The spring of 1922 was sodden with rain; a record-breaking year, they said, and the grounds around Downton had flooded so much that ducks had used it as a pond for most of April. The drowned flowers had bloomed late- and some not at all, and summer had come upon them so quickly that it was almost startling. By late May, the leaves on the trees were dark green and large from the rain, the branches weighed down heavily almost overnight. As it began to grow warmer, the house was blanketed in waves of fog and sticky humidity, and there had been several violent thunderstorms by the beginning of June.

It was a fitting summer for the mood in the house, it seemed. Only the year before, Matthew Crawley had died, and Lady Sybil the year before that. There seemed to be very little room left for merriment or enjoyment of pleasant weather, and the mourning family had kept themselves indoors for most of it so far.

Thomas did not mind at all, however- in fact, he did not find the weather unpleasant in the least. The smell of the dirt in the air, of wet, growing things, the contrast of the green leaves against the grey sky- though most of the downstairs set seemed to carry on about the foul weather, he enjoyed it silently. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the sun as well, but he found no point in complaining about something as uncontrollable as the weather.

At breakfast, the small windows in the servant's hall were thrown open, letting in the cool but damp morning air, and the lights were on as though it were fully dark; an odd, orange glow against the grey light from the windows. The cloud cover made it hard to tell if it was early morning or late afternoon, giving the disorienting impression that is was closer to lunch than breakfast. Thomas sat down at the table and lit his second cigarette of the day- and though breakfast was not even ready, most of the servants were seated already.

"It's not exactly hot." Alfred was saying to Jimmy, across the table. "But I barely slept a wink last night."

Jimmy nodded and hummed noncommittally by way of answer, dark hollows under his eyes. Thomas refrained from asking Jimmy how he'd slept- though it was clear by the look of him- making the decision, as he did often, that it would be overstepping the boundaries of friendship.

"It's not so bad." He said instead, and both Alfred and Jimmy looked up at him. He rested his cigarette in his mouth and opened up the morning paper.

"Not so bad? My shirt is sticking to me already. I don't know how anyone can stand this weather." Alfred groused.

Jimmy laughed once, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "Don't you have anything better to do than complain, Alfred? It's far too early in the morning for that."

Alfred pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "I guess I'm not the only one who woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He said, frowning, and left the hall, likely to voice his opinions to Daisy and Ivy in the kitchen.

Thomas chuckled, meeting Jimmy's eyes for a moment. "You look awful." He said, flicking ash from his cigarette into the nearby ashtray. Of course, it wasn't true, exactly. Jimmy looked- well, he looked stunning as usual; his hair was arranged perfectly, he was dressed neatly, his face was as lovely to Thomas as ever- but his eyes tracked up to Thomas's slowly, and the hollows under them were obvious and dark.

"I only hope I don't look as bad as I feel." Jimmy answered, resting his chin in his hand.

"Wasn't it your half day? Didn't see you come in last night." Thomas said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He hadn't seen Jimmy come in the night before, but he wasn't about to admit to what time he'd stayed up waiting.

"I was out all night." Jimmy admitted, sighing wearily. Thomas tried to not let his distress register on his face. Jimmy was a grown man, and he clearly wanted the time to himself, but Thomas could not help but worry about him.

"You're lucky Carson didn't notice." Thomas said, pausing for a beat."You're not in any trouble, are you?" He asked lowly, against his better judgment- remembering the fair, now nearly a year gone, and the beating he'd taken on Jimmy's behalf. The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"What?" Jimmy asked, sitting up straight. Thomas regretted asking immediately, sensing that he had overstepped- as he tried not to. "Of course not, why would you say that?"

Thomas shrugged, turning his eyes to his newspaper. "No reason," he answered, affecting nonchalance. In his peripheral vision, he watched Jimmy study him for a long moment, a deep frown creasing his face.

Anna and Bates arrived from their cottage shortly thereafter. "That's the second morning in a row," Anna said to the table as she sat, in soft tones. "Poor things."

Thomas glanced up from his paper briefly, his eyes flicking over Jimmy before they settled on Anna. "The rabbits?" He asked, bringing his cigarette up to his lips.

"Yes." She nodded. "All along the outside of the yard. These ones are new. They'd been cleaned up yesterday when we walked home."

"Must be a fox around or something." Thomas answered, shrugging. "Or a bunch of foxes." He'd seen the mutilated rabbit corpses the day before, as the hallboys had scrambled to clean them up, and they hadn't been pretty. Mutilated was the right word, as well, because most of them had been bitten right in half.

"There's a wolf out there." Daisy's appeared in the doorway, carrying the plates for breakfast. Thomas looked over his shoulder at her, raising his eyebrows, but her face was drawn, her lips pressed firmly together.

Bates laughed gently, shaking his head. "There aren't any wolves in Yorkshire, Daisy- nor anywhere in Britain. Not for hundreds of years, at least."

Daisy placed the plates down on the table, her eyes full of serious, gullible fear. "But I heard it howling last night! I woke up to get a glass of water, and I heard it howling at the moon."

"But there weren't any moon out last night, it was raining." Jimmy said, his face sour.

Thomas shot him an amused glance before turning back to Daisy. "Dogs howl too. Maybe you heard Isis. Or a stray."

"You all don't know for sure." Daisy insisted. "I'm the one who heard it. Maybe someone had a pet and it got loose. And the rabbits..." She shivered, returning to the kitchen quickly.

Anna sighed, looking around the table. "I'm sure it's nothing. But they are a little unnerving. And the farmers complaining about sheep getting picked off..."

"A pack of strays then." Thomas said, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray as Carson entered the room, and they all stood.

They ate breakfast in near-silence, the heavy, muggy air settling oppressively over the room as the sun rose higher, somewhere far behind the wall of clouds. Mrs. Patmore passed by in the corridor, ushering Miss Douglas- the new cook from the Crawley House- to the door. "That should get you through the week, but whatever you do, don't use too much of it, or you'll be sorry-" Mrs. Patmore was directing loudly as they walked by. Jimmy frowned over his teacup, his eyes tracking the women in the corridor.

"What is it?" Thomas asked him quietly, wondering if he was sore over Mrs. Patmore had telling him off for something. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, his eyes connecting with Miss Douglas's through the doorway before she past out of view.

"She's always looking at you." Jimmy answered, and Thomas was taken aback for a moment, but he shook his head. "Mrs. Patmore?" He screwed up his face in distaste, but he knew that Jimmy meant the new cook.

Jimmy tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at him. "You know who I mean."

"Well, that's too bad." Thomas pushed away his plate and picked up a cigarette and his lighter. "Though I suppose I could give it a try, you never know." He said, lighting his cigarette.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but set down his teacup a moment later, wincing. "What's wrong?" Thomas asked, watching pain flit across Jimmy's face.

"Nothing." Jimmy answered, tightly. "I burnt my hand yesterday, is all."

"I have a salve for that-" Thomas said, hissing when Jimmy flashed his hand at him across the table. The burn was bright red, even in the dim light, splashing across his palm and the tips of his fingers. "-I'll get it for you." He stood, pushing his chair in.

"You don't have to, right now." Jimmy said, as Thomas tucked his pack of cigarettes into his jacket pocket.

"I have some papers I left upstairs, anyway." He lied, so Jimmy would not think he was being overly solicitous, and headed for the stairs and his room.

The burn looked awful, though, and he knew that Jimmy would likely keep it to himself rather than have Carson reprimand him for injuring something that might interfere with his work. As if he could have kept an accident from happening, he thought, snorting to himself, but he knew he was right, as absurd as it was.

Thomas lingered in his room for a while after finding the salve in a drawer; a relic from the earlier days of his war wound. Make it look like you have things to gather, he told himself, as he selected a book from his small collection to bring downstairs with him. He stood at his window for a moment, watching the ceaseless roiling of the clouds above.

Things had been like that between he and Jimmy, always sort of half-on, half-off. They had a serviceable friendship now, but there was always that unspoken something, that uncomfortable touch of memory underlining their interactions. Thomas tried his best to keep from being overly familiar, but he knew that he failed sometimes, miserably. And though Jimmy mostly did not mention it, Thomas knew that he noticed it- but lately, things were more off than they were on. Thomas tried to pinpoint the exact moment when it had happened, but he could not- because there were still times when Jimmy would step away from him, as though he were standing too close- and then there were other times, when Jimmy would sit next to him during meals or nudge him with his elbow when Alfred said something particularly stupid, or when Carson assigned them extra work.

Thomas sighed, rolling the small tin of salve in his hand, and closed the window in anticipation of the rain before he took the stairs back down.

It was strange for Thomas, that his feelings for Jimmy were still so intense, that the pain they caused was still so sharp and new even when he knew they would never be returned. He had made an effort to put Jimmy out of his thoughts- as much as he could, when the reminder of him was so constant- but he still loved Jimmy, try as he might to stop himself. It was a weak spot that he could not protect, an irritatingly vulnerable part of himself that was exposed. And it was foolish as well; to love someone so unconditionally and without reservation, and to be content with whatever he got from them.

Jimmy was not in the servant's hall when he returned, and he checked the kitchen, but only found Alfred hovering near Ivy while she scrambled to arrange the Ladies' breakfast trays. "Seen Jimmy?" He asked them, leaning in through the doorway. "I think he's speaking to Mr. Carson," Alfred answered.

Thomas turned on his heel and headed towards Carson's office, hearing the butler's raised voice in the corridor. The door to his office was open, however, and Thomas lingered outside it for a moment, trying to catch his words.

"-the same thing a few weeks ago, James, if I recall!" Carson's voice was very stern, and gaining volume, as though he was about to become angry.

"I know -out of my control-" Jimmy answered, his voice low enough that Thomas missed some of his words. "-I won't take a single afternoon for the rest of the month- after tomorrow, I swear it-"

Thomas rapped his knuckles against the door jamb in announcement, spurred on by the conversation he'd had with Jimmy at breakfast. "I can pick up his work for tonight, Mr. Carson. And tomorrow if need be," he said, before he'd thought it through. Fear suddenly gripped him over whatever business Jimmy had gotten mixed up in- the lack of sleep, the burn on his hand- he glanced over at Jimmy, and saw the barest hint of panic on his face.

Mr. Carson sighed heavily, and made as if to speak, his hand hovering in the air over his desk. "Alright-" He finally conceded, with a dour expression. "But if you continue to need days at a time off, James-" He threatened. "Then perhaps the job of first footman is not for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." Jimmy said tightly, nodding, before he hurried for the door.

Thomas followed him into the corridor, where Jimmy paused when they were reasonably out of earshot of Carson's office. "You didn't have to do that." Jimmy said, half-frowning.

"It's fine." Thomas insisted, fishing the tin of salve from his waistcoat pocket. "For your burn." He said, passing it to Jimmy, who took it from him awkwardly with his unburnt right hand.

"Thank you," Jimmy said, staring at it for a long moment. Thomas stood still before him, wondering if Jimmy expected him to walk away, or say something.

Jimmy's eyes flicked up to his face quickly, almost startling Thomas with the contrast of his slow movements throughout the morning. "What is it?" He asked, unsteadily, as though Jimmy had taken offense to him suddenly.

"Nothing..." Jimmy said, his voice drowsy. They were standing close already, but Jimmy took a step closer, into Thomas's space, and lifted his left hand, pressing it against Thomas's chest.

Thomas took a hitching breath at the unexpected touch, his heart skipping a beat. When his pulse returned it came in flutters, try as he might to control himself. He could feel the warmth of Jimmy's palm through the layers of cloth over his skin, pressing firmly as though holding him in place against some invisible wall. Jimmy's were eyes locked into his, and they were standing so close that Thomas could see his pupils dilate in the dim light.

"Jimmy-" Thomas said, unable to think up anything else to say. As alarmed as he was by Jimmy's behavior, he was arrested by the touch, and fought against leaning into it.

Jimmy took a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly- and he closed his eyes, his brow creasing as if in concentration, and stepped back, removing his hand. He swallowed, and said, "Thank you," again, but Thomas could barely hear his voice over the hammering of his heartbeat in his own ears.

"Ah, you- you're welcome-" Thomas managed to answer, nodding. He glanced around, remembering where they were, and hoping no one had witnessed the moment. Not that it had been anything on Jimmy's part- anything but a combination of exhaustion and whatever else he was going through-

The corridor was empty, though, save for the two of them, and Thomas realized that the moment had maybe only been a few seconds- though it felt like it had drawn out for minutes. His skin was still tingling where Jimmy's hand had been.

Jimmy tucked the tin of salve into his pocket. "I have work to be doing-" He muttered, and turned away from Thomas, heading for the kitchen.

Thomas was awake late into the evening, reading the book he had brought down from his room that morning. Jimmy had changed and left after luncheon was served to the family, and had not returned for many hours. Thomas had worried when he waited up the night before, but this night his worry had blossomed into full-fledged anxiety, and he smoked his cigarettes end to end, until the pack was nearly empty.

His eyes scanned the pages of the book unseeingly, and he set it down on the table for what must have been the twentieth time within the hour, tapping his fingers impatiently against it's cover. He glanced at his watch, and realized that it was very late, indeed- close to three. His anxiety doubled, driving him out of his chair and out into the night air of the courtyard.

If he doesn't show up in ten minutes, I'm going to sleep, he told himself, with a conviction that he did not feel. He was too keyed up to sleep, and he knew he wouldn't until Jimmy returned. I knew he was in trouble, Thomas thought, shaking his head.

His mind went again to the memory of Jimmy's hand on his chest that morning, as it had a thousand times during the day. The spot, opposite of his heart, felt as though a weight rested on it still, as if the burn on Jimmy's palm had left an imprint on his skin, through his clothes. Pathetic, he thought to himself, as he rubbed at the spot with his hand, that you'll hold on to something so small from him-

Something was wrong with Jimmy, though- he owed someone a debt or was in trouble or so exhausted he could barely keep awake. Thomas felt a sharp pang of anxiety again, and his eyes darted around the courtyard frantically, as though he would catch sight of Jimmy returning at any moment.

The clouds had threatened to spill all night, but hadn't. Thomas heard a far-off a roll of thunder, and a distant flash of lightning lit the horizon with a flare of purple-grey. "Hurry it up, will ya?" He said aloud, quietly. "Before it pours."

Thomas reached into his pocket, removing the last cigarette from his pack, and his lighter. He flicked the lighter open and lit the end of the cigarette, all ambient light blotted out for a moment by the orange glow of the flame. His eyes scanned the courtyard, catching for a moment on two small points of light by the far wall, and he startled, dropping his lighter into the dirt. He was rendered blind for a few seconds as his eyes readjusted to the dark, and he scrambled for the lighter, finding it in the dirt by feel alone.

There's what got the rabbits- he thought, resting his cigarette in his mouth and flicking the lighter again, this time away from his face. The eyes- if that's what they had been, were gone now, and he looked around quickly, trying to find them again, forcing back a prickle of unease. Those eyes were too high up to be a fox, it must be a dog, like I thought before, he told himself, and he took his cigarette from his mouth with his free hand, and whistled softly.

"Come here, doggie." He whispered, whistling again, and the light from the flame caught eyes again as the face of whatever animal it was turned towards him. It was by the courtyard wall again, in a different spot, as though it was trying to navigate it's way out without being seen.

"That's alright-" He whispered, inching closer. His lighter was growing hot, so he closed it, and wandered closer to the animal in the pitch dark. Lightning flashed briefly, throwing diffuse light over the house. Thomas squinted, making out the shape of the animal, huddled against the wall in fright.

It was large- a large dog, or maybe that was just the way the shadows looked from the lightning, he couldn't be sure. "There now, don't run off-" He said, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He held his hands out, cigarette in one, lighter in the other. "You've been causing a lot of trouble, haven't you?"

Thunder clapped loudly overhead, and Thomas flinched. The dog darted away, deeper into the courtyard, and Thomas lost sight of it. Lightning struck again, this time not behind the clouds, but somewhere in the nearby fields, and it lit up the night as if it were day for an instant. "Shit-" Thomas whispered, worrying again about Jimmy, but he caught sight of the dog crouched in the corner, hiding behind the rubbish bins.

Thomas crept closer, trying not to frighten the skittish creature. It turned circles in the corner, and Thomas thought maybe it was shivering, but it was impossible to tell in the darkness. "It's alright, you don't need to run off- I'm not gonna hurt ya-" Thomas took a long drag off his cigarette and threw it, and tucked his lighter away. He reached his hands out again, placating.

The dog started growling softly when he was a few yards away, and he paused. "S'alright-" He said, in the gentlest tones he could. He took a slow step forward, but the growling grew much louder, and he swallowed.

"Don't you growl at me, I'm not going to do anything, I just want to look at you." Thomas said. "There's no reason to be scared, you're the one lurking around here for scraps- scaring Anna with the rabbits and Daisy with your howling-"

He inched forward, reaching his gloved hand out, and the growling faltered and stopped. The dog hesitated for a few long moments, but then craned it's neck out, sniffing in the direction of Thomas's hand. Thomas let out the breath he'd been holding, and crept closer still.

"There, that's a good dog." He said, running his fingertips across the bridge of its nose. He took a shaking breath, and was momentarily stunned by his own stupidity in approaching the possibly dangerous animal. It appeared to be calm, but it was backed into a corner, and if it's bite was vicious enough to rip small animals in half, his arm wouldn't fare much better.

The dog took an unsteady step away from the wall, pushing the top of it's head forcefully against the palm of Thomas's hand. It's fur was soft under his fingers, and Thomas relaxed, stepping closer still, running his hand over it's head again. "Hello, you." He said, and lightning flashed again, illuminating the yard, and he got a good look at the animal.

"Oh-" He said, almost stumbling backwards, but caught himself against the sudden movement. The dog was huge, and it's back hit him at mid-thigh. Its head was easily twice the size of Isis's- or any dog large dog he'd seen, ever- with longish fur, and bright eyes that reflected the lightning clearly.

That's no dog, the thought came unbidden, and he remembered Daisy's fearful face, insisting that there was a wolf around. No, couldn't be- he thought, feeling a tremor in his limbs. He'd never seen a wolf in person, of course- but if he ever saw one, this is what he would have expected it to look like-

The creature bowed it's head and stood still, as if awaiting the return of Thomas's hand. "No, you're no wolf-" He said, but thought of the rabbits, and the sheep. "You're just an exotic breed, I bet." Or an exotic pet, taken back from some Lord's trip to the mountains. He petted it's fur again, pressing his shaking fingers to the top of the animal's head.

That's a bloody wolf. His brain told him, and he fought down his fear. No, that's impossible.

He closed his eyes, thinking of Jimmy. Please just get back soon, I'm standing outside petting a wolf and waiting for you. He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it. And it's almost dawn, he thought, opening his eyes. His eyes were adjusted fully to the dark, but it was getting light enough that he could see dim shapes around him; the walls, stacks of crates to the right, the wolf-dog in front of him. It hard to tell much about it other than shape and size, but it seemed to be light-furred; white on its paws and chest, blending into a slightly darker color over the top of its head and back. "At least you're tame." He said, frowning.

It whined and bumped it's head against Thomas's leg, the animal's strength almost enough to knock him off his feet. "Woah, hey, don't do that-" He stumbled, and it whined again, nuzzling against his hand. "I don't know what you want!"

The wolf brushed by his leg, and Thomas lost sight of it as it walked away. Thunder cracked ominously above him, and the subsequent flash of lightning revealed the animal standing by the opening in the wall that led out on to the grounds. It was turned away from him, but facing back, watching Thomas, as if waiting for him to follow. It's eyes shown in the pre-dawn gloom, catching the flickering light.

"You're not serious, are you?" Thomas asked it, reaching for his cigarettes before remembering he'd thrown most of his last one into the dirt.

"Woooo..." The wolf made a quiet sound at Thomas, and it sent shivers down his spine. If that's what Daisy heard, it's no wonder what she thought. "I'm not following you into the thunderstorm, dammit!" He hissed.

It yelped at him in response, pacing around in a circle. Thomas felt an stab of fear suddenly, and was overcome by an irrational thought: what if it was leading him to Jimmy? I must be dreaming to think up something like that, he told himself, but his panic urged him forward, his mind filled with visions of Jimmy laying hurt somewhere in the woods.

"Alright, fine-" He jogged after the wolf, feeling a few light drops of rain hit his face. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever-" The wolf darted away from him and into the fields, and Thomas lurched after it, following it out into the exposed grounds. The clouds rolled above him, and the once-distant rumbles of thunder had moved much closer, and had become more frequent. The wide, manicured lawns around Downton were the last place anyone wanted to be during a thunderstorm, but he kept his eyes on the wolf, and hurried after it towards the treeline.

He broke into the woods at a run, just as the rushing noise of rain hitting the leaves on the trees began. He stumbled over fallen branches and thorn bushes, caught up suddenly in deja vu, remembering the morning he had frantically searched for Isis after hiding her. The wolf lingered ahead of him, pausing when he slowed, and rushing off ahead again when he caught up. The leaves on the ground were soon slick with rain and mud, and he struggled to keep his feet under him, hoping against hope that he would find Jimmy, or that Jimmy had slipped into the house before the rain had started, and he'd missed him somehow.

The wolf stopped running by the base of an old pine tree, it's heavy canopy of pine needles creating an odd circle of dry dirt on the forest floor. Thomas skidded to a halt, breathing heavily, and leaned over with his hands braced on his knees. His shirt and waistcoat were soaked, and he'd left his jacket over his chair in the servant's hall. Rainwater dripped off his hair and ran into his eyes.

"Well?" He shouted at the animal, over the noise of the rain and thunder. "What is it?!"

The wolf whined and turned in a circle again, and Thomas inched closer to it, ducking, until he was under the branches of the tree. The wolf moved around the trunk of it, and Thomas, crouching, moved forward, and saw that there was a small suitcase tucked against the roots.

He sucked in a sharp breath, struck by a formless sense of dread at the sight, and nearly tripped himself on the roots in his haste to get to the suitcase. The top of it was rippled with moisture, and it was clasped but unlocked. Thomas grasped the handle and pulled it out into the dim light, his wet hands slipping over the leather as he fumbled to open it. The case creaked open roughly, the hinges rusted from the rain. Inside there were clothes; a shirt, trousers and a jacket, all neatly folded, and a pair of shoes, too- and he rifled through them, squinting. Under the clothes was a blanket that the damp had gotten into, giving off a musty smell. But the clothes were mostly dry, and Thomas picked up the shirt as he looked over at the wolf.

"Why did you bring me here?" He asked it, though the animal had laid down and gone to sleep on the dry ground, and it opened it's eyes at his voice, slowly blinking. "Whose are these?" He asked aloud, feeling a crawling sense of unease.

He replaced the shirt, and his hands stilled over the jacket. Something struck him about it that he couldn't quite place, and he picked it up, and brought it close to his face, inspecting it. Oh god, he thought, his stomach twisting itself in knots before his mind could even put words to the thought. Oh god, these are Jimmy's, these are Jimmy's clothes! The smell of his soap and aftershave still lingered on the cloth, and Thomas had a flash of memory from the afternoon, when Jimmy had waved goodbye to him from the doorway as he left, wearing this exact suit.

"Oh god-" He mumbled, and his vision blurred with tears. "Oh god no-" He's probably in a ditch, or buried somewhere out here- he's dead... he's dead he's dead, his mind was overcome with the thought, and his hands curled into the fabric of of the jacket, his knuckles going white.

The unreality of the moment overwhelmed him; Jimmy touching him in the corridor, his gaze unfixed, the burn on his palm, his sleepless eyes over the table- and then the wolf- a creature that did not exist in nature, not here anyway, leading him into the woods to a suitcase of Jimmy's things. He looked up, and in the dreary, rain-filled early morning light, he did not see the wolf, sleeping under the umbrella of pine needles, as it had just a moment before.

Instead, where the wolf had slept, lay Jimmy- unclothed, his loose hair ruffled softly by the wind. Thomas let out a cry- in anguish, or relief, or surprise, he couldn't be sure, but he dropped the jacket into the suitcase and crawled across the dirt to look at Jimmy's face. He had to look at him, just to be sure- but the wolf, where did the wolf go? He thought, unwilling to believe the answer that sprung into the front of his mind.

Jimmy's eyes were closed in sleep, and he was breathing, the movement of his chest visible in the half-light of dawn. His face was streaked with dirt and rain, and his hands and feet were covered in a coat of dried mud- but he looked unharmed, otherwise. Numbly, Thomas reached for the suitcase and pulled the musty blanket from underneath Jimmy's clothes, and threw it over him, carefully, as though not to wake him. He let his trembling fingers brush over Jimmy's hair, quickly- just to make sure of the solid reality of him, and then sat back on his heels.

Jimmy, and the wolf- The wolf was there, and then it was gone, and there was Jimmy, he thought, shaking his head at himself, as his mind made the conclusions for him. The wolf- there was no wolf. Or there was, but the wolf was Jimmy.

NO, that's not possible!

But there was evidence, too- Jimmy disappearing until dawn on the three nights when the moon was fullest- and he'd done so the month before, as well. Thomas recalled how Carson had shouted about it when he'd been listening from outside his door. Carson had thought it had been a only few weeks previous, but if Thomas counted off the days in his head, it was a bit longer. And the suitcase, left in the rain, with a blanket, and Jimmy's clothes, which he would have changed out of- and the rabbits- and the sheep, and Daisy hearing howling in the wee hours of the morning-

Jimmy stirred, his brow furrowing, and Thomas stumbled backwards, and walked away as quickly as he could manage without making too much noise. He had no idea what Jimmy thought had happened, or if he remembered anything- and he didn't want him to wake up, naked, with Thomas leaning over him, and no memory of the night before- he felt sick at the thought, and deranged and in shock from what he'd seen.

He pressed his back against a tree, when he was a suitable distance away. His hands were shaking violently, and his clothes were soaked through, chilling him. The thunder and lighting had moved off into the distance again, but he longed for a cigarette and to wake up in his bed, the whole night having been a strange, terrible dream. Things like this aren't real, he thought. Mrs. Patmore's been slipping opium into to the tea, maybe. It was, in all honesty, a more likely explanation.

You have to go back, he told himself, as he pushed away from the tree. He stood still for a moment, looking to the edge of the treeline, and then back the way he'd come. Just go back and say you were looking everywhere for him. He's sick, he's probably scared, he needs help- You can't just leave him there. Hesitantly, he headed back towards the pine tree where he'd left Jimmy. He wondered, deliriously, if he would see Jimmy there at all, or if he'd fallen asleep at the table in the servant's hall and had sleepwalked all the way to the woods, carried along by a dream.

But he did see Jimmy, and before Jimmy saw him. He put his body behind a nearby tree, and watched Jimmy from a distance. Jimmy was half-dressed, still sitting under the tree, and buttoning his shirt up slowly. Thomas was too far to really see him, but he could tell enough that Jimmy was staring off into the distance. Jimmy finished buttoning his shirt and paused, hunching over, his shoulders shaking visibly. He dropped his face into his hands and sobbed, loud enough that Thomas could hear him over the rain when the wind blew in his direction.

I've never seen him cry before, Thomas thought, and it pained him to see it now; a private moment that he could not look away from. He almost went to Jimmy then, but something held him back. He doesn't want me to see this. He'll think I've been following him. He doesn't want me to comfort him. I'm no good at comforting people, anyhow.

Jimmy shook himself, threw his waistcoat and jacket over his arm, and pushed the suitcase back under the roots of the tree. He stood, his head brushing against the low branches of the pine tree, releasing a small waterfall of droplets from off the needles, and stepped out into the rain. He walked slowly out of the woods, in the direction they'd come before, when Jimmy hadn't been Jimmy, but had been a wolf-

Thomas shook his head to clear his thoughts. No. There was just no way that Jimmy could be- things like that didn't exist. They didn't. They did not.

He gave Jimmy a good lead before heading back to the house. There was a small puddle of rainwater just inside the door, and he followed Jimmy's wet shoe prints up the stairs, splitting off to his own bedroom. He stripped out of his waterlogged suit- it would need to be properly cleaned, and he hung it carefully by the door. He laid in bed, and tried to sleep, but his mind was numb, and he reviewed everything he'd seen over and over again until it meant nothing to him anymore. The touch, the wolf, Jimmy- he dozed off fitfully, until his alarm woke him too few hours later.

The next morning, it felt to Thomas as if something had shifted- as if there was something strange about the air. The feeling downstairs was tense and layered with unspoken words. It looked much the same as the day before; overcast, the lights on- except that it was still drizzling outside, and the rain had brought it a wave of muggy, uncomfortable warmth.

Jimmy had not yet come down by the time Thomas had started on his second cup of coffee- a necessity to keep awake, after the night before. Can't say as I blame him, he thought. Running around all night- he pushed the thought away. No, it's impossible.

Jimmy arrived to breakfast a few minutes after everyone had sat down to eat. His eyes were red from the lack of sleep and the hollows beneath them were even more visible than the previous morning. A vision of him crying under the pine tree flashed into Thomas's mind, unbidden- but all thought was erased from his mind when Jimmy's eyes met his across the table. He took a sharp breath at the unexpected intensity of Jimmy's gaze- there was something tangible about it, as though there were an electric current that passed between them, lingering from the storm the night before.

Jimmy did not drop his gaze, but kept his eyes locked on Thomas's for a long second after he sat at the table. Thomas felt a moment of anxiety for a reason he could not name- as though the look contained confirmation about the night before. Yes, it's true, he imagined Jimmy thinking. Yes, I remember you being there. But Jimmy took a deep breath- as he had the day before, when he'd pulled his hand away from where it rested on Thomas's chest- and broke eye contact.

Thomas wondered if Jimmy did remember he'd been there, or if his altered state had wiped the memories from his mind, upon his return to his normal form. He walked back to the house alone, Thomas reasoned, feeling a pang of guilt. But then, he would've thought you'd have run away by then.

"There was an animal attack in the village last night." Bates announced to the silent table. "Mr. Fletcher- who works at the post office- he was bitten by something." Anna nodded solemnly at his side, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The news drew collective gasps. Thomas's heart skipped a beat, and Jimmy's head jerked up quickly, the expression on his face catching Thomas's eye. He looked horrified; quietly stunned, his lips parted as if in silent protest. The rabbits, the sheep, Thomas thought, and now this.

"What sort of animal attacked him?" Carson asked, the high pitch of his voice the only thing betraying his shock.

Bates shook his head. "That's just it, no one knows. He's in a state- and he refuses to tell anyone anything except to insist that he was attacked by a wolf. Whatever it was tore up his left shoulder, though I didn't see it myself."

Jimmy swallowed and looked at his plate, his eyes shifting back and forth. He's trying to remember, Thomas thought, feeling a prickling unease work it's way up his spine. But he could never do that- could he?

"I don't like all this talk of wolves." Mrs. Hughes said, shivering visibly.

"Nor do I." Mr. Carson shook his head.

Thomas watched Jimmy take a deep breath, his eyes downcast, his shaking hands holding his fork and knife numbly, hovering in the air above his plate.

"Nor do any of us." Anna said, a frown in her voice. "I hope Daisy doesn't hear about it, she was scared half to death already."

"There must be some logical explanation." Carson reasoned, clearing his throat. "Everyone knows perfectly well that there are no wolves anywhere near Downton."

"If you'll excuse me I left something upstairs-" Jimmy's hurried words ran together, and he dropped his silverware on to his plate with a clatter. The legs of his chair scraped across the floor as he pushed away from the table and retreated from the room. No one but Thomas registered his leaving with anything but a brief glance, still too shocked from the news of the attack.

Thomas swallowed hard, his eyes lingering over the space Jimmy had occupied. He felt as thought it was his burden now as well- whatever unnatural thing was happening to Jimmy, it was his secret, too because he'd seen it- his secret to protect. And if Jimmy really was- it was so unbelievable that he could barely put words to it in his mind- but if Jimmy was turning into a wolf and attacking people in the village on the full moon, he would need someone to keep an eye on him. Thomas couldn't very well let Jimmy be caught- whatever it was that this strange affliction drove him to.