Archive of Our Own

It was late when Jimmy and Alfred arrived back from their outing in town. The sun set hours ago, following a slow descent until darkness eclipsed the grounds. Inside, Thomas sat under the warm, electric glow of the kitchen’s lamps. A plume of smoke burned from the tip of his cigarette, diffusing across the hazy room.

Like many of the servants, he was still up despite the hour. The family had retired much earlier than usual, which allowed everyone to catch up on a few outstanding tasks and still have time to enjoy an evening's reprieve together. Thomas spent it sitting and reading the day's newspaper, smoking while listening to the others chat happily. The cheer was infectious. Even Carson had allowed Jimmy and Alfred a quick jaunt into town, for what Thomas could only assume was a hurried pint and a very brief game of darts.

A sharp slam of the door startled Thomas before heavy footfalls filled the hall—each step kinetic and forceful. Mr. Carson's voice joined these notes, followed by the murmured pitch of Jimmy’s and Alfred’s replies. They arrived back much earlier than Thomas expected.

Jimmy appeared in the door, and Thomas frowned to see him in an unusual state of undress. The bow he usually knotted tightly over his Adam’s apple dangled loose, forgotten around this neck. A button was missing from his collar, his shirt pulled askew.

But the unblemished skin that Thomas so often imagined in private moments, and deliberately ignored when together, was hidden. Jimmy clutched a bundled handkerchief at his neck.

There was blood, Thomas noticed with wide eyes. Some of it had dripped down the hidden expanse of his chest, soiling the crisp white edges of his shirt. It dried the colour of rust.

Jimmy made a direct line for the empty chair across from Thomas. Thomas made an aborted attempt to stand, but his concern for the other had turned his muscles to lead. He stilled, a pressure at his chest that made him gasp. No one noticed. Everyone was staring at Jimmy, the crease of concern imprinted on their faces.

Mr. Carson appeared behind him. His light and quick footsteps allowed him to move noiselessly into the room in a way that was at odds with the solid mass of his barrelled chest.

"What on Earth happened?" Mrs. Hughes gave words to the question going through everyone's minds.

Jimmy merely groaned at the question and seemed to shrink from the attention. When it was clear that he intended to stay silent, stewing in his own pain and self-pity, Alfred spoke up.

"It were an animal attack."

"Which is why," Carson intoned, "I should call upon Doctor Clarkson in case of any… disease." He said it as if the very word left a sour taste in his mouth. He was staring intently at the red-tinged cloth pressed at the flesh where Jimmy's shoulder met his neck with mild disgust. But where Thomas looked on in worry for his well-being, heart racing, Carson was surely thinking about the affect Jimmy’s possible absence would have on the abbey.

Jimmy groaned for a second time and winced when he pulled the cloth away from the skin, exposing a glistening and messy tear. Whatever scab had come to form broke away and fresh blood trickled lazily from his neck. The handkerchief was ruined, stained thoroughly with blood. Thomas and Jimmy wore matching grimaces at the ghastly sight of it before the blonde replaced his makeshift bandage.

"I can always take a look at it," Thomas said, finally finding his voice. Jimmy raised his eyes to meet Thomas', not quick enough to hide the darkened look of suspicion that cut through the haze of pain. It rankled Thomas, and it added some bite to his words: "I was a medic, after all. I still remember basic triage." 

Carson turned to him with a grateful expression that surprised Thomas. "Thank you, Thomas that would be very helpful. That way we can wait until morning to ring Doctor Clarkson and save him coming out so late."

Thomas merely nodded and turned to Daisy, who had gone pale.

"Daisy, I'll need two bowls of very hot water and several clean cloths. Pick things that won't be missed when I’m done, but they do have to be clean," he stressed and turned towards the butler when she scampered off towards the kitchens. "And Mr. Carson, could we spare some clear alcohol?"

Thomas stood up and rounded the table to sit next to Jimmy. The chair screeched as his pulled himself close enough to knock legs. Their eyes met briefly before darting away—Jimmy towards the table and Thomas to the wound. Something fluttered strangely inside Thomas, as this was the closest he had been to Jimmy in a very long time. He could smell the sweet smell of his cologne over sweat and, if he strained, copper.

He touched the handkerchief, careful to avoid Jimmy's fingers, and pulled it away, baring the ruined skin on his neck.

"You said an animal attacked you?" Thomas asked. He took in the dirtied suit and the usually tidy curls spiralling wildly with the detritus of leaves and silt. Whatever beast had attacked him had enough force behind it to level him to the ground. "What kind of animal would do that?"

Jimmy, resolute in his vow of silence, just shrugged.

"Didn't you see it?" Thomas asked again, confused. Jimmy levelled a dark glare before responding.

"Pardon me for not getting a better look at the thing that was makin' a meal out of my neck," he said bitterly. It was a tone that Thomas had not heard ever since the two had formed a friendship. He gestured towards Alfred, who was still hovering by the door. "Ask him. I had other things on my mind."

Alfred shook his head with a grimace. "I don't know. It happened so fast, and it was dark…"

Thomas rolled his eyes. He nodded his thanks as Daisy and Carson returned and placed their respective bounty on the table in front of Thomas.

"Now, I can't promise this won't hurt," Thomas said as he picked up his supplies. He failed to finish his sentence as he went to work cleaning out the wound as there wasn't much else he could offer in terms of comfort. Thomas quickly lost himself in his task, forgetting that it was Jimmy under his fingers and how he was close enough to see him twitch. Jimmy, for his part, remained mostly quiet under his ministrations, only permitting a few hisses to escape when Thomas dragged a cloth against a particularly deep part of the gash.

Once clean of dirt, the wound looked more like a shredded mar of flesh than the precision imprint of an animal bite. Thomas tried to mask his own look of disgust as he wrapped one of the remaining cloths around Jimmy’s neck as best as he could as a makeshift bandage.

When it was done, the strain of keeping quiet had taken its toll on Jimmy. He blinked hooded eyes, looking pale.

"I don't think you'll need stitches," Thomas said, "but it would still be beneficial if Doctor Clarkson took a look at it in the morning. I can only guess that he might suggest a vaccine against rabies."

"Perfect," Jimmy mumbled, looking very tired and drawn.

"But in the meantime, you should get some rest," Thomas said.

"Yes," Carson agreed. "I think we could all get some rest after this excitement."

Thomas watched as Jimmy left for the attic. For now, the concern that had simmered throughout his work had cooled. Having been able to see the wound and tangibly help the blonde eased a lot of his own worry. He remained in the hall for a few minutes to gather the bowls of dyed water and dirtied cloths. After pouring out the water and throwing out the rags, he followed everyone else up the steps towards the attic.

When Thomas walked the halls of the men's dormitory, he paused at Jimmy's door. Curiosity burned as he wondered just what had happened that night, and he believed that in a private audience Jimmy would be more forthcoming with any details of his attack that he withheld in the presence of ladies. But as he stood in front of the door, he stopped himself. Still after all this time of friendship, he was wary of calling upon Jimmy in his room—the site and proof of his misguided indiscretion. As he lingered in the hall, he couldn't hear the soft, muted sounds of movement in the room. Jimmy must already be in bed, so he decided against waking him. He turned towards his own room for the night. He could wait.

Almost any evidence of the wound was carefully hidden under Jimmy's tightly collared and pristine white shirt the next morning. Had it not been for the tense and delicate way he was holding himself against the obvious pain in his shoulder, the previous night's unusual events could have easily been a nightmare concocted by Thomas' over-active imagination. A miasma of despondency, however, surrounded the footman, who ignored the others chatting around him. Sluggish blinks betrayed a clearly sleepless night as he stared at his rapidly cooling porridge.

"Have you yet made arrangements with Doctor Clarkson, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes asked, casting a concerned look down the table at Jimmy.

"Yes, he said he would be arriving shortly after noon, as he has some previous engagements in town," Carson said.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Well that is good news, isn't it, James?"

A moment passed before he responded, speaking towards the table. "Yes, ma'am."

"Are you alright?" She asked, "You're not as yourself this morning."

Jimmy dragged his eyes away from his bowl and fixed Mrs. Hughes with a glare, but his voice was insipid. "I'm fine. Just tired, is all."

She appraised his wan face and then eyed the porridge disbelievingly. "If you say so."

Sharing her concern, Thomas was sceptical. Something obscure but unmistakeable had descended over the table, making Thomas uncomfortable. A heavy feeling had settled in his stomach and it had nothing to do with his breakfast. It was a sensation closer to the dread he felt at the Front, but for reasons he could not rightly identify other than disliking the unusual gloom that Jimmy was exuding in waves. As the conversation between the others resumed, Thomas realised he was the only one still watching him. Perhaps, Thomas thought, he was just being overly sensitive. The rote motions of cleaning the wound unearthed feelings and thoughts of a time that Thomas had buried long ago. Still, when his friend continued to stare at his breakfast — where his gaze was glued to for the remainder of the meal — Thomas could not shake this feeling of foreboding.

As the staff rose from their seats to start the day, Thomas approached Jimmy and halted his movements with a hand on his arm.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He took the time to really look at the younger man and noticed the beginnings of bags forming under his eyes.

Jimmy returned his gaze unblinkingly and said with a flat affect, "Yeah." He cleared his throat." Yes. I, uh, I just need to…" He trailed off distractedly before shrugging out of Thomas' grasp. Thomas watched as he walked hurriedly out of the room.

The low buzz of concern only worsened by the time they had their tea. If it was possible, Jimmy looked paler than he did in the morning, and he was just as quiet. Jimmy had once again not touched his own, while most of the others were almost finished. Thomas froze with the last forkful of food halfway to his mouth, his meal forgotten. He was about to say something when Anna spoke up.

"Are you not hungry, James?" She asked.

Jimmy looked towards the lady's maid but said nothing for a second, then two, until the silence stretched uncomfortably. When it continued beyond what could be considered polite, the other staff members turned towards him. He glared unflinchingly at Anna with a face void of expression. His eyes were fixed in a focused, boundless stare that trapped both Anna. She frowned, squirming under the weight of it, but she didn’t look away.

Beside her, John noticed the shared look between the footman and his wife. "James?" There was a sharpness that Thomas could understand undercutting the name, as he felt as if he was observing an intimate moment that should have occurred behind closed doors. If it wasn't so awkward, he would have smirked that it involved Anna of all people.

Jimmy breathed heavily through an open mouth. A slight flush had begun to crawl up Anna's neck as she sat motionless.

Without breaking eye contact, Jimmy said: "I am hungry."

"Then perhaps you should eat your food," John ground out, reaching down the table to nudge his plate.

Jimmy blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream and looked towards the congealed meat pie on its surface with a grimace. With an audible swallow, he pushed the plate away from him.

"No, I—." He shook his head, ruffling his curls. "I'm not feeling…" he trailed off, his voice weak. A hand rose to knead his forehead as he closed his eyes, breathing loudly through his nose. "It's just so loud," he moaned.

Alarm — hot and electric — shot through Thomas. The others looked at each other in confusion. The hall was quiet. Not even Mrs. Patmore made sounds from the kitchens.  

Mrs. Hughes frowned. "I don't like the sounds of that." She rose from her seat and walked over to Jimmy, who was still cradling his head. She reached out and placed the back of her hand against his forehead.

"You're like ice!" She exclaimed. She twisted her hand around, cupping his skin with her palm. His eyes fluttered as he pressed into her warm touch.

"Maybe you should go have a lie down, Jimmy, and we can ring for Doctor Clarkson again," She suggested softly.

He startled from her touch, eyes wide with alarm, "No!" He winced as his movements pulled at his injury. "I mean… I have plenty to do tonight. I couldn't possibly spare the time."

Carson frowned. "We can afford your absence this evening if you're feeling poorly, James. Please, go to bed before you get any worse and we have a real issue on our hands."

Jimmy looked towards the table, looking impossibly small. "Please don't make me," he whispered.

The furrow in Thomas' brow matched that of Carson's at these words, and an anxious weight formed in his stomach. Abject misery laced Jimmy's words, but Thomas could trace a hint of fear corrupting the phrase. It was dank and musky—a form of defeated suffering Thomas hadn't heard since he last treated a terrified man spending his last few minutes on Earth clinging to his uniform in the mud.

Suddenly Jimmy rose from his seat, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste. "I just remembered I, uh, I… have to go. Excuse me," He stuttered awkwardly before leaving the hall.

Carson sat at the head of the table at a loss for words, both because of Jimmy's unusual behaviour and because the footman did not wait to be pardoned from the meal. But in his shock, he said nothing and looked towards Mrs. Hughes, still standing behind Jimmy's now abandoned place setting.

"I think we should all give James a bit of time to rest," She said with a frown. "I'm sure he's still reeling from the shock of last night."

Thomas didn't see Jimmy again until the dinner service was about to begin. He had been loitering in the kitchen, assuming that Jimmy was resting and would be unable to fulfill his duties as first footman. It was a good thing, as Carson had made the same assumption: Thomas would step in and serve that evening.

Thomas stood next to Alfred while the kitchen staff bustled about pulling things from ovens and stoves and rushing to plate them before they cooled. As he waited next to his platter, Jimmy appeared next to him with a scowl crumpling his face.

"What on Earth is that horrible smell?" He asked, staring at the fish Mrs. Patmore was placing on the Thomas’ platter. Jimmy sidled up against Thomas then, crowding his space and all but pushing him away from the dish. Thomas relinquished his hold on the silver, careful not to let their bodies touch.

"Oh, what are you on about, James?" Daisy asked in exasperation, having heard of his strange behaviour earlier in the day.

"Are you to be His Lordship's cook now?" Mrs Patmore cut in and continued at his puzzled frown. "Then you can keep your criticisms to yourself and serve like you're supposed to."

He continued to look darkly at the offending fish. "You’ve burnt it." He accused, prompting a disbelieving gasp from the cook.

To Thomas it smelled delicious. If he was lucky, the family would only pick at it and leave most of it for him to finish. But Jimmy wasn’t making sense. He had caught Jimmy stealing a piece of fish prepared in the very same fashion last week when the family had returned enough of it to the kitchens.

"I really think you should go to bed. Mr. Carson said it was alright, and I don't mind filling in.” He reminded Jimmy, for once being honest about taking on extra work.

Jimmy turned but didn't quite make his eye. Jimmy settled on the space below Thomas’ chin instead; he was staring intently at his neck. Thomas flushed.

"I'm fine." Jimmy stressed. He seemed to shake himself from a daze and averted his eyes, gripping at the platter tightly. "Come on, Alfred, we're going to be late."

He swivelled on the spot and left for the stairs, not waiting for Alfred to follow.

"What's gotten into 'im?" Ivy asked, bemused as she filled Alfred's dish.

"Could be rabies, you know, that's makin' him sick," Alfred said, "My dad had an uncle once who got bit by something and said he went strange after that."

Thomas hung his head.

"But rabies can kill you, can't it?" Daisy asked.

"Yes," Thomas said, "Which is why Doctor Clarkson came to see him this morning. I wouldn't worry too much about anyone dying anytime soon. Now off you go, Alfred, before it gets cold." Thomas sighed harrowingly and shared a frustrated look with Mrs. Patmore, finding solidarity in being the only sensible people in the kitchen. 

The next morning, Jimmy was absent at breakfast. Thomas took it as a sign Jimmy finally understood the necessity of rest.

He didn’t see him until much later in the afternoon. He was upstairs, turning down an oft-used hallway when he saw Jimmy crowding one of the new scullery maids. She was flush against the wall, torn between evading and submitting to his touch as Jimmy, impossibly close, pressed his body into hers. One of his hands rose to grip her neck just under her jaw, his thumb pressing against her pulse point, while the other was hidden, moving, between their bodies. Thomas watched in choked disbelief as Jimmy dipped his head close to her ear and whispered something too quiet for him to catch, his lips teasing her ear lobe. A crimson blush burned her cheeks as he kept his face next to hers and continued to murmur softly, oblivious to Thomas' approach. As he drew near, her eyes caught Thomas', simultaneously terrified, aroused, and ashamed.

"James?" Thomas asked loudly, intent to break this tryst apart. Anyone — a servant, or worse, a family member — could be walking down this hallway and be witness to this at any moment.

Jimmy quickly stepped backwards and released the maid, allowing a canyon of empty space to separate the two. He turned towards Thomas with a delighted grin. It was obvious he was hard.

"Thomas!" He took a step towards Thomas, his arms wide as if greeting a friend he hadn't seen in ages. Immediately, the maid peeled herself away from the wall and went running down the hall without another look. Thomas prayed it wasn't to find Mrs. Hughes.

"What do you think you're doing?" Thomas hissed, impossibly angry and concerned that Jimmy would do something so foolish.

"Only having a bit of fun." Jimmy shrugged, unconcerned, eyes glued to Thomas as he took a step forward.

With another step, he eclipsed the light shining through the window at the end of the hall. An aureole crowned his golden curls but most of the details of his person were gone, lost in shadow. He oozed a heady aura that diffused slowly towards Thomas, intoxicating and threatening, and Thomas swayed on his feet from the strength of it.

He blinked, dazed. Was the hallway always this small? What should have been yards between them truncated to feet, inches, until it was just Thomas and Jimmy. The way it ought to be.

Wasn’t that right? Something at the back of his mind whispered a warning, but he didn’t know why. The hallway was too hot, and it made it hard to breathe. To think. But to think what? All but a low sultry desire drained from Thomas, as he breathed raggedly. He was overwhelmed by Jimmy's presence. Their closeness seared a wave of heat to turn over in his belly and his heart beat desperately against his chest.

"You can't be doing that sort of thing." It came out a weak and wretched thing, slipping from somewhere unknown to Thomas. He didn’t know what he meant, so he looked to Jimmy. He would know.

His lips parted in surprise. For all the times he looked at Jimmy, he had never known how beautiful his eyes were until now. Thomas wanted to memorise each speck of colour and preserve their pattern in his mind. How little they blinked, he thought, even as his own lids lowered sluggishly until his eyes were at half-mast with lethargy and unspent need. Desire pulsated wild and hot in his veins. He wanted to match them in their ceaseless stare, to reciprocate, as pinned as he was, but he was just so drowsy, he could all but keep them open between rapid blinks. He needed to lose himself in their depths, already halfway disoriented as the concept of self, separate from Jimmy, was starting to lose its definitions. Behind him, the lights shorted out one by one until it was just him. Everything beyond Jimmy was a shadow of inconsequential space slowly being swallowed up by his need to be with him.

Jimmy's smile broadened into a leer. "Why? Are you jealous?"

Thomas shook his head imperceptibly. No, he remembered now; what Jimmy had been doing with the maid was highly inappropriate. It was dangerous, and if anyone else other than Thomas had found them, they would have been fired. To be in her place was an unacceptable thought. The hallway was a popular route through the house, and Thomas didn't need any other reason to test the limits of His Lordship's goodwill towards him. But Thomas grimaced in anguish—he was jealous and the thrill of being caught was almost as delicious as the thought of having his hands roam Jimmy's body.

The minute shake of his head back and forth was all he could do to hide what was so obvious to both of them. Thomas had never before been as turned on as he had now. His body had shorted out, heart thundering and lungs shuttering. His muscles and tendons froze with desire, making it impossible to move closer to Jimmy. He whined. He wanted Jimmy to crush him against the wall, so he could feel the hard contours of Jimmy's body against his own. He needed to be next to Jimmy—to have Jimmy's hands on him—to feel the heat of his breath ghosting over the shell of his ear, the low tenor exhaling obscene words. He needed his tongue sliding over his, filling his mouth.  

There was only a step separating the two of them.

"James!" Carson called from the other end of the hallway, and for a brief moment something sinister flashed over Jimmy's face. It was so dark and insidious it broke whatever hold he had over Thomas. In an instant it was gone, replaced by a look of pleasant indifference. Thomas took a gasping breath as his body cooled, abruptly aware of his surroundings. The hallway reverted to how it always looked—the same size and lighting as before this all began. He shifted, now painfully conscious of how his pants tented. He took a hurried step back away from the footman, turning to hide his erection from Carson.

"I've been looking for you. I need your assistance downstairs." Carson said, oblivious to the tension held between Thomas' shoulders as Jimmy took a step forward

"Of course, Mr. Carson. Whatever I can do to help." Jimmy winked at Thomas as he passed him, stalking towards the butler with a swagger crackling with confidence and nefarious purpose. Thomas stood confused in the middle of the hallway and watched them go, willing his body to calm down. He felt oddly small and rudderless as if something terribly important had gone missing once he had been left alone in the hallway. 

He turned into one of the rooms to escape the openness of the hallway. He waited there until he could breathe normally, leaving with the hope no one would cross him on his shameful walk back to his room. There, he touched himself hurriedly. Shame didn't stop him from finishing into his hand, quickly in fact, but it blanketed him in a heavy shroud as he changed his underwear and trousers.

Thomas didn't see Jimmy for the remainder of the day. His initial relief at escaping a run-in with him soon gave away to concern when Jimmy missed both the servant's tea and the family's dinner service. Carson informed Thomas during their meal that Jimmy had finally bowed down to pressure and had retired to his bedroom to rest. A large part of Thomas' worry deflated. Part of him thought Jimmy's absence could be blamed on what had happened in the hallway, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Thomas looked at the scullery maid. She had refused to meet Thomas' eye at the beginning of the supper but had remained quiet during the meal. Selfishly, he was relieved she seemed intent on keeping the afternoon to herself.

After he concluded his evening tasks that night, Thomas found himself in the servant's hall with the Bates and Mrs. Hughes. He sat, debating with himself if he should say anything, while the others tended to their own chores.

"Mrs. Hughes," Thomas started uncertainly, "Do you know if James has been seen by Doctor Clarkson again?"

John stopped mending the jacket he had been working on and looked at Thomas with a guarded expression.

"No, but I imagine so. Mr. Carson made it clear that he should talk to him," Mrs. Hughes said. "Why?"

Thomas thought a moment, thinking of the delicacy of the situation. "It's just that… he's been acting very. Strange is the word I’d use, and I wonder if it was something..." He trailed off.

He wanted to say sinister, awful, terrible, anything that meant dark and heavy and wrong, but knew it would sound bizarre to anyone who had not been in that hallway earlier in the afternoon. The events, and the subsequent wank in his bedroom, had weighed heavily on his mind for the remainder of the day, and the more he had mulled over what had happened, the more he was disturbed by Jimmy's behaviour. It wasn't normal. Of course, Jimmy doing such things of such impropriety upstairs in the middle of the day was unthinkable, but it went beyond that.

Their friendship had blossomed over the months since the events of the fair, and they shared jokes, easy smiles, and even interesting conversations. But their time together was a carefully constructed transaction. Thomas was always conscientious not to ask too much of their new closeness, while Jimmy was always careful not pay too much attention to Thomas.

The Jimmy in the hallway had been a completely different man, rough and piercing and forward in all the ways that he had never been with Thomas. And, much to his humiliation, in ways Thomas craved.

Now, far away from the hallway and the cloying presence of the footman, the desire that had once burned so brightly had diminished. In its place settled fear, but he couldn't articulate this without explaining the exact details of the afternoon—and that wasn't going to happen.

"Was it something he told you about?" He finished his trailing sentence from before.

Mrs. Hughes looked at Thomas as if sensing that he wasn't telling the complete truth.

"I'm not any more privy to the goings on of James than you are, but considering how well you get on now a-days, perhaps it's something you could ask him?" She asked with her eyebrows raised. She must have recognised the poorly disguised look of discomfort on his face, as she chose to take pity on him, "I think he's gone to bed for now, but in the morning I can ask for you."

In truth, Jimmy's behaviour had worried her as well.

He smiled thinly, thanking her, not noticing the look she shared with Mr. Bates as he excused himself and headed for his bedroom. Without thinking, he was at Jimmy's door with his hand grasped around the handle, ready to engage it, swing the door open, and enter into his room. Thomas released the metal as if it burned and jumped back when his mind caught up to his actions. His heart pounded recklessly, fear pulsating freely under the surface of his skin.

He hadn’t meant to do that.

He stared at the door in shock. The room beyond it seemed impossibly quiet. The absence of sound swollen and suffocating compared to the din of the servant's hall he had left behind. A sense of awful enormity waited for him on the other side. But Thomas knew, logically, it was only Jimmy, confined by the four small walls of his bedroom. The fine hairs at the back of his neck prickled sharply. He could feel his looming presence burning silently through the door. It felt as if there was something more, something menacing lurking behind it. It bid Thomas to just put his hand back to the handle—simply twist the lever and push. It spoke in whispers, intimate and quick—nearly incomprehensible in their haste. It was as if something breathed them against his neck and blanketed his ears, reciting the same sounds until they came together in an articulated hiss.

Open the door

Involuntarily, his hand found its way to the metal of the knob and his body pressed close against the wood, the whispered demands and his own curiosity impossible to deny; he craved to obey.

"Thomas?"

The spell was broken and he took a stumbling step backwards, hand stinging with pain. Alfred stood at his door with a puzzled look contorting his face.

"What are you doing?"

Thomas looked back at the door, which looked innocuous and flush against its frame. The whispers now muzzled, Thomas could only hear his own frantic breaths.

"I—I," he stuttered, unable to articulate his fear.

"You're not coming down with something too?" Alfred asked. He saw sweat glistening on Thomas' forehead and thought it to be the product of fever. "I hope it's not catching."

Thomas shook his head. "No. I—uh, I thought I heard something. That's all."

Alfred looked unconvinced but was unwilling to press the matter further. "The toilets are free," he mentioned with a nod towards the direction of the WC.

Thomas nodded jerkily in thanks and went straight for his own room, wanting to be alone and as far away from Jimmy as possible. He shut his door with as much force as he dared, leaning his head against the wood and releasing a shaky breath. He ensured that the latch had engaged properly and the door was firmly in its frame before he shifted and found the lamp in the darkness. Hastily, he pulled at the lamp's cord, reluctant to spend another second in the dark. The light bathed the room and dispelled the oppressive shadows that threatened to consume him, but his heart had yet to slow its desperate tempo, hammering powerfully against his rib cage.

Thomas stripped and replaced his clothing into his wardrobe, dressing in his pyjamas as rapidly as he could, all the while keeping an eye on the door. He continued to watch it as he slipped under the covers of his bed and huddled at the top near its frame, feeling impossibly young and foolish, but knowing he was being watched, even behind the security of the door. Whatever had found him in front of Jimmy's room now waited on the other side of his door, biding its time until he let his guard down. He clenched his shaking fingers between his thighs when he realised he was trembling.

Thomas startled awake, unsure of what had awoken him but surprised to have fallen asleep at all.

A painful and raw shriek pierced the night, reverberating through the halls and echoing in Thomas's silent room. It sent shivers down his spine as he shot up in bed. When it was followed by hoarse and desperate screeching, he leapt out of bed and crossed the distance to his door in seconds. His hesitated with his hand on the handle's metal for a moment as the terrified pitch of screams curdled his nerves.

Despite every instinct telling him to stay inside, to stay hidden, he wrenched the door open.

Looking out into the hall, he saw that everyone was doing the same thing. One by one the men were poking the heads out in various states of wakefulness and panic as they tried to figure out who was screaming.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carson bellowed, wrapping his housecoat tight around his body. The wailing curtailed into a gurgled moan before dying out completely. The hallway was deafeningly quiet in the aftermath, and everyone looked at each other, stunned.

Thomas noticed that only one door had stayed closed and pointed, calling the attention of the others with a cracking voice. Carson, who was closest to it, moved to open the door as the others crowded to see.

"Wait!" Thomas cried suddenly. Goose pimples erupted over his body in a flash as he thought back to the presence that had terrorised him in the hall earlier that night. He shivered, knowing the two to be connected. A quick look revealed that Jimmy's door was open, and that a scan of the faces proved he was not present in the hall with the others.

Everyone stopped and turned to look at him.

"I don't think we should open that," Thomas said, pushing closer to the butler in order to stop him.

"I mean to—," Carson was interrupted when the door separating the men's dormitory from the women's opened and revealed Mrs. Hughes in her sleeping gown.

"Will someone please explain to me what is going on?" Mrs. Hughes said forcefully, though her face betrayed the concern of hearing such howls in the night. Behind her, several of the maids stood uneasily in the hall. Daisy and Ivy huddled together at the forefront, desperate to see into the men's side.

"It seems to be coming from Peter and Albert's room," Carson told her, still standing in front of the closed door of two of the newest hall boys. He gripped the handle tightly and twisted.

"No, don't—," Thomas shouted, pushing at the butler just as the door swung open.

Thomas' knees nearly buckled as the tang of copper surged through the open door, and he fought back a gag against the stench. Beside him he heard Carson gasp and belatedly realised he had his eyes clenched shut. Opening them, he gasped into the ruined room. Blood painted the room, dripping from almost every surface. On one of the beds, a mess of viscera drenched the bedclothes, viscous red dripping from its edges to the floor where it collected in an expanding gulf. The boy—Peter or Albert, Thomas couldn't tell—had been eviscerated and torn apart until unrecognisable. The lump was hardly human but most certainly animal, fleshy and wet. It was an object roughly dissected and opened so Thomas could see the white of bone.

But the horrors of the bed were laughable to the nightmare unfolding in the centre of the room. Jimmy—his body contorted and larger, darker—huddled over a body. It was Albert, Thomas realised dully, as his face was turned towards the door, frozen in the throes of utter fright and agony. Jimmy's head—his hair hanging and stained with entrails—bobbed against the boy's neck and obstructed the body from view. A growing pool of red was visible, seeping slowly towards Thomas' feet, as wet tearing noises of ripped flesh and suctioned juices accompanied the madness that greeted them.

Thomas wanted to run as far and as fast as he could and never stop.  

"What have you done," Carson whispered next to him.

At the sound, Jimmy's face snapped up and revealed a grinning mouth leaking with blood and a body saturated in burgundy splatter. Thomas blanched as Jimmy's eyes focused on them in the door. Once so blue, they were now empty pools of ebony, for the pupils had engorged until they had absorbed the entire iris. The sharpening of his smile was the only warning before Jimmy launched himself at them, while they ineffectually pushed at each other to get away. He connected with Carson, barrelling into his broad chest and tackling him to the floor.

Jimmy straddled the older man and curled his hands into the meat of his shoulders. Carson howled, dazed from when his head hit the solid floor. He blinked rapidly against the blood dribbling onto his face, seeping from Jimmy's gaping maw above him. He could smell the putrid smell of death flow from between his teeth.

"Jimmy!" Thomas cried in misplaced bravery, pushing at the solid, immovable mass that was his shoulder as a low rumble reverberated from deep within Jimmy's chest. With one hand still twisting Carson's shoulder, Jimmy shifted to fix Thomas with a hideous look—his face sullied and vicious. It was a stare so unfathomably dark and endless Thomas felt light headed. All of the oxygen between them evaporated, leaving Thomas dizzy, tumbling lost and stupid into those pitch-black eyes.

The next thing he knew he was thrown into Alfred, both of them falling to the ground in a mix of limbs. The uproar of the servants' frightened clamour blasted through Thomas' consciousness as he realised that the others had started to scream, fighting against each other to escape.

"What are you doing?!" Mrs. Hughes screamed, as she looked on horrified while the younger staff pushed towards her and the safety of the women's dormitory. 

"It all makes sense now," he said in a voice deeper and more brutal than the one Thomas was so fond of. He pounded Carson's chest with both fists. "The thudding. The pounding. The incessant beating!"

He smiled ferally when he met Thomas' eyes.

"Lub-dub, lub-dub. So quick now because of your fear." His smile growing even larger to show stained teeth and wet gums. "You don't even know how exhilarating you all are." He turned back towards the butler, his smile curling into a menacing scowl. "But you. Did you know your heart always stutters?" He slid his body obscenely flush against Carson, pressing his ear to his chest while he squirmed. Jimmy rubbed blood into Carson’s housecoat. "Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub… lub-dub-dub," he sang. "Like a tired, old dog!" His tone turned, hardening in disgust. "On its way to its maker, aren't you? Like rotten, decaying meat turning in the sun. I bet you would even taste old."

His voice softened, almost sentimental. "Not like them, so young and pure… Sweet."

He gripped the older man's head and rammed it hard against the floor as he said the last word. An audible crack resounded and Carson's body went limp. Jimmy sat up until his spine was fully erect and smirked. "You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that!"

He jumped deftly to his feet and drew to his full height, assessing the pandemonium of the servants with calculating eyes.

"Get back," Mrs. Hughes called. Thomas was unsure if that was meant for Jimmy, or for him and Alfred, still untangling themselves and pushing to their feet, to fall back to the door she now stood in, hand gripping her key ring tightly.

"Oh, I think not," Jimmy laughed as he gripped Thomas' ankle and yanking him hard to the ground. Consciousness flickered when his head met the floorboards with a snap, and when he blinked awake, Jimmy had tugged him up by the lapels so that their faces were almost touching.

"You I'd be willing to wager taste sweeter than honey," he sighed, easily dragging Thomas to his feet and pushing him against the wall, grinding their bodies close.

Thomas blinked against the vertigo of changing positions so quickly and pushed weakly at Jimmy's chest. He looked away from his seeping mouth and made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes. The afternoon's heat and madness came rushing back, consuming him—razing everything and leaving just a shell ready to be filled up. Thomas' hands stilled against his chest, and they gathered fistfuls of Jimmy's jacket as he stared into the empty pools. Lost to the rhythmic beat of his own sluggish heart, he could almost see himself reflected in those orbs, and he suddenly felt very tired—unaware and unconcerned of the horrifying twist to Jimmy's face and the bedlam that surrounded them.

He was distracted Jimmy ran a bloodied tongue over his full lips, leaving a glistening trail of red mayhem against the flesh. The action spellbound Thomas. Nothing else existed except Jimmy against his body and his own searing need.

"Would you like me to show you what I know?" Jimmy asked, trailing a bloody finger down the side of his face, stopping at his parted lips and delving into Thomas' warm and welcoming mouth. He sucked at it, heedless of the taste of blood, and barely contained a moan as this pushed him closer to the edge, heart fluttering madly against his ribs and stomach roiling tight with longing. His body ached with lust and he was delirious that he was this close with Jimmy. He nodded, mute. Thomas felt Jimmy encourage his head to tilt away, exposing his neck to those sharp teeth. Jimmy pressed his body closer than Thomas had ever hoped he would. The heat rolling off of his body burned along the line where their bodies met, until Thomas was burning with a fever of his own.

Thomas was at a loss when Jimmy was flung away from him, and he slid down the wall, unable to hold himself up. Above him, Alfred stood with a cricket bat held firmly in his hands. Jimmy lay in a crumpled heap a few feet away from him, unconsciousness.

"Are you alright?" Alfred asked, crouching slightly to look at him.

Thomas nodded jerkily as awareness flooded back and shame flared fiercely on his cheeks. He blinked away the remaining fog that had all but blinded him.

"Good." Albert turned back to a few hovering hall boys. "Lads, you're going to have to help me move him."

Thomas watched numbly as they dragged Jimmy's still body down the hall and into Peter and Albert's room. They waited while Alfred shut the door and pulled it against the framing, cursing against the lack of locks. Turning back to the hall boys, he crouched. Together, they lifted Carson's limp body and carried him past Thomas and over the threshold of the women's dormitory, where all but Alfred stayed. He jogged back to where Thomas was still seated and grabbed his arm.

"Come on," Alfred said as he dragged Thomas' weak body up. "We have to get out of here."

It wasn't until they were in the women's side and the door was shut and locked that the enormity of what just happened fell on Thomas. With the taste of blood still on his tongue, he leaned on his knees and vomited on his stocking feet.

"What was that?”

“What was he doing?”

“Why?"

The litany of inane and unanswerable questions burst forth from the group as their collective fear and panic intensified. Thomas winced against the noise, his head ringing from purging his stomach. He sat on his haunches. He could do nothing but stare at the unconscious butler and breathe heavily.

"Nevermind that," Mrs. Hughes instructed sharply. "Everyone, I want you to stay calm. And Alfred, take George with you to call for the police. Thomas, are you alright?" She asked, placing a grounding hand against his back.

He sniffed, surprised to realize his eyes and nose were running. "Yes, no—ehm, maybe? I, I don't know."

"Did he hurt you?"

Beyond a slight buzzing in his head, he was unharmed and said so.

"Good. Do you think you can take a look at Mr. Carson for me?" She asked, her voice soft despite the situation.

Thomas nodded numbly and crawled towards the butler; he was familiar with attending to the wounded when he was practically immobile with his own fear. The older man was unconscious, but he was breathing without hindrance and Thomas couldn't find any abrasion at the back of his head. By the time he had secured Carson's head in his hands, Alfred and George had returned.

"The police are coming," Alfred said, slightly winded from their run from the telephone.

Mrs. Hughes nodded grimly. "You'll have to inform His Lordship that they'll be coming, Alfred. Take George with you again, and just knock directly on his door. He'll understand," She said at his panicked face at the prospect of waking Lord Grantham in the dead of night. Thomas thought him daft for his anxiety. He had just, after all, whacked his friend in the head with a cricket bat.

But their words had slowly faded to the background, as hurried whispers nipped at Thomas' ears—their timbre more desperate and biting than before, frantically tumbling over themselves until they were a furious tempest of half-formed thoughts whirling around him.

Thomas

He choked and spit out bile. They called again for him to come closer. Give in. Open the door and find Jimmy.

A shadow darkened the window in the door as the doorknob rattled.

"Thomas, open this door!" Jimmy roared and pounded a fist against the door causing several of the servants to scream in fright.

His voice softened as it turned to pleas: "Please, Thomas. Please let me out. I—there's blood, a-and they're dead, and I don't know why you've locked me in, but I just want to get out. Please. I'll do whatever you want. Please!"

Jimmy sobbed. "Anyone? I don't understand… I—I'd like to come out now, please."

It felt as though Thomas' heart was breaking at the sound of desperation behind Jimmy's words and he made a move towards the door. Jimmy needed him.

"Please Thomas just open the door. Please? I promise I'll suck your cock before I rip your fucking head off if you just. Open. The. Fucking. Door." Jimmy screeched, pounding at the wood to accentuate each word.

Thomas was halfway to his feet, gripping at the walls when his stomach bottomed out. He dropped the outstretched arm that he had no memory of raising and stared stricken at the door.

"Come along, Thomas," Mrs. Hughes called. "We're all going downstairs now."

Thomas sat despondently on one of the chairs in the drawing room. It was the one he often daydreamed about lounging in, like a lord in his own abbey. Mrs. Hughes and Alfred were explaining to a confounded Lord Grantham what Jimmy had done while the others were sitting dejectedly around the room. Carson had awoken by the time he had been placed on one of the couches and was lying with an arm thrown over his eyes, wisely choosing to ignore the affair. Thomas found himself watching the proceedings, feeling separate and strange. He knew shock had probably kicked in by now as he felt himself drifting between thoughts.

He was unsurprised when he felt a tickle at the base of his neck. The whispers were back, and this time they were incessant. They were sharp and seductive in a way that was much louder than anything the others were saying in the room, even though the exact words were left indistinct. It felt more like a smudged impression of an insistent, undeniable message. Even incomprehensible, he smirked to think no one else could hear it.

Thomas

He was almost giddy at the collected purr of his name, drunk off the hushed summoning brushing at his ear—ecstatic that he knew this secret language.

As if tethered to an invisible lead, Thomas stood up and slowly inched towards the abandoned key ring left on the table.

Thomas, come

He felt heavy and vague as he evaluated the others who were oblivious when he walked out of the room. In a blink, he was upstairs and before the locked door in the women's dormitory watching with a grin as a bleak shadow slowly rose in the glassed window. Something bubbled deep within his chest, but he ignored it. He was where he was meant to be, doing what he ought to do. He thought he could see shiny teeth gleaming in the window and nearly wept. He found the key and shoved it into the hole, unlocking the catch in one swift movement. He grasped the handle.

Open the door

And so he did.