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It feels strange for the night he had so anticipated for months to finally have arrived. Thomas lies in his arms soft, pliant and half-asleep; his head resting against Richard’s chest, arm draped across him. The winter’s chill seeping in through the window hardly seems to matter against the warmth surrounding him. A single candle flickers on the nightstand, outlining Thomas in its soft glow.
Richard does not often allow himself to give into sentiment—cannot often allow himself to give into sentiment, but god this man. As if Thomas can read his mind he glances up a Richard, gaze filled with pure adoration. He intertwines one of Richard’s hands in one of his own to bring it up to his mouth and kiss it gently before nestling back down.
When he had been back at Buckingham Place, exchanging letters with Thomas tentatively at first and then at a near frantic pace, the whole visit at Downton had felt like some sort of dream. Now he feels as if it’s the first time he’s been awake since he’d walked away from Thomas with half a kiss and an idea of maybe something more. Before he’d met Thomas he’d never thought it possible that someone could be so reckless and wary and hopeful all at once and he’d seen all that from the man in the course of a few days. More than that, he’d felt it all for the man over those few days.
Everything had been arranged easily enough, Richard was typically given a few days off after Christmas to visit with family, as Evans, the king’s first valet, was allowed to take Christmas and Boxing day. The Downton staff were typically given Christmas afternoon and boxing day off, but Thomas had asked to take his slightly later, to coincide with Richard.
Thomas had never mentioned any family to Richard, so he assumed that they were either dead or good as. He didn’t like to pry as those sorts of questions often brought up painful memories for their sort. Richard had managed to keep his, though his father had a propensity for loudly nattering on about how career-driven and successful he was every time an aunt or uncle asked when he was finally going to settle down.
Luckily, Richard’s two sisters were also coming with their myriad of children this year, so it was easy enough for him to insist that he would stay at a nearby inn, as to not be a bother. Once that had been arranged it was simple for Thomas to visit him at the pub on the first floor of the inn and pretend he’d had a bit too much to drink by late evening.
Thomas’ words were carefully slurred as Richard complained that he wasn’t likely to make the last train anyway by now and he’d like as not catch his death as he looked meaningfully at the unusually heavy snow. Richard said that he’d just have to sleep on the floor and the innkeeper went to find an extra blanket and pillow as Thomas grumbled. If anyone had asked they would have known each other from the war, but no one had asked. No one appeared to care or even notice the two of them. As covers went it wasn’t the most elaborate but sometimes simplest was best.
The door is locked with a chair under it for good measure and the curtains are drawn across all but a narrow sliver of window. Thomas’ breath is soft and rhythmic against his chest. Richard is losing the fight to keep his guard up despite himself.
“I can hear your heartbeat laying like this,” Thomas murmured into his chest.
“Can you?” Richard asked. It made him feel curiously vulnerable. With the men he had had before everything had been quick and perfunctory. He had never let there be time after to just be.
“Yeah, ‘s nice,” Thomas somehow managed intertwine them even more tightly.
“I hope it’s not keeping you from sleep, you must be exhausted,” Richard leans down to kiss the top of Thomas’ head. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep for hours yet, not with Thomas so close, but from the letters they’ve exchanged he knows that Thomas’ job as butler is far more difficult than Richard’s own. The perils of working on a grand estate that wishes cut down on expenses, but not standards.
“It’s not, and besides I don’t want to go to sleep yet. Don’t want to miss any time with you,” And Christ if Richard isn’t blushing like a schoolgirl at that.
“You know, it seems rather a miracle that I met you,” the words are out before Richard thinks about them and Thomas’s head whips up to meet his eyes, expression unreadable. His gaze flickers back down after a moment and seems to settle on their hands still intertwined.
“Some—something like that yeah,” Thomas bites his lip and looks up at Richard again briefly before looking apparently anywhere else. There was a hesitancy to everything Thomas did around him; it had been since their first real conversation, though it surfaced less often now. Richard had found it endearing initially, but now he just wanted to find some way to tell Thomas that it was alright, that they were alright. Still, the restrained half-smile reminded Richard of the first time he kissed Thomas and so he kisses him again. It’s sweet and lingering in a way that their first never got to be. Thomas cups Richard’s jawline with his gloved hand and deepens the kiss and his thumb rubs across Richard’s cheekbone.
Richard wraps his free hand around Thomas’ wrist and Thomas freezes a split second before he feels the faint but jagged scars and an icy shock runs down his spine. In the darkness, he hadn’t noticed them. He’d know about the scar on his hand, a war wound that spoke for itself, but not this. He pulls back just far enough to meet Thomas’s eyes. He thinks he sees shame there, or maybe guilt.
A small part of him wonders what Thomas sees in his face. What happened to make you do this? He wants to ask, but he knows it’s wrong.Do I have to worry about losing you this way? He also thinks, but he knows that one’s worse. He still trying to think of what to say when Thomas sits up sharply head turned to the wall breathing slightly ragged. Nothing was the wrong thing to say as well.
“Thomas?” Richard says hesitantly. The room feels much colder without Thomas against him. He sits up beside him and tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder. Thomas flinches and Richard withdraws. He draws in a breath.
“I’m sorry you had to see that. It was a long time ago and I was being very foolish. I’m perfectly alright now,” the voice that says these words doesn’t belong to Thomas; it is Barrow with all the detachment of the butler announcing that dinner had been served. Only the faintest tremble gives him away.
“I don’t think it’s foolish,” Richard says, mostly to say something. His mind seems to be several steps behind him. His lover is suffering and he doesn’t know how to fixthis. He knows how to superficially charm and convince people to do want he wants, when you don’t let people close that’s all you need. Right now it feels like that’s all he knows how to do and none of it helps.
Thomas sits impossibly still, still facing away and Richard can see a muscle in his jaws clench. He wants to reach out, but right now Thomas seems like a fraying thread and Richard isn’t sure what will cause everything to unravel. This time when Thomas speaks it is quiet and fragile.
“Don’t be disgusted with me for this. Please,” Thomas’ hands clench in the bedsheets, like the words had been dragged out of him.
“Oh love, no. I could never be disgusted with you,” Richard attempts to put an arm around him again and this time Thomas doesn’t flinch away, “I’m right here with you, I promise. I’m staying right here.”
“I just. I was so tired,” the words come out in a gasp as the tension in Thomas breaks and he slumps against Richard’s chest.
Richard feels a wetness against his chest and it takes him a moment to realize that Thomas is crying without making a sound. A prickling starts in his own eyes. He blinks it away, thinking that it’s the last thing that’s needed right now. He pulls Thomas closer kisses his forehead and runs a soothing hand through his hair. He whispers sweet nothings which he hopes are comforting. We’ll stay here forever, I promise I’ll never leave your side againis what he wants to say, but that’s impossibly cruel in light of tomorrow when they will go their separate ways and not see each other for months, possibly another year. Still, Thomas seems to be calming down, so perhaps he isn’t doing so bad a job of this after all.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas says. He sounds not calm exactly, but less hollow.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, not to me,” Richard replies, tightening his hold.
“No, just I… Well I should have told you sooner, that’s all,” he hesitantly finds one of Richard’s hands and laces their fingers together as they were before.
“I don’t blame you for it. The last time we saw each other, you’d only known me for a few days. And it’s not the sort of thing you’d trust in the mail,” Richard squeezes his hand back. Thomas shifts his head on Richard’s shoulder and Richard listens to the sound of his steadying breathing.
“You know it’s funny really,” Thomas says with a sigh and looks up at Richard curiously, “We feel like we know each other quite well by now, but we really only know what the other wants us to know.”
“You fishing for my deep dark secrets, Mr. Barrow?” Richard gives a dramatic waggle of his eyebrows in an attempt to lighten the mood. Thomas smiles and rolls his eyes a bit. He ignores the nervousness pooling in the pit of his stomach.
“And here I thought I was your deep dark secret,” he teases, then seems to sense the tension in Richard, “you don’t have to tell me anything, but you’re welcome to if you like.”
He’s never told anyone this before. He never has. He thinks if he doesn’t say it now he never will.
“During the war. I shot someone,” Thomas looks at him in confusion and Richard knows how foolish that must sound, but the words don’t want to leave his lips. He looks away, “one of us. Someone I knew.”
“Richard I—“
“I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t Thomas. I know that doesn’t matter not really but we were right in the middle of it and there were so much going on and I saw someone running for us and I just—” He breaks off then biting his tongue. He shouldn’t have said anything, not when Thomas was already so upset and here Richard was trying to make it about himself, “I’m sorry you didn’t want to hear this only—“
“Richard, Richard! Look at me, try and look at me darling,” Thomas cups his jaw and draws Richard’s face back to him; it takes everything Richard has to meet his eyes, “Everyone did things they shouldn’t during the war, God knows I did. There was so much mud and filth out there, it’s no wonder you couldn’t tell him apart.”
“But that’s the worst part of it,” his voices is shaking and his eyes are prickling again and all he can see is the photograph of Reynold’s wife and child that he would show off at every opportunity, “I only knew it was him and me that had done it because he was so close. What if there were other times, more of our lot and I didn’t even know.”
Thomas’ gaze is still locked on his and there’s no anger or blame there, only understanding and a bit sadness. His eyes really were beginning to mist. Thomas gently leads him back down so that they were laying chest to chest, his thumb stroking Richard’s cheek. He said something that Richard didn’t quite catch. His hands were trembling in earnest now and his face in Thomas’ neck, eye clenched shut. How quickly the roles had been reversed.
Richard’s shaking isn’t due to the cold—they both know that. Still, Thomas takes the worn comforter, softer than one had any right to hope for at a provincial inn, and tucks it tightly around them. It helps.
Memories try to claw their way the forefront of his mind, memories that he can’t let himself fall into for fear of the time it took to claw himself out last time they were strong enough to consume him. He focuses on the slight camphor scent of Thomas’ aftershave and the way the slight stubble prickled at his lips and cheek. The pressure of Thomas’ chin resting over his head. He opens his eyes and expands his focus to the planes of Thomas’ chest.
“Well, we’ve had quite an evening,” the words tremble their way up through his chest, but come out steady by some miracle.
“That’s true enough,” Thomas shifts his head away slightly, presumably to look at Richard.
“I hope that you won’t think of me too differently, after it all,” Richard says looking very intently at a miniscule hole in the pillowcase.
“I don’t,” There is a gentleness in Thomas’ eyes when he looks up. A protectiveness that hadn’t taken shape before now. Richard knows that the words weren’t quite true, whether Thomas has realized it yet or not. In spite of himself, Richard would miss the simple unadulterated adoration that he had first seen on Thomas’ face the night outside the police station, which has echoed through his actions ever since. Still. It seems they’re on more even ground now and Richard doesn’t regret that.
“Hope that you won’t see me too differently either, you know,” Thomas says, a corner of his mouth dragging halfway to a smile. There’s a hint of nervousness in his voice but his gaze is steady.
“No, of course not,” he hesitates; it may be best to let this rest, but what Thomas has experienced doesn’t strike him as the sort of thing that anyone emerges quite alright from, “though I now realize that you’ve been through hardships that I couldn’t even imagine. I’m not sure if that’s a part of your life that your willing to share, but I’ll listen if you are.”
“Yeah, I could do that someday. Just not tonight, maybe?” Thomas breaks his gaze, he doesn’t seem upset, but Richard can’t help but worry. Richard wonders if he should give him his gift now to help them leave this all behind, but no they’d agreed to exchange gifts tomorrow, to ease the sorrow of their parting. And besides the hour had grown very late indeed.
“Fair enough. I suppose we’ve had more than enough heaviness for one night, besides we’ve got time,” The rest of their lives if they’re lucky. Richard rests their foreheads together.
“That we have,” Thomas says and Richard knows he understands. He knows how foolish it is, but he could truly hold this man forever and never grow tired of it. Richard isn’t sure how long they lay there, but eventually, he hears Thomas stifle a yawn and relax completely against him. A glance at the window tells him that snow is still falling outside, piling higher on the windowsill. The shadows dance across Thomas’ sleeping face. There isn’t a sound in the world but his breathing.
Richard blows the candle out.