Downton was beautiful in December. The frost glittered on the lawns and driveway, and the sun sunk low in the wintry sky, an amber hue that illuminated the frozen branches of the trees. Inside, the ornate Christmas tree glowed with lights and decorations, and the whole house was filled with the scent of cinnamon and baking. Downstairs was always a bustle of activity in the weeks leading up to Christmas, and despite the extra workload, everyone was in good spirits. Last year, Thomas had joined in with the festivities and the carols everyone sung accompanied by Jimmy on the piano, but this year was different.
Although last Christmas he had only just formed the tentative friendship with Jimmy, they had spent the festive period staying up late into the night, laughing and playing cards. Over the last twelve months, their friendship had strengthened; Thomas had never expected to have become such good friends with Jimmy, and was eternally grateful for his friendship with the other man. It wasn't enough to stop him from being just as painfully in love with Jimmy as he had been since the day they'd met, but it almost enough to help bear it.
Only in the past few weeks, Thomas had barely spoken to Jimmy at all. In fact, Thomas had barely spoken to anyone at all. Ever since the days had become small pauses of daylight between increasing darkness and the coldness from outside had seeped into the house, it had started to happen; Thomas' old injury had begun to flare up. His fingers constantly felt numb and uncomfortable under the cold leather of his glove, and Thomas was secretly terrified that he was beginning to lose the feeling in his fingers. If he did, he knew that this would mean the end of his career in service, and consequently, the end of his friendship with Jimmy.
Consequently, he'd been tense and worried for weeks, and in the last few days which had brought particularly bitter snowstorms, his mood had worsened along with the pain in his hand. At breakfast that morning, Thomas had dropped the marmalade when Daisy had passed it to him, and he'd knocked over Lady Grantham's glass at Luncheon. It simply wasn't in his nature to be clumsy, and worst of all, Thomas knew that Jimmy could tell something was wrong. The footman had been watching him closely with a worried expression whenever Thomas snapped a little too sharply at someone or dropped something at the table; he knew Thomas better than anyone, and knew him too well not to notice when something was wrong.
But Thomas couldn't bring himself to tell Jimmy. Normally if he was feeling gloomy about something, talking to Jimmy would help— but not in this case. He was afraid that voicing his fears out loud would make them more real, and he knew that if he spent time with Jimmy as he normally did, he would not be able to conceal it— Jimmy had a knack for getting him to bear his soul, whether he wanted to or not. Lying to Jimmy left Thomas with a sour taste in his mouth.
So ever since the start of December, he had diligently avoided the other man, even though it pained him to do so. Whenever Jimmy asked if he wanted to go for a smoke, Thomas would pretend that he had an errand to run for Mr. Carson; when Jimmy sat down at the table in the servants' hall at the end of the day, Thomas would stub out his cigarette and say he needed an early night; when Jimmy tried to catch his eye across the table at breakfast, Thomas would stare determinedly at his porridge.
It pained him more than words could express to see the hurt confusion in Jimmy's expression whenever Thomas made his feeble excuses to go and sit by himself, and not having Jimmy at his side, laughing at everyone and sharing cigarettes with him felt completely wrong. It felt as though Thomas only half a person, and it reminded him horribly of the period Jimmy had hated him. But it was better than telling him the truth and having to come to terms with it. While it was unvoiced, Thomas could almost pretend that it wasn't true.
At least by Christmas Eve, Thomas no longer had to make up frail excuses not to spend time with Jimmy that sounded weak even to his own ears; Mr. Carson's sister had been taken ill, and he'd travelled up to London to see her, leaving Thomas in charge as under-butler. This meant that Thomas was conveniently very busy, and genuinely didn't have time to go outside and smoke in the freshly falling snow or play cards with Jimmy at the table in the servants' hall. He spent all of the morning of Christmas eve hurrying around so that he wouldn't have to think about how the fingers in his left hand felt stiffer and more numb than ever.
