house. Coburn shivered dramatically, twitching in that way you do when adrenaline shoots through unexpectedly through your veins. He started down the road at a much slower pace than that first night. The windshield wipers, which Coburn had raved about to Thomas for hours after he discovered them, slashed methodically in front of them.

Coburn was repeating what he had overheard the day before when he had picked up Mr. Aiden, Lady Mary's latest admirer, from the train station. It was all money and estate talk, gossip that had been run through the mill a million times before, but Thomas liked how he spoke, like it was new and fresh and something worth being excited about. It made Thomas feel light and important.

He wondered how it would be to listen to Coburn describe him. He would probably be made out as handsome, proper, hard-working – all the traits people tended to tack onto him. Not broken up, torn apart, wretched, revolting, awful and wrong. He wondered if Coburn would describe him as beautiful or strong or misunderstood.

Thomas figured he could probably make housework sound entertaining; war sound poetic; mud sound pretty. Thomas didn't doubt that he could justify the death of Matthew Crawley and convince Lady Mary to move on.

Hearing Coburn talk like this made the ache in Thomas' bones lessen ever so slightly.

He pulled the car into the garage. Without the rain pounding on the roof, it was startlingly silent.

"You haven't seen it since I moved it," Coburn said. Thomas could see the excitement beginning to spread across his face. He was the first to the door and pushed it open, ushering Thomas in before him.

The cottage looked basically the same, save for the lived-in feel it had adopted. There was a quilt across the back of the couch; a few books, boxes, and trinkets on the bookshelves; and a half-full teacup sitting on the coffee table next to a newspaper, haphazardly folded.

"It's clean down here," Coburn explained. He crossed the room to the staircase and took the steps two at a time. "I keep all my belongings away from prying eyes!"

Coburn's bedroom resembled much like how Thomas supposed the inside of his mind looked. There were piles of clothes on the dresser and the wardrobe was thrown open, revealing several sets of chauffeur's uniforms. The bed was unmade, the duvet twisted and the pillows folded and beaten down, one lying forgotten at the foot of the bed. Photographs and newspaper clippings were tacked to the wall in no particular pattern over the bed. His suitcases were sitting in the corner by next to what Thomas supposed was the washroom door. There was a small stack of books on top of the chair in the corner and the floor was covered with a thin layer of papers, socks, and dirty laundry.

"Oh my God," Thomas said. "Where did all of this come from?"

Coburn grinned like he had just performed a magic trick. "I've had my mum send me some of the stuff I had to leave behind. "Speaking of –" He pounced on the bed and landed on his knees. He waved Thomas over and pointed to the pictures on the wall. "Here's Peter."

Thomas knelt awkwardly next to him on the bed and very resolutely tried not to think of Coburn falling asleep here every night. He wondered what he wore to be. What he thought about before he fell asleep. What – who – was in his dreams.

Coburn was going on about how Peter had been a short, chubby child until he turned seven. Then, much like his uncle, he suddenly gained several inches and lost several pounds, leaving the boy in the picture a spitting image of Coburn. The woman over his left shoulder had bright eyes like Coburn, evident even in the black and white of the photograph. The man next to her was tall and thin with light hair and a walrus mustache. It didn't suit him.

"That's Marjorie and Liam."

"She looks like you," Thomas said. "You've got the same eyes."

"Yeah?" Thomas turned his head to see Coburn grinning right in his face. His eyes were crinkled at the corners. His eyebrows were unsightly.

Thomas backed up off the bed before he did something he would regret. Coburn watched him go, his smile fading. He jumped off as well.

"Let me show you where the tea is."

xxx

The rain let up at around five, but Thomas stayed inside. He liked Coburn's cottage – it was secluded and quiet without being lonely or cold. He fell asleep on the couch downstairs, wrapped in the quilt Coburn's grandmother had made for him when he had started his first job as footman. Thomas could feel the love seeping out of its every stitch.

He woke to the sound of Coburn returning from driving Lady Mary down to Ripon. The car door slammed, the sound of the engine died down, and then Coburn appeared in the doorway, soaking wet.

Thomas pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He tried not to label the look Coburn was giving him as fond. "What happened to you?"

"Every time she thought she was ready to leave, one of her other chatty friends would run over with their little umbrella and talk. I was standing out in the rain for an hour and a half, opening and closing the door over and over and over. I'm soaked to the bone." He shivered and looked up at the stairs. "I know this is improper, but I don't want to track water upstairs."

Thomas was agreeing quietly in his head, thinking of all the papers and other things on the bedroom floor, when Coburn tore his jacket off. His undershirt was sticking to him everywhere and Thomas could see the skin beneath – pale and smooth and freckled. Thomas was suddenly very, very glad he had the quilt still draped around him.

While Coburn hung his jacket and shirt over the kitchen chairs to dry, Thomas tried to focus on his book again. It was an autobiography of some doctor from World War One, and Thomas had found it captivating all morning, but now he found that his eyes kept drawing themselves to the drops of water racing down the expanse of milky white skin that covered Coburn's back. Thomas knew Coburn wasn't doing this for him, but he still couldn't help following the trail of dark hair at the base of Coburn's stomach down to where it disappeared into his pants. Coburn, now trouserless, stood shivering in the kitchen, perfect, gorgeous, knobby knees knocking together.

"I'll be back in a blip," he said. Thomas watched him race up the stairs until his feet disappeared onto the landing above, then let his head drop back against the arm of the couch. He thought of Coburn's deplorable eyebrows, but it didn't help him calm down at all. His heart was beating out of his chest. He tried not to think of Coburn stark naked just a floor above him and turned his thoughts instead to the Dowager Countess.

It didn't take Coburn long to get dressed again, and by that time, Thomas had more or less calmed himself back down. Coburn's hair was still wet, the hair around his ears plastered down. Thomas breathed through it.

"You ready to go down?" Coburn asked. He adjusted the dry cap under his arm and started towards the garage door. Thomas collected his things and put them back in his bag as he listened to Coburn starting up the engine. When he had all his belongings, he draped the quilt over the back of the couch, stopping only to run his fingers across the worn surface.

He looked around the room once more, hoping things would not change so this wouldn't be the last time. Then he joined Coburn out in the car.

xxx

As September drew closer, Lord Grantham had become increasingly excited about the yearly cricket match. He talked about it constantly to anyone who would listen. By default, he recruited Mr. Carson, Thomas, Jimmy, Alfred, Branson, and Pace to his team.

After breakfast one morning, Thomas caught up to Lord Grantham as he was leaving the house, Isis trailing behind him.

"Sir, if I may," Thomas said. Lord Grantham turned and gestured for him to continue. "Daniel Coburn would be a great addition to the cricket team."

Lord Grantham raised his eyebrow. "The chauffeur?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can he play?"

Thomas thought back to a few nights before, watching Coburn dance around the kitchen, dramatically reenacting a cricket match he'd been a part of a few years back in a way that had everybody in stitches. Even Mr. Carson was chuckling while he dodged Coburn's swinging arm. They had won that game thanks to Coburn's excellent underhand throw.

"He helped Lord Darby win a few matches back at the old estate."

"Did he know?" Thomas hummed an affirmation. "Very well. I was going to bring along four men from the village, but if you're so confident in Mr. Coburn's abilities, I'd like to give him a chance."

"Very good, sir. I'll let him know."

"Please do." Thomas bowed his head and was about to back away when Lord Grantham called him back. "Mr. Barrow? If you would, please just make sure he isn't exceptional like, ah, our Mr. Molesley."

xxx

Coburn hadn't been quite as pleased as Thomas thought he would be when he learned he had been added to the team.

"I was kidding," he whispered urgently. They were standing in the hallway outside the kitchens. "I was just being funny, Barrow. I'm not good at cricket."

"I'll teach you then. Tomorrow's your day off, yeah? I'll talk to Mr. Carson and take the morning off to help you out. I'm the best cricket player Downton has. I can teach you."

Coburn's cheeks were flushed red. "Really? You'd do that?" When Thomas nodded, he grinned. "Look, I'm awful, so if you're going to beat me to death with the racquet –"

"Bat," Thomas corrected.

"—then warn me so I can get a head start's running."

Thomas really wanted to kiss him. "Come in for breakfast tomorrow morning and we'll go out and practice afterwards."

Coburn made a series of cut off sounds of excitement and grinned. He gripped Thomas' shoulders and looked him straight in the face. "I will be the best student you will ever have."

xxx

Coburn was the worst student Thomas had ever had.

With Carson's permission, they headed out the next morning with a spare set of bats, a ball, and a net Branson found them when he heard what they would be up to. Coburn was telling Thomas about a letter he'd received from Marjorie. It seemed that Peter had been awarded with a small sum of money from some school event and was asking to visit Coburn at Downton.

"He really doesn't have the money," Coburn said. "He barely has enough to buy half a ticket. But I've got some spare change that I'm either going to give to him for his birthday to come out here or put towards getting a ticket to go visit him. I haven't seen any of them in over two years. It would be…" He shook his head, grinning and squinting up at the sky. "God, it would be fantastic."

"It would be," Thomas agreed, because going back to pry his savings from behind the mirror in his bedroom wasn't something he could do. He glanced up too, trying to gauge if the sunny weather would last. "I, uh. I'd like if he came to visit. I'd like to meet him."

"I'd love for you to meet him." Coburn smiled at him in a way Thomas tried not to think too hard about.

"We're good here," Thomas said. He stopped, dropped the bats and ball on the ground, and reached out to help Coburn set up the net.

"We don't have pads," Coburn pointed out. He picked up a bat and weighed it in his hand. "You're going to have to go easy on me."

"You're getting ahead of yourself," Thomas said. "Do you know how to grip the bat?"

Coburn scoffed at him. "Of course I know how to grip the bat." He pressed the blade into the grass, half-bent, and held on like it was the handle of a broom.

Thomas debated for a moment, considering how public the area, but he ended up making a frustrated noise and coming round to Coburn.

"Let me," he said. He wrapped his arms around Coburn, reaching down to adjust his grip. Coburn was a little bit taller than he was, so the angle was a bit awkward. "Right hand on top if you're right-handed. Pinkie of your dom should touch the index of the other. See the V of your index and thumb? Line those up on both hands."

Coburn let go of the bat for a moment to measure out the angle. When he returned, his long fingers were warm over Thomas'.

"Better?" Coburn asked quietly. Thomas nodded jerkily against his shoulder blade. He remembered Jimmy and winding the clock and he immediately let go of Coburn, backing way out of his personal space.

"So then," he said, reaching down to grab the ball and to hide his flaming face, "you need to hit the ball."

Coburn was awful at batting. His aim was consistently either too high or too low and his grip kept sliding. He adopted an apologetic look that didn't leave his face, not even when Thomas gave in to the pity and frustration and had him practice running instead.

Coburn tripped after a yard.

Thomas buried his hands in his pockets and looked down at Coburn, who rolled over onto his back. "I was going to ask if you wanted to try bowling," he said. "But I'm not positive you won't kill me." He held up his left hand. "I've already got one unnecessary hole in my body. I don't need another."

Coburn accepted the hand up.

xxx

Coburn was a dirty goddamn liar.

They didn't have another chance to practice before the match on Friday. The team had all met outside dressed in their cricket whites, and Thomas watched Coburn gnaw on his bottom lip nervously, eyes on the horizon. Thomas had felt pity for him.

Then they had gotten to the field and mingled for a while, and Thomas told Coburn, "You'll be great." It might have been a bit of a lie, but Coburn did exhale heavily and grip Thomas' wrist, so he saw it as a win.

And then the game started.

Pace was exceptional because he had been an amateur cricketer once twenty-five years ago, and Mr. Carson was great because of the simple fact that he was Mr. Carson, and Thomas was unprecedented as usual. But Coburn knocked them all out of the park.

He was an excellent player with excellent posture and an even better swing, and he ended up with three runs. Thomas didn't know how he could possibly have become this fantastic overnight. Hefumed from his gully position.

When the team regrouped, Lord Grantham clapped Thomas on the shoulder. "Great work, Mr. Barrow," he boomed in approval. "We've got another extraordinary player thanks to you." Then he went on to congratulate Coburn, who was steadfastly avoiding Thomas' gaze.

The worst part of it was how turned on Thomas was, watching Coburn bat beautifully and then score high. He wanted to drag him off into one of the watch boxes, strip him down, and touch him everywhere. And then Coburn was up as bowler and his pitch was goddamn perfect and Thomas had to put his head between his knees and breathe heavily at the ground in order to maintain what little dignity he had left.

They won, of course, thanks to Coburn's lying and Thomas putting all of his pent-up sexual frustration into his swings and sending the ball flying well out of the pitch, allowing him to collect five runs.

Thomas found that he wasn't angry. Not like he would've been a few years ago. He felt foolish when he thought back to their practice session. But Coburn had lied and Thomas – he didn't know how to handle it. It hadn't hurt Thomas or humiliated him publicly. He tried to think of a reason Coburn would have pretended to be incompetent, but he couldn't. The only thing he had gotten out of it was half his morning eaten up by being taught something he already knew how to do.

Coburn stuck to the shadows after the game, so Thomas didn't really get to see or talk to him until supper. Even then, it was in no way private enough to breach the subject, so he just listened to Coburn describe the game in much the same fashion as before, with flailing arms and overdramatized movements.

After supper, Thomas snagged him for a second in the hall on his way out.

"I'm not cross with you," he said. Coburn looked at the ground. "Come back after you finish your duties."

Coburn just nodded and went on his way.

xxx

Thomas was playing cards with Alfred and Jimmy when Coburn finally reappeared. It was late, late enough that they had been the only three in the room for some time, and Thomas had been worried Coburn wouldn't show up at all. When he did, he nodded in greeting and gestured at the chair across from him with his cigarette, a silent invitation for Coburn to join.

"I thought you'd stopped those," Coburn said, taking the seat next to Alfred. Jimmy looked between the two of them, eyebrows raised.

"Mr. Barrow without his cigarette? Just as well, Carson without the stick up his arse." Thomas chuckled and shook his head. Truth was, he had stopped for a while. Every time he touched one he thought of their conversation that first night, about Coburn's father and I'm not going to die. But tonight his hands were shaking because he didn't know whether or not Coburn would come back; and when he had, they shook because he didn't want to lose his friend.

He didn't know what was going to happen tonight, but he didn't want Coburn to look at him the way the others did.

Jimmy went up to bed about an hour later and Alfred followed not shortly after. The latter was still twitchy around Thomas, and had been for the better part of the last two years. Coburn excused himself to go make a cup of tea and Thomas shook out the newspaper to scan the headlines.

Coburn returned with two teacups. He slid one across the table to Thomas and sat back down, stirring his tea with the spoon as he went. He kept glancing up at Thomas nervously, but Thomas continued to ignore him.

"I thought you weren't cross at me," he said finally. Thomas looked around the paper and him and raised his eyebrow.

"I'm not. I haven't read the paper yet today."

"It's all old news by now." There was another minute or so of tense silence, during which Coburn went on stirring his tea and Thomas stared wide-eyed at the paper, words blurring in front of him. He didn't think he was ready to have this conversation. "Mr. Barrow," Coburn said after some time. "Can I ask you a question?"

Thomas put down the newspaper and reached for his teacup. With his gloved hand, he gestured for Coburn to continue.

"Why haven't you fucked me?" he asked, and Thomas choked on his tea.

It took him a minute to regain his breathing. He was sure he had burned his nasal cavity, but the pain was overshadowed by the heavy drumming of Thomas' heart.

"Excuse me?" he finally managed to say. Coburn was flushed a deep red and was slowly retreating down his chair, almost sliding away and out of view.

"I was trying to be dramatic," he said helplessly. His eyebrows jumped. "What I really mean to ask is why you haven't kissed me."

Thomas wanted to bury himself alive. Coburn knew, and he knew right then nothing would ever be the same. He wouldn't be allowed to read in the garages anymore. He wouldn't be offered a drive into the village. He would never meet Peter.

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair and tried to contain his panic.

"I was warned when I first arrived," Coburn continued, picking awkwardly at his thumbnail. "They told me that if you gave me any unwanted attention, I was to report it. They didn't specify, exactly, but I kind of supposed. I met you, and I thought you were charming and wonderful, and I waited for that attention they call unwanted, but it never came. I got more unwanted attention from Ivy than anyone else. They made it sound like you would do something, but it's been months and you still haven't kissed me. It's the eyebrows, isn't it? They scare you."

He laughed uneasily.

"I kept dropping hints and hoping that you would pick up on it, but you didn't. I took you for a drive and asked you to the cinema and I let you read in my house. I undressed in front of you. I thought for sure that would peak your interest. But it didn't. And I pretended I didn't know how to play cricket, even though I've played on every team I've ever come across, because I wanted to spend more time with you. And you still didn't get it, didn't give me any of that unwanted attention, and you're killing me here, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas didn't even know where to start, but he needed to know, "Why didn't you pretend you couldn't play?"

"I wasn't going to let a silly crush ruin His Lordship's game."

Thomas ran a hand across his face. "I almost lost my job a few years back," he said. "I pursued someone who didn't want to be pursued and he wanted me sacked without reference."

"Oh," Coburn said.

"I pretended I didn't see the signs you gave me," Thomas admitted. "I thought it was wishful thinking like it had been before."

Coburn's eyebrows shot up his forehead and he sat upright. "So you…?"

"I've thought about you every day since you arrived," he said quietly. Coburn made an alarmed sound and stood up. He rounded the table quickly and Thomas met him there, rising as well. When he reached Thomas, Coburn stopped himself jerkily.

"Coburn, God." Thomas reached out for the chauffeur's jacket and pulled, bringing him closer.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous," Coburn laughed, his voice shaking. He made several aborted movements, hands hovering around Thomas' shoulders. "You're giving me exactly what I've wanted."

"If you don't," Thomas offered, because he didn't think he could take it all again. I'm not foul. He adjusted his grip on Coburn's jacket, pulling him closer and pushing him away and he didn't want this if Coburn didn't want this and –

Coburn kissed him.

He tasted of Scotch mints and not the tea that Thomas was vaguely aware he had never even drank. The skin of his bottom lip was torn where he had been biting it all day. Coburn's fingers slid up Thomas' jaw to cup the back of his head, and Thomas made a noise in his throat.

Coburn pulled away to look at Thomas and a grin split across his face. "You look absolutely wrecked," he said delightedly. "I should've done this sooner."

"Then don't stop," Thomas said, and pulled him back in.

Their second kiss was deeper. Thomas traced the line of Coburn's teeth with his tongue, and Coburn nipped at Thomas's mouth, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth to suck on it. They kissed for a long while, desperate and longing. Thomas pressed Coburn back against the table and kept him there, kissing a line down his jaw and to his neck.

Coburn moaned quietly and grabbed Thomas's hips, thumbs pressing hard against the bone. "Thomas, let's… not here…"

Thomas became suddenly aware that they were in the dining hall. He moved his mouth back up to Coburn's and bumped their noses together lightly.

"Not tonight," Coburn continued, but he didn't push Thomas away. They kissed for another moment before he spoke again. "I need to maintain some of my decency."

"You asked me why I haven't fucked you," he said, but stepped back. He was very aware of the bulge in Coburn's trousers and wondered what decency he had left to scrounge. "I think your decency went out the window when you asked me that."

Coburn chucked and pushed himself upright. He was flushed all along his neck and down his collar, his cheekbones flaming red. Thomas wanted to see how far down the blush went, but he restrained himself. Coburn eyed his hands, which were clenching and unclenching methodically, and raised his eyebrow.

"We can take it slow," he said, but Thomas didn't think he quite believed that.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he asked irritably.

Coburn gave him an appreciate once-over and moved forward, pecking him on the lips.

"Do what I've been doing for the past few months," he replied in a low voice. "And think of me when you do it."

Thomas' whining sound made Coburn smile even wider.

"I'm leaving now," he said. "When I come in for breakfast tomorrow morning, and I will, this had better not have all been a dream."

"Certainly not," Thomas said, and kissed Coburn once more.

"I have to go," Coburn laughed once he had extracted himself from Thomas' insistent arms. "I promise that I'll be back tomorrow."

"Come fetch me when you do," Thomas said. He watched Coburn go and rubbed his hand over his mouth, resigned to the fact that Coburn wouldn't be back tonight.

xxx

Thomas skived off his duties one afternoon to sit in the garage with Coburn, watching him clean and repair the car. He sat on the floor against the open door, his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. Coburn was peering perplexedly into the engine, poking around with his wrench and humming a Paul Whiteman song.

"I've got three brothers and a sister," Thomas told him. Coburn put his wrench down and wiped his forehead off on the sleeve of his white shirt. Then he leaned against the open hood of the car, pale skin shining with sweat in the half-mast sun, and gave Thomas his undivided attention.

"What're their names?" he prompted after a moment of silence.

"The oldest is William." Thomas picked his legs up and hooked his arms around his knees. "Then there's me. Then Frederick, Ruth, and Jonathan."

"Were you close?"

Thomas smiled bitterly and shook his head. "My dad owned a clock shop in the village where I grew up. There was this paperboy, Jack, his name was. I was utterly in love with him and one day, when I was sixteen, I kissed him in the back room. My father came in to get a spare part and went off, yelling about how he'd not have a son who had been influenced by the devil. I had no choice but to leave. I took the little bit I had to my name and became a hall boy at the Lawrence estate. They trained me to be a valet and I got a job here right before I turned twenty-one. I haven't talked to any of them since that day. John, he – he died in the war. I found out from one of the soldiers that came through the hospital. They'd been in the same platoon. He watched John die."

Coburn was quiet for a long time after that. He just stood and looked at Thomas, chewing on his lower lip. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry."

Thomas shrugged and kept his eyes trained on the ground.

"I've six nieces and nephews," he continued. "I only know of them from newspaper clippings and village gossip." He pulled the lighter out of the pocket of his jacket and flicked it on and off. "I try to look after them a bit, you know? They don't even know I exist."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. My dad died five years ago and I didn't know until last summer. Nobody talks about me. Nobody thinks about me. Don't you think I would've liked to go to the funeral? My dad loved me best up until then. Out of Will and Fred and John, I was his apprentice. He chose me to teach clock working to. I was going to help run the family business." He dropped his forehead down on his knees. "I haven't talked to my family in over fifteen years."

Coburn paused for a moment. Then: "Would you like some tea?"

Thomas felt a little bit insulted. "I don't want any tea, Coburn."

"Thomas," he said. "Get in the house so I can kiss you."

Thomas accepted his hand up and followed him into the house. When they were inside, Coburn locked the door and kissed him once on the mouth before wrapped his arms tight around Thomas.

"Marjorie thinks the devil's in me, too," he said quietly. "But I know he's not, Thomas. He couldn't be in someone like you."

"You didn't know me before," Thomas said. He pressed his face against Coburn's neck.

"But I know you now. And you are my family, Thomas. You and Marjorie and Mum and Liam and Peter. And you could be his uncle, too, if you wanted. You could be Peter's uncle with me."

"I don't know how to be an uncle."

"Just love him unconditionally," he said. He kissed Thomas' temple and pressed their foreheads together. "That's all you have to do. Family isn't only blood. It's who you want it to be and who you love. I want to be your family because I love you more than anyone has ever loved you before. I love you the way you should be loved. I will protect you and keep you safe and make you smile every day you let me be with you. I am your family."

Thomas kissed him.

xxx

Thomas probably should have known something was going on when he saw Coburn and Mrs. Patmore conspiring in the kitchens. But it was early in the morning on his day off and he wanted breakfast to be over so he could follow Coburn back to the garages and kiss him properly.

He and Jimmy were sitting at the table waiting for Wednesday morning crepes (a treat in honor of Lady Mary's impending engagement). He was content with the newspaper and his cup of tea, but Jimmy was getting antsy.

"That chauffeur's got her all tied up in there," he groused, twisting around in his seat to stare through the doorway. "What's he even doing here anyway? He gets a cottage for a reason."

"Sounds like someone's jealous."

"And you! Where have your cigarettes gone? It's like you woke up one day and became a completely different person."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I know what's going on between you two," he hissed through his teeth. Thomas calmly folded the paper and set it down. Then he regarded Jimmy with an even, bored look.

"Are you upset I'm not all moony after you anymore?" he asked.

"It's disgusting," he continued. "I don't know how you can live with yourself."

"I'm living with myself just fine." Thomas pushed out his chair and went into the kitchen. Coburn was still talking to Mrs. Patmore, but he stopped immediately when he saw Thomas. "I'm ready to go into the village."

"Without breakfast?"

"I'm not pleased with the present company," he said flatly.

Coburn looked around the doorway and furrowed his brow. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." He thought about the couch in Coburn's cottage and how nice it would be to push him back onto it, climb on top of him, and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Maybe he could finally get Coburn naked and cover them both with the quilt and touch him everywhere.

"I'll be back," he told Mrs. Patmore, and she just smiled at him and busied herself at the stove again. Thomas followed Coburn outside and had just put his bag on the floor of the car when Coburn said, "Please don't be cross."

Thomas turned to him. "Why? Are you about to do something that's going to make me cross?"

Coburn looked sheepish. "You, uh, you can't come to the cottage this morning."

Thomas needed a cigarette. "Why not?"

"See, this is the nice part," Coburn said placatingly. "It's a surprise."

"Is that supposed to make me less angry?" Thomas asked. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

"Thomas, don't." Coburn sighed. "Let me do this for you, okay? Go read under your tree and I'll come get you for supper."

"I'm not have a good morning, Coburn," Thomas sighed. "I can't just come by for a cup of tea?"

Coburn stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. "You and I both know that if you come by for just a cuppa, you're not going to be leaving." Thomas rolled his eyes. "I'm planning on letting you take off my trousers tonight, if that helps."

"No," he said, "because I've been thinking about doing that all morning over that tea you promised."

"Anticipation makes your mouth water," Coburn whispered and gave him a sideways grin.

"You're a bloody tease," Thomas told him, but the anger was starting to subside a little. He was still a little bit worried about Jimmy, but the most he could do was hope that, if worst came to worst, Mr. Carson would be on his side. If not, maybe Mrs. Hughes could make him come round.

xxx

Thomas was just a handful of pages away from finishing his book when he looked up and spotted Coburn climbing up the hill towards him. He sat up and set his book aside, watching as he got closer.

"You've finally come to collect me," he called when he was within hearing distance. "At least you haven't forgotten."

"Oh, sod off. It's half past five. You haven't even missed supper, you sap." He buried his hands in his pockets and watched Thomas gather his things. When he was done, they started walking together towards the cottage.

"Nobody's coming to dinner tonight," Coburn said. "Unless something changes and they ring me, I'll be able to spend all evening with you."

"What've you got planned for tonight?" he asked. Coburn raised his terrible eyebrows.

"What did I say about a surprise?"

"I'm not a child," Thomas replied disgruntledly. In spite of this, he was actually a bit excited to see what he had done. Coburn just laughed and started rattling on about how he'd found a cat under the car. Thomas looked at the buttons on his coat and wondered how long it would take to undo them all.

When they finally reached the cabin, Coburn moved in front of Thomas and leaned against the door.

"No laughing," he said, "because if you do, I'm going to remember it and punish you later. And not in a nice way, either."

Thomas held up his hands. "I promise."

"Okay." Coburn stared at him for a few more beats before he pushed the door open and allowed Thomas to follow him.

The cottage looked the same as it always did. Thomas was about to ask what the big surprise was when he noticed that the table, a rickety wooden thing that Thomas didn't even trust with a teacup, was set for two and covered in food.

"I know it's not a great surprise," Coburn said a little sheepishly. "But we get to eat by ourselves and not have to listen to Pace talk about cabbage moths. Also, I can make eyes at you and dine in my pants."

"How improper," Thomas said. He watched Coburn take off the jacket and subconsciously took note of how long it took to be undone. "Next you're going to be eating with your hands."

"Or out of yours." Coburn grinned and went to open the cupboard. "Fancy a cuppa?"

Thomas thought about the conversation they'd had in the garage a few weeks ago. "If that's euphemism for a kiss, then yes."

"If we start now, the food's going to get cold," Coburn said, but reached out for Thomas anyway. They kissed languidly against the counter for a few minutes, Coburn's mouth warm and placid against his own. Thomas started to slip his fingers underneath Coburn's shirt to touch his stomach only to have his hands slapped away. Coburn laughed and stepped away to fill the kettle with water. "I said yes to a kiss, not a proper snog."

"Then say yes to a proper snog," Thomas said, reaching out to touch Coburn's waist. He didn't put any heat behind it, though; he just wanted to get a rise out of him. Predictably, his fingers were swatted away. "Did you make supper?"

Coburn laughed and placed the kettle on the stovetop. "Oh God, no. Trust me; you don't want me in the kitchen. I can't make much more than tea. No, I told Mrs. Patmore I was having a pretty young thing over tonight and asked if I couldn't exploit her cooking expertise. I think there's hash and dumplings and some bread."

"She's fancy on you," Thomas said, lifting the lid off of one of the plates. He nabbed a roll. "Has been since the first day."

Coburn laughed. Thomas sat down in one of the chairs and propped his feet up on the other, watching Coburn make tea while he ate his bread. Finally, Coburn made it to the table, shoving Thomas' feet off his seat before he sat down.

"Tea'll be done in a minute," he said. "We can eat, if you want." Thomas raised his eyebrows and Coburn scoffed. "Okay, I know that's not what you want. That wasn't a question. Eat."

While they ate, Coburn asked about Thomas' day and how his book was and whether or not he was ready to go back to work tomorrow. Thomas wasn't used to people asking him things – it felt strange to tell someone what he'd been up to and what his book was about and whether or not he'd eaten lunch. He began by giving his generic answers because sounding like he didn't care was the easiest thing to fall back on. But Coburn kept asking questions and Thomas found himself wanting to talk.

He told Coburn about learning how to mend clocks in his father's shop and the summer he and his brothers spent every afternoon down at the lake. He told him about the schoolteacher who peaked his interest in science and his best school friend, Madeline, who closed her blinds on him when he asked to stay with her after his dad estranged him. He talked about the dog he came across in the woods when he was a little boy, the one he would sneak out to play with after school until it stopped coming to their little clearing. He stared down at the bit of hash left on his plate and told Coburn that he didn't feel like there had ever been someone in his life who hadn't abandoned him.

Coburn didn't reply, but he did stand up and take Thomas' hand, leading him silently up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. Thomas didn't get but a second to look around at the spotless floor before Coburn had closed the door and turned to kiss him.

Coburn touched his face, cupping Thomas' jaw in his hand. This wasn't like they had kissed before. Usually it was desperate and hurried, a prelude to what they had both been waiting on for months. This was slow and gentle, almost like Coburn was trying to comfort him. Part of Thomas wanted to deepen it because he felt so, so vulnerable, but this was new. This was safe.

Eventually, Coburn pressed him back onto the mattress and stopped being so careful.

xxx

Some time later, Coburn said, "I've got biscuits downstairs," and catapulted off the bed and out of the room. Thomas took this moment of silence to roll onto his stomach and bury his face in the pillow to hide the grin that was threatening to crack his face in half.

He thought of the way Coburn had looked at him as he sprawled naked across the bed. Thomas had had men want him before, but he'd never had anyone want him. Coburn had looked at him like he was something precious, like he – like he was something worth looking at like that. It had made Thomas' skin itch in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.

He thought that if he had been looked like that before, he might not have made so many bad decisions in his life. He would have been able to get through so much more.

Thomas thought of Coburn touching his glove and looking at him in a silent request of approval. Thomas had nodded and watched, stomach churning, as Coburn undid the cloth and set it aside. Then he had just looked at it, none of the disgust Thomas saw in the others (and himself) on his face. He kissed the scar, still ragged and ugly, like it was just another stretch of unmarred skin. Whole and beautiful.

He hadn't shown anyone that scar since O'Brien.

He thought about Coburn bursting out laughing while Thomas kissed along the tear on his arm and across his ribs. How tears of mirth had tracked down the sides of his face, and Thomas couldn't be mad at that, not when Coburn was literally shaking the bed with the tremors of his laughter. He didn't know what, exactly, was funny, or if he was ticklish, but there was something inside Thomas that enjoyed this. They were in bed together with carnal intentions but there wasn't any pressure.

Thomas wouldn't have to dress him tomorrow morning for breakfast. He wouldn't have to come around on his left to present him with a plate of food. He wouldn't have to wake up and pretend they'd never spoken before.

He thought of Coburn whispering, "I will never abandon you."

The bedroom door opened and Thomas rolled back over, watching Coburn crawl back into bed in nothing but his pants. He sat cross-legged on top of the blankets and set the plate in his lap.

"I forgot she gave me biscuits too," he said through a mouthful. He took another bite and brushed the crumbs onto the floor.

"You're going to get ants," Thomas said. He pulled himself up and leaned back against the headboard, pleasantly sleepy.

"Oh, I'll never know," Coburn said. "After you leave, I'll open up the cupboard again and let all my stuff spill back out onto the floor. The crumbs will be buried and thus will the ants."

Thomas couldn't help laughing. Coburn offered him a biscuit and he took it.

"I offered to pay Mrs. Patmore for all the food," Coburn said. "She said as long as I showed my date a good time, it was a secret between us. So for her sake, I must ask: did I show you a good time?"

"Oh, it was numbingly dull," Thomas said. "I haven't had a worse time since I got my hand blown off in the trenches."

Coburn smiled brilliantly and leaned over to kiss him on the mouth. He tasted like biscuits.

"Remember when I said that I almost lost my job because I hoped too hard?"

Coburn furrowed his brow and glanced down at himself. "God, I hope this wasn't a misunderstanding."

"Oh God, no," Thomas said. He thought of how he felt when Coburn touched him and burned brightly inside. "No, the incident."

Coburn raised his ungodly eyebrows and started munching on another biscuit.

"I kissed Jimmy Kent."

Coburn promptly choked and Thomas was actually concerned for a moment, until he realized that the wheezing sounds had actually become Coburn's laughter. Then he just wacked him on the bare shoulder and took the plate of biscuits away.

"Jimmy… Kent…" Coburn folded forward over his crossed legs and buried his face in the blankets. "Oh… my… God…"

Thomas just watched him laugh for another minute or so, ready at any second to retract the grin on his own face. Finally, Coburn sat up. His face was bright red and there were tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

"Thomas," he said hoarsely. "Thomas, Jimmy Kent is a fetus." He dissolved into laughter again, clutching helplessly at his knees. "Thomas, oh my God, you're a cradle robber. Am I young enough for you? You're just a few years older, but I don't know. Will you leave me for someone younger?" He clutched his hands over his mouth for a moment, staring at Thomas with shining eyes, before he continued. "George Crawley, perhaps?"

He curled onto his side in fetal position, shaking with laughter. Thomas reached over, placing one hand against Coburn's shoulder and the other against his hip, and pretended to push. Coburn flailed around and caught one of Thomas' arms, hanging onto it with an octopus-like grip.

"I'm going to knock you off the bed and let the ants devour you," Thomas laughed. His arm was pinned underneath Coburn and Coburn took this as an opportunity to pull Thomas on top of him. Thomas kissed him, tugging his bottom lip into his mouth, and the shaking laughter slowly subsided.

Coburn sighed, open-mouthed against Thomas' mouth, and Thomas pushed his hips down, turning the noise into a groan.

"What did you think about?" he asked. "All those nights before you kissed me?"

Coburn was blushing on his cheekbones, something Thomas found happened when he was aroused. Thomas leered down at him.

"The car," Coburn said. "You in the car wearing nothing but my cap."

Thomas grinned maliciously and rolled off the bed, crossing the floor to the wardrobe. He pulled open the door and had to stumble back to avoid the avalanche of clothes, books, and other items. On the bed, Coburn started to laugh again.

"You weren't kidding about having stuffed it all away," Thomas said. He stepped over the pile and took one of Coburn's hats off the shelf. He put it on his head, crooked it sideways, and turned back to Coburn, who stopped chuckling to moan appreciatively.

"I'm never bringing you back to the main house," he said defiantly. Thomas climbed on top of him and he gripped his hips, fingers tucking under the waistband of Thomas' pants and pressing against the skin there. "I'm going to keep you here forever and just store you in the wardrobe when I have company."

"Like your clothes?" Thomas kissed the prevalent birthmark on his jaw.

"I'll stick my clothes in the bathroom," he said. "You can have the wardrobe all to yourself. You'll need the extra room for your ego."

Thomas laughed and tugged at Coburn's hair. "Do I, now?"

"Yes," he said. He reached up and traced the line of Thomas' cheekbone up to the hairline above his ear, then back down his jaw. "Remember what I told you the day we met?"

"'I don't know how to drive this thing'?"

"I never said that!"

"You're remembering wrong."

"You're making things up." Coburn's face softened again and he looked straight into Thomas' eyes, which made Thomas feel vaguely uncomfortable. "I said that you didn't look like you enjoyed yourself enough." He touched the corner of Thomas' eye and smoothed along where his smile lines would be. "You're happier."

Thomas dropped his eyes to the region of Coburn's collarbone. "I suppose."

"Everyone in the main house is saying so," he said. "I overheard Mr. Carson complaining about that afternoon you skived off your duties to sit and talk with me in the garage and Mrs. Hughes told him that you've been happier lately. A better worker, even. She said you don't scowl as much."

"I haven't made Daisy cry since the beginning of summer," he allowed. Coburn snorted.

"If you're worried about Jimmy, don't be. If he tattles, I think you've got more people on your side now than you had before."

"Mr. Bates defended me before."

"And that was when he didn't like you." Coburn cradled the back of Thomas' head in the palm of his hand and rolled them over. The blankets tangled around their legs and Coburn leaned forward to kiss Thomas on the mouth. Thomas tried surreptitiously to move the plate of cookies away from the edge of the bed with his foot. "Now he has a reason to like you."

"I still don't like him," Thomas said.

"I don't see why." Coburn sat up, keeping himself straddled on Thomas' hips, and reached behind him to set the cookies on the floor. Thomas gripped his bicep so he didn't fall when he leaned over the side of the bed.

"You're going to smash your skull," Thomas told him.

"More food for the ants," he said wickedly.

Coburn rolled off of Thomas and onto his side and Thomas turned to face him. Coburn touched the sharp jut of his hipbone and the rim of the chauffeur's hat. "I'm going to kiss you now," he said quietly, and Thomas shifted closer to him, letting himself be held. He felt vulnerable, but knew Coburn wouldn't attack. "And I'm never, ever going to stop."

Epilogue

It's wasn't until the end of the next summer that Marjorie, Liam, and Peter were able to visit. They arrived in York in mid-August, and Coburn vibrated with the excitement of having his family so close. He planned obsessively what they would all do together when they finally came to Downton at the end of the month, subconsciously including Thomas in the "we" he referenced in all his ideas.

"There'll be a fair over the weekend they're here," Anna said one night at supper. There had been some minute changes in the seating arrangements since Jimmy had left, so Coburn, now seated next to Thomas, could speak to her without having to crane his neck.

"That would be lovely," he said genuinely, his face lit up. "Would you all like to come? Mr. Carson, could we have that Saturday off to go down?"

"I assumed I would be asked," Carson replied, stirring the stew in his bowl. "I've already cleared it with His Lordship."

A quiet ruckus traveled around the table as people expressed their pleasure. Even Thomas smiled a bit, and Coburn bumped him with his shoulder.

"How old is Peter?" Ivy asked, because no matter how much time passed and how many times she was turned down, she was still obnoxiously interested in everything Coburn had to say.

"He'll be thirteen in December," he replied proudly. "He's got a right little brain on him. Marjorie calls him the next Edison."

"We'll all be delighted to meet him," Mrs. Hughes said.

The next week and a half passed quickly. Coburn became more and more jubilant as the days passed, and with the explosive happiness came the energy. His hands shook every time he remembered he would be meeting his family at the train station Friday night. Thomas tried to convince him to spend himself constructively and clean the cottage since Marjorie had agreed to let Peter stay over. Every time they started to straighten up, though, Coburn would wind his arms around Thomas' stomach and Thomas would end up panting on the floor of Coburn's bedroom, face to face with a family of ants.

Coburn didn't come to supper at the main house on Friday night, which Thomas was expecting. He was eating in the village with Marjorie, Liam, and Peter, but that knowledge didn't make Thomas any more comfortable. He hadn't let it show, but there had been a heavy dread in his stomach ever since he had found out he was going to meet Peter.

Thomas was terrified that Peter wouldn't like him or that he wouldn't like Peter, because he was possibly the most important person in Coburn's life and Thomas couldn't stand it if there were any ill feelings between them.

Coburn recounted his night to him the next morning over breakfast (which he had started attending regularly after Thomas found out his idea of breakfast in the cottage was a cup of tea and leftover biscuits), and Thomas became more and more agitated. Coburn must have noticed because once the plates had been cleared away, he pulled Thomas aside.

"Are you okay?"

"Just feeling a bit under the weather." Thomas knew Coburn didn't believe him.

"You're not getting out of coming to the fair tonight," he replied sternly, and this was why Thomas didn't want people to know him. The fact that Coburn could read his emotions this easily made it worse. He wished Coburn would go out to the garages. "It's okay if you're nervous. But please don't disappoint me by begging out."

Thomas clutched the hem of Coburn's coat, the most intimate gesture he could manage while staying discreet. He trained his eyes on his shoulder because he still couldn't open up while someone was looking at him. "What if he doesn't like me?"

Coburn laughed humorlessly. "Thomas, he's been writing you letters all year. If he didn't like you, surely he would've stopped."

"No," Thomas said. He found the courage to look Coburn in the face. "No, he's too polite."

"He'll love you," Coburn said because he couldn't disagree with that.

"I'm sorry if he doesn't," Thomas said, and slipped away before Coburn could say anything else.

xxx

Thomas was set on hiding in his room until someone came along and forced him to go, so he did just that. He sat on his bed and stared at the ground until there was a knock on the door.

"Thomas." Coburn shut the door quietly behind him and crossed the room. He knelt in front of him, picked up his hands, and started to press kisses against his knuckles. "Thomas, it's time to go."

"I haven't let myself care for many people since I left home," he said. He didn't look at Coburn. "I don't want to disappoint you."

"Then don't." Coburn stood, pulling Thomas up with him. He leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You're all dressed now and I'm about to burst with excitement so I'd say we'd better be off."

On the walk to the village, Thomas tried to ignore the fear in the pit of his stomach for Coburn's sake. He talked to Anna about baby Sybil for a while, the both of them wondering over how much she was beginning to resemble her mother. He had never really talked to Anna before Coburn struck up a friendship with her, but Thomas found that he could look past her love for Mr. Bates. He actually did quite enjoy her company and felt ashamed that he had treated her badly for so long.

As they got closer to the fair, Coburn jostled Thomas' arm before sprinting off to the front of the group, already on the lookout for his family. Anna laughed as they watched him go. Then, to Thomas' surprise, she hooked her arm into the crook of his and pulled him along.

Though Coburn's yell of delight alerted him to the presence of his family, Thomas probably could've picked them out easily. Marjorie was tall and thin like her brother, but her hair was long and curly. Liam had since shaved the mustache he had worn in the picture above Coburn's bed. And Peter – he still looked as much like Coburn as he had in that snapshot.

"Employees of Downton!" Coburn shouted, grabbing Peter round the head and rubbing his knuckle against the top. "This is my family!"

Thomas stayed near the back of the throng as everyone else introduced themselves, despite the fact that he could see Coburn's head pop up above the others' every so often. He knew Coburn was looking for him, and he knew he had to do this, but he wanted to do it separately. He wanted to meet Marjorie and Liam and Peter without Ivy and Alfred watching.

Finally, the group started to disperse a little bit as people started into the fair. Thomas let Coburn meet his gaze and allowed himself to smile back. Coburn grabbed his arm and tugged him forward.

"And this handsome fellow," he said, standing tall and proud like he was showing off his riches, "is Thomas."

Marjorie grinned at him and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Daniel's told us all about you," she said. "God, it's great to finally put a face to the name!"

Liam shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. You're a valet, yes?"

"Under-butler," he corrected. "And you're a butcher."

"Guilty as charged." Liam smiled.

"And you," Thomas said, turning to the young boy. "Must be Peter." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package of chocolates. "These are for you."

Up close, he could see the minute differences between Peter and Coburn. Whereas Coburn had an endless amount of light freckles all across his nose, Peter was tanner; the only spots on his face the beginning of teenage acne. His mouth was thinner and his nose shorter. Thomas thought about the letters they'd exchanged over the summer and had no difficulty imaging Peter achieving his dream of being a scientist. He looked the part.

"Thanks, Uncle Thomas." Peter smiled up at him and tore into the candy bag. Thomas watched him for a moment then looked up to see Coburn watching him from besides Marjorie. He caught his gaze, soft in the light from the street lamp, and smiled.

This was family.