A/N: This can loosely be read as a sequel to my earlier fic, Chocolate Candy. What it can absolutely be read as is the sequel to the series.

"Good night, Mr Barrow."

"Good night, Andy."

With a kind smile on his face, Andy leaves the servants' hall.

From his chair at the head of the table, Thomas watches as his coworkers gradually stand up and go to bed. Most of them wish him good night; some of them, like Miss Baxter and Andy, even smile.

It's been seven days since he returned, and somehow nothing has fallen apart yet. Seven days since he's barely had enough time to eat, let alone to stop and think or to address his feelings about the return. If someone asked him what he's had for breakfast that day, he'd have no idea what to say, or even if he's had one. Each thought he's had hasn't been about him, but about the house and whether everything's going as it's supposed to. He has no idea how Mr Carson managed it for so long. He can only imagine it'll get easier with time.

But it feels good, despite the challenges, to be the person in charge of making something good go on. Because go on it does, despite Mr Carson not being there all the time. It goes on because Thomas is there to run it. It's a proud thought, and slowly he is learning to accept this strange new life back at Downton.

The servants' hall is empty now, but Thomas sits for a little while longer, savouring a moment of tranquility as his thoughts finally slow down.

Soon though, he realizes he is not alone. Daisy is standing at the door, apron still on and hands behind her back, her grin impossibly wide. He gives her an amused look.

"One week," she says in response, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"One week what?" There's only one thing it could be, but why Daisy would mention it, let alone know how many days it's been, is beyond him.

"One week you've been back of course," she explains, as if he's silly to even ask.

"Is it?" he says, still in disbelief that she'd actually know. "Feels like a month's worth of work. Tiresome business managing you lot."

But Daisy doesn't respond to the quip, and he wonders if she's even heard him, because all she does is continue to stare at him with huge, happy eyes. It's a comical picture, but undoubtedly a bit unnerving, so Thomas gives her an unsure smile and looks away. He notices a piece of cloth hung sloppily on a chair next to him. Just to have something to do, he takes it and self-consciously wipes the table. As if she's been waiting for that cue all along, Daisy slams a plate onto the clean surface in front of him.

On the plate there is a petite chocolate cake, sliced into eight perfect parts. The very smell makes his mouth water. He can already imagine the taste; creamy, juicy and sweet, intensifying with every chew. He looks at Daisy questioningly. She is practically buzzing with glee.

"I don't remember seeing this at the dinner table," he says.

"That's because it weren't. I made it just for you. To celebrate your first week on your new job."

His mouth opens, but his mind is suddenly empty of words.

"Go on, try it!" Daisy urges.

His hand shaking a little, Thomas picks up a slice and takes a bite.

Turns out, stolen chocolate never tasted half as good as a chocolate cake someone made just for you.

Daisy's eager gaze never leaves his face as she obviously waits for a reaction. But he has no idea how to describe what it means to him.

"This is… this is great cake, Daisy," he says lamely. He is sure the words aren't good enough before they leave his lips, but Daisy has enough confidence in her skills by now that she just beams at him.

"I'm glad you think so," she gushes. "Just don't let the others see it or they'll all want some," she adds, suddenly serious. "You can hide it in Mr Carson's – I mean, in Mr Barrow's office," she says theatrically.

Mr Barrow's office. It sounds like something from a fairy tale.

Daisy pulls out a chair next to him and sits.

"So, what have you been up to these days?" he asks, taking another bite of the cake. The taste is sensational.

"Oh, not much," she says. "Just thinking about the future."

"In what way?"

"I'm trying to decide what to do now I've passed me exams."

"Not thinking of leaving us, are you?" The thought itself makes him sad. Downton without Daisy wouldn't be the same.

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure what I want to do. Maybe I'll be a proper cook, or… maybe I'll become a teacher one day," she says tentatively, "like Mr Molesley. Or I'll run Mr Mason's farm. I have all these options, but I haven't decided yet." She looks at him, her eyes smiling. "It's nice to have options. I've never had any options before."

He smiles back at her. After all she's been through, it's good to hear her talk like that.

Then his smile turns into a smirk. "And does a certain footman fit into these options of yours?"

Daisy blushes. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play coy with me," he teases. "I've seen you two making eyes at each other, kissing when Mrs Patmore has her back turned –"

"How do you know about that?!" she exclaims, now beet red. "You can't have seen us, you're never there!"

He laughs. In truth, he had no idea, not until she's just confirmed it, but he's not about to tell her that.

"Please. The butler knows everything."

She scoffs. He puts on his best cold and serious face, and looks at her sternly.

"And it is precisely the kind of lewd behaviour that I will not tolerate at Downton."

Daisy stares at him in shock.

He clears his throat. "Blimey, Daisy, it was only a joke."

"You sounded just like Mr Carson," she states, her eyes still wide. "And if I'd a penny each time I thought so this week…" She shakes her head. "There's something about you that reminds me of him too, like you're resembling him more and more with each passing day."

The slice of cake which was halfway up to his mouth returns to the plate. "Thanks, Daisy," he deadpans.

"No, I don't mean it as a bad thing. You want things done proper and you want everyone to do their best. I was ever so sorry that Mr Carson had to go. But if anyone could replace him, it's you."

He gives her a skeptical look. Then he reaches for the cake again.

"So what about you, Thomas? Is there someone special in your life?" Daisy asks, all smiles again.

He chews on the cake for several moments, thinking. In a world with no privacy, where everything from his blunder with Jimmy to the suicide attempt is an open secret, it's a small miracle there are still people who have no idea about anything. It feels good to talk to someone who doesn't know what he is for a change. At the same time, it's like walking on ice – one wrong step and he'd plunge into contempt.

"Not really," he says, opting for as much honesty as he could gather. "Guess I just haven't found the right person." That's always neutral enough, and tends to discourage from any follow-up. As he takes another bite of the cake, he glances at Daisy. She is nodding sympathetically.

"It must be even harder for you than for a woman, to guess if a man is keen on you."

He tries to exclaim, but the cake is still in his throat and it causes several crumbs to go the wrong way. A coughing fit takes over for several moments, though mercifully it stops soon. Daisy stares at him in frowning confusion.

"God, Daisy, I don't want you talking – about that! You shouldn't – someone might hear you –"

"There's no one about," she says unflappably.

"– still, it's not – it's not –" he fumbles, trying to find a reason to admonish her somehow, "– it's not proper for you to – to think about it, let alone speak of–"

He almost chokes again. Daisy has stuffed another slice of cake into his mouth, and his words are drowned in furious involuntary chewing. As the delicious taste fills his senses, he glares at her. She giggles.

"I'm not fourteen anymore you know," she says. "I don't see why I shouldn't speak of it. I'm your friend after all."

He is glad his mouth is still full of cake. This kind of honest casual sentiment he will never be comfortable with. He chews on while Daisy looks at him fondly.

"So when did you find out?" he asks after he swallows.

"A year ago, I think. Mrs Patmore told me."

"And you… weren't disgusted?" he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but his tone has that broken note which he can't quite control.

"No, not disgusted exactly. It was a bit strange, I won't deny it. Mostly though I was just relieved."

He blinks, wondering if his ears have stopped working from the shock. Of all the reactions in his life, he's certainly never heard anything close to relief.

"Only… I used to be sweet on you, you know," she explains, blushing only slightly. "Before. When I first came here."

He looks down. It's an awkward point for him, when his own feelings have been exploited for someone's personal gain, to remember how he used hers.

"And I'd always thought I wasn't clever enough, or pretty enough for you. So when I found out the truth, I just thought… it wasn't me, and if you hadn't been who you are, then maybe you'd have…" She trails off, and glances at him, then at the table.

Strangely warmed by her insecurity, Thomas thinks back to young Daisy. Wide-eyed and timid and painfully innocent; all too easy to manipulate, though not as easy as he'd once thought. He couldn't honestly say it was likely he'd have been keen on her, had he been a different man. Then again, the thought itself was as foreign to him as the thought of a green sky and blue grass. In a different life, who knew?

"You don't have to say anything," Daisy adds, face now glowing red.

He opens his mouth unsurely, but whatever words there were turn into an exhale, and he thinks of the years they've shared together.

He remembers Daisy's first days at Downton, when he found her weeping into her broom in the middle of night, and gave her his precious last pieces of chocolate out of sheer lack of comforting skills.

Then he remembers her on his arm at the fair, looking up at him with stars in her eyes and laughing at everything he said. He invited her just to bother William, and ended up having fun…

He remembers underestimating her sense of morality when she told Mr Carson the truth about Mr Bates, despite knowing Thomas would hate her for it. He was furious with her then, but now it seems like a scene from a dream, ethereal and all but entirely faded.

He sees her sitting on William's bed, holding his hand, dressed in her wedding frock, her hair done up for the first time in her life. Silent and determined among the weeping guests.

He remembers her watching Alfred chase after Ivy all that time, then parting with him as friends. Briefly, for some reason, he remembers his own goodbye with Jimmy.

He remembers seeing her study for hours after her work was done, huffing and yawning but ultimately persevering, passing all her exams in the end.

And now this. Making him a chocolate cake for the silliest reason and calling herself his friend. Like it's nothing special.

Suddenly he knows what he has to say to her.

"The truth is, Daisy…" he begins, and his voice is hoarse, "Even if I were different… you'd have always been too good for me."

Daisy's mouth slowly drops. Her eyes widen, and there is something raw and soft and incomprehensible in them. Thomas looks down, unable to bear eyes like that for long.

"Thank you. Thank you for saying that," she says in a small voice.

He shakes his head dismissively, playing with the chocolate crumbs. Just change the topic. Please.

"Can I ask you something?" she says after a while. Her voice is different now, curious and less emotional, and he's relieved.

"Of course," he says promptly.

"Have you ever been in love?"

His stomach drops. He shuts his eyes and curses inwardly. It's his own fault really, for teasing her about Andy and opening up the topic, but predicting the course of an unplanned conversation has never been his strong point.

"Maybe," he mutters.

But Daisy is undeterred, and takes his answer for what it really is.

"And what did it feel like?"

She sounds so genuinely interested that he's forced to think back to a time several years ago, and slowly and curiously, he finds himself wanting to tell her exactly how it was. Somehow, he thinks, if anyone would understand, it would be Daisy; but for some reason, once again the words aren't easy to come, and his mouth goes dry.

"It… hurt," he says finally. "Being around them. But in a good way." His heart starts pounding hard, but once he starts speaking, the words string together like pearls. "It was a pain you don't mind feeling, just knowing you could be around that person. Or having them say something to you, or stand next to you. You'd bear any kind of pain just to be around them."

He looks at Daisy. To his horror, her eyes are full of tears.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," he tries, forcing a kind of frantic cheerfulness, but the words ring hollow as well as the tone. "Really. Oh… Don't cry, Daisy, please, I didn't mean – it was a stupid thing to say –"

But it's too late, there's no way to undo it, or if there is, Thomas doesn't know about it; he's reduced to watching her wipe her eyes with her apron and it makes him feels like the worst person in the world. Why can't he ever talk to someone openly and not have it end in tears, and what ever gave him the idea that he should speak of his real feelings to Daisy? She is young and small and innocent, of course she doesn't understand. He's an idiot for even thinking she would.

For a split second he thinks about taking her hand, but he has no idea how she'd react, so he decides against it.

The silence seems like forever.

"Maybe I'm not in love with Andy, then," she says after a while. Her voice is sad and troubled and it almost breaks his heart. "Because I don't think it's like that for me."

"Daisy, what I said… I don't think that's how it's supposed to be," he says. "It's how it was for me, but… it's different for you, you have… possibilities that I don't." His eyes are starting to twinge; he rubs them. His voice sounds tired as well. "Look, Daisy, I don't think I'm the right person for you to ask. Wouldn't you rather talk to someone like Anna or Mrs Hughes?"

Daisy shakes her head.

"No, I like talking to you."

Despite the situation, he can't help but give a laugh. It stops when he realizes she is serious.

"I do, honest," Daisy continues. "I never thought I would before, but I do. I love Anna and Mrs Hughes, but… I don't think either of them ever had any problems like that. You look at them and they're so happy," she says dreamily. "I mean I know Anna's been through so much with Mr Bates but… I don't think either she or Mrs Hughes ever had any trouble just knowing. They knew who the person for them was, and they were right about it. I think they felt it in their souls. There was never anyone else for them. Talking to them I'd feel like a child who doesn't know real life or real love. Talking to you is easier, I don't know why."

Thomas is sure there are no compliments in that, but it warms his heart beyond all reason. Impossibly, after everything, he is the person she wants to talk to. He feels more honoured than he can ever remember feeling.

Well, then, he will give his best.

"Very well, Daisy. Let us talk. How do you feel about Andy?"

She shrugs, wiping the last trace of tears. "I like being with him, and I like talking to him. But I'm not sure how I feel."

"Alright, let's rephrase it. What does it feel like when you're around him?"

Daisy thinks before she answers.

"For a while it felt like I wanted to be someone else so he'd notice me. Someone better," she says, and Thomas wonders how there is no bitterness in her voice. "That's why I cut me hair. But when I did it… Well, it looked nice and that felt good for a while, but it was still just me. It's almost as if it made me see that I don't really want to change that much. I still want to be better, but I want to be me that's better, not someone else. It just doesn't feel right. And now I think Andy doesn't want me to be someone else either. That feels like standing in the sunlight," she finishes quietly.

Thomas feels a lump growing in his throat. He doubts she'll ever know how lucky she is.

"Do you think he's a handsome lad?" he continues staunchly.

Daisy blushes more profusely than he has ever seen her.

"He is handsome, inn't he. And… he's ever so kind. He's always helping out on Mr Mason's farm even though he doesn't have to. He works so hard at no charge at all, he just does it out of the goodness of his heart. And I think it's so clever of him to want to learn to read and better himself. It just shows he's so –"

"Trust me, Daisy," he interrupts, "you're in love with Andy. Or you will be very soon."

A huge grin spreads across Daisy's face. "You really think so?"

He can't trust his voice just now, so he nods again. He can't help but smile back; envying Daisy and Andy feels like envying a pair of puppies, and yet there is something that hurts.

He will never have this.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I am slowly starting to dread those words," he says.

Daisy smiles sheepishly.

"I won't ask again, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Only, the person you were in love with…" She bites her lip, and he can see her struggling, but curiosity prevails in the end. "Was it someone I knew?"

Thomas looks down.

"… Was it Jimmy?" Daisy asks softly.

He is still looking down. There's no point in lying, not anymore.

"You're certainly more perceptive that we ever gave you credit for," he mumbles. He doesn't have to look at her to know this makes her smile.

"Just remembered you two were friends is all. I don't remember you being that close with any other man."

He stares at the chocolate cake in front of him, and wonders how he's got into this conversation.

"But it weren't like that for him?" Daisy prompts gently.

The pity in her voice renders him speechless again. He shakes his head curtly.

"Oh," she murmurs. She only waits a couple of moments, and then, "Can I ask you something else?"

Thomas gives her a pointed look which she ignores.

"Why him though?" She frowns. "Ivy was sweet on him too, but I never understood why. Especially when she could have had Alfred," she says, as if it's the most baffling thing in the world. All of a sudden, Thomas has to bite his lip to suppress a laugh. "Not to say that Jimmy was bad-looking," Daisy continues, "but he was a bit…"

He meets her eyes.

Daisy seems hesitant. "Only, a bit…"

"Yes?" he prompts, amused.

She blinks at him.

"Well, short," she says, grimacing.

He can't help but chuckle.

"And he wasn't too kind, not at all."

"I don't think you really knew him, Daisy," he says. "I thought we were similar, Jimmy and I. We both put on acts, pretended we were tougher than we really were. He wasn't too kind most of the time, but neither was I, remember?" He shifts in his chair, suddenly very aware of his hands. "Or… I don't know. There's no good explanation. I guess I just… wanted him to like me. To have someone… someone I could talk to."

"But we were all there," Daisy says in a puzzled tone. "You could have talked to any of us."

He makes an effort to smile.

"I don't think there were plenty of people who wanted to talk to me."

"That's not true," Daisy says. "I would've talked to you. And Anna. And Mrs Hughes. All of us really. We were all less nasty than Miss O'Brien anyway and you talked to her."

"I was daft, obviously," he says. His voice is sarcastic, but he knows it's true.

"You were," she says with fervour. "But you don't have to be anymore. I know you talk to Miss Baxter now, but I hope you'll talk to me too, if ever you want to."

He looks at her, really looks at her this time. Daisy gazes at him and for the first time he feels brave enough not to look away despite his vision growing blurry. He knows she means what she said, he's unsure if she's even able to lie; and he can feel all the warmth emanating from her like she's a beacon of smiling light.

This must be what family feels like.

He gives a short nod.

"Thank you, Daisy," he whispers. She beams at him.

"When I move into the farm, you'll visit, won't you?"

He swallows. His throat doesn't seem to be working properly.

"If you'll want me."

"We will," she assures. "I-I mean," she stammers, blushing, "I will…"

"Of course," he says, smirking.

Daisy bites her lip, but her smile is unstoppable.

"I'll say good night then," she says after a while, and gets up, tying off her apron.

"Good night, Daisy," he murmurs.

"Good night, Mr Barrow," she says cheekily.

"Oh, get away with you."

She flashes him another grin before disappearing through the door.

As several minutes pass, Thomas sits still, making absolutely no move, barely daring to breathe. When he's sure she's well away, he lets out an enormous sigh.

He squeezes his eyes shut a couple of times, and it feels like the onset of a headache. He runs his hands through his hair, then puts them abruptly back on the table, almost overturning the plate in front of him. The clang echoes in the ghostly silence of the servants' hall, making him jump and his heart start racing. Several crumbs scatter; he takes the cloth and gathers them meticulously. The act soothes his emotions somewhat, and when he's finished he feels like he can trust his legs again, so he goes to his room. He brings the cake, of course.

Back in the safety of the familiar four walls, Thomas sits on his bed and takes several deep breaths. There's no real headache, but his mind feels worn out and fuzzy, and sleep can't come soon enough.

He glances at the clock. It's past midnight, first minutes into his eighth day as the butler of Downton Abbey.

Heavens know what next week will bring.

A/N: Some day I will write a fic in which more stuff happens than characters talking to each other, but today is not that day. Thank you so much for reading, I would absolutely love to hear your impressions!