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Andy felt like a snivelling child, but he couldn't help himself. Tiny sobs escaped his lips despite his best efforts to conceal them, permeated by the dripping of the tap in the bathroom. It had been cleaned from top to bottom.
There was not a drop of spilled blood left to be seen by the naked eye. It was overwhelmingly normal, as if Thomas had never... gone through with it.
Andy wasn't sure how he felt about that.
'Please, Andrew, do calm down,' Mister Carson said with annoyance rather than concern. Still, the butler looked paler than usual. Thomas' attempt on his life was affecting everyone that knew.
Carson had been sent to see if Andy was alright after the shock he'd had - he was the head of the male staff, after all - but it felt painfully awkward to have Carson present, and they were mutually wishing for the moment to be over.
Andy knew it wasn't exactly masculine or helpful for his future career prospects to be crying in-front of his superior, but he couldn't seem to bloody stop. It felt like merely a mechanical reaction by this point, but a relentless onslaught nevertheless.
Why are you in here? Andy wanted to yell, Why aren't you with Thomas? He needs taking care of, not me...!
'I'll- I'll be fine, Mister Carson,' Andy managed, noting how relieved the butler became upon hearing his salvation from the situation.
'Well, alright,' Carson said, already heading back towards the door. 'As long as you're certain you can be getting along with things by yourself. I hope you'll be ready to serve in the evening, Andrew.'
Andy nodded to no-one in particular as the butler took his leave, looking over at his own reflection in the mirror by the sink. His nose was red and his face was wet from tears. He sniffed, reaching for his handkerchief.
Thomas' handkerchief.
Thomas had lent him... His handkerchief...
It was such a small thing, but it sent Andy's mind into overdrive. The young footman clutched it tightly, the fabric crumpling in his fist as he felt a fresh wave of tears overtake him.
One thing was certain: Nothing would ever be the same.
~*~
'You should have let me die.'
The words were hoarse, frank and laced with bitterness.
Andy sat awkwardly in his chair, so many unsaid things between them hanging in the air.
He felt sick whenever he looked at the bandages, but he could stand looking at them if it meant he could be with Thomas. Andy had unwillingly seen Thomas floating in a pool of his own blood - he could handle the scars that remained.
'W-We wouldn't want to do that, Mister Barrow,' Andy said, praying for his voice not to wobble or crack from the heavy tension in the room. 'We want you safe and sound.'
Thomas smiled humourlessly, looking a little like his old self. But he also looked tired, so very tired. 'Speak for yourself,' he said after running his tongue over his dry lips. 'I don't exactly have fans here.'
'Then I am speaking for m-myself, Mister Barrow. I'm glad we got to you in time. I don't want you to get hurt.'
'Too little too late,' Thomas said in a quiet rush, gingerly turning over in his bed.
Andy could see more of the bandages.
Thomas didn't talk any more that day.
~*~
Mister Barrow had been patient.
Andy couldn't help but reflect on this fact when he took his lessons at the school house. There were differences to the teaching methods, and not all of them were positive. The new teacher in question was brisk, vague and slightly condescending. Andy had always hated going to school for these exact reasons.
But he hadn't hated being taught by Mister Barrow.
~*~
Thomas laughed one day, at some silly joke Andy made about the weather.
Andy smiled, feeling strangely flattered but mostly happy that he could hear such an elusive and wonderful sound.
Moments like these were few and far in-between. Andy liked to make them count, committing them to memory.
~*~
Miss Baxter got angry the first time Andy tried cigarettes.
He didn't know what had made him do it. Maybe he just missed the comfortable and familiar smell in the courtyard. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that Andy had bought Thomas' brand of choice, the thought of simply filching one of Thomas' cigarettes never entering the footman's head.
He didn't feel any kind of rush, just the odd embarrassment of a third degree from Miss Baxter when she found him puking his guts up in the gents' toilets.
They both knew why she was patrolling such an area, and who they feared might go in alone and lock the door just like on that horrible, horrible day.
The bathtub stared at Andy from the other side of the room, looming and ever-present.
~*~
'Don't look so glum, Andy,' Daisy said with concern plain to see in her eyes. 'He's just got the flu. We've had scares with it in the past, but Miss Baxter's been tellin' me that he's getting better every day.'
Miss Baxter was having an easier time with getting through to Thomas these days. Andy could infer why - they had apparently grown up together, and understood each other to a degree. Andy couldn't help but contemplate if he should just stay away from Thomas altogether, but he felt like he'd already done that in the past for all the wrong reasons. He didn't want Thomas to think that he only had one friend in the world.
And so Andy had continued to visit, sometimes with a cup of tea, sometimes with a book Thomas knew full well he couldn't competently read, sometimes with news from downstairs that he thought Thomas might find entertaining. Thomas' expression was almost always hard to decipher throughout it all. Andy couldn't tell if Thomas actually liked their chats or if he was merely tolerating Andy's company for the time being.
'I'm fine, Daisy,' Andy said with what he hoped was a winning smile. He could see Mrs Patmore smiling in kind out of the corner of his eye. She approved. She thought they'd be a good match.
Andy knew he should make sure to smile more often, convey himself as easygoing, perhaps ask to go with Daisy to the pictures... He should take her arm, walk her home, kiss her lips and dream of more. She was nice. She was pretty. She had a future on a farm.
By all accounts they were positively perfect for each other, and the rest of the staff knew it. And yeah, sure, he may have grown to love her over time under decidedly different circumstances - who knew how the universe could fall into place? - but the feeling of being an experiment, the sense of being helplessly stuck inside an observation area, made the whole thing stop at a certain level of fondness.
The thought made his stomach turn just a little bit, because he remembered everyone's reaction to the first time he'd started hanging around with Thomas. Andy felt the strong desire to be his own person, but he was becoming increasingly aware that in service it wouldn't be possible.
He wanted to be allowed to make his own judgements on character, and keep company with whomever he pleased. 'I'm going to see Mister Barrow,' he somehow blurted out, mouth working of its own accord. His body decided to follow suit, so he found himself getting to his feet.
'Andy... Maybe that's not the best idea,' Mrs Hughes said gently. 'You've been up there a lot lately - you must be worn out from it all, considering your other duties. He's still very tired these days, and besides, it looks like it's beginning to play on your mind a bit-'
'-Thank-you for your concern Mrs Hughes,' Andy managed. 'But I'd really like to see him now if that's alright.'
Mrs Hughes couldn't exactly stop him anymore; she clearly remembered what isolation had done to Thomas the last time around.
She nodded, and so Andy made his way to the door, feeling eyes following him across the room.
He stopped at the door, an anger he didn't often notice taking root. 'He's a good man,' he said firmly before he could stop himself. 'Mister Barrow is a good man.'
An awkward silence followed him out of the room.
~*~
'You're in a mood,' Thomas said, a statement rather than a question.
Andy shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he pulled up a chair and sat down in his usual spot. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I shouldn't have come when I'm like this. I should've calmed down first.' He felt angry, and tired beyond belief for some reason, but he'd noticed some of his worries drain away from that first glimpse of Thomas' face.
There was a glimmer of interest in Thomas' eyes. '...Tell me,' he said simply, putting his book down.
'-It's this bloody place sometimes,' Andy said, sighing in exasperation. 'It's... It's suffocating, that's what it is. Everywhere I go they have to ask questions, but when I'm actually upset-' he hesitated, remembering that day in the bathroom and Carson's empty words of comfort - '-They don't give a damn! They don't care! I don't know how you've lived here this long...'
A smile had formed on Thomas' lips. It was a rare sight these days, probably always had been, and Andy couldn't help but reciprocate a little, running his fingers through his slicked-back curls.
'Welcome to service, Andy Parker,' Thomas said. 'It's ridiculous and filled with pomp and fanfare, but I guess it's not a bad life to have to live.'
'I want... M-More. I don't really know how to explain the way I feel but... I want more.'
'So did I,' Thomas said in a smaller voice than the one he'd used previously.
'H-Has Miss Baxter been up to visit you yet? She said something about bringing you a crossword to do or something...'
'She was here again this morning. She doesn't like me to be alone...'
'-You can tell me to stop,' Andy said, once again unable to stop himself from acting out on his impulses.
'...What?'
'I-I... I won't get offended.' Andy licked his lips nervously. '...That is, i-if you don't want me around. I like coming up to see you, b-but I always worry that I'm not helping anything.'
'...Are you kidding me?' Thomas said, sounding a little more fatigued as he lay his head gently back against the pillows. 'Don't be daft, Andy. You're brighter than that, I know you are. I look forward to your visits like you wouldn't believe... You and Miss Baxter are the only ones I really talk to these days, and you're my only contact with the rest of the staff. And Lord knows I'm bored stiff up here. There's nothing for me to do but sit... A-And think about what I did.'
'We could always talk about it if you want...'
'...Not now. Not today.' Thomas sighed, as if he was angry, but then his bandaged arm reached out, hand grasping Andy's gently. 'I feel bad.'
'...About what?'
'You've been having such a bad time of it lately,' Thomas said, pointedly avoiding Andy's gaze. 'Phyllis has been trying to cover it up, but I know you have.'
'...This isn't about me. Look, n-none of this is about me. You're still recovering fr-from...' He sighed. 'I just want to be the best friend I can be, Thomas.' He winced at the dropping of Thomas' surname, realising he'd slipped up, but Thomas squeezed his hand all the same, weak but indicative of a different kind of strength.
'You found me dying, Andy,' Thomas said in that same hoarse, frank voice from all those weeks ago. There was less bitterness this time around.
Andy took a chance and squeezed Thomas' hand. 'I know.'
'That must have been hard on you.'
'W-Well... I care about you. Very much.'
Thomas was still avoiding Andy's gaze. 'I felt so... Hopeless.' He laughed humourlessly, tears in his eyes. He still looked so pale, so ill. 'I still do. But I can't stay in this bed forever. I just have to trust that I have a job to go back to when they deem me well enough. I'm... I'm living on borrowed time now, Andy. I'm stuck up here, waiting around for them to finally be done with me.'
'None of this was your fault. A-And if they don't let you have your job back, I'll...' Andy's empty hand clenched. '...I'll fight for you. I'll figure something out.'
'...I was wrong, you know.'
'What about?'
'-You shouldn't have let me die.' Thomas audibly hesitated before continuing. 'I'm sorry. It was a cruel thing to have said to you after such a shock. You were just doing what you thought was right for me, and it turns out you were right. I heard about how you broke down the door and helped to carry me out of the bathroom, you know. You saved my life, you and Phyllis.' He spoke her name with tenderness, and the tenderness lingered on in his expression after he had said it.
'You shouldn't apologise,' Andy said, quietly but firmly. 'We all should have been better friends to you. And you were in such a dark place...'
'...I still am. These things, they don't just go away. It's hard to explain...' Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, contemplating something. '...I've been generally unhappy for a very, very long time. It's like being permanently under the weather, a-and with every step you take it gets harder to think and remember yourself. Eventually you just stop coping as well as you used to.'
'...I'll still be here. I don't care how long it takes.'
'I certainly hope so. Who else will bring me my cigarettes and my books?'
Andy laughed nervously, hoping the hand he was holding Thomas' with wasn't becoming noticeably sweat-slicked. '...Y-Yes, who indeed?'
'Hm. I guess Daisy always could. You might just be out of a job yourself soon.' He was joking about things that they never really talked about during their chats, but Andy didn't care how jarring the comments were to his own ears, as long as Thomas didn't bottle everything up all over again.
'Ah, but then y-you'd miss the view,' Andy reasoned, another nervous peal of laughter overtaking him. 'We both know I'm the prettiest...'
They both laughed at that.
Nothing would ever be the same.
Thomas would make no promises to stay, and Andy would just have to deal with that.
But Andy would make promises of his own; he wanted to be there for Thomas in any way he could.
Thomas squeezed Andy's hand again, weaker this time as his fatigue truly took hold.
'I care about you too,' Thomas said softly, and Andy felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time in years.