Chapter Text
"So what was his name?"
"Whose?"
"Whose, he asks." Ellis's mouth twitched, that way that made Thomas's stomach jump up into his throat. It reminded him of earlier, when he'd had that familiar sinking feeling of having spoiled everything, certain he'd lost this man's good opinion and friendship before it had even had a chance to properly begin, until Richard smiled at him outside the police station just as he was doing now.
And touched Thomas's lips with his finger. That too. Touched his lips with his finger.
He wasn't likely to forget the feeling anytime soon, nor the dizzying sense of relief he'd experienced when he finally realised-
"The bloke you ditched me for, that's who." Ellis stirred his tea casually and lifted the cup to his mouth, eyes holding Thomas's across the rim. Clearly teasing. It was late, very late, and the tea was getting colder by the minute but Thomas pretended it wasn't, taking ever smaller sips.
He'd happily stay up all bloody night if it meant feeling like a regular person a couple hours longer. It happened so rarely.
"Mr. Ellis, I already apologised profusely-"
"You did, and I accepted the first time, if I recall correctly." He lowered his cup to its saucer soundlessly and placed his arms on the table. It was just them in the servants' hall, Thomas in his rightful chair - the butler's chair at the head of the table - and Richard on his right hand side, normally Mrs. Hughes's place. His hat sat on the tabletop next to him, his coat draped neatly over the next chair. Correct and fastidious, Ellis was everything one would expect of a Buckingham Palace servant, but as a private person he had a mischievous side to him as well, as Thomas had discovered to his delight. "And I wish you would call me Richard. Or Dick, like my friends do. At least when we're alone."
Thomas's face burned. For God's sake, he was almost forty - he hadn't blushed like this since his mum caught him pleasuring himself in the garden shed when he was fourteen. Not even when he seduced a duke. "Thomas."
Amusement flickered in Richard's eyes. "If I had known you were keen on dancing, I'd have taken you to a club myself, you know."
"To Turton's?" Thomas asked incredulously, and Richard shook his head.
"No, I didn't know about that place. Been gone from York too long, so I'm not exactly up to date on the latest. But a regular club maybe." Ellis's smile was resigned, a little sad perhaps. "Couldn't've danced together, obviously, but could've used my eyes. And my imagination."
Thomas had an active imagination himself - it was part of who he was, part of what helped keep life interesting - and it was already working overtime. Mr. Ellis - Richard - dancing with some local lass, in shirtsleeves and braces. A button or two undone and tie loose around his shoulders. Thomas gulped none too surreptitiously; good God, what was wrong with him?
"I'd have enjoyed that," he managed to stammer. Flirting just a little bit, but poorly, and he chided himself for it at once. Sure, Richard was a man like him, who had stuck his neck out for him at great personal risk, but he might have done that for any bloke.
We have to stick together, men like us. Verbatim.
Ellis bumped Thomas's elbow. Companionably, Thomas told himself. As chums did. "So... tell me his name."
"Chris. Chris Webster." Thomas felt a pang of guilt. "I hope he- I hope they're going to be alright. I doubt anyone else had a Mr. Ellis to bust them out of jail."
"I hope so, too." Richard stared down into his cup, fiddling with the teaspoon. "It's not right, is it."
"No, none of it's right."
The clock struck three. Thomas had had Andy wind it just the day before, but right now he wished from the bottom of his heart that he hadn't, cursing the thing for reminding them of the relentless forward march of time. The tea was now so cold and bitter that he shuddered at the taste of it going down his throat, but he thought he masked it quite well. Richard seemed too preoccupied to notice, anyway, and Thomas didn't think that was an act.
He used the opportunity to add more milk.
"Handsome, was he?" Richard eventually asked. No envy or hard feelings there, just curiosity. "Mr. Webster?"
Had worse, Thomas thought. "Quite," he said. "Tall, deep-voiced. Good dancer." And he seemed to be into me, he thought in wonder. Figure that.
"I'm glad," Richard said sincerely. "I'm sorry the night ended on such a horrid note, but I'm not sorry you got to dance with a nice fella. We have to seize our moments when we get them, don't we?"
"That we do." It still felt bizarre to be talking about 'we' and 'us' to someone like him, working class lad who understood because he journeyed along the same path.
God, it felt incredible.
Thomas breathed out, some tension leaving him. His unmarred hand crept across the table, found Richard's just a few inches away and squeezed. In spite of everything that had happened before, it still felt like a daring thing to do, but Richard didn't flinch. He simply turned his hand around and squeezed back, smiling. It was surreal to be doing this here, like he'd stepped into a parallel universe. Surreal and utterly, utterly lovely.
"Mr- ummm, Dick," Thomas stuttered.
"Yes?"
"Shall I-" He licked his lips, cleared his throat. God, he was ridiculous, but the gentle press of Richard's fingers against his own unlocked something inside of him, made him feel like a braver man than he by any right could claim to be. "Would you like more tea?"
Richard laughed quietly, looking down at their hands on the table. It was so late that they didn't even have to glance at the door every five seconds or listen for every little noise, and when would they next have the luxury? "I would, Thomas," he answered. "In a minute, if that's okay."