Title: Thoughtless
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Rating: T
Length: 1302 words
Content notes: One-sided Thomas Barrow / Jimmy Kent. References to anti-homosexuality laws of the time.
Author notes: Most convoluted train of thought from the prompt ever! Prison bars were mentioned in the post, which made me think of Mr Bates, which led me to how Thomas hates Bates, which wound up as this story.
Summary: Jimmy is curious about Thomas' hate and envy of Mr Bates - and he isn't the most tactful person.

“Why do you hate Mr Bates so much?” Jimmy asks as he shuffles the cards together.

The question comes out nowhere, completely unrelated to their previous chatter as they played cards in the deserted servants’ hall, and Thomas stares at him in surprise. With anyone else, he’d answer with a single snide sentence, but Jimmy is his friend. If he wants the truth, he can have it.

“Why shouldn’t I? From the moment he arrived here, he got everything I wanted,” he says, resentment rising in him again at the memory of those days.

“I didn’t think you were that fond of Anna,” Jimmy teases, dragging an unwilling little smile from Thomas.

“That’s not what I meant,” he answers. Although it would be nice, he thinks, to have someone love me the way Anna loves Bates, have someone care for me, believe in me, so much… He’d almost let himself think he’d found that in Jimmy, but of course it wasn’t to be. Jimmy who is now looking at him curiously, wondering why he’s taking so long to speak. “I was supposed to become His Lordship’s valet. I’d been at Downton for ten years already, I understood the work - but His Lordship brought Bates in instead. He’d never been in service and he couldn’t even walk without his cane.” Venom drips from his voice, and Jimmy looks uncomfortable.

“That was a war injury, wasn’t it? His leg?” When Thomas nods, he says, “Well, you were luckier than him in that, at least,” with a glance at Thomas’s gloved hand.

Reflexively, Thomas folds his arms, hiding it. The memory of those dreadful two years in the trenches, of the night when he couldn’t take it anymore, washes over him. He wonders if Jimmy would still think him lucky if he knew the truth, knew how he’d held up his lighter and prayed for a German bullet; wonders how much he’d despise him. Shoving the memories away, he retorts, “Maybe, but if my injury had been as bad as Bates’, do you suppose for a minute they’d have taken me back?”

Jimmy shrugs lightly. “Oh, you’d have managed it. You always fall on your feet. You may not be His Lordship’s valet these days, but you’ve not done badly, Mr Underbutler.”

Thomas can’t help smiling back at the cheeky grin. “That’s Mr Barrow to you, James,” he answers, deliberately emphasising the footman’s full name. “Why do you care if I hate Bates, anyway?”

“Curious, is all. Fine, so Bates took the position you wanted when he first arrived. But that’s years ago, and you can’t envy him everything that’s happened since. The man went to prison for murder! I don’t suppose you want to be behind bars in a stripy suit, do you?”

“It’s not one of my life’s ambitions, no,” Thomas says, rolling his eyes. He could point out that even after that, they still took Bates back, another black mark as far as Thomas is concerned, but he’s tired of the subject. “Are you going to deal again, or just keep shuffling until the pack falls apart?”

Chuckling, Jimmy shuffles the cards together and starts to deal. “If you ever did end up in prison, I don’t imagine it’d be for murder.”

He speaks lightly, the laugh still in his voice, but the words hit Thomas as if he’d punched him in the chest. He doesn’t mean - he can’t mean - hell, what else could he mean? He can barely believe it of Jimmy, not after the fair and the fight and the friendship they’ve built up since. But it can’t be anything else, can’t be anything except the obvious reason why a man like him would end up in prison. Clenching his hands to stop them shaking, he buries the hurt and heartache beneath cold fury.

As Jimmy finishes dealing and looks up, Thomas leans forward, his face schooled into the impassive mask that has served him so well all these years.

“You don’t imagine it would be murder, do you? I suppose you think something like what you and Alfred tried to get me dismissed or arrested for would be more likely?” he asks in a hissing whisper. Nothing direct, and not out loud, never mind that the hall’s empty apart from them. The risk is still too great.

Jimmy stares at him blankly for a split second, then looks horrified as he realises the meaning of Thomas’s words. “No! God no! I didn’t mean that!” The lead weight in Thomas’s chest begins to ease as Jimmy babbles on, obvious sincerity in his voice. “I just meant I couldn’t imagine you killing anyone, not that Bates did, but I can’t imagine you even gettin’ in a situation where people’d think you had. I didn’t think - I never meant - ”

Thomas cuts him off gently. “It’s fine, Jimmy. I believe you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says rather more calmly. “I just… I’d never joke about… that. And… I never wanted you dismissed or arrested, I were just… scared, and stupid.”

“It’s fine,” Thomas repeats. “That old business, it wasn’t really your fault, or Alfred’s. I know O’Brien was using you both.” He’s surprised to hear himself saying that; it’s the truth, certainly, but he doesn’t normally give up such weapons as guilt, especially when they’re handed to him. Wouldn’t have, if it were anyone but Jimmy, Jimmy who still looks upset at his thoughtless words, Jimmy whose genuine remorse is fanning that tiny spark of hope Thomas tries to pretend doesn’t exist any more. Surely he wouldn’t mind so much if he didn’t care at least a little… Wouldn’t have said what he just did about not wanting Thomas dismissed… Yes, he cares, but like a friend, you idiot, Thomas scolds himself. There’s never going to be anything more, so stop hoping for it!

He picks up his cards and Jimmy mirrors the action, stares at them with more concentration than the game really warrants. Embarrassed, presumably? It’s such a rare state for him, that Thomas isn’t quite sure if that’s what he’s seeing in the other man’s face.

Thomas waits for him to calm down, look up with that irresistible grin of his, make a joke of the whole thing. But as the silence lengthens and Jimmy continues to frown down at his cards, he decides it must be up to him. “So if you don’t think it’d be murder, what do you imagine I could end up behind bars for?” Besides the obvious - no, don’t say, that, don’t even think it. Jimmy’s always uncomfortable when it comes up; can’t blame him, really, but best not to talk about it.

Jimmy looks up at him, startled, and for a moment Thomas thinks he’s misjudged. Should he have said something - anything - else? Then the wicked smile appears and he answers, “Oh, I don’t know… there’d have to be some profit involved. Blackmail, maybe? Robbing a bank?”

Thomas laughs, relieved. “Why am I robbing a bank? You’re the gambler, not me.” He nods at Jimmy’s cards. “Go on, start the game.”

“You call me a gambler and you encourage me to play cards? Some help you are,” Jimmy mock-grumbles.

“I am helping you,” Thomas retorts, hiding his smirk. “I’m teaching you that you always lose.”

“Oh, really? We’ll see about that!” Jimmy reaches out for the deck, and the game is on.

Everything is back to normal. And normal is good, even if it’s not everything Thomas wants. He’ll never have Jimmy’s love, his mind knows that, even if his foolish heart still dreams otherwise; but he has his friendship, and it’s almost enough. It doesn’t fill the fierce longing he keeps buried in the deep places of his soul, but it’s almost - almost - enough.