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The night’s festivities are over. The music gradually stopped, the room thinned one-by-one, and the Downton guests slowly retired to their rooms. And something about it, the sudden quietness, the empty, small bedroom Thomas knew was waiting for him on the servant’s floor, made him take a detour. To upstairs, which he normally wouldn’t do, but perhaps fraternizing with the guests tonight had made him brave. Or perhaps he didn’t want to think. Perhaps he wanted the only thing he had that reminded him that he was here in 1930 and not there in 1919.
So he finds himself in front of Guy’s room. After planning it all out in his head first, of course. As Guy’s personal valet, he was simply checking on him, making sure he had all he needed for the night, before heading back down to his own quarters. It was standard practice, and not out of the norm to have the door closed either.
“I mean not stay, sir,” he says, as soon as the door is shut behind him.
“Sir?” Guy raises an amused eyebrow.
Thomas shakes his head. “Sorry. Being back here… it-” He lets out a far too stressed sigh. “It’s like I’m back where I was, if that-”
“You don’t have to explain,” Guy says with a shake of the head, then gestures to the bed. “Please, sit.”
Thomas walks forward hesitantly and sits on the edge of the bed, his mind already giving him images of someone walking in and wondering why the hell the valet is sitting on the bed. It’s like these Downton doors were made to be opened unexpectedly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Guy says earnestly, breezily, like his mind wasn’t at all spinning with the same thoughts. In fact, Thomas knew it wasn’t. “Do you know what Noël was muttering about earlier? Something about the dissection of private lives?”
“Oh, I’m not sure-” Thomas nearly adds sir. “I didn’t hear him earlier.”
“I’m suspecting it has something to do with an upcoming film idea. He had that look on his face.” When Thomas doesn’t say anything, he turns toward him. “Everything alright?”
It takes him a moment to register the words, eyes flicking up to him. “Oh. Yes.”
Guy doesn’t say anything, his attention now fully on him, staring at him quizzically. And part of Thomas relishes in it. “That’s not very convincing, you know.”
He wants to say sorry, but he knows how absolutely foolish that would sound, so he doesn’t say anything instead.
“Is it different, being back here?” Guy asks.
“You could say that,” Thomas jokes. “I feel like I’m a footman again.”
“Ah.” Guy is now standing right in front of him, and it’s like Thomas can’t even look up at him. “What is it? You’ve gone shy.”
And Thomas knows he’s acting different. Younger, juvenile. Being back at Downton Abbey was affecting him more than he expected. He was more reserved, unsure of himself. A version Guy wasn’t used to. Or at least, not when compared to the version of himself he’d been in California, laughing with Guy under the sun, traveling together, hidden from sight behind locked doors that no servant was going to walk through. Coming back here made all of that feel like a dream.
“Are you embarrassed?” Guy asks, sudden concern in his voice. “Did I… Was anything too much tonight?”
He shakes his head, knowing exactly what he was asking. “No, not at all. No one here knows. Well, most don’t.” Guy doesn’t say anything, listening. “And if they did, I don’t care.” He forces his gaze up at him. “I don’t.”
The words are true- truer than they’ve ever been. But still, he’d never be at Guy’s level, who could care less about social conventions, sometimes to a point that scared Thomas. Because he can still remember the dark cell he was thrown into that night of the gay club, the sting of the injections he gave himself, the disapproval in Mr. Carson’s eyes, the same disapproval he’d seen tonight. Sometimes it felt like everything with Guy could be ripped away with one small misstep.
“You don’t,” Guy repeats, and he smiles, but it’s a sad smile. He turns away thoughtfully, facing the window, the streetlights. Thomas stares at him, wondering if he thinks he’s ashamed of him, of the life they’d built together. But he couldn’t be more far off. He loved their life. And for him to think otherwise-
“It’s the memories,” he rushes out.
Guy slowly turns around, and his eyes are gentler. “This place?”
Thomas nods, and already feels his throat burn. “It’s stupid.” He gives a self-deprecating laugh, turning his head to the side. “It was so long ago. I shouldn’t-” He shakes his head.
“Darling.”
And the word is so warm and soft and out of place in the cold walls of Downton Abbey, which represents love and light and family for the Crawley family- for the servants even- but for him was isolation and shame. Lonely nights. Self-hatred. Hurting others. Hurting himself. He squeezes his eyes shut, and starts to stand up. “I should go.”
“Nonsense,” Guy replies. “Stay here.”
“Guy-”
“The cure for your memories will not be found in-” He squints at him, blinking. “Where do they have you staying tonight, the basement?”
He chuckles. “The servant’s floor. And it makes sense-”
“It doesn’t. You’re not a servant anymore.” There’s restrained anger in his voice, as if he’d been thinking this all night. “You’re my valet. The personal assistant to an actor. Can’t they see that?”
Thomas clasps his hands together, elbows on his knees. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“They don’t know a promotion when they see one?”
And Guy’s quick retorts were always enough to keep him out of his head, keep him from ruminating. It’s why they worked so well together. “A promotion out there, yes. But at Downton Abbey, I’m head butler at most.”
Guy frowns, then walks over to the side table and grabs the bottle of whisky, and starts pouring a glass. “I saw you tonight. On the main floor having coffee and dessert with the rest of the guests.”
“Because of Mary, who requested me,” he says. He looks down at his brown tweed suit he was still wearing, notices the wrinkle in his tie. “Obviously the others didn’t want me there.”
“Well, I wanted you there.” Guy sits down next to him, then hands him a glass of whisky. “Drink.”
He gives him a grateful look, then holds the glass with both hands, staring down at the amber liquid. “I shouldn’t. I’m on duty.”
“On duty?” Guy raises an eyebrow. “As my assistant? Please.” He raises his own glass to his lips. “We both know you’ve been more than indecent in my company.”
He smiles and blushes, finally raising the glass to his lips. “I’m going to have to drink to withstand this talk in the Downton house.”
“Stop mentioning Downton.” Guy shakes his head, then places his hand on his knee and squeezes. “Don’t focus on the past. Focus on now.”
Thomas just gives a tight-lipped smile in response, sipping his glass. Because it wasn’t that easy.
But Guy knows that. Thomas remembers the first few months of his stay in the villa, the late nights as they slowly got to know one another, Guy charming him and getting him to open up over glasses of wine, the large fireplace flickering over both their faces as Thomas told his story in bits and pieces. Some of the nights ended in laughter; other nights ended in tears. But the most important part was that Guy was not only someone who could listen, but someone who understood.
“The bathroom down the hall, is that where…”
“Don’t.”
A look of concern flickers in Guy’s eyes. “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask.” He looks down at his glass. “My morbid curiosity got the better of me, I guess.”
“It was the one downstairs,” he finally answers, his voice tense. “The servant’s quarters.”
“Oh.” Guy takes a sip of whisky. “You didn’t want to make a show for the royal family, I take it?”
He laughs. Somehow, Thomas was able to laugh while talking about his suicide attempt. It was amazing how Guy could do that. “We don’t have to talk about the past,” Thomas says quietly, and it’s true. They’ve already talked about it. And rehashing it while being in the same location might do him in.
“Then what do you need?” As always, his tone is several layers deep, the interpretations up to the listener, and Thomas looks at him.
“Probably not what you’re thinking.”
He holds up his hands in defense. “What was I thinking? Thomas, do tell for I haven’t the slightest idea.”
Thomas looks away, smiling at a corner of the room.
Guy continues. “But in the event that… it would be a hell of a way to rewrite history. You…” he trails off, his voice lowering. “And a man. In the Abbey house.”
He lets out a breath. “In that case, it would’ve worked ten years ago.”
“Ouch.” Guy clutches at his chest, then keels over, like he’s having a heart attack. Such an actor. “Thomas, did my ears just deceive me?”
“They did not, Mr. Dexter.”
He stares up at him in mock-confusion. “Am I… am I not your first?”
He plays along, blinking quickly. “I don’t know, sir.” He turns to him pointedly. “Am I your first?”
Guy goes still, then comedically brushes himself off before sitting back up. “Alright, let’s move on, then.”
Thomas laughs, eyes crinkling. Before Guy, he never knew it was possible to smile this much. He even felt giddy at times.
For the next few moments, they just drink silently, the sound of the guest room’s grandfather clock the only noise, ticking methodically in the background. Wind whistles outside and a car’s motor starts up, then slowly fades into the distance. Guy takes a deep breath. “I do worry about you, Thomas.” He puts his glass down. “This darkness you seem to remember at times, that you carry with you.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t fully understand it, but coming here, I’m starting to. Those lot are…” He waves his hand. “Stuck-up.”
“Stuck-up?” Thomas repeats, amused. Although this is a conversation they’ve had before. “They’re the Crawley family. They have money, and of course they’re respected-”
“I’m not talking about the family,” Guy says, then squints at him with an incredulous look. “Who the hell is that butler?”
“Mr. Carson?”
“He acts like he runs that place.”
“Because he did. For nearly fifty years.”
“I don’t like him.”
“He probably doesn’t like you either. He definitely doesn’t like me.” He stares down at his glass, trying to find amusement in it all, but finds he can’t.
“The whole filthy sinner thing?”
“No.” Thomas tilts his head at him. “He doesn’t like my choice in dress shirts.”
This time it’s Guy’s turn to laugh. “Thomas.” Then he leans forward and kisses him. The kiss is gentle and soft, although Thomas is still tense, still thinking someone could walk in any moment. Guy pulls back. “Whisky not enough to help you relax?” he murmurs quietly.
Thomas shakes his head. “A horse tranquilizer couldn’t help me relax in this place.”
“Ah,” he mumbles. “Would this help then?” He stands up, then strides over to the door and locks it. He knew him so well.
But then Thomas stands up too. “Don’t. I should get going.”
“I’m not letting you leave,” Guy says emphatically, eyebrows raised. “There’s no need.”
“But-”
“You’re all jumpy and skittish. Like a horse. What if you scare one of the housemaids?” Thomas gives him a look, and Guy tilts his head. “Unless you truly want to, of course. I’m only teasing.”
Thomas lets out a breath. Guy always pushed, but always gave him a choice when it came down to it. It can mean as little or as much as you’d like. “But… but my things are downstairs.”
“Well luckily, I have a personal assistant who packs more than what I need for every trip.” He walks forward, wrapping his arms around him, and Thomas doesn’t pull away. “Two sets of shirts, of shoes. Only one toothbrush though.” He raises his eyebrows and looks to the side. “Not sure how we’ll manage that.”
Thomas smiles despite himself, and he wants to find another excuse. He wants to be able to go back downstairs and sleep in his old bed and not toss and turn all night because of memories of his past. He wants to completely eliminate the risk of scandal or being discovered somehow. But compared the warmth of Guy, it just seemed somehow unbearable.
Guy softens, seeing his expression. “Come.” Guy turns and walks toward the bed, but Thomas stands in place. Not because he wants to leave, but because he doesn’t want to. And because this is all so surreal, that this is his current life.
“Thank you,” he finds himself saying.
Guy turns. “For what?”
“For…” His throat tightens. “Being back here, it- it reminds me. Of how my life used to be, while I worked here.”
Guy gives a thoughtful frown. “I can’t imagine it was that depressing. You must have had friends. People seem to get on here.”
“I ruined a lot of it.” He shakes his head. “It was my own doing. I didn’t figure that out until much later, however.”
“Ah.”
“What I’m trying to say is…” He looks to the side then directly at Guy. “I’m grateful that we met. Genuinely.” He can’t remember if he ever explicitly said this before, but it was more than true. “If you’d never came here for the movie set, I can’t even imagine what my present life would look like.”
Guy tilts his head, his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry about that, Thomas.” His voice is soft. “We’re here now.”
“But if we weren’t. I’d…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve had a lot of, well, failures over the years.” He swallows. “Missteps. Confusions. Things I shouldn’t have done. Or the other guy shouldn’t have done. I had nobody, I’m trying to say, and I know I’d be miserable.”
“But that didn’t happen.”
“But it could’ve.”
Guy gives a mock-frustrated sigh, then steps closer. “Well. If that was the case, if you know you’d be miserable, I know you would’ve continued being head butler for Downton Abbey. And you would’ve ran it much better than what’s-his-face.”
“Mr. Carson.”
“Yes.” He lets the words hang in the air. “Look. You’ve helped me as well, Thomas. This isn’t a-” He flits his hand. “Rescue situation.”
Thomas snorts.
“I mean it.” Guy raises his eyebrows. “Being an actor, it can get quite lonely. People think it isn’t, because you’re surrounded by people, but most of them are strangers, or are acting starstruck constantly.”
“Must be terrible,” Thomas quips.
“It was.” Guy places his hands on his shoulders, then moves to adjust his tie. “Having you around…” he says slowly, “has been more than wonderful. You’re a steady, kind presence, wherever we go. And that is something I’m grateful for.”
Thomas just stares up at him, touched. And then he dares to ask the question that he’s always wondered. “How did you know?”
“How did I know?”
“That I would go along, with your proposition.” He blinks. “It came out of nowhere, and you were right, but how-”
“I didn’t know.” He looks at him and smiles, then lets go of his tie. “But it seemed every time I talked to you, you had something positive to say. My career would work out, people didn’t want to part with old faces, things like that. It was energy I wanted to be around.”
“Ah. So you wanted me to boost your ego?”
“Among other things.”
Thomas coughs. “Alright.”
“But that is beside the point,” he says, and shrugs. “I saw the opportunity and just took it. I must say, sometimes I do wonder how another movie star didn’t come along and snatch you up first.”
“I can’t say the same. You must live in a happier version of reality, Guy.”
“There’s only one reality, Thomas. View it as you wish.” Thomas doesn’t say anything, and Guy looks mischievous. “Plus I couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes always lingered on me far too long.”
Thomas laughs. “They did not-”
“You’re right,” Guy admits. “They did not. You were very careful.” He gives a sad smile. “And I know why.”
Thomas presses his lips together in a tight smile of acknowledgement. “You know, California is an amazing place.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” He laughs, then steps back, smiling. “Anyway, I think that’s enough sap for one night, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “I could go on all night.”
“I know you could.” He reaches forward and squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s head to bed.”
Thomas cautiously follows him. “As long as we’re just sleeping.”
“Barrow, I said head to bed, not head in bed.”
He shoves him. “What would the Dowager Countess of Grantham say if she heard that? You have her rolling in her grave right now.”
“I guess we’ll never know.”
“You’re terrible.” He laughs despite himself. “Absolutely terrible.” He pushes Guy onto the bed, then rolls onto his back next to him, staring up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Guy turns his head to stare at him.
“I love seeing you like this,” Guy says.
“Like what?”
“So carefree. And happy.” He drapes an arm overtop him. “None of that depressive teenage energy you lug around.”
“Depressive teenage energy?”
“It’s like a physical weight.”
Thomas scoffs, deciding whether to be offended, but lets it go, smiling. He turns and faces him. “Thanks to you.”
Guy rolls his eyes playfully. “Please.”
“It’s true,” he protests. “If I didn’t get out of that environment, or meet new people, or-”
“Get regular sex?”
Thomas shoves him. “Mr. Dexter, if you continue this talk in the sacred house of Downton Abbey, you will be asked to leave the premises.”
“As long as I can take the butler with me, I will leave with no resistance.”
Thomas buries his head against his shoulder, laughing. Then he raises his head, wanting it to be serious for a moment. He waits until Guy stops laughing to lock eyes with him and say it. “I love you.”
Guy’s eyes soften at the words. “I love you too.” He reaches down and grabs his hand, kissing the back of it. “You know that, Thomas."
-
Although Thomas expected his first night in Downton Abbey to be a sleepless night wrought with nightmares, it turned out to be the complete opposite. He fell asleep quickly, in Guy’s arms, which wasn’t out of the norm because Guy was always physically affectionate, but tonight felt different. The way Guy held him felt different. Protective. Like he was keeping him safe from the house they were in. Like they were back in California. He felt like crying about it, but he was too happy to cry.
In the last moments before he drifted off, he thought back on his years at Downton. The good ones, the bad ones, everything in between. Back then, falling asleep with a famous actor holding him would’ve been just a comforting fantasy in the cold house. The thought that he’d live long enough to see it become reality was simply unreal. Especially to the version of his younger self who at the time thought he was losing his job, while also being falsely accused of having bad relations with Andy when he was just trying to teach him how to read, and thought he had no other option than to walk into that bathroom and never come back out. If only he had known what his future held, he would’ve persisted.
But then again, he did persist. After waking up in the hospital, he had a change of heart, of personality, became nicer to people, and kept going.
Maybe Guy was right. Even if the movie set at Downton never happened, he would’ve managed, continued on. He would’ve been Downton Abbey’s butler. And hell, he would’ve done a better job than Carson.
But he was glad to admit, he was very, very glad he didn’t have to.
He closes his eyes, already preparing himself for the fatigue tomorrow, knowing his alarm was set an hour before Guy’s so he could head back to his room.
But still, that didn’t matter.
That was an hour apart from Guy.
And they had the rest of their lives.