Chapter Text
Daisy takes a deep breath in and out and girds herself up before she asks, “Can I have one?”
Thomas looks up sharply, cigarette freezing half-way to his mouth. He holds it with his unmarked hand, while the one wearing the glove sits in his lap, on his cricket whites. He looks somehow small like this, slumping down on an outcropping and without his hackles up, but he still looks wary. Like a cat in a corner; claws not out yet, but at the ready if needed.
“Since when do you smoke?”
“I don’t, not really. And Mrs. Patmore says it ruins your taste, so a cook should never, but- well, I was just thinking-”
Thomas cuts off her rambling by standing and holding out a fresh cigarette. She takes it carefully and holds the end steady as he lights it, then takes a shallow breath on it, holding the smoke in her mouth. The taste is bitter and burnt, so she can’t imagine how Thomas is dragging it so deep, letting smoke curl out of his nose as he sighs and leans against the back courtyard wall. She breathes out the mouthful of smoke and just holds the smoldering cigarette in her fingertips. They stand in silence for a bit; the sounds of post-cricket celebration drift out through the servant’s hall now and then.
“What are you really doing out here?” he asks after a time. He has finished his own cigarette down to a stub, and plucks the ignored one out of her hand to relight it off his first and pop it in his mouth. Daisy tries not to let her eyes linger over his lips; she had trained herself out of that a long time ago.
“I’m glad you’re not leaving,” she says in a rush, keeping her gaze resolutely at his eyes. He squints at her.
“That would make you the only one.”
“Everyone was glad to have you on the cricket team,” she reminds him.
“So for one day every year, I can be the golden boy. Hurrah.”
“At least you get one day.” He quirks an eyebrow at her, and while she hadn’t intended to start complaining…well, he wasn’t the only one who had had a rough few weeks. “You make a mark and everyone knows your name, even upstairs. I could work here until I’m one hundred and no one would notice me.”
“You’re assistant cook, and you’re good at it. You’ll be head cook one day, whenever Mrs. Patmore snuffs it,” he says. His words are on the harsh side, but his tone isn’t sharp. “Just because some gangly footman doesn’t notice you doesn’t mean you’re worthless.”
“...it’s a hard time to fancy footmen, isn’t it?”
Thomas doesn’t say anything, just stands up straight and glares at her, pulling hard at his cigarette again. Once upon a time, she would have shrunk under that glare, but she liked to think she had grown past that. She just shrugged and continued lightly.
“When no one notices you, they talk in front of you. But I won’t say anything. Even if you and Ivy do both have bad taste.”
There is a long moment where Daisy thinks he’s going to stalk away, or say something nasty. He looks like he considers it. But something shifts in his face and suddenly he’s laughing, cackling really, leaning back against the wall with how hard he’s shaking. She leans as well, and while there is silence again, it feels nicer this time. Sort of like not being alone.
-/-
Daisy doesn’t have much free time, even with Ivy doing many of the small tasks, but she finds herself spending more and more of it in the courtyard with Thomas. It’s a place to get away when Alfred and Jimmy are busy mooning over Ivy, but more than that, it feels nice. The kitchen is never quiet, can never be quiet, and the courtyard feels like it has a bit of peace, even with others coming and going. She asks Thomas for a cigarette a few more times, puffs on it a bit before he takes it back, but eventually he just shakes his head at her request.
“You don’t have to do that. And I’m not wasting cigarettes just so you can chew on them for half a second.” At least she doesn’t have to work as hard to hide the smell from Mrs. Patmore.
If you had told her when she first came to Downton that she would get to spend time with Thomas Barrow, she would have turned red as a tomato and lost all ability to speak. Even now, she feels her face get warm sometimes when she looks at him, at his lovely eyes and the way his cheeks hollow when he smokes. But while they don’t talk much, it feels companionable, and she blushes less and less as time goes on. It helps that he’s not looming up over her, working with Mrs. O’Brien to squeeze secrets out of her.
Speaking of Mrs. O’Brien, she still comes out to smoke in the courtyard too. Thomas always finishes his cigarette quickly when she does, trying to look casual and unbothered, but his blighty clenches at his side. She stares at him coldly, and spares an occasional moment to sneer at Daisy. “Bit of a downgrade, smoking with the scullery maid,” she says one day, on an afternoon when rumor has it she had ripped one of Lady Grantham’s favorite handkerchiefs.
“Assistant cook,” Thomas says as he stubs out the tip of his cigarette against the brick wall. “And better company than some I could mention.” Mrs. O’Brien scoffs as she and Thomas walk away.
She’s not the only one who notices the two of them spending time together. Mrs. Patmore pulls Daisy over to the side once, after she sees them chuckling over a joke together.
“I know it’s been hard with Alfred, but I don’t think Thomas would be the wisest place to put your affections.” Daisy cocks her head and looks purposely confused as Mrs. Patmore stumbles her way through a warning about “confirmed bachelors”.
“Of course he’s a bachelor, he’s never been married.” Daisy keeps it up until she wanders away, muttering about sweet girls who will never learn.
Mr. Carson is far more direct when he calls her into his office.
“I want to make it clear that you’re not in trouble, Daisy. But I feel it is important to make sure that you are not being manipulated or taken advantage of. Has Thomas said or done anything inappropriate to you?”
“No, Mr. Carson. We’ve just been talking.”
He purses his lips and squints across his desk, but ultimately nods. “Very well, Daisy. But do come to me if you have any problems.”
“Yes, Mr. Carson.”
-/-
“I don’t know why he thinks he needs to worry about you,” Thomas scoffs when he tells her about it later. “Given that you actually would be appropriate for me to be interested in.” He doesn’t talk about his inversion often, at least not directly, but Daisy has noticed him mention it sometimes, when no one else is around.
“No one thinks you’re interested in me. I think he was worried about me lying again, like with you and the wine.”
Thomas has the decency to look away, mouth twisted in displeasure. “Not my finest hour, I’ll admit.”
“I’ll say.” She jerks her jaw up, feeling the old hurt and embarrassment. “It was horrible, you and Miss O’Brien getting me mixed up in all that.”
“I know.” He crosses an arm over his chest, tucking his blighty around him protectively. “That bloody Bates just gets under my skin and-...anyway.” He shuffles back and forth for a moment before grimacing and letting out a gruff, “I’m sorry.”
“...It was a long time ago. God knows we’ve both seen a lot worse since then.”
“Said the widow to the soldier.”
They had been so young back then, practically children. Before the war, before everything with William. Long before Ivy, before Jimmy, before Alfred. Sometimes it feels like she and Thomas have always been at Downton Abbey and always will be.
And on days like this, that doesn’t seem like a terrible thing.