Author's note: This is the first chapter in the sequel to "The Fella" and it's called "The Fella II: Wounded". Head on over to my author page for the link to the whole thing! Enjoy the first chapter! This is set several weeks after the first story, nearly a year after the season 3 finale.

Thomas

I sip my tea. I feel proper anxious. Excited. My mug is shaking in me hand.

"I know you're all thinking it!" I turn my attention to Daisy as she stares at Anna and Ivy, looking embarrassed.

"What are we thinking Daisy?" I ask, eager to know whatever I missed. It's only the ladies, Bates, Alfred and I left at the table.

"Nothing." She mumbles, twisting the towel in her hand. Anna turns as she sits adjacent to me.

"Daisy thinks the new chauffeur is, how did she say it?"

"Faces of movie stars? Or a face made of the stars?" Ivy chimes in.

"I think it was the latter." Hughes adds, chuckling. We're all in decent spirits tonight as Christmas is nearing.

"You seen 'em! He's got an angel face. Even the men can admit that, can't you!" Her eyes skip to us that are left but settle on me. Funny thing is, still don't think she knows what I am. Anna shoots me an amused smirk.

"You better be careful Daisy or I might tell 'em your secret." I say with a smile as I set my cup down.

"You can, honest!" Is all she says before a shout from Patmore drags her from the room.

"Oh, the poor girl. Don't think she'll ever know which men are for her, and which are not." Hughes says with a glance at me before leaving the table.

"You can't blame her." Ivy says, getting up when Daisy shouts for her and Alfred, sounding eerily like Patmore. "But I don't know why she thinks he's going to choose her." Alfred follows her out. Bates and Anna glance at me as I light a cigarette.

"Ever think he might already have someone. My goodness." O'Brien says from behind her tea cup, glancing my way. She's trying hard. I haven't spoken to her much since the incident. I meet her gaze for a moment but just that. I feel the eyes of the room on me even if they aren't. My mind has replayed what Bates said those weeks ago, that those who knew about Evan and I didn't mind. Who were they? Well by that statement I could surely narrow it down, but will they mind now?

Carson makes some sort of unsatisfied grunting sound as he rises. "I certainly hope he does for when he arrives I fear he may need a suit of armor."

He telegramed he'd be here soon, but when?

Evan

When I tell them I have been hired into Downton the laugh that escapes them would normally leave me smiling too, for it does sound ridiculous. For that's more than a rare thing. But because of the harsh way they've treated me I take my silent leave before they turn around, leaving my apron on the bar counter. I'm lucky I got my month's wages yesterday. This is all happening so fast that my smile can hardly keep up. Not only will I be employed in a position some would actually kill for, but I will be so close to Thomas. Gaining an actual chance at keeping something truly special. I will have less time to paint now with full time work, but I'll have more food in my belly and I think that's a fair enough trade off. Perhaps one day I could let Robert know of my paintings.

Winter is nearing and the cold wind tells it. The clouds hide all shadows as I walk back to my home. Passing not too many others on the street. Until I see a familiar face.

"Mr. Luke?" It is Mr. Townsend himself, my previous employer and family friend of the Crawley's. He looks right happy to see me. "I had heard you were in town." I smile, heading towards him.

"You heard right," I shake his hand as he holds it out to me. "Though not for long, I will begin chauffeuring for the Crawleys in a matter of days." His brow raises, a smile growing below a thick mustache.

"Is that so? Well they're in luck," but a sorrowful look flashes across his face. "Though I don't suppose that sounds quite right, how are they getting on?" I tell him how they seem, to be healing but will never quite be back to normal. As I speak, he prompts me more about them. About the car, the job.

The wind picks up again, I think a storm is coming in. Mr. Townsend holds his hat down and locks my gaze.

"I've just thought of something. Mr Luke, If you could spare a few more moments, I have a proposition for you."

Nearly an hour after bumping into the kind man I am heading back home again. New changes every day it seems. Things always progressing.

Surely Thomas has gotten my telegram by now. We already know the explanation if someone questions our apparent closeness that we'll try to be keeping tight. We are war friends, been through life and death. That creates a bond most there won't understand anyhow. There is a grain of truth, we were stationed near one another for a time. But I always wonder if I had been in the trench with him, if that would have made our bond stronger, or now impossible.

My window is fogged and I wipe away the condensation. Cleaning my favorite view, where a corner of the river can be seen. An occasional family of ducks. I wonder what my new view will be, I smile at the idea of another surprise in my future. All good things coming. All good things. I wipe the rest of the window clean before going to my bedroom.

I finish my packing, careful with my brushes and few paints I have left. A strong wind rattles the wall. I won't miss that. I take a seat on my bed, and my heart tightens when I pick up a small painting. I did not do it, for I wasn't much good at painting when this was done. It was all flowers and trees for me, I certainly couldn't paint my mother. My mother. The only family I ever truly knew and loved. There are more scattered relations in Wales, somewhere. The idea I was born there will never leave my lips once in the Crawley house, thank goodness for being raised here long enough to speak proper.

The thought of her makes me weak as it does strong. But all thoughts of dinner vanish when I think of my father. How we fled from him. The way he smelled of old cow and whiskey. The sound of his fist colliding with my mother. The way he would smile at me, as he did the times I saw his wretched abuse, and say "one day, you'll understand." The only thing I grew to understand was the severity and dreadfulness of his ways. And only fully did so when as a 5 year old I came to my mother one night, tears on her face that was so bruised. She was crying. And she whispered to me to gather my things.

I try not to think of him. Luckily most of my memories begin in England, in the small shack of a home we managed to pay for with all we had brought. As such a small child I didn't realize just how bad off she was, nor just how lucky we were for the kindness of a stranger.

An older upper middle class woman named Angela, and her husband, William, took us in when we could no longer pay the rent. Angela painted, and taught me the art. William had a car and taught me the wheel. I haven't seen them in years, not much since the passing of my mother. But they kept us in their home for years as part of their family. I smile at the memory, at their laughter when we played charades, of my mother's own giggle especially.

The painting in my hand is one of Angela's. Thankfully my life in Wales are only vague memories to me, where as those years with her are bright like poppies, they truly shaped me. Despite the fear of men like my father, the fear that haunts me to this day, the good and kindness of Angela's heart spread to me like a warm blanket. She was and is still, a constant reminder of the good in the world, the good in people, the goodness love can bring.

I've never told anyone any of this.

I think of Thomas. Yes he can be sour, or so I have heard, but cruel is not of his nature. Least not anymore. Nothing like my father, surely. He has a troubled heart, for he has not had as much luck with kindness in his life like I have. But I try to give that to him. I feel my love has kept him from that dark wallowed place and it hopefully always will.

Thomas

I am finishing up dinner, helping carry the last few things back downstairs when I nearly miss a step and fall on my face. Evan's voice rings out in the kitchen and down the hall. Jimmy is behind me and jokingly accuses me of having finished off the wine before continuing on. Who is Evan talking to? Mrs. Hughes, I think, and a few others. I take a moment, balancing the trays while I steal a glance in the silver and see myself. The only benefit of polishing them so bloody often. My cheeks are flushed. Act natural Thomas,I tell funny about this. Alls they think, or most of them, that he's just a friend. And it's the truth. I go down the hall, setting the trays aside before going to kitchen.

There Evan stands. Like a raven in a pool of setting sunlight, looking so kind and pleased to be here. He glances to me and I smile, I have to pull my eyes from his gaze and say a regular hello before keeping on with my work. I hear Hughes chatting with him like he's one of her ducklings, she likes him already. Think they all do. But think I win that one.

I am helping Alfred put away folded tablecloths when I see him walking down the hall, I step out of the linen closet and touch his arm. "Better kitchen than your old one down the street eh?" Evan smiles, bringing my smile out in skipping heartbeats.

"Absolutely. Everyone here is warm as a hearth. See you later then." He tips his hat, and I nod to him, wanting to hug and touch even but his hand, but I keep my arms to myself and return to the folding.

"Won't have a chance with the girls now that he's here." Alfred says through a whine as he shoves the cloth on a shelf. I turn to him.

"Might have better luck than you think," I say and pat his shoulder before finishing up and sidling out. On my way up I hear Bates' cane clicking behind me, I pause, waiting for him to catch up. It's funny the way I've been feeling the past few weeks. Waiting for people than avoiding.

"Evening Mr. Bates." I say to him. He must have just finished up with Robert for the night.

"I met your friend. He's very happy to be here." He smiles and I look away before nodding.

"He is. He's a good worker."

"And a good driver so I hear?" I nod before stepping up to my door. "Thomas," his tone pulls me about to face him. "Let him know Anna, Hughes and I welcome him for who he is." I am quiet for a moment, looking about before meeting his gaze.

"Thank you." And I slip into my room. I undress to my sleeping clothes and lie awake. The knowledge that the faint glow out in the field, the one I can just see through the fogged pane is Evan, keeps me restless through the night; restless with yearning, anticipation, with happiness. But something else too. Something that's humming through me like an idling engine. Fear. I was so pleased of him coming here, so very pleased. And I still am. But as soon as I saw him the humming started, and I feel it's getting worse. Though I'm not quite sure what I'm afraid of. But dreams that night of past broken hearts, of cheating, lies and faces of men I've lost tell me what it is. But I ignore it all, for there's nothing to fear now. That's what I tell myself at least.

The next morning at breakfast above all the chattering I hear footfalls, Evan's. Soft and gentle amongst the noise of a meal but I notice him immediately. Unlike Carson who starts when Evan speaks.

"Mr. Luke, you walk quieter than a mouse." He rises, meeting his gaze.

"Sorry Mr. Carson. I was just wondering, might I join you all for breakfast? Or any meal really. The house I last chauffeured with had me eat alone. But I'd love to get to know you all." He is nervously fiddling with his cuff, but a smile is on his lips. I refrain from belting out an 'of course' and merely glance about the table. Carson grunts as he speaks.

"Our previous chauffeur dined with us occasionally and since he ended up marrying a lady of the house, I would say you eating with us is just fine." Evan smiles quickly before nodding.

Hughes speaks up. "Please, sit. We're eager to know you as well." And it doesn't take more than a few words out of his mouth before nearly everyone is locked onto what he is saying. Taking in each word like a new book, his voice does that. Pulls you in. But not in a bad way, not in a conniving way you see. Charismatic is what he is. Though he's also so much more. Seeing him at our table like so, in a chauffeurs outfit, as one of us, it is so queer. But I can't stop smiling at the prospect, and smile even more knowing I can fight this fear and win it. I know I can because I already am.

At a glance at the clock Carson is the one who ends the conversing between us all and him, the ladies look sure disappointed but Jimmy looks relieved. He would. It's a strange thing, somewhere during the mending of our friendship my heart wandered away from him, and as soon as I met Evan it's like it never knew him at all.

"I'd love to see how an engine works sometime." Ivy says to Evan as she passes, following Daisy out. I scoot in my chair and wander over to him as he's thanking Patmore for the meal.

"You're one mighty popular boy." I say as I pull out a cigarette. Hughes pauses as she passes.

"We know a good man when we see one." She pats his back before speaking with Carson about something with the Servant's ball.

"She speaks the truth." I see him eying the healing bruise on my face from the assault O'Brien nearly set up after finding out about us those weeks ago. And I see words surface in his eyes that he can't say here. He says it through a squeeze of my shoulder, a long look that sends my heart through my veins as I want to hold him. But the eyes of the house pushes me away.

"Hows the cottage working out?" He keeps my eyes in his as he speaks.

"Very well. But it won't seem like a home till I have a visitor."

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