Downton Abbey: A Period of Adjustment - 2/7

Fandom: Downton Abbey
Series: Trying to be Nicer
Title: A Period of Adjustment
Chapter Title: Apologies and Gratitude
Chapter Summary: Thomas makes peace with Bates, then pays a visit to the cemetary.
DISCLAIMER: Thomas Barrow, Jimmy Kent, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes, John Bates, Anna Bates, Alfred Nugent, Robert Crawley / Earl of Grantham, Daisy Mason, Beryl Patmore, Ivy Stuart, Edward Courtenay, Richard Clarkson, Tom Branson, Sybil Branson, Sybil Crawley, Sybbie, Edith Crawley, Mary Crawley, Sarah O'Brien, Cora Crawley / Lady Grantham, Matthew Crawley, Isobel Crawley, Violet Crawley / the Dowager Countess, Mr Molesley, © Julian Fellowes  / ITV / PBS. This is just fanfiction, not an official story for the series, and no profit is being made by the author.

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Finishing his tea, John was about to leave the now-empty servant's hall to gather some of Lord Grantham's things to mend, when Thomas stepped in front of him in the doorway. John bristled for a moment out of reflex, but the tension drained away almost instantly when he saw the look of trepidation on the younger man's face.

"D-do you have a moment, Mr Bates?" Thomas asked hesitantly, head bowed and eyes averted.

John was surprised to find that seeing Thomas being so cowed was unnerving, almost as bad as when he'd found the man in his room, completely broken and hopeless. Thomas had and even better job now, better than John himself had, with Grantham in his corner -- he would have thought Thomas would be strutting around like a rooster ....

"Sure," John said, curious but still wary. Perhaps this was some sort of ruse ....

"Ah ... let's sit, shall we?" Thomas asked, gesturing to the table in the servant's hall.

Once they were seated, it took Thomas a few moments to get going, with John getting increasingly unsettled. Thomas kept his eyes on the table as he spoke.

"I ... I-I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me and ... I'm sorry for all the grief I've caused you in the past. I know there's been a lot of it, a-and sorry doesn't even begin to make up for it, but ... well, I hope you'll give me a chance to do as much as I can," Thomas rambled, like a dam had broken within him and the words were just tumbling out, his normally posh accent slurring more towards middle-class Manchester with the speed.

John, feeling really awkward and wondering if he was in some strange dream, was going to tell Thomas not to worry about it, both because he still didn't trust Thomas (though he wouldn't have said that) and because he'd rather leave the past in the past. Unfortunately, the other man's stream of words didn't seem ready to stop flowing, and Bates was too intrigued to interrupt him.

"I know that ... technically I rank above you now," Thomas went on, "but I want you to know that I don't see it that way -- as far as I'm concerned, unless a particular circumstance requires me to give directions to you, we're equals. I don't even really understand why His Lordship offered me this job, but ... well, I didn't want to leave ... I mean,  for better or worse, Downton is my home ... so I took it. A-and I understand now that you never meant me any ill will when you took the valet job -- either time.  I realise that I shouldn't have been surprised when you helped me -- you could have gotten me over the snuff box a long time ago, after all, but you didn't. You could have snitched on me about the wine, but you didn't. You were never out to get me, like I told myself you were. I brought all that trouble on myself."

John just stared at the under-butler. John's mother had often spoken of changelings, faer folk that were swapped for children stolen from cradles. Did they come for adults, too?

Thomas finally looked up at him, and gave him a wan smile. "I said prison changed you, but I'm not so sure now -- you probably didn't need to improve. I think ... I think I kept mistaking you for myself." He looked at the table again. "And I can tell you, the threat of prison -- or homelessness -- has ... encouraged me to reevaluate a few things about my life. It occurs to me that, unless I want to be thrown out like I nearly have been even before this latest ... incident, I need to change my ways. And I think a good place to start is with what you said about being nicer -- I think I'd fare better listening to you that I ever did with O'Brien. I need to choose my friends better -- a-and treat them better when I have them."

Thomas looked up, then quickly looked to the side, seeming embarrassed. "Not that I'm expecting us to be friends, mind, after all I did. I just ... well, I thought you might be upset about how things worked out, what with me being promoted, and I wanted you to know that I'm going to do my best to make sure you at least don't regret helping me."

"Ah, Mr Barrow," came Carson's voice from the doorway just then. "Come to my office, will you, and we can work on dinner plans for the week."

"Yes, Mr Carson," Thomas said contritely, rising to his feet.

"Thomas," John said as the other man moved to leave.

Thomas looked at him expectantly, with a mix of worry and hope. John saw it as a good sign that Thomas didn't correct him by insisting he be called Mr Barrow (although John supposed he would have to get used to using it, or get an earful from Carson).

"Prison did change me -- the first time I went," John revealed. "You keep up this new attitude towards life, and prove you've really put your anger and vindictiveness  behind you -- as I myself had to do," he interjected with rue, "-- and I don't doubt you'll find yourself with more friends than you know what to do with. Including me."

The look of gratitude and relief Thomas now wore was so unfamiliar, it was like looking at another person entirely. "Thank you, Mr Bates." And with a nod of his head, the under-butler hurried off.

"I just hope this new Thomas sticks around," Bates said to himself, chuckling as he rose to his feet. "Wait till Anna hears ...."

~ * * * ~
Thomas spent some of his next half-day visiting Sybil's grave -- his first time doing so since the funeral. Granted, the old Thomas wasn't much for visiting gravesides, but besides his newfound sense of obligation, he found he wantedto go. Part of him thought it was a ridiculous idea, but the other part of him missed her, and thought maybe he could be closer to her there, that she would appreciate his visit -- and that part of him really didn't care how ludicrous the other part thought it.

So he brought flowers and a blanket to sit on, and spent an hour or talking to her headstone as if it were her (and not as if her body were actually ten feet below him). First, he told her about how baby Sybbie was doing, and her Tom, and then her family. Then he shared some light gossip he'd heard about various aristo families. He moved on to anecdotes about and the health of the staff. Finally, confirming that no one else was near enough to her him, he quietly told her about his recent promotion -- and the ordeal that led to it, including his ill-treatment of Bates in days past and how the man had helped him anyway. He wanted her to know all of him, his bad side as well as his good, and confirm or deny any ideas she'd had about him while she was alive. He just wished he could have done this while she was alive.

By the time he was done, tears were a steady rain on his face. "I'm sure the subject of whom I am attracted to doesn't disgust you, but I fear some other things I've done would, and I'm so, so sorry for that," he told her earnestly. "You were a good friend -- far better than I deserved. Should I even come back here? I feel like I ought to, and I want to, but ... after all that's happened, I don't want to impose my company on anyone ever again. You deserve to be at peace here. But while I think it would kill me to hear that you hated me after all I did, but I still wish I knew -- 'cause you'd be alive to tell me."

The wind picked up just then, and something brushed his cheek softly before falling into his lap. It was a blossom, not from a grave but as what might fall from a flowering tree -- even though no trees were in bloom.

He smiled softly. "Thank you." He got to his feet and gathered up the blanket, then tipped his hat to the headstone. "I'll see you soon. Meanwhile, you say hello to Edward for me, 'ey?" Because Thomas didn't believe for an instant that a soul as beautiful as Edward's would be eternally tormented in Hell for being driven to end his torment on Earth.

As Thomas began the walk back to the entry gate, another blossom blew past him. His eyes followed it as it tumbled towards the cemetery that the simple white crosses. It came to rest at the foot of one, and Thomas followed.

He wasn't surprised when the name on the cross turned out to be William Mason.

"'Allo, old son," he greeted William, laying the blanket down and settling upon it. I'm sorry I haven't been by. I'm sorry about a lot of things, really. I could have stood to be a lot kinder to you. I know, too little, too late. I can't fix how I was; all I can do is promise I'll try to be better, for whatever that's worth -- it's all I've got.

"If it's any comfort at all, I'll look out for Daisy for you. Not as in me trying to take your pace, mind!" he added hurriedly. "I don't know if you knew, but ...." He looked around. "Well, frankly, you were more my type. I'm sorry I got in your way with Daisy. I know first-hand how hard it is to see someone you're attracted to fawn over someone else. Not that I was greatly smitten with you -- no offence -- but I was still jealous. It wasn't even really a matter of you being attracted to her and not me, but the fact that that's pretty much how it always goes for me -- and for the fact that, if she loved you back, you could be married and lived happily ever after, and everyone would be so happy for you. I hated you for it, for something that was as out of your hands as how society loathes my kind. It wasn't fair of me."

Thomas thought for a moment that it had started to drizzle, until he tasted salt.

"And it wasn't just that," he went on, ignoring his tears since there was no one but maybe ghosts to see them. "I hated you because everyone loved you and no one loved me -- and it never occurred to me that they didn't love me because I didn't give them much reason to. I hated you for having a mother and father that loved you, and for the fact that you never were and never would have been a disappointment to them. None of that was fair of me. Not to mention I think I would have been a lot less miserable with you as my friend." That they hadn't been was, Thomas realised now, yet another example of how Thomas was and always had been his own worst enemy.

Another blossom fell, landing on the back of his half-covered hand. Thomas smiled wistfully. "Is this your way of telling me you were my friend? Or just wishful thinking on my part?" He laid the bloom at the foot of the grave marker. As he did, a fat drop of rain fell on his bad hand, even though the sky didn't look like rain at all.

"I'm not ashamed of this," he remarked, watching the water spread along the leather. "I'm not sorry I did it. There's only so much terror one can take, and two years at the front was the worst hell of my life. But I know everyone would have preferred it was me who'd died instead of you, and as much as I wanted to live -- still do -- I'm not sure I've lived up to the extra time I've been granted so far. Even so, I don't think I would have the guts to trade places with you now, if I could. I'm not selfless enough -- Matthew Crawley was lucky it was you he had with him rather than me. But I'm trying now, and maybe one day people will think me as worthy of my life as you were of yours." He rose to his feet, brushing his clothes off and restoring his hat to his head. "I suppose I won't have to fear the fires of hell so much then, because they'll be frozen over, eh?" he chuckled. "I'll see you, mate," he added, tipping his hat. Maybe I'll bring Daisy next time, he thought to himself as he began walking home.