I have recently felt inspired to return to fanfic at least to close out my current works in progress (WIC). Which is why I've updated my plans to complete each fanfiction that has remained a WIC since the beginning of time in my account profile. So if you haven't already seen that, check it out.
And if you want some good ole' fashioned slow burn romance with some angst/comfort cuteness, read this Baxley fic. As co-captain of the ship it's like they keep calling me onboard. And our dear captain, doesn't make it easy to let them go with all of her encouragement. Anyway lovelies, enjoy! If you find the time to share your thoughts feel free to do so.
Baxter bowed her head solemnly, her black leather clad hands folded together as the choir sang sorrowful hymns. She felt Thomas shift in his seat beside her, clearing his throat once more. Her eyes flickered up and over to him, and she set a hand on his knee, patting it reassuringly.
He nodded and covered her gloved hand in mute acknowledgment for a few moments.
Grief was a curious thing. Its infinite reach had the power to ensnare those who lived on the outskirts of the deceased's life. It made the most unlikely of people feel its weight. And yet, it left room for others to feel its presence due to a lack of depth to their own sadness.
The occasional sniffles and whimpers echoed from the front pew, forcing Baxter's gaze to the front of the church.
Her eyes traveled down the line of Crawley's. Each of them neatly paired off, their hands clasped with their loved ones as the older children sat dutifully quiet, pressed into their mother's sides. The youngsters who might start a fuss were tucked safely away in the nursery with their nanny. They were too innocent to carry the heavy burden of grief that was thrust upon the others.
But out of the entire sea of black, Baxter's eyes landed on the Lord & Lady of the house. His Lordship passively stared at the altar before them, anchored in place by his sister and his wife. Lady Rosamund appeared to be fighting back the worst of her tears, her shoulders tremoring as her head hung forward. A handkerchief pressed into her face, stifling the crushing sounds that prompted Baxter to purse her lips.
Noticing her rising levels of grief, his Lordship placed an arm around both of her shoulders and drew her into his side affectionately.
Her mistress, the Lady of the House, turned her head in their direction just enough for Baxter to see the lower half of her face beneath the brim of her wide brimmed cloche. She bit her lower lip, a telltale sign of holding in her emotions, and linked her arm beneath her husband's other one.
There was no denying the feeling of loss that overcame so many. And when it was time for all to stand and depart to the family cemetery, where Old Lady Grantham would make her final resting place, they clung to each other more desperately.
Baxter shuffled along in the procession alongside Thomas, their arms linked amicably as they made their way outside where all were met with dreary skies.
How fitting, Baxter thought as she glanced upward.
Patches of white poked out of the low hanging grey, and the occasional bright patch of sunshine would fall upon them. But for the most part, the overall mood met with the day's proceedings.
Fortunately for all, they remained dry as they walked down the winding dirt path that lead to the big house.
She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and commented lightly to Thomas, "Quite a lengthy procession we have." As their incline towards the lane increased, her feet felt tighter against the confines of her shoes.
"I am surprised," Thomas looked behind them as well, "seems like they invited half of the village to come along."
"Perhaps it a sign of the times," Baxter remarked.
"Or the end of an era," Thomas pointed out.
She shook her head and lightly teased, "Must you always be contrary to everything, everyone says."
"Not contrary, Miss. Baxter. Just offering a different perspective," He grinned that cheeky grin of his that prompted her to smile and roll her eyes.
Fortunately for all of them, his cheekiness appeared more so to make light of situations than to create havoc these days. His position of butler-in-training had no doubt given him a new purpose to help those around him, and not lash out against them.
They had made it about halfway up the path when she heard a wheezing sound coming up fast on her right side. Turning her head, she noticed a flustered looking Mr. Molesley approaching them.
"Mr. Molesley?!" She called out, smiling brightly whenever she realized he meant to walk on the other side of her.
"Good day, Miss. Baxter," He wheezed, tipping his hat in her direction before looking to the other side of her. "Mr. Barrow," He inclined his head.
"Mr. Molesley," Thomas returned smoothly, trying not to seem concerned with his sudden appearance. "Can we help ye?"
"Oh I was…invited…ye see…to take part in the…events…at the house," He explained, looking between him and Miss. Baxter. He then focused on the latter, "I would have thought her Ladyship might have...mentioned it...to ye."
Baxter shook her head and shrugged sheepishly, "She would likely mention it to Mrs. Hughes before she would to me."
"Ahh..I suppose that's right."
"Have ye come alone?" She wondered, and then at his perplexed expression she added, "Only just…I would have thought yer father would also be here with ye. Seeing as he knew Lady Grantham a great deal."
"Oh yes…" He agreed and then trailed off, his gaze wandering downward, "…it's only just. Dad's not very well." He flashed a reassuring smile before going on, "We thought it best he stay back at the cottage and rest."
"Oh I am sorry to hear he's unwell," She replied softly.
Molesley nodded appreciatively.
She always liked Old Mr. Molesley. He was kind, and always extended an open invitation for Baxter to join him and his son for Sunday supper. Thomas had even joined her on one occasion when the Crawley's had granted the entire staff a day of reprieve over the Christmas Holiday.
It had been a few months though, since Baxter could take the time away from Downton to make the visit. With this news, her heart felt a bit heavier. Molesley's father had been something of a father figure to her as well. Something she had always lacked for most of her life.
And even now as a grown adult. It felt nice to have a sense of kinship with someone who was willing to tease her for her shortcomings, give advice, and offer colorful stories from years past. She could pass hours at a time with him and his son. It was in their cottage she felt most at ease.
She found herself chewing on her bottom lip when Mr. Molesley blurted the statement.
"You know what might brighten his spirits?"
"What?"
"If you came around for dinner this Sunday."
Her heart constricted further. She would love nothing more to. Pursing her lips, she offered an apologetic look, "I would love to it's just…well…I don't know that her Ladyship could spare me."
"Oh, come now, Miss. Baxter," Thomas nudged her in the side.
She had nearly forgotten he was by her side.
"With the house in mourning, her Ladyship will hardly need fussed over. And given the current circumstances, I'm sure you might find her to be more charitable."
Baxter looked to Mr. Molesley who was beaming with excitement at the idea. "It doesn't hurt to ask," He shrugged.
Upon seeing his face, she found herself smiling shyly and nodding, "Alright then."
Her request had gone over easier than she expected it to. Even Mrs. Patmore was feeling charitable, and gave her a basket full of leftover scones, and a pot of cooked vegetables that would be expire within a day or so.
Baxter supposed this might further brighten the older Mr. Molesley's countenance and give younger Mr. Molesley one less meal to account for on his own.
She barely lifted her hand to knock on the front door of their cottage when the older Mr. Molesley opened it for her.
"Oh Phyllis!" He exclaimed, his eyes taking in the pot and the basket she held in her arms. Cocking an interested brow, he marveled, "You've brought some things, have ye?"
"Just a few scones and vegetables that the house could spare," She beamed at Molesley senior, shuffling over the threshold of their tiny cottage.
"Oh, that's mighty nice," Mr. Molesley returned, leaning his weight against the door and opening it wider for her to step through. Calling through the square sitting room to the back kitchen, he remarked once more, "Isn't it nice, Joe?"
"Very nice," Joe Molesley agreed, hurrying from the other room, to assist. Upon noticing his father stumbling a bit from the door to the nearest flat surface he could lean his weight on, Joe cried out in exasperation, "Dad!"
He brushed past Miss. Baxter and hurried to his father's side. Gripping him under one arm, he helped move him from the tall chest that ran across one wall, and back to an armchair in the corner of the room.
"Now ye know ye aren't supposed to go far without your cane," He chided him lowly.
Older Mr. Molesley grumbled something incoherently, but Baxter took it to mean something along the lines of: that unreliable, old thing can shove it.
"Now, why don't ye sit here, and enjoy your book while I…"
"For goodness sake Joe, I can do it myself," He mumbled, reaching for his book on the end table. A low felt cough slightly stirred from within him, but he blew it out swiftly as if to snuff it out before it could gain momentum.
"Alright, alright," Mr. Molesley backed away, hands up in surrender.
The elder Molesley coughed and nodded in response, waving him away.
Baxter turned and slowly made her way to the kitchen, Molesley at her heels, although throwing cautionary glances while his father's cough turned into a phlegmy choking sound before turning dry again.
Baxter scanned the kitchen for a suitable place for her basket and the pot. Molesley reached for the cast iron pot beneath her arm, "I'll take this then?"
"Some green and carrot dish that was for the mourners," Baxter explained while he opened the lid to check the contents. "Suppose not everyone was as hungry as they anticipated."
"I could make a soup of this," Molesley declared.
They heard the faint grumbling of: "Another soup, hmph!" from the next room.
Baxter stifled an amused chuckle.
"You can set the scones there," Molesley nodded to the square table situated in the corner.
"Brilliant," Baxter scooted around the table with the three chairs that sat square in the room. When she turned back around and saw Molesley bent over the stove stirring a tureen, she wondered, "So…soup's been on the menu quite a bit?"
"Ah yeah," He nodded in agreement. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Dad's been unable to keep most solids down."
"Oh…how terrible for him," She shook her head, folding her arms in front of her chest. "He seems better though."
"Ehh..." Molesley bobbed his head and shrugged, "…he has good days and bad."
"What did the doctor say?"
"Dr. Clarkson can't say for sure," He sighed, stirring the contents of the pot. "And Dad doesn't help the matter."
"I heard that!" Yelled Mr. Molesley from the next room. However, the effort set him back a bit as he fell into another fit of a wheezing cough.
"Take it easy now, Dad!" Molesley called back before shaking his head in agitation over the stove.
Baxter couldn't help but chuckle, "Can't say it's his hearing that's gone."
"No," Molesley scoffed at this.
"Shall I sit with him? That is, unless there is something I can do to help?" She looked around, but it appeared that Molesley only had a single pot heating on the stove, and the bowls and cutlery were all set out on the table.
"All covered in here, Miss. Baxter," He assured. Then with a teasing smile and wink he remarked, "Good luck."
"I think we'll do just fine," She beamed in response before removing herself to the next room.
Mr. Molesley sat in his armchair, handkerchief resting on top of one another arms. To his right was a taller cabinet made of dark wood. It reached the bottom of the front window, a crocheted doily stretched across the top with smaller knickknacks and picture frames littering it.
There was a settee on the opposite side of the armchair, a pink and green crocheted blanket adorning the top back of it. On the wall across from that was the fireplace, and just to the left of it, part of the wall jutted inward like a bookshelf might. Rows of books filled the space, and she smiled upon seeing them stacked in various directions. It was organized chaos of sorts, fitting for someone of Mr. Molesley's countenance. Situated in the same corner of the room was a gramophone that appeared to have seen better days.
"Mind if I sit with you a while, Mr. Molesley?" She probed politely, sinking down on the end of the settee closest to him.
"Not at all, Miss. Baxter. Not at all." He closed his book on his lap and asked directly. "So, tell me, how is it we haven't seen you the last few months?"
"Work keeps me busy, sir," She informed him lightly.
"You must enjoy it immensely to dedicate your life to it."
"It's a fine post. And I am very lucky. Not many girls have the pleasure to work for a family like the Crawley's."
"Especially these days, I daresay," Molesley commented.
"Especially so, sir."
"It was a shame about Old Lady Grantham. She was a remarkable woman."
"Yes," Baxter nodded, allowing a significant enough pause for them to think of her fondly. Then she grinned at him as a particular thought struck her, "I understand the pair of you often were in competition with one another? Mr. Molesley mentioned something about the best village bloom?"
"Ahh…the Grantham Cup. Yes, yes. Those were the days." He sighed wistfully, his grey eyes looking faraway as though fixating on past events. Then he confided wryly, "Although, I think towards the end she felt a bit sorry for me and gave it to me then."
"No Dad," Molesley interjected, prompting both of them to turn towards the kitchen doorway. "I think she recognized that she hadn't been fair to you for many years." He turned to Baxter and added, "Do you really think she tended her own roses?"
She shook her head, "I can't imagine it."
"Well…it was kind of her all the same to recognize me as her equal," Old Mr. Molesley decided with a satisfied smile.
Another moment transpired between them before Molesley announced, "I hate to interrupt, but dinner is ready."
"Oh good," Mr. Molesley shifted forward in his armchair, preparing to push himself up on his own two feet.
Baxter leapt from her seat just as Molesley scurried forward to reach for his father. Miss. Baxter caught him beneath the arm first, startled when his crooked fingers clutched onto her other hand for additional support almost immediately.
Her eyes met Molesley's who was watching her with a mixture of admiration and surprise at her ability to hold him upright.
"Alright Mr. Molesley," She remarked encouragingly, "now where is that cane that son of yours insists you need?"
He chuckled at her words which turned into another sharp rattling in his chest, and he pointed towards it leaning against the fireplace.
Molesley moved to take it from its resting place, handing it over to his father.
"Alright then Dad?" He helped him in making the transition, watching as Miss. Baxter slowly loosened her grip on him.
"Alright. Alright," Mr. Molesley grunted as he determinedly strode from the sitting room to the kitchen. "Let's get this supper started, shall we?"
Molesley looked over his father's retreating form and offered an arm to Miss. Baxter, "Well if he doesn't want escorted into the dining room…"
She snorted at this before providing a wry retort of her own. "I'd be honored, Mr. Molesley," She inclined her head while looping her arm through his. She teased, "If I'm to be escorted into the dining room at Molesley Manor each time, perhaps I'll never wish to dine anywhere else."
Molesley's smile deepened at this, a pinkish color creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears. He glanced away from her twinkling gaze and muttered in a voice so low she had to strain her ears to hear him.
"Perhaps that can be arranged."
Baxter felt a sense of comfort fill her as their modest dinner progressed. While she often felt a comradery when she sat down with the staff at Downton, this was different. There were no airs or pretenses to put on. No need to mask one's true opinions to not cause disturbances in rank.
Not that their talk that evening was controversial. But Baxter knew she could openly discuss matters of the house here as they pertained to her, without any fear of word ever reaching those upstairs.
The only topic of conversation that appeared to be off the table that night was unwavering health of Old Mr. Molesley. He managed to finish off his meal, but shortly after felt his stomach turn, prompting an early retirement for him.
Molesley took great care to help his father into the adjoining room, which was once his own room, but now that the stairs to the second floor posed a challenge, his father traded with him.
He gave Baxter something of a reassuring smile. "Gave him some medicine that Mr. Clarkson prescribed," He explained quickly, picking up their bowls and moving back to the sink.
"Does it help?" She asked reflexively.
He bobbed his head and shrugged noncommittally. The plates and cutlery clinked together in the sink, and whatever he might be murmuring to himself was drowned out by the light trickling of water running.
Leaving that piece of the conversation alone, Baxter stood to help gather the rest of the glasses and dishes atop the table. She carefully placed them into the sink, offering another course of discussion for them that evening.
"Dinner was lovely."
Molesley smiled before looking over at her, his eyes awash with relief. "Oh, I'm glad. It's probably not quite like anything you'd have at the house but…"
"It was lovely, Mr. Molesley," She interjected softly. "And it's nice to get out of Downton every now and again."
"Ye probably can't afford to do it again so soon," He surmised with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
She turned away, feeling the same sinking sensation inside of her. "No, probably not, I'm afraid," She remarked a bit downcast.
The sound of water running ceased, and he dried his hands with a nearby towel.
"We could sit or…if you're needed back…?"
Baxter waited for him to finish, but when his words trailed off with a shrug, she informed him. "Anna is taking care of her Ladyship this evening. As long as I'm back for Mr. Barrow to lock the door at ten."
"Right then," Molesley gestured towards the table once more. "Coffee with your scones, Miss. Baxter?"
"Oh the scones!" She exclaimed, suddenly remembering the baked goods that she brought along. "Yes, coffee would go nicely."
As Molesley set to boil water for coffee, Baxter brought the basket of scones to the table for them to enjoy. "I'm sorry your Dad can't enjoy them with us."
"Ahh that's alright," He sank down in the chair at the head of the table, the seat directly beside hers. "He never really had much of a sweet tooth."
Unable to wait for the water to boil, Baxter bit into one, tasting the lemony icing that coated them. Molesley joined in as well.
"Mmm…" Molesley bobbed his head in approval. "Mrs. Patmore's outdone herself again."
"Actually," She swallowed before wiping her mouth with her dinner napkin, "Daisy tried her hand at these."
His smile grew, "A girl of many talents that Daisy. She'll be going places."
"Thanks to your encouragement," Baxter complimented.
"Ahh…" Molesley shrugged, setting down his scone on his napkin. "She had to work it all out herself."
"But you gave her the confidence, Mr. Molesley."
"Perhaps," He shrugged again, looking around the room before his eyes settled back on the kettle.
Baxter racked her brain for other possible topics of conversation that they hadn't already exhausted. They'd done the pleasantries so far. Asking about one another's professions, discussing the late Lady Grantham's legacy and how she would be missed by certain people, and then of course, the weather, and the happenings around town. Their list of superficial topics was waning, and with this realization Baxter felt a bit nervous.
Finally, just as the kettle began its shrill rattling, it dawned upon her.
"The school term must be ending soon," She commented lightly while Molesley killed the heat on the stove and poured their steaming coffee into two mugs.
"Ah yes," He responded eagerly, setting them both down on the table. "Oh!" He pointed at her as he remembered, "Milk, right?"
She smiled shyly at how he remembered, "If you can spare it."
"Oh, for you, certainly."
Baxter felt her stomach flutter at his words. Biting down on her bottom lip to suppress the growing smile, she graciously accepted the milk jug from him before pouring a few droplets in.
"Just set it on the table's fine," Molesley waved a hand in her direction when she looked ready to put it back in its place on the shelf.
They both took a quick sip of their hot coffee and then looked at one another expectantly. They were seated closer now, instead of directly across one another like they had been at supper. And Baxter was starting to notice the finer details of how they were position. How their feet nearly touched as they sought to find comfortable positions in the chairs. How their hands nearly brushed each time they picked up their scones or coffee mugs.
Her heartbeat quickened as she felt the heat of his body radiating.
How strange, she decided, how something as simple as the back of two hands brushing could set off a flurry of responses inside someone.
And it wasn't like she hadn't been this close to Mr. Molesley before now. They'd held hands, they'd even held one another close while dancing, for goodness sake! It had to be the coffee, there was no other explanation for it.
Her inner musings were interrupted when Molesley asked, "I forgot to ask earlier. How is Thomas doing with his training?"
"Oh fine," Baxter responded before chuckling, "folks are actually beginning to like him."
Molesley chuckled at this, "We ought to alert the authorities."
Baxter smiled deeper, showing her teeth. "Well I am glad it's turned out alright for him." Then after a moment's pause, her expression faltered. Showing a tensely stretched smile now, she admitted, "It's a bit scary how jobs in service aren't as available anymore."
"Well you and Lady Grantham seem to get on well," He reassured easily before tilting his head to one side. "I doubt you have anything to worry about."
She bobbed her head slowly, allowing his words to sink in. Her face brightened once more, "You're probably right. And I do have some set aside for the future."
"That's prudent of you."
"One has to be these days."
"Mhm…" He replied while sipping more coffee.
"Still," She stroked the rim of her coffee mug, contemplating recent events, "with Old Lady Grantham's passing…I often wonder where I'd go or what would become of me if the present Lady Grantham…" She looked up and shrugged at him, letting her words die out.
Letting out a sigh, Molesley offered, "Well…ye...ye could…I'm sure the Bates' have room in their cottage. Or there are others in the village you could board with."
She considered this, "I suppose."
"But Lady Grantham's young and mostly in good health," He raised his mug to his lips once more.
"You're right," Baxter remarked, shaking off the doubtful thoughts swirling in her head. "I'm being silly."
"It's good to have plans though," He encouraged. "For all the surprises life has to offer. It's good to know that some things are for certain."
"What is it they say…death and taxes are the only certainties life has to offer?"
Molesley snorted a bit at her witticism, and Baxter giggled softly.
Once their amusement subsided, Molesley cocked his head to one side and remarked, "That's a bit sad though when you think about it."
"I'm sorry," She frowned a bit. "I didn't mean to…bring down the mood."
"Oh no," He waved a hand before disclosing, "I don't think you really could. Even if you tried."
"That's kind of ye."
"Well it's true. You're presence is a welcome one."
"Oh stop," She rolled her eyes a bit, and felt her cheeks warming.
"It's true!" He exclaimed, "Dad was determined to get out of bed and to have meal, the minute I told him you were coming."
She felt a pang of guilt at hearing this. Biting on her lower lip, she mumbled into her coffee mug, "And now he's overexerted himself for me."
He leaned forward, determined to catch her eye again. When Baxter looked up, she saw the genial warmth written across his face. And his next words came out gently and reassuringly.
"Don't go on blaming yourself. He had a jolly time. He's not well. We don't talk about it because…well…we don't how to. Dr. Clarkson isn't exactly sure what it is either. We just know he has good days, like today. And then…days where he can't get out of bed."
He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee after this, and the sadness that slowly sifted through his final words nearly broke her heart.
"And you have to bear it all on your own," She observed sadly.
"Yeah…well that's just…what you do." He cleared his throat again and exhaled, looking down at the table. "That's just what you do for someone you love."
Slowly and tentatively, she reached her hand towards his, offering a reassuring squeeze. Molesley looked over at her and offered a weak smile, his eyes glistening a bit. His hand turned over beneath hers, their palms pressing together as his grip tightened around her hand in mute response.
His thumb lightly traced the back of her knuckles, and she felt her gaze lowering between them while he continued studying her face.
Her heart hammered fiercely now, and she felt a sort of heat rush through her ears. Then there was something more primal deep within her, a yearning to shift her chair closer to him; to draw him near.
But she forced them away by insisting in a hushed voice, "Ye can write to me, ye know? If ye need…a-a friend."
His thumb stopped, and she felt his gaze move away from her flushed face. She stole an opportunity to glance at his face, and she noticed his lips rolling together. She wondered what he was contemplating at he looked down at their joined hands, and part of her hoped it was the same thoughts that circulated her mind.
"I shall write to ye then," He murmured softly, his gaze moving up to hers.
And she let her hand slip away when she noticed the same hunger in his eyes that she felt in her heart.