Ok, so this is definitely a oneshot, I don't have the time to write more, but that episode was SO BAD that we all definitely need some actual Baxley content to arise from it. SPOILERS, obviously.
I know it's bad because my witting brain is rusty, but at least it's better than the show (and even if it isn't I don't get paid to write this).
He caught up with her later when everyone else had gone to bed. He was just wondering if she'd gone too, he was worried he'd missed her when he saw her making her way down the corridor from the boot room.
He stood up abruptly, stepping towards her just a little, making sure she could see him. She smiled at the sight of him still there, but it didn't seem to reach her eyes, he could see it even in the near darkness.
"Not in bed yet?" she asked him softly.
He shook his head briefly.
"Were you alright before?" he asked her, making no bones, pressing for the question her really wanted to ask, the one thing that had cast a shadow on his glorious day, "You left very quickly."
She seemed to take a deep breath, her hand moving nervously over the folded nightdress she had folded over her arm.
"I was alright, yes," she replied quietly.
"That's good," he replied, smiling at her, wondering why she wasn't smiling back, he hazarded a joke, "I was worried you were in a hurry to get away from me."
She gave what could have been a laugh. Or just a confused sniff.
"No, no I wasn't," she assured him.
She looked at him warmly. He wondered how on earth she was managing to do that without smiling in the slightest, it ought to be impossible, rightfully-… He waited a moment. She didn't say anything, but nor did she go.
"Look, I won't ask what's wrong," he told her, "Not if you don't want me to. I know there's something wrong. I just hope it's not something I've done or-…"
"No, it's not," she replied quickly, "Not something that you've-…"
Her face crumpled for a second, into a look of such pain that for a moment it fixed his feet to the ground. It took him a moment, even, to realise that she was even crying.
""Miss Baxter?" he asked, his voice sounding as if it belonged to another person.
She couldn't answer him. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, her hand raised to clamp back the sobs which threatened to escape. That was what did it, what spurred him into action. After that he didn't think twice.
He stepped forwards, closing the space between them, folding her into his arms. His hands rested a little awkwardly on her shoulders but her free hand reached up to his chest, grasping onto his shirt front pulling him closer to her. She had dropped whatever piece of her Ladyship's clothes she'd been holding on the floor.
He found his vision full of her luscious dark hair as she rested her head beneath his chin. He could feel her body press closer to his as she sobbed. He bowed his head a little so she could hear him.
"Tell me, if you can," he told her quietly, "If you want to."
"It's Thomas," she told him, trying to keep her breathing under her control, "He's tired to kill himself."
"He-… What?" he was completely taken aback, "How do you-…?"
"It was me who found him," she told him.
Somehow that made it real to him, it made the horror descend upon him
"Oh my god," he murmured, reaching his arms around her to hold her tighter, "My love-…"
The word slipped out without him thinking, and he was about to wish he could bite the tongue out of his mouth, but she clutched onto him with both hands now, and pushed the thought right out of his head.
"He was in the bath, it was full of his blood-… I knew something was wrong when I was with you, that's why I had to go. Please don't be angry with me, it wasn't you-…"
"Phyllis, I'm not angry, how on earth could I be angry with you, you haven't done anything wrong," he told her, "You've done more right than the rest of us, without you he'd probably be-…"
"No!" she told him sharply, "Please don't say it."
"You're right," he amended himself quickly, "It doesn't do to think about. But you've got nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry, that you had to-…"
His hand soothed gently overly her shoulder blade. He could feel her trembling through her dress.
"I'm so sorry you had to-…" he murmured again, "I feel like a right idiot now, blowing my own trumpet at dinner when you had been-…"
"You weren't to know," she told him softly, wiping her eyes a little, "It's not your fault."
She gave another sniff.
He wondered if he needed to let her go now, if she wasn't crying anymore. He didn't know what she would want.
Then he felt her hands, which had been lingering by his chest, holding on to the front of his shirt, slip around his middle so that her arms were wrapped around him. Her head moved a little as she nestled closer to his chest.
"Thank you," she told him softly, her voice faltered a little, "I-… thank you-…" she said again.
His hand settled a little lower on her back.
"You don't have to thank me," he told her, "I want to give you-… whatever I can. Whatever you need."
She raised her head to look at him. Her eyes were a little swollen and her cheeks were still wet with tears.
"You're too good to me, Mr. Molesley," she told him softly.
"You don't know the goodness you deserve," he told her.
She looked surprised but not unhappy at that.
"I want to talk-…" she told him haltingly, "I want to talk to you about-… you, and what you mean to me. About us. But I can't, not now. Too much has happened, I-…"
He nodded his understanding.
"Later," he promised her, "I'll be here."
A smile passed her mouth, a sad but sincere smile.
"Later," she agreed gently, and looked up into his face.
She watched him intently, staring into his eyes, as she stretched up a little and planted a single kiss on his mouth. He met her softly, matching her for as long as she wanted to stay. He was fairly sure she could feel his heart pounding through his livery.
They broke apart after a moment. That kiss had said more than they could at the moment.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she told him, "I'll walk you to the schoolhouse again, if you'd like me to."
"I'd like that," he told her, "I'd like that a lot."
End.
Please let me know what you think.