Chapter 1 – Lessons Learned
A/N: So, guys, thanks to everyone over on Tumblr for the great Baxley fic prompts (you can leave 'em in the comment section, too, if you have one!). Before I start working on the (amazing, fun, creative) Baxley story ideas I got, I really, really wanted to do this one: the story of their first kiss. I even went back and watched part of S6 Xmas episode, and there were so many great moments there I forgot, especially between Baxter and Thomas, that spoke volumes to her personal growth.
Anyway, I hope you all like this. I loved writing 60 Pubs, but it wouldn't have been "in canon" to wedge a kiss into that story. I DO think, however, what unfolds in this little tale is at least plausible. And I really wanted to write that kiss!
NB – The feathers are a thing from 60 Pubs. A kinda important thing. ;-)
~CeeCee
Downton Village School – Christmas Week 1925
He finished clearing the chalkboard, erasing the timeline that stretched across it. His students had enthusiastically lost themselves in the explorations of Sir Walter Raleigh the past few days, and he had lost himself in their joy. Teaching, it seemed, was what he was meant to do.
He carefully toured the classroom, which would be closed until the day after the New Year, making sure the shutters were latched and the floor was free from debris. He smiled around at the empty desks, then looked to his own, laden down with Christmas gifts and tokens from his students.
Those had surprised him. His grin broadened as he looked at the assortment of fresh fruits, chocolates, notes, and handmade cards. Becky Jenkins had even offered him a fresh goose from her da's farm. He had laughed, given her his father's address. He imagined the look on his face when the bird showed up at his door, thought briefly of Scrooge on Christmas morning.
Though school was out, he had little time to rest: he'd be back at Downton tomorrow and until school reopened. Funny, that; service, and his place in it, had been such an important part of his life. But now, he didn't much miss it, except for –
"Good afternoon, Mr. Molesley."
His heart jumped in his chest, and he turned from his holiday bounty. Phyllis Baxter stood framed by the doorway, her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink, snow dusting her hat and the shoulders of her coat.
"Miss Baxter! What a fine surprise!" He could hear the warmth, the affection, in his voice and did nothing to tamp it down; he'd been concerned, despite her assurances they would meet once he moved to the village, the slow but inexorable motion towards each other they had been making would halt; or worse, reverse.
But that had not been the case; much the opposite, actually. Granted, they did not see each other every day, as they had at Downton, passing in the hall, sitting together at meals, catching each other's notice with a glance or a smile. But he saw her several times a week, at least, and sometimes…oftentimes, these days, it felt like…courting.
He hadn't expected to see her until he arrived at Downton tomorrow; his surprise left his delight unwrapped, like some of the treats sitting on his desk. She now entered the classroom, looking around with pleasure and interest. He'd shown it to her before, several times, but she always found something new to comment on. She finally settled her gaze on him.
"I had to stop in at the haberdashery, there's so much to be done before the wedding," she smiled at him, then saw the pile of goodies on his desk.
"Happy Christmas from all of your admiring pupils, Mr. Molesley!" She exclaimed, clearly delighted by his students' generosity. "How lovely, and how they must admire you, look up to you." Her gaze darted between the gifts and his face.
"I'm not sure I'd go that far, Miss Baxter," he answered, feeling slightly giddy. "But they're a good lot, for the most part, these youngsters."
"I'd go that far, Mr. Molesley," she replied. "But I know better than they do, perhaps. They are still learning how much you have to offer them."
For one mad, wonderful moment, he almost pulled her towards him, pressed his lips against hers. Then something caught his eye: her hat. A nice hat, dark blue. With a muted yellow band, a tiny clutch of faux holly berries adding an appropriate festive touch. And tucked carefully behind them, pressed against the curve of the hat, were two feathers: one gold, one red.
"Your hat…" he trailed off, thinking. Of the bird that rose from its own ashes.
She was still smiling at him, her face so open and warm. "I made it for myself, Mr. Molesley. I'll never claim to be an expert hat maker, but it turned out well, and it pleases me, all of the little pieces of it. Putting it together, after all this time. I'd never tried to, before, you see," she shrugged, a lovely, unselfconscious gesture.
They looked at each other for a long moment, until a trio of students hurried by in the hallway, calling out good-byes to him. She shook her head, then, laughed softly.
"Have you anything to bring all of these home? You'll need a sack the size of Father's Christmas'," her eyes were twinkling at him.
"I've nothing, I'm afraid," he managed. It was a wonder he could speak at all.
"Well, I've an extra, so you're in luck," she handed it to him, and they began carefully loading it with the trinkets and edibles on his desk. They worked in companionable silence for a few moments, and he brushed her hand with his as often as he dared.
Something was happening. No…not yet. But it was about to. He could feel it, see it, like the boy he'd been, sitting on a sledge at the top of the highest hill in the village, exhilarated and terrified in equal measure. He'd been wrong, those months ago, when he left Downton, thinking they'd not see each other, or be in each other's lives, the way they had been.
It was just the balance had shifted: now they were just that close. Close enough to be teetering on the edge of something else, something more. He could feel himself tilting towards it now. The hill was waiting, the shocking wonderful journey of it. He could see it.
"There you are, Mr. Molesley," she handed him the bag, now full to the brim.
"Thank you Miss Baxter, I'll just grab my coat and hat, and walk home, to Downton."
"Oh, there's no need, Mr. Molesley, though I'd not say no to your company," she replied, and her cheeks bloomed pink.
"Then how can I say no, Miss Baxter?" He retorted. "In any case, it'd not hurt to stop in to see Mr. Carson, make sure there's a livery waiting for me."
"Will it feel odd for you, do you think, Mr. Molesley, being back at Downton?" They started walking towards the great house.
"It might do," he answered, thinking. Feeling that wobble, the sled about to whoosh down, down, down. "But I'll get to see you every day until the New Year, Miss Baxter, which I suppose will make up for it." He could hardly account for his boldness. But he didn't regret it.
She stopped walking, then let out a peal of laughter, that seemed to envelop her.
And he looked on, joined her: this remarkable woman, he finally understood would be his wife. He just had to give himself a little…push.
He felt confident he could manage it.