A/N: This is my first attempt at a story with multiple chapters. I'm going to try to upload new chapters quickly.

Chapter 1

It was the middle of winter, and night, cold and dark, had settled around the abbey. Outside, the sky was clear, and the air was still, as if frozen in place. Inside the servant's hall, it was only slightly warmer. After a long day's work, all of the downstairs denizens had retired to their beds, save two men: a certain footman and under butler. Jimmy and Thomas, as was their usual habit for the past several months, were sitting across from one another in the servants' hall, playing cards by the dim glow of a single electric light, talking on and off about whatever came to mind.

"Funny 'bout Alfred and Ivy, huh?" Jimmy pondered.

Thomas didn't even look up from his cards, well used to Jimmy's odd conversational shifts by now. "Everything about Alfred is a bit funny; you'll have to be more specific."

"Har-har. You know what I mean, though. Just never fancied I'd see Ivy being sweet on him. They've both been mooning over one another lately."

"Mm. Your turn." Thomas said.

"Hm? Oh. Well," Jimmy continued, setting down a three of clubs, "It's just really gettin' a bit nauseating, if you ask me." Thomas set down an eight of hearts.

"Diamonds," was Thomas' only reply.

"It's- damn it! You know I haven't got any of those." He drew the last two cards in the pile, and found himself at a loss. "What do you do if the deck's all used up then?"

"Just turn over the other one and draw from there."

Jimmy complied, drawing five more before he found what he needed. "This game is awful boring, Thomas," he pouted.

"Well, you're the one that wanted to play something new…besides, you're only sayin' that 'cause you're losing," Thomas grinned cheekily, peering over his cards at the footman.

Jimmy scowled at him. "No, I have more cards, I'm winning."

Thomas sighed. "I told ya, you need to get rid of your cards. And you've got damn near twenty in your hand right now."

"Wha- you're just sayin' that, so you can win! You told me to pick up cards, now I have more than you, and you turn the tables on me!" Jimmy fumed, "You cheating bastard."

Thomas only chuckled at the insult. They rarely got through any kind of game nowadays without Jimmy accusing Thomas of cheating. The fact of the matter was, Thomas was simply the better card player. And they both knew it, which only served to incense Jimmy further, making him more determined to win, and even angrier about losing.

Jimmy childishly stuck his tongue out at him, and slapped another card down.

"I couldn't care less really," Thomas said. He put down another eight. "Diamonds," he said again, smugly.

"About what? Bloody hell," Jimmy swore, forced to draw another three cards.

"Ivy and that bean pole." Thomas continued, "Couples. Bates and Anna. Annoying, the lot of 'em."

"Me neither," Jimmy shrugged. Then, "Alright, you rigged this deck, I know you did. Or you're hidin' cards up your sleeve. I swear you've put down at least five eights by now."

Thomas snorted. "First of all, it's your deck. Second, I have not, you're just sore about losing," he said. "Which you are. Badly," he added.

Jimmy scoffed, "You just wait, Mr. Barrow. I'll best you yet." He put down the six of diamonds. Thomas put down the six of hearts. Jimmy frowned at that, and then suddenly said, "What do you think of the new maid comin' in, then?"

Seemingly caught a bit off guard by the question, Thomas took a moment to answer. "I don't know. Don't particularly care much. She'll probably go the way of the last few soon enough," he grimaced, recalling what he'd heard of Ethel, and what he'd remembered of Edna, her successor.

"You think? I wonder if she'll be settin' her sights on Branson as well," Jimmy mused. He'd heard all about the 'scandals' involving the previous maids from Thomas during one of their past card games a few months back. He slyly put down the nine of spades as he spoke, hoping the other man wouldn't notice. Thomas noticed.

"James, if you're going to cheat, you need to at least try it with the same color suit. Even if I were dumb enough to read that as a six, there's no way I'm confusing a spade for a heart," he laughed, and Jimmy swore again, loudly. Thomas laughed a little harder at that, and Jimmy couldn't help but grin a little in return. It was nice to hear Thomas laugh, he thought to himself. That genuine, throaty laugh was so rare a thing, that Jimmy (secretly) took pride in being the cause of it.

The first time he'd heard Thomas laugh, truly laugh, he'd been shocked. It had happened in the late summer, earlier that year, after they'd both gone out on a shared half-day and each had one too many pints at the pub. On their way back, Jimmy had bent down to pick up what he'd thought was a shilling, overbalanced, and landed hard on his bottom in the mud, making a loud squelching noise.

Thomas had immediately gone into a fit of boisterous laughter, as Jimmy just sat there dumbly in the wet muck. To make matters worse, the 'shilling', as it turned out, had been a button all along. Thomas, of course, had found that even funnier. He'd tucked it into Jimmy's jacket pocket, and, very solemnly, said, "Here now, Mr. Kent. Don't go and spend it all in one place." And because they were both very drunk, they'd giggled like schoolchildren at that, clumsily stumbling the rest of the way back home.

Jimmy still had that button, though he didn't know why he'd kept it, exactly. He didn't like to think of why he might have.

Predictably, Jimmy lost the round, and subsequently the next one. Finally, halfway into his third loss, he threw down his cards in defeat.

"Alright, alright! I give up. For now," he said, "And next time, we're playing something else."

"Whatever you 'd like, Jimmy," Thomas placated him, calmly pulling a cigarette out and lighting it.

Jimmy swallowed thickly at hearing Thomas call him that. The other man so rarely let his guard down, always making sure to address him as "you", or maybe "James", if he had to. He almost always avoided calling him "Jimmy"; apparently he'd deemed it far too intimate, and Jimmy tolerated it, for the sake of their friendship. But it was nice, hearing him let his guard down, for once. It was just...pleasant. 'For no particular reason,' he supposed.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Jimmy asked, not wanting Thomas to realize his slip in calling him by name. "I mean, the distant future," he amended. It was out of the blue, but lately Jimmy had been pondering these sorts of things more and more, with some increasing sense of urgency.

Thomas took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing it out slowly. Flicking the corner of a card, so that it would lay flat on the table, he asked, "How distant? Months? Years?"

"I mean," Jimmy said, "Years…decades, even. What do you think you'll be doin'? Where you'll be?"

"It's hard to say, isn't it?" Thomas said, "That far ahead…I've never thought that far. It never seemed worth planning for. I suppose I had bigger aspirations in the grand scheme o' things once. But…"

"But?"

"But, well, you know. With the war and everything…just seemed easier to live on a daily basis. Still does. More practical, like." He took another smooth draw on his cigarette.

Jimmy nodded, contemplative. "I know that feeling…I've felt that same way. Still do, mostly. Just…I don't know," he paused, gathering the cards up into a pile. After a moment, he continued, "I suppose I'm starting to think differently now."

They sat for another moment in contemplative silence. The air was cold, and outside the snow-covered ground glittered under the light of a pale crescent moon. Jimmy shuffled the cards absently. Finally, Thomas broke the silence.

"You know what's funny," He said carefully, "Just, speaking of planning far into the future- and mind, this was years ago...well, I sometimes fancied gettin' married."

Jimmy looked up sharply at that, and before he could stop himself, sputtered, "What!? You mean to a woman?"

"Shh! No. Of course not. To a man, James," Thomas shook his head, and tapped his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "Of course to a woman."

"B-but…you…?" Jimmy lowered his voice, slightly embarrassed by his loud reaction.

"Well, yes. But there are plenty of…men… who marry. They marry, have kids," he faltered. "A home...a proper home." He finished, a bit wistfully.

"Are there really…Do they really…" Jimmy floundered, unused to so frank a discussion on this sort of thing with Thomas, of all people. "There are really men, like, um…well, erm, how can…how…?"

Somehow, Thomas must have understood what he was trying to say. "I suppose some must be able to." He brought his cigarette back up to his mouth, and added, "I've known a few…"

Jimmy flushed, growing more uncomfortable with the discussion at hand by the second. He had no idea at what point the conversation had derailed so completely into this. He also, for some odd reason, distinctly resented the idea of Thomas getting hitched to some…woman. Some- some stranger. The words "Thomas" and "wife" were just two words that didn't seem to fit together in a coherent sentence. The very possibility of there ever being a "Mrs." Barrow almost made him squirm with unease.

Thomas must have noticed Jimmy's discomfort, because he quickly added, "It was years ago. Never thought seriously of doing it, anyway." He put out his cigarette, and hurriedly changed the subject. It was easy enough. He chose to start complaining about the outdoor picnic Lady Mary had insisted on having tomorrow, in this sort of weather, and really, why would anyone want to do that…

Jimmy nodded absently, only half-listening to Thomas' small tirade on the utter frivolity and carelessness of those Upstairs. It was no new conversational subject for the two. Jimmy was still stuck on what Thomas had just told him, however, and the rest of what the other man was saying now was slowly drowned out by his own thoughts.

If Thomas wasn't ever going to marry, and if he simply planned to stay at Downton (although that Jimmy didn't know for sure, but he had a hunch)…did that mean that he'd simply be alone, forever? Was he lonely, then? At that, Jimmy felt a pang of…sympathy, was it? Something. It was an unusual feeling, a curious, hollow ache in his chest. He looked up at Thomas, who had an expression on his face like he was expecting an answer of some sort.

"Um," Jimmy said. "What did you just say?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "You look tired. Come on, then," he stood, putting out his cigarette. "Let's call it a night."

Jimmy stood and pocketed his cards. Together, they made their way over to the stairs, and Thomas went up ahead of him. As they climbed the stairs, he glanced up at Thomas' back, and at his broad shoulders. It suddenly struck him that Thomas looked incredibly lonely, like that. Walking up that narrow flight of stairs in the dark. He wondered if Thomas felt as alone as he looked to Jimmy right then...if he always felt that way.

'No,' Jimmy thought, 'He's got me, after all. He's not alone- he still- he still loves me,' The thought surprised him, but he realized that it wasn't something he hadn't already known. The notion of being loved by another man, by Thomas Barrow, didn't seem to bother Jimmy like it used to. In a way, it was almost comforting, to know that there was someone in this world who cared about him, and who looked out for him. The world wasn't such a cold and empty place when you had someone to look after you like that.

When they'd each reached their respective doors, Jimmy turned to look at Thomas, and saw that he was already glancing over at him. They both grinned at one another, a bit awkwardly.

"Goodnight, Thomas," Jimmy said quietly.

"Goodnight, Jimmy," Thomas said, hesitating for a brief second, as if he was about to say something else. He didn't, though, he only nodded, taking hold of his doorknob. Then he broke their eye contact, the sudden loss of which sent a chill up the length Jimmy's spine. Swiftly, he disappeared into his room, like a phantom vanishing into the night.

Jimmy remained at his own door, unable to turn the handle, and unable to take his eyes off of where Thomas had been standing moments ago. He thought back to what Thomas had revealed to him so casually downstairs, smoking his cigarette, cool and calm as ever. Jimmy was assaulted by another ominous chill. For an instant, the hallway stretched on for too long. The house felt empty, and the air was far too still. Heart beating hard, Jimmy twisted the doorknob, and fled into the pitch darkness of his room, once more unable to shake a feeling that he could not place.