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Richard and Thomas had started a running thread of phone calls since Richard’s last visit to Downton in the summer, when they'd confirmed that their first meeting and the epistolary correspondence that followed were indicative of something that could be… something. Undefined as it still was, it was lovely to have a few minutes once every few weeks when Richard was allowed to come out from behind the formal indifference that defined most of his interactions at Buckingham Palace.
The conversations were thrilling, though they were both still tip-toeing a bit. Thomas had revealed a dark sense of humor, which Richard found refreshing as long as it wasn't aimed too sharply. He was also surprisingly vulnerable in moments.
They prearranged the time via letters. Due to their schedules and the need for total privacy, they were usually set for very early in the morning. This morning, Richard overslept and nearly missed Thomas’s call. When he woke he felt groggy and weighted, and there was an ominous, sharp pain when he swallowed that dulled only slightly after a few hurried gulps of water from the pitcher by his bed.
He threw on a dressing gown and arrived in the office by the servant's dining hall just as the first ring cut through the 5am silence. He practically lunged for the phone desk, grabbing up the handset to stop the ringing and then fumbling for the transmitter. The bedrooms were in another wing, which is why Thomas always placed these calls, but the fear of being caught was still there.
"Servants’ quarters," Richard said, trying not to sound short of breath.
"Good morning, this is Mr. Barrow calling." Thomas's voice greeted him. "Is Mr. Ellis available?"
"He is. Hello, Thomas," Richard said. Verifying was likely not necessary, no one else would call at this hour, but given the circumstances of their first meeting Richard was determined to take his own advice about circumspection. He turned to lean against the edge of the desk, facing the empty hall, so he could watch for signs of life from the entryways.
“Good morning.” Thomas said again, and it sounded different now that he knew for certain who he was saying it to. Richard smiled. Thomas had a way of making old platitudes sound shining new. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been well. And you? Keeping out of trouble, I hope.”
Thomas laughed softly. “Could do with some, actually. Things round here seem to be settling down, with everyone pairing up like turtle doves.”
“Mm.” Six months ago Richard might have teased Thomas about that, made it a flirtation. But now doing so felt bittersweet. He suspected that they both knew what they wanted-- each other. And still they couldn’t really have it. Not the way the turtle doves at Downton could. Richard didn’t usually let himself fall into melancholy about the things he couldn’t change, but he could feel some tugging at him now.
“Surely things are more exciting where you are. Any royal gossip?”
“None that I’m aware of. You probably know as much as I do if you buy a paper.” The pause that followed made him realize that it might have come out sharper than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I know you don’t eavesdrop.” Thomas said carefully.
“No, no. I’m sorry if I was... I’m not quite awake yet. Why don’t you talk a bit while I get there.” Richard suggested. Thomas usually had updates from the house, and listening to him was one of the few things that might pull Richard out of this mood. At least it would keep him from striking out at the last person he wanted to hurt.
“Oh. Um, let’s see…” And Thomas dutifully launched into a story about Lady Mary attempting to establish a rapport with the villagers. He fleshed it out in detail, describing people’s clothes, the weather, taking lilting tangents into family lineages. Richard relaxed into listening, tension bleeding away, grateful for Thomas’s willingness to relieve Richard of the conversational burden and for the simple gift of his voice.
He was so relaxed that he failed to head off a sudden urge to sneeze. He only had time to pull the transmitter and handset away from his face and suppress two gasping sneezes over his shoulder. Afterwards he felt more awake, though not in a very pleasant way. He brought the phone back, intending to apologize.
Thomas’s surprised voice resounded in his ear before he could speak, “God bless you!”
“Sorry-- thank you. Sorry, not trying to deafen you.” Richard stammered, sniffling and turning around to face the desk. He needed use of his handkerchief if he wanted to avoid another rude interruption, and he couldn’t access it with both hands occupied by the phone. He sat down in the desk chair and put the transmitter down in front of him, fishing the cloth from his dressing gown pocket.
“You alright?”
“Yes-- sorry, one moment.” Blowing his nose near the phone seemed both rude and embarrassing, but so did sneezing again. Richard wiped his nose and sniffled in compromise, clearing his throat. “Pardon. I’m back.”
“You feeling alright?” Thomas pressed.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Richard said automatically, a split second before he considered what it might be like to tell the truth. When there was a breath of pause after, he picked back up, tentative: “There’s a cold going through the ranks here, I think it might be my turn.”
"Oh, dear.” Thomas said.
It didn’t sound like an exclamation. It sounded like Thomas was calling Richard ‘dear.’
Richard felt his face get warm. He waited a moment to see if anything more would follow, but nothing did.
“Nothing to worry about.” He said, trying to sound robust and casual, like being called ‘dear’ by Thomas over the phone hadn’t just turned him into a bowl of jelly. “Most everyone’s worked through it.” He didn’t mention that these things tended to come down on him harder than most, ever since his time in the war. No need to borrow trouble, as his mother liked to say. He searched his mind for a conversational foothold to pivot on. “With all the children at Downton I’m surprised you’re not ill September through March. I’d imagine you’re always dodging one thing or another.”
Thomas huffed what Richard thought was a laugh. “Mostly projectiles,” he said, but Richard thought it sounded fond. Thomas cleared his throat. “According to the papers, you’ve an empty palace at the moment. Are you able to take time to rest?”
Richard laughed to cover a rising mixture of embarrassment and affection. “Oh, no. That’s when we do the detail work.”
“Don’t tell me they’ve got the valet to the King of England polishing silver?”
“Second valet.”
“The country really is going to Hell.”
Richard laughed. His rubbed at his eye and somehow managed to force the itch into the back of his nose. He set the transmitter down and picked up the abandoned handkerchief from the desk, muffeling two sneezes as well as he could. The following heaviness in his sinuses verged on a headache. He decided to ride the existing embarrassment and gently blow his nose, which relieved a little of the pressure.
“God bless you, Richard.”
“Pardon me again. I probably shouldn’t have taken this call, just to make you listen to me snivel.”
“I don’t mind. I love hearing from you.” Thomas seemed to realize he’d said the word ‘love’ and started talking a bit faster. “And for some reason I don’t think you’d’ve mentioned you were poorly in your letters. I’d miss my chance to scold you about working too hard.”
“You haven’t yet,” Richard teased.
“You’re working too hard," Thomas returned instantly, with a raw sincerity that caught Richard’s breath. “Should be resting if you’re catching a chill, not polishing silver from dawn to dusk.”
Richard’s eyes misted and he mused distantly that he might be sicker than he thought. There was something surprisingly compelling about Thomas noticing that he was a bit done in-- about anyone noticing, really. But Thomas especially, and from all the way down a phone line. He felt the absurd urge to say ‘thank you,’ but Thomas saved him from that by continuing to build steam.
“...for that matter, probably should be asleep in bed instead of talking to a crabby, selfish butler at five in the bloody morning. Wish I’d known you weren’t well, I wouldn’t have called.”
“Don’t say that, I’m glad you did.” Richard hurried to say, not even noticing that he’d reversed his own position on the matter.
“Should have arranged for the evening, then. You’ve twelve hours in front of you, haven’t you?”
“Thomas, it’s fine. You didn’t even know until just now.”
“Hm.”
“But it’s kind of you to worry.”
Thomas snorts derisively. “Is it? Feels a bit useless at this remove.”
“I’ll find use for it.”
“And how will you manage that?”
“I’ll think of it every now and then, and it’ll make the next few days easier.”
There was a pause where Richard feared he’d said too much, and then: “I hope to hell someone around there is looking out for you.” Thomas said, a little heated.
Richard took a beat to remind himself that it wasn’t about him-- no one looked out for anyone else at the palace, unless they were paid to do so. He'd have to be unconscious or bleeding for anyone to notice something was off.
“We don’t have a Mrs. Bates, I’m afraid. But I’ll be fine, Thomas. I’m not a fool, I won’t work until I drop.”
“Alright. Sorry if I’m making a fuss.”
“Don’t be, I’m touched. But it’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“I--” Thomas broke off, and then resumed with a renewed sense of intention. “You know I’m looking forward to seeing you in December.”
“So am I,” Richard ventured, having to remind himself to breathe. He’d arranged for three days off in a row and planned to spend two of them in York with Thomas. He’d been ticking off the days, if he’s honest, and he didn’t care for the preemptive sound of Thomas’s statement.
“But if you need to take the time now, I’d understand.” Thomas finished.
Richard took a moment to calculate Thomas’s meaning. “No, don’t be silly--”
“I’m just saying, if you need to. I’d rather you took care of yourself.”
“I can take care of myself and still visit you in December.”
“Not if you’re carried off by ‘flu.”
Richard laughed. “It’s a cold, Thomas. Mrs. Burton recovered in less than a week without laying head to pillow and she’s almost seventy.” A chill ran through Richard at the thought of being almost seventy and still working in his current position.
Thomas hummed skeptically. “You ought to go now, so you’ve time for a cuppa and something hot to eat before you start.”
“Talking with you feels much more restorative than porridge.”
“I think an extra 20 minutes of sleep might have done you more good than talking with me, but I’m no physician.”
"Not a chance." Richard heard a bell and felt a brief thrill of panic before realizing it was from Thomas’s end.
Thomas sighed. “I’ve got to go. Could I-- call again Thursday evening? A quick one, just to check on you?"
Richard swallowed painfully to access what he hoped was a normal voice. "That’d be fine."
"8:45?"
"Mm, should be fine."
"Alright. Take care. I'll be holding you to that promise not to work until you drop."
"Promise."
"And stay out of the cold."
Richard was grateful he couldn’t be seen as he grinned helplessly. "I'll do my best. Take care, Thomas.”
“You, too, dear.”
Richard hung up the phone in a bit of a daze. He hadn’t imagined it-- dear. And not in a moment of passion or during a fly-by-night tryst, but in the sober early morning, despite the chilling effect of time and distance (not to mention the unromantic effects of his cold). It felt as though Thomas had given him a love token that he could turn over in his hands and keep in his pocket; a warmth that not even the chilliest indifference from his coworkers could reach through.
A prickling cough crawled its way up his throat and he took a few moments to lean against the desk and work it out, his throat jolting him with sharp complaints, a rasp starting in his chest, feeling better than he’d felt in months.