By the time that the night train had finished it's long journey, and Thomas had managed, somehow, to find a car in Easingwold- and they had returned to Downton- it was earliest morning. Or darkest night- at any rate, it was very late. Jimmy did not feel apprehension until they were already in the hall, so awed by love was he- and so he fell short at the sight of Mrs. Hughes, who looked up from her book- her second book- she had already finished one novel in its entirety in the scant time that Mr. Carson had been gone.

The stars had hung so lovely in the ever-arching sky, and the vault of the world had contained Jimmy and Thomas- Thomas, Thomas his lover- so neatly- as they had traveled home- that Jimmy felt unmade and remade afresh. The world looks different, even the night seems changed, Jimmy thought- but that was not quite the right way to put it. It didn't matter, Jimmy supposed. He would have ages to sort it out- ages with Thomas beside him, if Jimmy's fortunes turned out as he hoped they would.

Now, they were confronted by harsh reality, in the form of Mrs. Hughes- who set down her book, and leveled at the pair of them a glance that went well beyond stern, and into the realms of wrath.

"The prodigals return," Thomas said, lightly, by way of greeting, as he limped in. Thomas was limping from the exertions upon his injuries- and Jimmy walked with his own stiff gait because- well- for reasons that had to remain undisclosed in the presence of displeased housekeepers.

"So I see," Mrs. Hughes said, with displeasure etched upon her aging countenance. Her eyes, Jimmy saw, moved over their battered faces, his valise- everything- and Jimmy fought back the urge to stare at his own shoes and wait for chastisement, like an errant son.

"Uh," Thomas said- his uneasy smile faltering from where he had fixed it upon his face- "We've had a long day, so we'll be off-"

"You're not going to get out of it that easily," Mrs. Hughes said, dourly. "Either of you," She added, looking at Jimmy sharply- and she pointed to the table. "Sit down immediately. By my own wits I have managed to keep it from notice that the pair of you decided to have a little holiday today, and the very least you owe me is an explanation."

"It weren't a holiday," Jimmy said, quietly, feeling his cheeks burn- and he sat down, as he was told to.

"Well. Tell me what is was, then," Mrs. Hughes said, in clipped tones. Across from Jimmy, Thomas took a seat as well, clasping his hands upon the table and staring at them. He can no more bear her wrath than I can, Jimmy thought- and met Thomas's eyes- or tried to. But Thomas would look at nothing besides his own elegant hands. The wooden chair was painful under Jimmy's sore body- and he shifted, for a moment, at the physical discomfort.

"If Mr. Carson were here, you would both most likely be dismissed without reference, for pulling such a stunt," Mrs. Hughes said, when neither of them volunteered any information.

"I'm so very sorry," Thomas said, immediately, in his most ingratiating tones. "It's just- James had such awful news, y'see- about his only living relative- that he sort've lost his head- and just- left- an' I was fortunate enough to see him at the station-"

"Don't give me that nonsense," Mrs. Hughes admonished, cutting him off. "I told you I didn't believe it when you telephoned, and I hardly believe it any more now."

"But it's the truth," Thomas said, managing to look both pained and bewildered, at Mrs. Hughes's denunciation of his words. "I wouldn't lie about it- or risk my job for anything that wasn't serious-"

"Mr. Barrow saved my life today," Jimmy said, interrupting him- and Mrs, Hughes turned her unconvinced expression towards Jimmy, instead.

"I don't want to hear any more tales," Mrs. Hughes said, fiercely- and Jimmy blanched, and took a deep breath.

"If you feel up to honesty, James, then I will gladly listen to what you have to say," Mrs. Hughes added- and Jimmy nodded, slowly. Thomas was staring daggers at him from across the table- but Jimmy ignored this- and looked only at Mrs. Hughes. "I mean it," Jimmy said, after a protracted moment. "An' Thomas- Mr. Barrow- he isn't lying- not all the way. I didn't have a death in my family. I... I don't even have any family left to find themselves in a grave. But Mr. Barrow did save my life."

"How?" Mrs. Hughes asked, pointedly- and Jimmy swallowed a little more air, and met her eyes with some conviction.

"I had a nasty turn," Jimmy muttered. Now that the crux of the thing was upon him, Jimmy felt terribly embarrassed, at having to explain himself. "I went... a bit mad- like how chaps do after the war, sometimes. I was goin' to run away... with scarcely any money and no references, and no- no plan- or anything- only because I felt that I had to, you know."

"Why did you feel as if you had to?" Mrs. Hughes asked. There was a bit less anger in her tone now. Jimmy kept his face tilted towards her- but- he could feel, from across the way, that Thomas's gaze was upon him.

"Because I was very- I felt a great- uh, fear. I felt a great fear overwhelm me," Jimmy said, slowly.

"Fear of what?" Mrs. Hughes was looking at Jimmy- appraising his honesty, Jimmy supposed. Let it be shown that I am in earnest, Jimmy prayed.

"Of my life. Of my- for my mind. No. Not even that- for my very being," Jimmy said- and Thomas cleared his throat- but both Jimmy and Mrs. Hughes ignored him. "I was so frightened, looking at my own life- the path of my days- and how it would- ah- change- or wouldn't- that I had to slip out from under the weight of it all..." Jimmy paused, and then said, imploringly- "Haven't y'ever- haven't you ever felt that way?"

"I... perhaps I have," Mrs. Hughes said, after a moment- her gaze was, for an instant, far away- but then it traveled back to Jimmy. "You realize," Mrs. Hughes went on, "That what you've said is hardly an explanation."

"I know. But it's the best I have," Jimmy said, quietly. "I"m begging you- please- let us stay. At least let Mr. Barrow stay. He was only trying to convince me that I should come back-"

"You were gone for fifteen hours. I would say that is a great deal of convincing," Mrs. Hughes answered, dryly- and Jimmy blushed- he felt the blood sing in his ears.

"T'weren't nothing untoward," Jimmy muttered, unable to lift his head. "We went all the way to Mevagissey. I wanted to- lay eyes upon the sea."

"I don't know why you think I was implying anything untoward," Mrs. Hughes said, now. "Besides the fact of you both missing a full day's work."

"He only means- that I didn't do anything untoward," Thomas said, quickly. "Because of our unhappy history-"

"Thomas, be quiet," Mrs, Hughes said, unexpectedly- and Jimmy started in place. So did Thomas, who blinked rapidly, shifting back and forth in his seat. I love you but sometimes you have the very worst poker face, Jimmy thought, unsteadily.

"Your attempts to obfuscate the matter are not appreciated," Mrs. Hughes added, and Thomas looked utterly caught out.

"Please let us stay on," Jimmy said, again, when Mrs. Hughes looked back towards him. "Please. Nothin' like that will ever happen again."

"It certainly will not," Mrs. Hughes agreed- and she sighed, glancing back and forth between them. "Am I going to get any more out of you than that?"

They both looked at her- Jimmy could see that Thomas was at least as uncomfortable as he was- and then Mrs. Hughes sighed again, and stood. Thomas rose with her- and so Jimmy did, too. Where's the lecture for Mr. Barrow about his sublime foolishness? Jimmy wondered. The angry words for me- about how little she's always thought of me?

"Please," Mrs. Hughes said- and she slumped a little, probably because she was tired and the hour was late- "Don't do anything too terribly stupid."

"We never will again," Thomas said, immediately, in ingratiating tones- but Jimmy met her eyes, and nodded. "Thank you," Jimmy said, soberly.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Hughes answered, humorlessly- and she turned away from them. "I need to rest. Please turn out the lights, when you go up," Mrs. Hughes added- and Jimmy's shoulders drooped with relief: like that, they had been forgiven. Well- maybe not all the way forgiven- but spared further punishment.

Mrs. Hughes departed without futher adieu. Thomas was looking at Jimmy as if he could not believe their good luck- and Thomas smiled, triumphantly- his pretty mouth pulling up from his teeth, and making something lovely out of his face. "How did we-" Thomas began, and Jimmy shrugged- and he crossed the room, so that they stood very close to one another. "I don't know," Jimmy said, quietly. "But let's turn in, and not spoil our lucky streak. Or somethin'."

Thomas nodded in agreement- and they turned out the lights- and Jimmy followed Thomas to the men's hall. On the stairs Jimmy felt a fear pierce him, like in the poem that Thomas had written- and it was, as the phrase went, rather grim. What'll I do without my blue book? Jimmy thought, anxiously. The book had been his comfort, his tale before slumber- and even, on these last few nights, the thing he had kept cradled in his arms- and Jimmy could not imagine going without it- not a for an evening. Not to face dreams.

But Thomas stopped at his own bedroom door, opening it- and he indicated Jimmy should come in, with a curl of his wrist.

"You want to spend all night in the same bed?" Jimmy whispered- and Thomas shrugged, smirking. "Why not?" Thomas answered inclining his head. "We have done it once before. An' this seems to be the age of miracles."

"Are you going to write a poem about that?" Jimmy asked- and he slipped into the room, brushing against Thomas as he did so.

"Sure," Thomas said, closing the door behind him, and dragging a chair over to it. "Why not."

Jimmy dressed in the pyjamas that he had packed away in his valise- and he stretched as he dressed, feeling new pain in his body- an ache that was not remotely unsavory. Jimmy had an odd, artful thought- he had been an unfinished map- and Thomas a cartographer- filling him in. Supplying new territories and new lands, as Jimmy had never dreamed that anyone could do.

Thomas dressed in his nightclothes as well- and set the alarm- and when he had done he crawled very carefully onto the cot, and pulled back the coverlet, indicating that Jimmy should join him. "Come on," Thomas cajoled, when Jimmy was a bit slow- and Jimmy climbed into the bed, pressing his chest to Thomas's chest. Thomas, with a sigh that sounded rather pleased- brought his arms around Jimmy- and Jimmy relished the feeling. There was another new pain to chase Jimmy now- the dissatisfaction of the many hours in the day when he was not held by Thomas. Always waiting for the next chance your arms are around me, to feel quite complete, Jimmy thought- a thought so utterly flowery that Jimmy would have rather died than given voice to it. Flowery- but true.

"Hhhuhh. Let's try and get some rest," Thomas said- and, with his eyes closed, he kissed Jimmy's wounded lips. "Since we had no rest on the train," Thomas added, his eyes opening slightly. Thomas regarded Jimmy with a look as affectionate as Jimmy could have imagined ever being on the receiving end of- and Jimmy took a deep breath, sitting up, and putting his cheek to Thomas's sleek, dark head. I suppose I'll be able to sleep, even without my book, Jimmy thought- and aloud, though he hadn't quite intended it, Jimmy said: "You're my book."

"Come again?" Thomas said- his eyes had shut once more- and his strong arms pulled Jimmy fractionally closer.

"You're my book," Jimmy said- and he closed his eyes. "Full of secrets."

"Ah? Hmm. And you mine," Thomas whispered- with his eyes shut Thomas looked as if he were already slumbering- and Jimmy sank down with him onto the flat and unluxurious pillow. The evening was colder than seemed possible, with the heat of the previous days- but it was not an unhappy weather. Rather, Jimmy thought, it was blissful- the cool night and the promise of Autumn- and further, the promise of seasons marking time, which marched steadfastly on.

In stories I told you, you loved me the more, Jimmy thought. And sheets of red fire blew off of the floor-

The sheets of red fire were undoubtedly leaves, Jimmy mused, tiredly. Thomas's breathing, beside him, told of sleep. And so he must have meant Autumn-

So much had happened, Jimmy thought- and so impossible was it all to put into words. Luckily Jimmy was loved by a word-charmer. You could say it for me, Jimmy thought. And then I'll say it back to you-

Jimmy slept- and if some nightmares chased him, on ragged stumps- they could not catch up with him. In Thomas's arms, Jimmy was safe, inviolate. So the untouchable pair touched one another. After a while their hearts beat in unison- and they breathed in the same easy pace of breath- but they, neither of them, were awake to remark upon their vast and poignant similarities.

FOR EIGHT WEEKS Thomas had ruled the halls of Downton- with Mrs. Hughes, of course, beside and above him on the chain of command. There was a bit of superiority about Thomas, certainly- he carried himself rather more like an Earl than a butler, so proud he seemed to be of his temporary post- but Thomas was not the frightful dictator that Jimmy had imagined him capable of being.

In fact below stairs things were a bit relaxed- though Thomas had continued to keep upstairs standards well beyond impeccable.

"If only it could be like this forever," Jimmy had lamented, on more than one occasion- and Thomas had laughed. But privately Jimmy thought that many others of the staff might have agreed with him. Even Alfred, who got on very well with Carson, seemed to be quite happy- because Thomas, true to his nature, had instituted a system of bribes.

Well. Thomas called them 'incentives', and looked quite pleased with himself about his own remarkable cleverness- but bribes were what he used. If you did this extra chore- or worked your half day- or were simply the party who had polished the most silver when Thomas checked in, you would undoubtedly be rewarded: with whiskey, with tickets to a picture show, with additional time off- with new buttons for your livery- whatever Thomas could procure that passed as valuable, in their particular world. Carson would have been apoplectic with rage at the very thought of such denigration of the noble field of service. However- it worked. Mrs. Hughes undoubtedly did not know- the women were her domain, and Thomas did not much extend his influence to them- or she would have put an abrupt stop to such goings-on. But still, the effectivity could hardly, Jimmy thought, be denied. Jimmy had never seen the hallboys so productive- Thomas rewarded them in sweets and magazines, mostly, but it went over as well as liquor and evenings off did with their older counterparts.

Everyone stayed up a little later in the evenings, maybe, and laughed a little more- or caroused a bit more over cards- but so long as standards did not slip Thomas was not threatening. Though sometimes Thomas was threatening, Jimmy thought- to everyone save perhaps the family Bates- and Thomas seemed to enjoy being difficult as much as he enjoyed being kind. Jimmy had made a fine- he thought they were quite fine- series of jokes about Lionheart and Lackland- to harangue Thomas with. Thomas bristled quite utterly at any suggestion that he was not adequate to fill Carson's position- bristled so much, in fact, that Jimmy could scarcely keep from teasing him about it.

O'Brien, as Fate had managed it, had left the very same day that Jimmy had run away. In his tumult Jimmy had forgotten entirely- and so his icy words to her over the breakfast table had been the last she'd ever heard from him. For a week after Jimmy's return- though thanks to Mrs. Hughes, everyone believed he'd spent the day in bed instead of traveling up and down the country- Alfred had refused to speak to him, as punishment for Jimmy's cruel denunciation of Alfred's aunt.

To Jimmy it could not have been more fitting. The day that he'd found peace of mind was the day O'Brien had disappeared- as if, by his actions, he had vanquished her.

Jimmy noticed that there had a been a shift, subtle as ages, in the way the others treated him. Where once Jimmy had moved as ghost, generally apart from the rest of the staff, he was now rewarded with tints of camaraderie that changed the shade of his days. Bates had a kind word for Jimmy now and again- and Anna, too- and Mrs. Hughes, after a few weeks of hawk-like glances, seemed to have forgiven both Jimmy and Thomas for their disappearance.

Or perhaps it was that Jimmy treated them a little differently. It would not have occurred to him to think so, except that Jack had suggested it, in one of their weekly telephone conversations.

"It could be you, have you thought of that?" Jack had said, after one of his many pauses on the other end of the telephone receiver. "Maybe they're not suh-so changed."

"I don't know," Jimmy had said, turning the idea over in his mind- and then he had continued away from the thought, to speak on other subjects. Thomas had been true to his word, hiding the conversations from Mrs. Hughes. Jimmy was always assured an hour of utter privacy in Carson's office- and he and Jack would first discuss the events of the week- to a degree that often mortified Jimmy- and then whatever caught Jimmy's fancy to speak of, be it for good or ill. Jimmy could not tell if these- odd little sessions- were actually helping- with whatever it was that he needed help with- but he did feel lighter, sometimes, after he had finished speaking.

At the close of each conversation Jack's tone would shift- from advisor to friend- and he would speak more casually over the crackling connection, talking idly of his life, or making less probing inquiries into Jimmy's affairs. Jack had a position of employment for Jimmy and Thomas, should they like it. As caretakers- or managers- or something- at The Harcourt Institute. Jimmy brushed aside these offers of employ, mostly- though sometimes he imagined waking up to the smell of the sea, and the green lawns. With Thomas beside him.

"Be prepared to receive your journal in the post," Jack had warned Jimmy, on their most recent instance of speaking. "I've finished with it."

"And? What did you think?" Jimmy asked, lightly- though his heart had skipped at beat- at the idea of his book returning to him. On the other end Jack laughed.

"I'll suh-save that for my own doctor," Jack said, lightly. "The poems were very good," Jack added, sounding amused.

"Yes," Jimmy answered. "They are."

At the end of the discussion Jack had repeated his job offer to Jimmy, with the enthusiasm that Jimmy found so amusing in the man.

"You must think on it, and discuss it with Mr. Barrow," Jack had said. "Mr. Gordon is retiring in two months, and I will require suh-some people with a good knowledge of how to run an estate in my employ. I've told you, Jimmy, the practical affairs suh-sometimes elude me..."

Jimmy had tapped his index fingers on the table, a tune running through his head- and Jack had said- "And- I know I don't need to suh-say it- but. It would be suh-safe..."

Thomas did not press Jimmy with inquiries about his hour-long- meetings- with Jack- but Jimmy often volunteered information to Thomas all the same. When Jimmy had told him about Jack's job offer, Thomas had looked past him, with unfixed eyes, for many moments, until Jimmy had jostled his shoulder. "What d'ya think?" Jimmy asked- and Thomas had refocused his gaze, and shrugged. "I don't know," Thomas said, quietly. "What do you think?"

Jimmy hadn't known, either. Since they had come home Jimmy had been furiously composing his own music- he had copied down nearly all of Thomas's poems before he'd given the blue book away- and during the evenings Jimmy sat at the piano if he did not sit at cards, creating tunes that suited the words. Some of them- the poems, that was- could scarcely be set to a tune at all- and some of them seemed to be made for music- as if they had only waited for Jimmy's clumsy skill to bring them to life. Jimmy scratched and re-scratched notes, and music came back to him as it had not since before the war- until Jimmy's skill was a bit less than clumsy, and he had made songs acceptable to pair with Thomas's lovely words.

Sometimes Jimmy felt, self-importantly, that he was moved by some divine force in his endeavors: he was Igor Stravinsky, bent over his maddening music; he was Theda Bara, played back on a reel of film- he was Thomas Barrow, composing odd and angular rhymes that spoke of love and other things- but love, mostly.

Jimmy's underlying philosophy had not changed: a rube was still a rube, and a sucker still and always a sucker. These beliefs held true- only, as it turned out, Jimmy- who had held himself so above it all- was just as much of a rube and a sucker as everyone else. Consigned to the same place as the rest of them, Jimmy thought, with some small feeling of chagrin- A soppy silly victim of love. Jimmy had fought against it so- but it hardly mattered now. It was too late- Jimmy was caught in a web of feeling- a trap so clever that it persuaded him to not even try to escape. The best of all possible lures, Jimmy would think, when he caught a glimpse of Thomas in any room.

Well- if Jimmy was going to be a fool, he'd decided, he would commit to it fully. So, some three weeks after the day he had run away, Jimmy had mailed five songs- with music and lyrics- to The Gramophone Company. About this Jimmy said nothing to anybody. Thomas would undoubtedly be very put-out if he knew that Jimmy had given his words to still more strangers.

The Gramophone Company had not replied- and after a few weeks Jimmy had given up waiting, and brushed it off as a wild idea. It didn't stop him from composing, though- Jimmy was compelled to make music for Thomas's words as inexorably as he was compelled towards Thomas's bed.

Sometimes Jimmy went to Thomas's room possessed by a love so overpowering that it was frightening- as he had that evening on the train- and sometimes Jimmy was consumed by lust that drove him half-mad, as he had been on the day of their fateful picnic- but always, he went. And in going Jimmy always found the cure for whatever desperate desire drove him- for whatever mood seized him- for whatever ailment his body and his mind had conjured to take him into Thomas's arms.

Thomas had claimed every bit of Jimmy's body- Jimmy could not think of a single part of himself that Thomas had not touched. They went to bed together always- Thomas was so full of bravado in Carson's absence that he insisted they keep one another's company every night. "No-one will notice," Thomas had said, haughtily, when Jimmy had protested on grounds of risk. "And if they do," Thomas went on, examining his own immaculately-kept nails with a superior air- "Who are they goin' to tell about it?"

Thomas, Jimmy thought, was very clever- but also he was overly confident- the sort of person who didn't know how to quit when he was ahead. Thomas would play at life as if it were a game of cards, blithely betting against the house long after he should gathered his winnings and retired for the evening. Lucky for him that he has me, Jimmy thought, in idle moments. We fill in one another's faulty spots, I think. Certainly Thomas did it for him. But eventually... eventually Carson would return, and they would be caught out- and Jimmy knew it. Probably Thomas did too- but Jimmy had the persistent, if unconfirmed, feeling that Thomas tried to act as if he had everything well in hand, so as to not alarm Jimmy. Do you think me delicate, Thomas? Jimmy had wondered- he had almost, in a few instances, accused Thomas aloud of believing such a thing. But then- if Jimmy were being honest with himself... perhaps Thomas was the one of the pair of them who handled adversity with more aplomb.

At any rate the future was worrisome- but Jimmy knew that Thomas would be part of it, whether they found themselves destitute or secure- and that, that was the most comforting thing.

And in the late evenings Thomas loved him- and Jimmy waited for it every day, in the most ardent kind of anticipation. On some occasions they would bring one another off with their hands- though Thomas seemed to very much enjoy using his soft and pliant mouth on Jimmy- before they fell asleep, curled around one another. Thomas's injuries had healed nicely- and sometimes he took Jimmy, moving within him- and other times he let Jimmy take him. Jimmy had been shocked- and desperate with desire- when he had first done such a thing to Thomas. When Jimmy had finally been within him Thomas had moaned, in unhidden pleasure- and Jimmy had felt sharp flashes of elation around his arousal. There had been Thomas with his head thrown back and his hips moving helplessly upwards- Thomas nearly weeping at the feeling of Jimmy's cock- Thomas making a low keening sound that Jimmy had so far only heard the like of from himself. For days afterwards Jimmy had looked at Thomas with a blissful feeling of self satisfaction- replaying in his mind the image of Thomas underneath him on the cot, gasping helplessly. At dinner Jimmy would glance across the room to meet Thomas's eyes, and in his head see Thomas with his chin uptilted, and his red lips parted, saying- "Oh, Jimmy, please... oh, god-"

Thomas was undone, filled with abandon, when Jimmy loved him- and when Jimmy was loved by him, Thomas made more of a pretense at composure. Surely Thomas felt the same pleasure- but he tried, as much as he was able, to make sure that Jimmy was all right- to keep control. Thomas unhinged or Thomas clinging to the vestiges of self-discipline- both were so erotic that Jimmy could not decide which he preferred. Jimmy imagined that it would take many years of trying both- and other things- before he could choose a particular favorite- and the thought filled him only with happiness.

This was not say that Jimmy hadn't had bad moments. There had been more than one day when he'd felt ill-tempered- frankly mean- and Jimmy would have been lying if he had claimed he thought such a mood would never recur. And on a few occasions- one in particular that he could recall- Jimmy had been gripped with the same kind of panic that had held him captive in the beginning of their love affair. One evening Jimmy had been sitting atop the cot, stripped, and face-to-face with Thomas, who had touched him with an expert hand- and suddenly Jimmy had felt panic. An old familiar fright had lain cold fingers along Jimmy's spine, and whispered to him that it was too much- that he could not allow such a total abduction of his own soul- and Jimmy had crawled away from Thomas frantically- and doubled over- too close to completion to ignore his aching body, and too anxious to achieve release.

But of course it was Thomas who had saved him- he'd looked at Jimmy for a moment, in obvious surprise- and then Thomas had recovered himself, crawling towards Jimmy on the bed.

"Stay back," Jimmy had spit out- his anger was directed inwards, really- but he snarled at Thomas all the same, dragging himself towards the end of the cot.

"It's all right, m'love," Thomas had said-his voice was rough with lust, but Thomas had spoken very gently- and he had not moved closer to Jimmy- but sat still, his eyes not leaving Jimmy's face.

"It's too much," Jimmy had said, indicating his own body, with a grimace. "Nnngh. Thomas- I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Thomas had said, calmly. "Touch yourself... and look at me. Look right at me."

Jimmy had gritted his teeth and brought himself to completion with his eyes fixed firmly on Thomas's eyes- as if Thomas's face were some sort of beacon. And afterwards Jimmy had felt alright- he hadn't vomited again, or anything. And Thomas had held him particularly close that night- and said all manner of soppy things into Jimmy's ear, silly ornamental words of love that befitted a poet.

There were other times when the intensity of lust was almost to much a burden for Jimmy to bear- he felt- frankly tormented by it- and knew that his nerves were tense as a string about to snap. It plagued Jimmy- to wait all day, every long and dreary day- until he could lay hands upon those aspects of his existence which served to elevate it. Jimmy had endeavored to apply a bit of Junior Jack's untidy wisdom to the situation. Not that Jimmy had discussed relations with the good doctor. At least not in any detail. Some things did not bear discussion- they were between him and Thomas only- too sacred and too profane to be whispered about. But still, one night when Jimmy had gone to bed in a particularly unhappy way, and Thomas had asked him what was the matter, Jimmy had flashed upon one of Courtenay's small wisdoms. 'Honesty, when it can be managed, is generally more of a boon that a burden,' Jack had advised. 'That may suh-seem counterintuitive... but I find it to be the case.'

So Jimmy had set his jaw and told Thomas, in faltering tones, how he was sometimes troubled- or set on edge- by thinking about Thomas all day- and Thomas had listened, and loved him after- but remained largely silent. Jimmy had fallen asleep convinced that he was poor at communicating, and had only sounded like a fool. But then- he was awoken by Thomas before the alarm, in the earliest morning- and Thomas put his hands all over Jimmy, and dragged them both to release.

"There," Thomas had said afterwards, sounding perfectly self-satisfied. "Now you won't have to be devoured by lust all day."

Jimmy had looked up, from where he lay panting, on the sheets- and Thomas smiled, smug as a cat. "You did that for me?" Jimmy asked, in a small voice- and Thomas had rolled his eyes. "I do everythin' for you," Thomas had replied, with a self-aggrandizing air- but he had leaned in, and kissed Jimmy rather sweetly on the lips.

Jimmy saw it proved again- and again- that Thomas was not going to tire of him, whatever temperament Jimmy had- and Jimmy was grateful for this- for being loved as he was. So exceedingly grateful that he endeavored to do things solely for Thomas's pleasure- or in the spirit of love.

So worry and adulation chased Jimmy through the weeks- and time drew on, as Carson's return crept ever closer. It was said that Lady Mary seemed to be much returned to better tempers by the change of scenery- and so three months would be enough, after all. No extension would come as a sudden reprieve. The time when- Jimmy thought- he and Thomas could no longer get away with being quite so obvious- was rapidly running out.

What are we going to do? Jimmy thought, in idle moments. Whatever are we going to do?

It was a stupid world, Jimmy mused, that would make what transpired between them illegal. Jimmy supposed that it was Thomas, with his utter lack of shame, who had convinced him that they were doing nothing so terrible after all.

And then, when Thomas had been master of the realm for eight weeks- and they were a scant month away from the date of Mr. Carson's arrival, Jimmy received two items in the post.

Everyone was eating breakfast in the hall- Thomas in Carson's seat, reading the paper, Alfred to Jimmy's right- and Jimmy picked at his toast disinterestedly, and blinked, when the items were deposited in front of him. For a moment Jimmy could scarcely move- he felt his hands trembling- and then he grasped one item in each palm, wondering at them.

The first item was a parcel- tied in paper and wrapped in twine- with no return address. But when Jimmy felt the weight of it in his hand, he knew instantly that it was his blue book. No return address- Jack's attempt to safeguard Jimmy's privacy, then. My book, Jimmy thought, his hands tingling. My book my book my book-

The other item was a mere envelope- and Jimmy nearly ignored it- until he saw that the letter did bear a return address: The Gramophone Company.

"What's all that?" Alfred asked, gesturing with his fork in a way Carson surely would have commented on. "Y'never get any letters-"

"It's none of your business," Jimmy said, and he put the book and the letter in his lap, both unopened. At the head of the table, Thomas was watching him with an interest far more intense than Alfred's had been.

As soon as he could Jimmy crept away, to the privacy of his room. First he tore the brown paper from his book- and took a shaky breath when the paper revealed the journal's singular blue color underneath it. "Oh, my book," Jimmy whispered- and, on a silly impulse, he pressed the book's cover to his forehead and cheek. "My book, my book," Jimmy murmured- but he did not sit down immediately to read it, as he might have done- the letter from The Gramophone Company beckoned to him, and Jimmy, with the deftest of touches, tore it open.

All day long Jimmy felt elated- he laughed, and demurred, and gave Thomas more smiling looks than was strictly wise; he felt at ease with himself and with the nuances of his work- and, before he could balk or blink, it was evening time.

Thomas had been trying to get a word with Jimmy all day- but Jimmy had evaded Thomas's attempts to get him alone- and Thomas was not so bold as to demand that Jimmy come to Carson's office- at least, not in front of everybody. Jimmy savored the fact of Thomas's curiosity- and he enjoyed the ample frustration evident in the other man's bearing. The better to surprise you with, later, Jimmy thought- and he lingered over cards in the servant's hall, talking amiably with both Anna and Bates.

"I suppose we'll all be in for a sore surprise, when Carson returns," Jimmy said- only for Thomas's benefit, and only after Mrs. Hughes had gone to bed- and Mr. Bates narrowed his eyes, in a parody of anger. "I suspect it will be an enormous relief," Bates countered, jerking his head in Thomas's direction- and Thomas frowned- and then smirked, looking very superior, as Anna laughed.

"I'm sure it will for you, Mr. Bates," Thomas said, airily- though Jimmy thought that Thomas had really done nothing in the way of persecuting Bates with his power.

Jimmy didn't care if they bickered amongst themselves dearly or affectionately- he wanted everyone to leave, so that he could be alone with Thomas. In the hidden pocket of Jimmy's livery the letter rested, nearly burning a hole in him with all that it contained.

To pass the time Jimmy worked on a tune that he had been crafting for one of the newest poems Thomas had written him. Oh yes- Thomas had written Jimmy all the love-entrenched, overwrought poetry that Jimmy had asked for, in the weeks since they had come back from their jaunt to Mevagissey. Well, Thomas said it was overwrought, but to Jimmy it always seemed very sincere- and very beautiful.

Jimmy put his hands to the piano, and sang along with the tune he played:

"Enchanted, romantic, ascendant, sublime-
My head filled with words and each word filled with rhyme
You said 'Give me music!', I said 'Give me time!',
You said 'What's the difference? I'm yours and you're mine-' "

That one was good, Jimmy thought- that was something you could make a proper song with. The cadence-

"It's getting late," Anna said, from behind him- and Mr. Bates, taking his cue, rose- and they departed.

"So it is late," Thomas said, ominously, from behind Jimmy- "An' that means everybody should be in bed!"

There was a scrambling noise in the hall- the sounds of footsteps running lightly away- and then silence- and Thomas shook his head. "Those hallboys will be the death of me," Thomas muttered, in annoyance- and Jimmy snickered. "They would've never behaved so badly with Mr. Carson," Jimmy said, just to see the look of affront on Thomas's face. "They must think you not very threatening."

"They'll think me more threatening when I break their little fingers," Thomas said, with a theatrical glower- and Jimmy laughed, at the look of him.

"Come and sit here with me," Jimmy said abruptly- and he patted the piano bench. Thomas smiled- oh, it was the rarest of pleasures to see Thomas actually smile, in sincerity, rather than some contrite emotion- and he came to sit by Jimmy, far closer than decency would allow.

The chill of the night air worked its way in through the cracks of the old house, and Jimmy let his shoulder touch Thomas's, inordinately pleased by the warm reality of the man beside him.

"You goin' to tell me what you got in the post?" Thomas asked now, in lower tones- and Jimmy nodded- and slipped first the letter from his hidden envelope, letting his hands linger against Thomas's as he passed it over.

"Read that, for starters," Jimmy commanded- and Thomas rolled his eyes- but commenced reading. Jimmy played another song he had been working on, singing as low as he could, his lips forming the sounds of Thomas's written words.

"Because I know you know, darling," Jimmy sang, trying to catch a glimpse of Thomas's expression out of the corner of his eye-

"And I know you know I know, dearest
That I love the man (and the cards)-

On all of the gambler's wrists,
The bands you made with
your hands and words-

I like this time together, sweetheart
You are my darling, darling,
You don't know yourself enough
But I trust.

I told them all, I told them all
(You know, you walked with me before
Into the desert once, and then once more)
I told them once before

Because I know you know, dearest
And I know, I know, I know, darling
That I love the man
With the cards-"

When Jimmy had finished he looked over at Thomas, willing away the flush that had risen to his cheeks- that poem had made him blush since Thomas had written it, and he felt like a silly maiden- but Jimmy forgot his chagrin at Thomas's thunderstruck expression.

Thomas held the paper in his hands, and looked back at Jimmy in astonishment- and Jimmy reached into his coat pocket again, before Thomas could speak- and plucked the cheque- his pièce de résistance- also from the envelope- and handed it to Thomas.

"They purchased three of your songs?" Thomas asked- and he looked bemused when Jimmy handed his the cheque- and then Thomas took a sharp breath, and his eyes shot up to meet Jimmy's.

"B-but," Thomas said- looking at Jimmy's face, and at the cheque, and back again- "But this is-"

"A lot. I know," Jimmy said, softly. "We could rent a flat with this-"

"For a little while," Thomas amended- but Thomas was not over his surprise- his lips had gone quite white.

"We'll get royalties," Jimmy said, smugly. "And- did you read it, Thomas? They want to see ten more!"

"I can't believe you gave them my poems," Thomas said. "Some of those are not- ah- some of them sound like they're written about blokes, Jimmy-"

"Yeah, for woman singers," Jimmy scoffed- he could not hide his delight at having shocked Thomas so utterly- and he pressed a quick kiss to Thomas's mouth. "Music by J. Kent and Lyrics by T. Barrow," Jimmy said, dreamily. "We can play our own music on the gramophone-"

"You're mad," Thomas said- but he squinted at the cheque again, and blinked rapidly, his lips quirking upwards.

"And I got my blue book back," Jimmy added, in a more serious tone.

"That must have been an enormous relief," Thomas replied. His voice was composed again- but Jimmy noticed that the papers Thomas held trembled, ever so slightly.

"Let's go up," Jimmy said, jerking a thumb towards the ceiling- and Thomas nodded, and followed him up the stairs, still holding the letter and the cheque.

"My room," Jimmy whispered, when they were in the hall. "And bring your blanket. It's bloody freezing." Thomas nodded, handing the documents back to Jimmy, and vanished behind his bedroom door.

In his own room Jimmy was struck by an idea- and he laid his blue book on the bed, and stuffed the papers back into The Gramophone Company envelope, placing the letter near to the journal, at the end of the cot. When the door creaked open, and Thomas walked in- nightclothes-clad, holding his comforter under one arms and his cigarettes and lighter in his bad hand- he paused in the doorframe, looking at the objects on the bed with some suspicion.

"Staging things again?" Thomas asked, pulling the door shut behind him- and Jimmy tilted his head in confusion.

"Mmm. What?" Jimmy asked- he came very close to Thomas, and took the heavy blanket from him- and kissed Thomas's mouth, for good measure, until whatever anxiety that had plagued Thomas was gone from his eyes.

"Nothing," Thomas answered- and he allowed Jimmy to lead him to the bed. Jimmy slid under the covers, bunching up his legs so as to not disturb the objects at the end of the cot's narrow frame- and Thomas climbed in after him, equally carefully. They sat so close that their legs nearly overlapped- and Jimmy felt the sparks of lust crackling in his body. Jimmy took Thomas's blanket, and wrapped it around both of their shoulders- so that they were in a perfect tent of warmth together.

"This is cozy," Thomas said, with an eyebrow raised- and when Jimmy tilted his face upwards, Thomas kissed the line of his jaw. Jimmy shivered at the feeling of Thomas's lips- and pulled back, a little, so that they were nearly nose-to-nose. "We need to discuss something, I think," Jimmy murmured- the intimacy of the situation made him lower his voice to a bedroom whisper. Which was apt, given the circumstance.

"Ye-ss?" Thomas asked, his lips finding Jimmy's mouth again. "What is it?"

"Nnnh. We need to figure out what we're going to do," Jimmy answered, kissing Thomas in reply- but Thomas pulled back, a little, with a furrowed brow. "Do about what?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy took a breath. "About... well-"

"Go on, you're making me nervous," Thomas said- and Jimmy shook his head no, and pressed a fleeting touch to Thomas's shoulder.

"Nothin' bad," Jimmy said, hastily. "Just. Ah. Well- it's always going to be us, right? You and I together?"

"Always?" Thomas asked, still looking a bit lost- and Jimmy nodded, chewing on the inside of his own lip.

"I want to spend my life with you," Jimmy clarified, feeling suddenly uneasy at such a bold declaration- but the reaction from Thomas was immediate: Thomas's eyes widened, exposing more than usual of the pale color between his eyelids- and his mouth curved up- and he gripped Jimmy's shoulder, pulling them together rather roughly.

"Don't act s-so surprised," Jimmy said, into the line of Thomas's neck. "You already said y'knew I loved you."

"I know but I-" Thomas broke off, his voice halting- and Jimmy turned his head up, and saw that Thomas's eyes were full of tears. After a moment Thomas composed himself, bringing a hand to his own face- and Jimmy chuckled- and kissed his other hand.

I love you, Jimmy thought, feeling a pressure that was light, and lifting- as pressure should not be- suffuse him. I love you Thomas I love your ways and your eyes like stars- and the curve of your cheek sharper than the guillotine blade and your lips a Paradise and the length of your cock a perfect journey and the bones of your spine a bridge to other worlds and your hands two sides of a coin and your every breath a prayer and your heart a palace- and your mind a kingdom- and- and your soul a game of cards-

But Jimmy could not write poetry, hadn't ever been able to- the thoughts escaped from him, went limp and inarticulate on the long journey from mind to pen- and so he only held Thomas, as Thomas regained his composure.

"So," Jimmy said, after a moment. "If we are to make a life for ourselves- as I see it- we have a few options open to us."

"We could try our hands at professional songwriting," Thomas said, his voice still a bit unsteady- and he rearranged the blanket around them both, with obvious tenderness.

"Or we could go to Mevagissey," Jimmy said. "Or we could stay here- and see if our luck continues."

Thomas nodded his agreement- and he looked at Jimmy. The light from the lamp caught Thomas's face and hair- making it look, Jimmy thought, as if he wore a halo. Outside the chill Autumn winds howled around the house, whistling through the rafters- but Jimmy felt warm, with Thomas beside him. "What do you want to do?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy shrugged.

"I want to be with you," Jimmy said, meeting Thomas's eyes. "Other than that, I don't care."

"Ah," Thomas said- and Jimmy held out his hand. "Give me your lighter."

Thomas did as he was told- with none of his old reticence- and Jimmy placed the lighter between the blue book- his beloved book- and the letter from The Gramophone Company.

"It's your choice," Jimmy said, collectedly. Once the idea of giving up his fate to the whims of another would have made Jimmy profoundly ill- but now he felt only conviction. And... and trust, that old soldier, back after many years.

"My choice?" Thomas asked, looking at Jimmy with bemusement. "You mean that?"

"I do," Jimmy agreed- and he pointed to the objects layed out before them. "Your pick, Thomas. I've even illustrated it for you. Jimmy pointed to the objects, one after another.

"Choose the book and we go to The Harcourt Institute," Jimmy said. "To work for a man you loathe. But- we'll be safe."

Thomas nodded, not replying- his eyes took in everything- and Jimmy moved his index finger across the bed, indicating the letter.

"Choose the letter, and we'll go to London and write songs," Jimmy said, trying to gauge Thomas's expression. "We're going to keep on writing them anyhow, of course... but- if we commit to it- we could find ourselves freer than we ever dreamed of being. Or-"

"Or spectacular failures, impoverished," Thomas said, completing Jimmy's thought- and Jimmy bobbed his head. "Exactly," Jimmy said. "Choose the lighter-"

"And we stay here, at Downton," Thomas answered, musingly.

"Right," Jimmy replied. "And maybe someday we'll run this house and everythin' in it-"

"And maybe Carson'll catch me in your bed and turn us to the streets," Thomas answered, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "There are no guarantees in this life."

"What do you want to do?" Thomas asked, again- and Jimmy put his hands to Thomas's hair, feeling the smoothness of it underneath his fingertips. "I want you to choose," Jimmy said again, quietly- and earnestly. To have Thomas pick their path was as much as Jimmy could give him- in the manner of a wedding gift. In the manner of letting Thomas guide him- as if he were as blind as the unknown soldier had been. In a manner of faith. I want you to, I do, Jimmy thought- and Thomas must have seen it in his face- because he nodded again- this time, in agreement.

The wind made a low keening sound around their heads, as if it searched for something in the ceaseless night- and Jimmy was glad that he, safe in the attic space, had to go on no such quest to find what he was looking for. He stared into the fathoms of Thomas's eyes- and when Thomas took a breath, and reached his arm out, Jimmy kept his gaze affixed to Thomas's brow.

"Yes," Jimmy said, watching only Thomas's face. He did not look over, to see where Thomas's hand lay- on the lighter or the letter- or- or the book- or if it rested anywhere at all. In this moment, Jimmy thought, there was nothing but the untouched future- where anything could belong, someday, to them.

"I think..." Thomas said, quietly- and still Jimmy did not turn to see what Thomas had picked for them. In the small room, in the narrow bed, with Thomas beside him- Jimmy Kent, who had once been an island unto himself- but now was not- allowed another person to decide the course of his days.

Yes, Jimmy thought again, like that- and, with a sound of music in his ears- he closed his unmarried eyes,
broke precedent,
and let Thomas Barrow give him Heaven.