What happened to Thomas Barrow ⎹ Downton Abbey⎹ Explicit 18+⎹ M/M⎹ Gay ♥ FanFic⎹

A Troubled Man.

His Lordship was indeed a troubled man, as Thomas got to find out in the following weeks. He was asleep most of the time. His doctor, who would visit once a week, would recommend a use of barbiturates, so he would be out for hours. Thomas wondered about the positive effects of being asleep several days a week, but the doctor seemed to think Lord Westforth was better off unconscious than prowling about with suicidal thoughts. Her Ladyship, though saddened by the treatment, agreed to it silently.

However his Lordship didn't really need the use of any chemicals to fall asleep. He was always in a daze, preferred to stay in bed, or to sit on a chair with a blanket in the garden. There, his back to the house, he would eat too little, and gaze out on the winter skeletons of the trees while drinking tea. This seemed to make him comfortable, if not happy.

Thomas wondered what happened to him during the war, so that he would be so sad. He couldn't bring himself to dare asking her Ladyship yet. He could only assume that his Lordship tried to take his own life, and that her Ladyship was afraid he might try again.

He couldn't say his Lordship was kind, or cruel, or anything for the matter. He would mumble more than he would articulate words. He seemed to be out of it, barely noticing Thomas, never remembering his name, and sometimes looking absolutely puzzled at the sight of him. Thomas witnessed him several times hiding back under the blankets at the sound of his coming in. Her Ladyship was nevertheless happy with Thomas's work, and talked of great team efforts and other nonsense while gesturing madly, causing him to smile and grow fonder of her.

Thomas made out that he suffered from a serious case of "shell shock". The memory losses and the constant confusion, the need of barbiturates to avoid nightmares, and to say nothing of her Ladyship's absolute refusal to take him anywhere loud or crowded, were all the signs needed for him to make a prognostic. He had seen it before. And he knew that the cure wasn't around the corner.

The truth is, Thomas felt rather useless. He would dress his Lordship and undress him, which could have been the highlight of his day, if only he didn't feel so guilty to be attracted to a ghost. He had noticed a scar very similar to his own, on the Viscount's shoulder, a grim reminder of a bullet which passed trough. He would make sure not to apply pressure on it. Then he would bring his Lordship to his table in the garden and give orders to a quasi inexistent staff. Life was very quiet, if not achingly dull. He had a lot of free time. He picked up reading again, her Ladyship had given him access to her library.

He would sit on a chair, ten meters from his Lordship, enjoying to beauty of the garden, keeping an eye on his back, always checking if he wasn't falling from his chair or try to stand up to do something stupid. His Lordship liked to stand up and just stumble aimlessly through the gardens, but Thomas wouldn't let him. He found it too pitiful and couldn't bear watching him looking so helpless, his head sagging. He couldn't really make out why, but he sort of liked his Lordship. He couldn't set aside the feeling of his insides wriggling within him at the sight of him. His beauty had mesmerised him, and he found out a bit sadly that his shallowness had again had the best of him.

Some days, his Lordship would be in one of his days when, caused by some delirious state of mind, he was in an excited mood, determined to dress up in tails, especially for breakfast. He would turn on the gramophone and joke and laugh and dance with her Ladyship, who humoured him as kindly and patiently as she could. In those days his Lordship would indeed notice Thomas, but seemed to think the butler was not on his team, and he would set out to squint at him suspiciously, or better still, to avoid him.

Those moments were short, and followed by memory losses, tears and violent crises, and then more sleeping. Either way, Thomas never had the feeling he had met a real person yet. They had had no conversations. Only imperceptible mumbles or tired requests slurred out of necessity. His Lordship himself didn't seem to know who he was most of the time.