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The silence is deafening. Almost like the silence after a heavy thunderstorm on a summer evening. Or the silence after a big announcement.
Or the silence after dropping a plate of silverware.
Exactly like the silence after dropping a plate of silverware.
Thomas's eyes dart from the silver plate bearing the Crawley family crest, which now lies in pieces on the floor in front of him, up to his employer. To Robert Crawley, who not only hired and welcomed him to Downton, but also placed so much trust in him that he made Thomas the butler of the house.
Robert Crawley, to whom he has just clearly proven that he has been wrong about Thomas. That Thomas is not the right man for the job. Just as his father always told him.
Useless.
Burdening.
Unwanted.
His father's words echo in his ears, and Thomas presses his palms against them, silently hoping that the pounding in his head will stop. Hoping his father would stop yelling at him, calling him lazy and worthless. But the noise in his head swells more and more, getting louder and louder, until Thomas feels like he is drowning in it, like in the sound of waves in a roaring sea.
Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas vaguely notices Robert standing up and taking a cautious step towards him. Thomas's body immediately flinches as if he had been electrocuted, and he stumbles back a few steps until his back hits a wall. His eyes dart from one corner of the room to another, desperately hoping to find an escape route. Away from the prying eyes. Away from the man who is approaching him, and certainly not to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
After all, his father never did either.
Somewhere, in the furthest corner of his foggy brain, Thomas notices Robert trying to talk to him. But the fog in his head is too thick and his ears are still ringing so loudly that Thomas can only make out individual fragments of words. They all sound urgent and rather panicked.
"Thomas- Thomas what happened? Please, talk to us!"
But Thomas cannot speak. His throat feels constricted. He desperately tries to utter at least one word, but his parched throat, which feels like sandpaper, can only produce a pitiful wheeze.
It's happening again. And this time it's not in the lonely silence of their cottage. This time it's not just with the person next to him who understands him better than anyone else, loves him unconditionally and would never judge him for his feelings or his trauma. Not with Richard, who first gives him the space he needs before taking him in his arms and whispering gentle words of love and affirmation in his ear.
No.
Instead, it happens in front of the whole Crawley family, including Andy who is looking at him as if he had seen a ghost.
With great effort, Thomas manages to form the word "Richard" with his lips, and his heart seems to swell with relief when Andy merely nods and leaves the room with an apologetic look at the Crawley family.
No sooner is Andy in the corridor than he breaks into a sprint and hurries down the stairs to the servants' hall as if the devil himself were hot on his heels.
The servants' hall is empty, except for Phyllis Baxter, who is sitting at the table with her sewing machine beside her, busy sewing a button back onto Thomas' shirt with needle and thread. When Andy stops in front of her with squeaking soles, the Lady's maid looks up so quickly that she has definitely just strained her neck.
"What happened?"
Her voice sounds suspicious, but her worried expression betrays her. Phyllis knows full well that it is family dinner time and the fact that Andy is standing in front of her with a pale face, even though he should be helping Thomas serve upstairs, leaves her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
A hollow feeling that has nothing to do with the well-being of the family. Instead, it is this gnawing, biting feeling of fear that too often has something to do with a certain black-haired butler. A certain black-haired butler who has already been through too much in his life.
She looks Andy straight in the eyes and her tone hardens. "What happened?"
But Andy can't explain everything to her now. Thomas has asked him to fetch Richard, and he's not going to waste any more time here.
"Where is Richard? I need him.. now!"
"In the kitchen. He‘s helping Daisy with-"
But Andy doesn't hear the rest of the sentence, because he rushes back into the kitchen, where Richard is helping Daisy cut out biscuits for the village fair next weekend.
Andy knows that Richard is a passionate amateur baker. He loves to linger among the aromas of fresh dough, fruit and chocolate, and Daisy never misses an opportunity to tell Andy how much she appreciates Richard's help in the kitchen.
At first, Andy found this a little strange. A man who likes to stand in the kitchen and bake? But Daisy seems to enjoy it very much and it saves Mrs. Patmore a lot of work, so he refrained from commenting on the matter. As long as Richard doesn't open a bakery in London and runs off with Thomas, he couldn't care less. Because as much as he hates to admit it... Thomas is by far one of the best supervisors he has ever had.
Daisy and Richard stare at Andy in confusion as he stops in front of them in the doorway, panting and gasping for breath. They are both holding cookie cutters in their hands, and Richard's shirt is covered in flour.
"Thomas- panic attack - upstairs-" is the only thing Andy can say. Not because he has lost his voice, but because his ribs are now feeling as if someone has rammed a knife into them.
With a tinny clatter, one of the cookie cutters falls to the floor and Andy can only make out Richard's shadow as he sweeps past him and through the open door. Andy buries his head in his hands. He feels as if he has already run far too much today.
****************************
Richard can hear the blood rushing in his ears as he rushes up the stairs to the dining room, taking two steps at a time. He doesn't know who or what triggered Thomas's panic attack, but if it's the same kind that has happened a year ago, he doubts that anyone in the family has any idea how to respond to it.
Richard hurries around the corner into the dining room and his body comes to an abrupt halt as his brain takes in the scene before him.
Thomas, who has squeezed himself into a corner of the dining room, his hands pressed over his ears, his face chalk white and his eyes as big as saucers. Robert, standing a few steps away from him, trying gently to talk to him. The rest of the Crawley family, still sitting around the table, unable to move a muscle.
When Robert notices Richard, his facial features relax a little and he takes a step away from Thomas.
"Ellis... Thank goodness you're here. We... we don't know exactly what happened. Barrow dropped a tray and then immediately fell into a kind of freeze. I... I tried to talk to him, but he can't say a word."
Richard suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. Of course Robert would think it was a good idea to hound a traumatised person after such an event and not give them any space.
But instead of giving in to the urge to yell at Robert, Richard just pushes him aside without saying a word and kneels down on the floor a few steps away from Thomas. Thomas' cheeks are deathly pale, his lower lip is trembling slightly, and his eyes dart nervously from one point to another.
"Thomas..." Richard tries his best to keep his voice calm. Panicking now would be anything but helpful.
"Thomas... everything is okay. No one wants to hurt you. You are safe here. You... you don't have to speak if you don't want to or you feel like you are unable to. Can you... can you look at me? "
Thomas's eyes cautiously focus on him, and Richard gives him a gentle smile.
"Exactly... everything is fine. No one is angry with you and no one will do you harm."
A few moments pass during which Richard speaks gently to Thomas, even though Thomas himself does not utter a sound. However, Richard notices how Thomas' features relax ever so slightly and his hands no longer appear so tense. Finally, after Richard manages to move a little closer to Thomas, Thomas reaches for Richard's hand with trembling fingers. Richard lets out a sigh of relief. He is glad that Thomas initiated the contact himself, because he would not have wanted Thomas to feel cornered
Richard gently helps Thomas to rise from his crouch and finally turns to Robert. "I'll tell Andy to come back up, My Lord. I hope it's okay if I go back to our cottage with Thomas. He... needs a quiet and familiar environment now." Richard is aware that he is not mentioning the elephant in the room, namely Thomas' words – or rather the lack thereof. But this information is so personal and private that he is reluctant to reveal it to his employers. He can only hope that Robert thinks Thomas' reaction is due to a flashback from the war. A gunshot triggered by the breaking of the porcelain. And not by an angry father with a hateful voice and an iron grip.
But to Richard's relief, Robert just nods: "Of course... I completely understand. Andy can serve us today, and if it's too much for him, we'll manage without him."
Richard gives Robert a grateful, albeit very shaky, smile before gently escorting Thomas out of the room by the arm.
The two walk back to their cottage in silence. The silence hangs over them like a heavy blanket, and Richard can feel his stomach cramping painfully. But he also knows that he shouldn't push Thomas into anything. It wouldn't lead to anything anyway. He has learned that much since that fateful evening.
**************************
*1 year ago*
It happened on a Friday evening. Richard remembers it as if it were yesterday. They were playing cards together and Thomas had just disappeared into the kitchen to fetch them some more biscuits when, on his way back to the living room, he knocked over Richard's carefully curated collection of painted glasses, which were standing on a shelf in the hallway, accidentally throwing them all off the shelf. Richard can still hear the loud clatter of the glasses and see the colourful shards in front of him, which, almost like drops of blood, spattered the floor. But even more clearly, he can see Thomas in front of him. Thomas, who stopped so abruptly, as if the glass shards had cut into his skin. But they hadn't. Physically, Thomas appeared completely unharmed, but within seconds his cheeks lost all colour, his hands began to shake uncontrollably, and Thomas stared at Richard with eyes wide with terror, his mouth open, but no sound came out.
Richard spent the entire evening attempting to draw Thomas out of his shell, but Thomas remained silent and pale, only allowing Richard to touch him after some time.
It was not until the next day that Richard learned the truth. That Thomas's father used to yell at him for the smallest mistakes. That it was not uncommon for glasses and dishes to fly through the air. And that Thomas eventually realised that his verbal defence against his father only made things worse for him.
And that's why Thomas fell silent. He stopped fighting back verbally. He no longer contradicted or defended himself when his father insulted and belittled him.
He endured the hateful words, insults and comments.
Degenerate.
Queer.
Faggot.
He endured it and remained silent. Because this was usually the least painful option for him. Even today, years later, the breaking of dishes reminds Thomas of his father. Even today, every single mistake, no matter how small, makes him so nervous that he is speechless for a short time. But every time Thomas accidentally drops something, it is the worst. The sound of breaking glass or porcelain causes his body to freeze and his voice to fall silent.
Because for years, silence has been the easiest solution for him.
*End of flashback*
*************************
Richard accompanies Thomas into their warm, cosy cottage, helps him take off his coat and gently pulls him into their shared bed. He motions for Thomas to sit down before giving him a reassuring smile.
"I'll make us some tea."
Thomas nods but remains silent, sitting on his side of the bed. Richard suppresses a sigh. If he's being honest, this situation completely overwhelms him. He doesn't know whether to stay with Thomas or give him space. He doesn't know whether to talk to him or drop the subject.
Last time, he tried in vain for hours to get through to him, only for Thomas to tell him everything himself the next day. But who's to say it will be the same this time?
Richard disappears into the kitchen, making sure to keep a close eye on Thomas, who is still sitting on his side of the bed, before running his hands over the midnight blue blanket with a glazed look in his eyes and tucking himself into bed without further ado.
A loving smile appears on Richard's lips as he pours hot water into the two cups of chamomile tea. He adds a small spoonful of honey to Thomas's cup before picking up both cups and carrying them back to the bedroom.
Thomas has now snuggled into bed and looks at Richard with wide eyes as he enters the room. Richard carefully hands him the cup.
"Here. With an extra spoonful of honey."
Thomas's mouth twitches at this sentence and something resembling a smile creeps onto his lips. Richard can almost feel the weight lifting from his heart.
Richard slowly places his cup on his bedside table before snuggling into their bed as well. Silence reigns once more for a while. But it is not an uncomfortable silence. Rather, it is a silence that conveys to both of them that it is okay. That it will be okay.
Richard bites the inside of his cheek before finally speaking up.
"I... I'm not really good at moments like this. I never know what to do or what not to do. Whether I should be with you or give you space. Whether I should talk to you or stay silent. I... I just want to tell you that you can talk to me about it... if you want to. But I would never force you or corner you. I just want you to know... I'm here."
The two drink their tea in silence. Thomas' hands clench his cup so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Concern fills Richard's stomach. Normally, Thomas is so caught up in his own thoughts at times like this that he doesn't pay attention to what's going on around him. But now, it seems to be the opposite. Richard can hear the wheels turning desperately in Thomas's head.
"Maybe... maybe I should see a doctor after all."
Thomas' voice is so quiet and hesitant that Richard almost didn't hear him. But he did hear him.
Richard just stares at him. Stares at him with those blue eyes, full of love and fear. Because he knows that Thomas isn't suggesting a routine check-up at the doctor's.
Richard doesn't want Thomas to go to a specialist like that. Not only because Richard has no confidence whatsoever in such doctors, who would most likely just declare Thomas crazy, but also because this action is anything but safe for both of them.
How could Thomas tell any doctor about his traumatic childhood without mentioning this one fact? Without mentioning the reason why his father hated him so much in the first place?
Richard's stomach churns. He wishes he could help Thomas, but he can't. But he can't just let him go to a doctor like that either. There's too much at stake.
Richard gently takes Thomas's hands and pulls the butler a little closer to him.
"Listen to me carefully: I won't let you go to a doctor who will most likely just declare you crazy and put you in some kind of institution. You don't deserve that. You're not crazy or a bad person in any way. You're a very good person who has had bad things happen to you. And together we'll get through this. I'm here for you. Every single step of the way."
Thomas nods, although he doesn't seem very convinced.
"I... I don't want to burden you with my problems."
At that moment, Richard makes a decision. He's not a doctor, not a specialist. But he loves Thomas more than he has ever loved anyone else. He knows Thomas like no one else does, and he trusts the butler with his life, and vice versa. And if they can't do it together, then he doesn't know what else to do. And they're not the only ones. Maybe Phyllis knows someone who has experience with such traumas. Or Mrs. Hughes or Mrs. Patmore... In any case, he knows that there are enough people behind them who will help them.
Together, they will find a solution. Just as they always have done. And if Richard has to keep reassuring Thomas that it's okay. That his feelings are valid and his pain is real. That he has nothing to be ashamed of. That he loves him just the way he is.
"Our problems. We are a couple, and whatever else comes our way... we'll get through it together. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. And if not, that's okay too. You don't have to speak for me to understand you. Sometimes it can help to talk about your thoughts and feelings and sometimes it makes everything feel even heavier. I just want you to know that I am there for you."
Thomas opens his mouth to protest.
"But the others-"
Richard gently pulls Thomas into a hug.
"Screw the others. They don‘t know what you have been through. They don‘t know how strong, brave and amazing you are. Okay, maybe Phyllis knows."
A small smile creeps up his face.
"You are coping with your emotions and your trauma and if this is the way that makes you feel safe and comforted, then so it is. I would never judge a person for how they deal with their past. Sometimes, the silence can be comforting. Like a warm blanket or a soft pillow. And if that‘s what you need, then I am happy to give you this space and time for yourself. But I‘ll always be there for you without judgement. Because I know how it feels like when you think you have to carry your burden alone."
Thomas' eyes fill with tears and he nestles his head against Richard's chest. Sometimes you don't need words to understand what the other person means. Sometimes you don't need words to know that you are loved so deeply. Sometimes you don't need words to know that you're home.
Richard strokes Thomas's hair until the butler falls asleep in his arms. The silence that now hangs over them is no longer oppressive. Rather, it is light, full of mutual understanding and love for one another.
And just like this, Richard thinks, it could stay forever.