The wall had lost it's fascination days ago, and the luxury of staying in bed was stale. Joseph Molesley cast longing looks at the pile of books stacked neatly on the small table next to his bed, but knew all too well that to pick one up would result in a pounding ache in his head.

So instead, he stared at the door while he grimaced and drank a glass of lukewarm water. Perhaps if he stared at it hard enough…

The knock he was expected startled him anyway. He hurriedly straightened his bedclothes and called for his visitor to come in in a raspy croak. He had to repeat his invitation twice before the door creaked open and the very vision he was waiting for appeared.

"I've brought your lunch, Mr. Molesley," Phyllis Baxter informed him with a somewhat weary smile.

"Thank you," he replied with the first smile to grace his face since she'd brought up his breakfast that morning. She'd had to rush away after a few words and the tea and toast hadn't been at all satisfying.

"It's only soup," she said as she bustled about, surreptitiously rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and smothering a cough. "But Mrs. Patmore threw in some extra beef. She said you needed building up."

"That's kind of her," he replied, thinking that it was more the company that made him feel better - although Mrs. Patmore's oxtail soup was quite reviving. "Especially as I've one foot out the door."

Phyllis didn't look pleased at this reminder that Joseph Molesley's days as a footman at Downton were numbered. Once he was employed at the school full time, he'd stay with his father in the village until he found lodgings on his own.

He wished he hadn't said anything and listened with alarm as he opened his mouth and made it worse.

"Perhaps she's strengthening me up because they're anxious to see the back of me," he said with a nervous little laugh.

"That's not true, and you know it," she informed him sternly as she adjusted the tray over his lap.

"Well…I was only…" he sputtered, trying to assure her he was only joking, that however much he was eagerly anticipating his new career, he wasn't looking forward to leaving Downton. And he certainly wasn't looking forward to not seeing her everyday.

Phyllis straightened up suddenly and turned her head to sneeze. Joseph looked at her in alarm.

"Have I given you my cold?" he asked anxiously.

"It would seem so," she replied, fumbling for her handkerchief.

Joseph immediately snatched one off of the clean stack on his table and thrust it at her. She turned away to blow her nose and dab at her watering eyes.

"I'm sorry for that. I'd better hurry up and get well so I can take care of you."

Phyllis smiled at that and gestured towards his soup. "You'd better eat then, or you'll still be in bed and someone else will have to carry up my trays."

Joseph began to spoon the soup into his mouth. She watched him out of the corner of her eye while she gathered up used handkerchiefs and the tray from breakfast. Her movements were slow and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

"You should be in bed," he commented, then flushed a bright shade of red when he realized how that might have sounded.

Phyllis' snort of laughter turned into a cough. "I probably ought to be. But there's too much to do. And besides," she continued with amusement, "you're not well enough to take care of me yet."

"I would anyway," he proclaimed, hoping for another smile. When he received one, he went on: "And then I'll catch my cold back from you, and you'll take care of me again."

"You'd never be able to leave, if that happened," she replied as she tucked the blanket in a little closer around his feet and gathered up the last of the sick room items to be taken downstairs. With a final admonishment to him to eat his soup, she left, closing the door behind her.

"Would that be so bad?" he asked quietly before bending industriously to his soup again.