Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1

_All he could hear were the bombs...the near constant explosions, mingled with the screams of the wounded and the stench of the dead. The blood of the soldiers ran like crimson rivers over the ground of the trenches and the constant barrage of grief and pain rolled over him like a tidal wave. The screaming of the nearest man caught his attention, practically a schoolboy, never held a gun. The voice was familiar, he _knew_ that voice. That couldn't be right; he'd never seen any men he knew in the hospital. He moved closer and closer to the boy, recognition finally dawning on him. It was Louis. But that couldn't be right, it couldn't, it couldn't..._

He woke up with a gasp, his body covered in sweat and his sheets tangled uncomfortably around him. He lay motionless for a few moments, breathing heavily and looking up at the whitewashed ceiling. He pushed the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead out of his line of sight, and rested his hands over his eyes as if they could block out the images replaying in his mind. He calmed down a little after a few moments and started trying to settle down, tossing and turning on his mattress. As he did so, he heard a slight stirring from the other side of the room.

"Thomas?"

Bugger. He hadn't meant to wake up Louis (and he was surprised that he had – they all joked that Louis could sleep through an earthquake) and he turned his head to the disembodied voice in the dark. "Sorry. Go back t'sleep."

He heard the creaking of bedsprings then, "Not that tired. Besides, I can't sleep with you fidgeting."

"You can sleep through _anything._"

"I...I don't know. I just wake up when you have nightmares."

"I don't 'ave-"

"Oh shut up, yes you do. You..."

"I what?"

"...You cry sometimes. And I don't know what to do. It...hurts."

"What 'urts?" There was a mumble from the other side of the room. "What? Speak up."

Louis began mumbling. "...heart..."

He could hear the bedsprings again, and knew he'd turned away to face the wall. He tried to think of an appropriately snarky response without letting Louis know that what he had just said made his stomach twist in a not particularly unpleasant way, and brought a small smile to his face.

"Sentimental sod," He muttered, even though he was smiling in the darkness. "They really did convert you into a housemaid, didn't they?"

Louis mumbled something again.

"What? You mutter too much. I thought you 'ad problems with your eyes, not with your speech"

He'd be annoyed if it was William, or anyone else, and smack the muppet over the back of his head, but with Louis...it just felt wrong to think that. Not that he needed to know that. Ever.

"I said, I don't like it when you have nightmares because it hurts you. And then it hurts me. I mean, it's just...sad. To see you sad."

Thomas hesitated, not knowing what to say. "You're 'alf asleep, you don't know what you're sayin'," he said quickly, "Go back t'sleep."

Louis grumbled something, then threw the covers over his face and turned his back on Thomas.

xxx

_He dreamt of the war again. He was once more surrounded by the horror and despair, and he hated it. But he couldn't think of a way out. It was like being stuck inside some deep, terrifying circle of hell. And the screaming...it was constant, the shrieking ringing in his ears mingled with the explosions surrounding the trenches. And suddenly there was a white hot pain searing through his chest, and he fell to the floor against a pile of dead bodies. He clutched at his chest, trying to rip the bullet out. As he did so, he felt a cool pressure against his hands, holding them steady and a voice whispering his name in his ear._

His eyes shot open, and as they adjusted to the darkness, he could see the dim outline of Louis sitting on the edge of his bed, his ridiculous fringe flopping in his eyes.

"Bloody 'ellfire!"

Louis jerked back, letting go of his hands as if they had burnt him. The loss of contact was sudden, and Thomas found himself almost missing it.

"Sorry, sorry." Louis sounded embarrassed, and though Thomas couldn't see him he could picture his face – wide eyed and flushed, his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, his feet curled up underneath him on the mattress.

Thomas sighed, and spoke sleepily. "S'fine. What're you doing up?"

A pause, then, "You were...dreaming again."

The memory of the dream flooded his head, and he must have flinched or something, because Louis' hand shot out automatically to rest on his arm as he drew himself closer. And as he fell back to sleep, the last thing he saw were kind blue eyes and soft brown hair.

When he awoke, it was to a tangle of limbs and a young footman curled into his side. One of his arms was draped across Louis' skinny hips and Louis' thigh was pressed between his. And if he was perfectly honest, he wasn't complaining.

xxx

Thomas groaned, the fever consuming his body and the pain behind his eyes building slowly. He _hated_ having the 'flu.

"Thomas?"

Thomas tilted his head slightly to look at the doorframe, then let it fall back onto his pillow as he registered Louis standing at the end of his bed.

"What?" he asked grumpily, closing his eyes again.

Louis laughed, and Thomas felt his mattress sink at the end as he sat down. "I came to see how you were feeling."

"Like death warmed up. You 'appy now?"

Louis jabbed him in the side, and Thomas pulled away from him grumbling, then pulled his sheets over his head. Louis just smiled again. "Cheer up, or I'll force you to cheer up."

Thomas glared at him from over the top of his sheets. He was sure he'd regret asking this but "...how?"

And then Louis pounced.

Thomas vowed to kill whoever it was (and it was probably Sarah, damn woman) that had told Louis that he was ticklish. He fought back valiantly, kicking out and punching, and it quickly turned into a struggle for dominance. He realised too late that (as he was straddling Louis' hips, laughing and breathless and pinning his hands to the mattress) all plausible deniability had gone out of the window.

xxx

It was Christmas, and all of the servants were returning to their rooms after a party in the kitchen. Thomas had been first out of there, having been forced to sit and make merry with a bunch of idiots, Louis and Sarah.

Louis came up a few minutes later, reeking of something that smelled distinctly like...lavender. Thomas scowled. He'd obviously been accosted by some maid under the mistletoe. Not that he cared. Much. Louis had a slightly spaced out expression, a small smile on his face as he fell back onto his bed.

"Did you 'ave _fun_ then?" Thomas asked, a little more bitterly than he had intended. He undid his tie, leaving it hanging around his neck as he unbuttoned his shirt, glaring slightly at Louis who had flung his tie to the end of his bed, and was in the process of kicking his shoes off. He looked up in bewilderment.

"What?"

"You stink of poxy lavender soap."

Louis blushed, rubbing at his neck uncomfortably. "I was...er...grabbed, I suppose. By Carrie."

Thomas glowered and moved to sit on his bed but stopped when Louis spoke again.

"Why do you care?"

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. Why _did_ he care? He didn't care about anyone usually, save for Sarah. People generally weren't worth his time. And then this stupid man –_boy _– barrelled headfirst into his life without looking and fucked everything up.

Louis walked towards Thomas, staring into his eyes unblinkingly. "It's really none of your business who I may or may not be kissing." He was getting dangerously close now, and the scent of lavender was disgustingly strong now.

"I-" Thomas broke off, swallowing hard and looking at Louis. He seriously debated moving away, but how could he, when he was so tantalisingly close?

Louis stood mere inches away, his breath ghosting lightly over Thomas' mouth. He leaned almost imperceptibly closer, his gaze fixed on Thomas' mouth, then he stopped and looked up into his eyes.

"Goodnight Thomas."

He turned away and undressed for bed. Thomas swore loudly in his head, and turned his back on Louis. He refused to look at him for the rest of the night.

xxx

He was sure he was doing this on purpose.

Before the events of the other night, they had been close. If someone asked where one of them was, the answer would invariably be 'with Thomas' or 'with Louis'. They shared a room, sat with each other at meals, smoked in the yard and worked together. Now, Louis was noticeably spending more time with William, Bates, Anna, Gwen and Branson. It wasn't unusual – while Thomas preferred the select company of Sarah and Louis, Louis got on with everyone.

He saw Gwen leaning over and grabbing Louis' elbow as she laughed at a joke he had told. A sudden twinge of jealousy clouded his vision, and he stormed out of the room to the courtyard to find Sarah.


	2. Chapter 2

**Due to a bout of writers block, this is a veeeeeery short chapter but I felt bad for not updating. Chapter 3 is already underway! I'd like to say a huuuge thank you to all of my reviewers and alerters and favouriters, because you don't know how much it means that you all like Louis. The curse of having an OC is that you're eternally paranoid that people don't like them! Also, a big thank you to the lovely **WotcherNymphadora **who looked over this for me at some ridiculous time of night because I had a freakout over characterisation, and to **ScubaKanga **who is Thomas and eternal inspiration for him :3**

He wasn't supposed to _care_ so much.

How many times had he joked with Sarah about how much he wished the 'pesky little bugger' would leave him alone? Hundreds. But now he actually had, it felt...strange. As if he was missing a limb.

He wondered if the many men he had amputated on the battlefield had felt like this – like something that you had grown so accustomed to in your life that you barely noticed it (be it an extremity or an extremely energetic footman) had suddenly vanished and only then had you realised that actually, you sort of _need_ them.

More than once, he'd caught himself turning to relay some amusing anecdote, or to share a smirk at the idiocy of one of the others and finding nobody at his side and feeling disappointed. He was starting to get annoyed. He wondered, briefly, if the war had changed him. He shook the thought off seconds later, not wanting to admit that perhaps he _had_ changed, and not in a way he had ever anticipated.

He had been prepared for the nightmares, the jumpiness at the slamming of a door or the smashing of a plate. He had been prepared to push people away in fits of depression and anger. What he had _not_ been prepared for was this...this _co-dependency._ Louis kept him anchored firmly to reality, dragging him out of the depths of his darkest nightmares without complaint every night without fail, even if they weren't really talking anymore.

XXX

In the early hours of Sunday morning, they were both awake again. The clock had just struck one, and Louis had woken him from a nightmare not moments before. He smiled at Thomas, a small smile that didn't really reach his eyes, and turned to move back towards his bed. In a move that Thomas would later blame on nightmare induced delirium, he reached out and encircled his fingers around Louis' slim wrist, tugging lightly to make him look back at him.

He wasn't really expecting the hope he saw in his face, the bitten lip and the almost pleading eyes. Thomas licked his cracked lips slowly, trying to find the right words, the words that could make this better. He was sure that there were three that would _definitely _work but as he opened his mouth, almost half prepared to say them, all that came out was "Stay."

He didn't expect him to, not really, but Louis let himself be pulled over slowly by the wrist, folding his body up tightly under the covers with his head pressed against Thomas' chest.

They don't say anything else, and if they hold onto each other a little too tightly...well, nobody mentions it.

XXX

Mrs Patmore once called him a 'lost soul'. He wonders if he really is. He doesn't _feel_ lost, but perhaps nobody feels lost. You could be lost without knowing it, he reasoned.

But he _doesn't_ feel lost, not really. He has Louis, and he has Sarah, and they are both there like some warped kind of compass, pulling him out of the dark recesses of his mind with soft words and shrewd sensibility.

XXX

Sometimes there are days when he can forget that the war ever happened. He can lose himself so entirely in what he's doing that it can blot out the ugly memories hanging in the peripherals of his consciousness. Today is one of those days, and when he realises it later that night lying in bed, he'll be thankful for it.

Downton is playing host to a group of England's supposedly great and good, though he and Sarah have already started a betting pool on who's cheating with who and who's going to be under the table by the time they serve the cheese course.

While he busies himself with carrying suitcases to and from the rooms, and occasionally passing off his more menial tasks to the hall boys, he finds time to stop in the courtyard for a quick smoke, hoping that nobody else would notice him.

"Mind if I join you?"

But of course, that was far too much to hope for. He turned his head to find Louis leaning against the wall next to him, strands of his hair already springing out of his slicked back hairstyle and his tie slightly askew, probably from carrying the trunks upstairs. He held out a cigarette to him wordlessly, and pulled his lighter out of his pocket and passed it to him. Louis took both items with a quiet murmur of thanks, and lit the cigarette. They stayed like that for a few minutes, smoking silently, shoulders brushing until Louis spoke again.

"What are we doing?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm tryin' to 'ave five minutes peace an' quiet." He retorted, perhaps a bit sharply.

"No, I meant...what are we _doing_?"

Thomas didn't have an answer to that. He stared at Louis for a moment, who seemed to be resolutely looking anywhere in the courtyard but at him. He huffed a small sigh, one hand instinctively reaching out and straightening the younger footman's tie, before dropping it back to his side as Louis finally looked up at him.

"I don't know. I 'onestly don't know."

Thomas dropped the cigarette end to the floor, and crushed it with his foot, before making his way back to the servant's quarters as the lunch going sounded, without looking back.


End file.

Downton Abbey, Angst, Romance