Ok so it REALLY is unlike me to update so soon! Just check my "in progress," fics and you will see what I mean. But I wrote this in the same sitting as the last chapter, so we got lucky. I do have a general idea of where this storyline is headed though if that makes any of you feel better. :) Thanks again to everyone whose taken an interest in this fic even after all this time! And thanks to those who have shared their thoughts! It is much appreciated!

It's cancer.

The words glared up at him as he wrote them seated at his desk in the classroom. He had started and stopped this letter nearly a dozen times over the last couple of days. He knew he had to tell her, but he struggled to find the precise words. How could he tell her without stirring up alarm inside of her? Or worse, guilt. How could he tell her without pressing her to bring their union up to Lord and Lady Grantham? He didn't want to be that sort of husband.

She had gone this long making her own choices, living her life just how she liked it. How could he possibly tell her otherwise? And yet, she'd asked him to tell her if he needed her to come home. He did, even if his manly pride wouldn't allow him to admit it or to disclose it to her. He needed her in more ways than he could ever adequately convey on paper.

Which is why this one gave him so much trouble. Which is what brought him to break his own rule of writing to her outside the safe confines of their cottage bedroom. Time was of the essence when it came to their letters. He'd already received her last one, a cheerful representation of her time spent in America, in spite of being without him. She was undoubtedly waiting for his, holding her breath each time the post came. He knew because that had been his experience as well.

The dusty smell of chalk power and squeal of his handiwork as he wrote down his step by step assessment, brought Mr. Molesley's mind to the present. Tommy Pierce was working dutifully on more problems at the chalkboard behind him.

Mr. Molesley turned slightly in his seat, watching Tommy work on the second problem he scrawled out moments ago. The lad appeared to be on the right track. He paused when he felt Molesley's gaze on him, but he managed to offer reassuringly.

"You're right Tommy, keep going down that path."

The scratching sounds continued as Tommy kept writing, and Molesley looked back down at the letter in front of him.

I know it sounds frightening, but at least there's a reason for his illness, no matter how cruel the diagnosis might be.

I don't know how much time he has. So, I don't know what I can tell you to do, my dear. Of course, I think you know I want you here. But I will not begrudge you if you feel you cannot leave Lady Grantham. You are a most loyal woman and for that I admire you. I only wish I was strong enough to tell you to stay in Newport.

A shrill screeching of chalk on board stole his attention away once more, and he noticed Tommy Pierce was finished with the third problem.

"Alright Tommy," Molesley set aside his writing papers and rose from his seat, "let's see how you did here."

Mr. Molesley ran through the scenarios in his head as he deciphered Tommy's process for solving. He had a few minor mistakes, but all in all, his accuracy was getting better.

"Well you see what you did here," He would point out when explaining why he docked half points here and there for small mistakes. But he would soon follow up with, "You're getting it, it seems though. Do you feel as though you're understanding it Tommy?"

And the boy would nod his head and offer a shy smile. He was quietly proud of himself, and it made Molesley's heart lift to see the boy's increasing confidence.

"Ok well…that's all for the lesson part of the day." Gesturing towards the black board he instructed, "Why don't you give it a good wipe down, and I will write down the page of the practice test I want you to try before next time. No using your notes though. I want you to try this all by what you've learned so far." He arched a brow and then shuffled his writing paper until he had a blank sheet in front of him.

Molesley looked up the pages he had in mind in the index of the workbook before writing them down. He included his verbal instructions of doing the test without any outside assistance.

As he finished, Mrs. Pierce knocked on the doorway, dressed in a pale green dress suit this week. She still wore the burgundy cloche with matching gloves and handbag. Mr. Molesley deduced that this was likely her only set.

"Ahh…Mrs. Pierce," Molesley gestured for her to enter the classroom. "I've just been giving Tommy his next assignment," He organized the papers neatly before shoving them into the practice workbook that Tommy had been copying problems from. Given the Pierce's financial status, Molesley had taken to also including extra paper for him to practice on, knowing it didn't come by cheap to the general population like it did to him as an instructor.

"I told him explicitly and wrote down there as well," He handed the book with papers stuffed inside to her, "no using his notes. I want to test his retention of the material."

"Aye, aye, captain," She mockingly saluted him before beckoning Tommy to come by her side. She squeezed his shoulder before wondering hesitantly, "I wonder if I might have a word with you, Mr. Molesley."

"Of course," Molesley replied amicably as he began gathering his materials and stuffing them into his messenger bag.

She turned to her son, handing him the book with paper inside, "Run this home, Tommy. Granny's fixed you some lunch."

"Then can I play with James and Billy?" He beamed up at her hopefully.

"Yes, you may," She patted his shoulder reassuringly and they watched him go.

Once alone, Mrs. Pierce faced Mr. Molesley. "This is a bit awkward for me to say but…" She paused, wringing her gloved hands before finishing in one swift breath, "…I don't feel right letting you waive the fee for Tommy's tutoring sessions."

He blinked back at her, clearly surprised by this. He thought they had settled this during last week's session, but apparently it was something that still weighed heavily on her. He informed her with a reassuring smile, "Tommy's an easy pupil to have, Mrs. Pierce. I don't mind."

"I greatly appreciate your generosity, Mr. Molesley." She returned politely before explaining, her cheeks turning slightly rosy at this admission, "But you have to understand, I feel as though I owe you a debt. And I don't quite like that feeling."

This could be understandable and so he nodded a bit. But then he glanced back up at her, explaining, "Mrs. Pierce, when I first acknowledged my passion for education, I tutored a scullery maid for free while working full time at Downton. I don't mind doing this without compensation. Especially with a student like Tommy. He really does have potential. He works hard and…"

"But I do mind, you see." She smiled, trying her hardest not to seem ingenuine to his kindness. "So please, let me pay you." She opened her handbag and began rifling through it.

"Mrs. Pierce," He held out his hand, placing it on her arm so as to stifle her movements. She tensed and so did he, his hand falling away before scratching the back of his ear. "Sorry I just…you're doing me favor by having me take an interest in your son's education." He looked at her directly as if to make her understand that his words held no hidden meaning, "I will never make you feel indebted to me. Or Tommy. The sum is of little consequence to me. If Tommy's able to achieve something great and do well for you and for himself then…that in itself is payment enough for me."

She looked away, blinked a few times, and then when she gathered her composure, smiled gratefully. "How lucky your wife must be to have you," She commented.

He chuckled a bit at this and shrugged, "I feel I'm the lucky one to have her."

Mrs. Pierce nodded, not saying anything straight away. Then she asked after a moment, "Do you like scones, Mr. Molesley?"

He hummed out of amusement at this question. He hadn't expected such a thing, "Uhm…sure."

"Let me bring you some for you and your wife," She insisted.

He shook his head slowly, "Oh, that's not necessary…"

"I work at a bakeshop in the next village over," She explained. "We often have extra that goes to waste. I can't promise anything specific, but we almost always have spiced scones left. So…you would be doing me a favor as well."

Molesley considered her words and inwardly decided that perhaps it would be a fair trade. Mrs. Pierce would feel better giving him something for the betterment of her son's education. And he wouldn't need to feel guilty for asking for payment that might disrupt their livelihood. Perhaps the scones might entice his father to eat more these days.

"Alright but only a few," He instructed, "there's only two of us after all."

Hopefully soon to be three, he thought, realizing he needed to finish that letter if he wished to alleviate his wife's anxiety.

Molesley mentally revised the earlier sections of his letter as he walked home from the schoolhouse. His lips moved as he mumbled changes to himself, his eyes fixed out of sheer concentration. He hardly noticed anything about his surroundings that day. His mind was playing the same track over and over again while his memory carried him home without having to even think about it.

Perhaps do away with the past about not being strong enough. You don't want her to think you're weak and cannot live without her. You can. Well, maybe don't say that. She might interpret it incorrectly. That's not what you mean by it. No, not at all.

He crossed through the gate of their wall, mechanically closing it behind himself.

Maybe you should send a telegram. But it's not an emergency. What if she thinks you a nutter who cannot remain calm in these situations? Perhaps she'll find that unattractive? Gosh, you need all the help you can get in that department.

Molesley fished his key out of his trouser pocket and inserted it into the lock. He set aside his thoughts of the letter, and automatically thought about what he might fix for his Dad's super. Anything that wasn't soup was a challenge for him to get down. But every time it was soup, Dad would complain.

Still, something in was better than nothing, Molesley decided. He would heat up the beef broth that he purchased the other day at the market.

As he pushed open the front door, he was startled by the fact that his father was seated on the floor in the sitting room.

"Dad, what on…?" He rushed to his father's side, immediately bringing his arms into position that would allow him to lift him to his feet.

"Oh, good yer home," Bill rasped, gripping his son's hands as he struggled to stand upright.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Bill waved his free hand and then reached for the doorway to offer him additional support.

"Dad," Molesley's voice turned serious as he asked the obvious question, "what happened?"

"Was tired of being stuck…in that bed," He grumbled and then pulled back when Molesley began guiding him back to his bedroom. "No Joe…I want…leave me here."

"Alright, alright," Joe agreed reluctantly. "But ye can't sit on the floor. Let's try the settee, yeah?"

Bill's knees wobbled and he leaned most of his weight (which wasn't much these days) against Joe. His breathing was swallow and desperate, and the tips of his nose and ears were bore a purplish tinge. It was clear he wasn't getting enough oxygen through his body.

Molesley bit his bottom lip at this realization, swallowing the lump in his throat as he eased his father down on the settee. "Alright now," He knelt down in front of him to ask, "why did ye have to come out here?"

"I told ye," He huffed. "I'm tired of that bloody room. Open the curtains, will ye? I want to see the sun."

"Ok, but I'm going to ring Dr. Clarkson," Molesley informed him.

"What bloody for now?!" Bill bemoaned before descending into a harsh coughing fit. "He can't…do…"

"To make sure ye didn't do anymore damage to yerself by wandering around while you're alone!" Molesley retorted sharper than he intended as he strode across the sitting room.

He pulled back the curtains to reveal a semi-cloudy day. Still, he supposed it was better than what his father was used to in the cramped, back bedroom with the dingy, dirty windows.

Bill grumbled something incoherently, which Molesley purposefully ignored.

He moved back into the kitchen and dialed the doctor's number. Once the situation was explained, he set to making their lunch.

"Can ye turn some music on?" His Dad called out.

Molesley sighed heavily. How he wished Phyllis were here. His Dad wouldn't be this difficult towards her, he was sure of it. Then of course, he felt guilty for even thinking that his Dad was being difficult.

He flipped down a record and placed the pin on it. The old gramophone roared to life and a lively brass orchestra snapped to attention in their sitting room. It was a tune that made it impossible for Molesley to stay angry at his Dad.

He stirred the broth on the stove and thought of Phyllis. He wondered what she was doing this time of day. Likely bringing breakfast to Lady Grantham. He wondered if she was thinking of him. It was a daily occurrence, this line of thinking.

After several moments he heated up the broth and then set it on the table beside where his Dad sat on the settee. His mind appeared to be wandering as though the music transported him to a faraway place. For the first time in a while, there was a glimmer of contentment that worked its way across his face.

Molesley patted his Dad on the shoulder, "Do you want any bread, Dad?"

Shifting in his seat, he nodded, "Yeah…yeah that'd be good, Joe. Thanks." He patted his hand, and Joe couldn't help but smile.

Perhaps today things would be alright.

"There's no immediate damage to his ribs, which would be my immediate concern," Dr. Clarkson informed Joe as they stood in the middle of the cottage kitchen. "But I did see some nasty bruising on your father's right hip."

"Will that…I mean…is that bad?" Joe inquired, following the doctor as he made his way back through the sitting room.

"I don't think it will do any damage. He might be in some pain if he tries to walk over the next week or so."

"Should he be walking around? Or should I keep him in bed?"

Clarkson shrugged and then exhaled deeply, "We've talked about how his condition won't improve. So, to say that he needs to conserve his strength is a manner of personal opinion. I would advise though that he not move on his own. If he wishes to be out of bed, you ought to be home to help him."

Joe nodded and then remarked dryly, "Short of chaining him to the bed, I doubt he'd listen to that."

After passing through the front door, Clarkson added with a saddened smile, "He'll be exhausted the next few days. Being out of bed and tumbling like that has lowered his immunities. Don't be alarmed if he sleeps during this recovery time. But call anytime, and I'll see what can be done."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Joe inclined his head and shook his hand for what felt like the umpteenth time that week.

As he watched man go, a surge of panic shot through him. Phyllis! The letter! He shut the door went straight to his bag, rifling through the instructional manuals and teaching books that resided in there.

After several seconds of intense rummaging the sense of panic only intensified. It became clear to him with a sinking feeling that his best draft was no where to be found.

Had he left it on the classroom desk? No, he surely couldn't have. He always made sure the room was just the way it was when he arrived for each tutoring session. He had gathered everything, so that couldn't be it.

And then he remembered the papers he had stuffed into Tommy Pierce's practice book. With a sense of anguish, he knew he couldn't wait until next week to retrieve it. And rewriting it now felt daunting. He could never get the wording that precise a second time around.

To pop by their house now would feel inappropriate. But to wait another day when he knew his letter was already later than the time table Phyllis had grown accustomed to felt painful to him.

With a reluctant sigh, he realized he had no choice. He wouldn't be gone long, he reasoned. Dad could sleep for hours following the pain medication Dr. Clarkson prescribed.

He knocked on the front door of what he hoped to be the Pierce's faded, red brick rowhouse. An old woman appeared at the front door, and he immediately blustered.

"Oh uhm, sorry to bother you, ma'am. Is this the Pierce's residence?"

She was squat, but thicker and could probably tackle him if necessary. Bracing her arm between her and the doorframe to deter him from peeking in she replied gruffly, "Whose asking?"

"Uhm…I'm Mr. Molesley. I'm a teacher at the schoolhouse. I've been tutoring Tommy Pierce all summer." He extended his hand as if somehow this gesture might him seem like less of a threat.

"Ahh yes…Mr. Molesley, I'm Alma Pierce, Margaret's mother-in-law." She asserted, her grey eyes appraising him rather sternly. She didn't bother with shaking his hand.

Lowering his hand, he went on a bit nervously, "I realize this time of day is likely very inconvenient. I just…I think I left the beginnings of a letter in with Tommy's school things. You see, it's very important I finish it tonight and send out in the morning."

She furrowed her brow suspiciously, then folded her arms across her chest. "What sort of letter?"

"A letter for my wife," He informed her plainly.

Just then Mrs. Margaret Pierce appeared down the narrow hallway, her face lighting up with pleasant surprise then lined with slight confusion at Mr. Molesley's presence on her front stoop.

"Mr. Molesley?" She drew nearer, cocking her head to one side. "What brings you round?"

"Something about him leaving a letter to his wife in with Tommy's things?" Her mother-in-law supplicated tensely, her eyes never leaving him.

"Oh yes…I did notice that. Not to worry, I set it aside for you. Mother, dear, can you finish up the supper while I help Mr. Molesley? Do come in, Mr. Molesley while I retrieve it."

Alma Pierce gave him one last pointed look before turning to maneuver down the hallway to the swinging door that closed off the kitchen.

Mrs. Pierce disappeared into a room on the left, which was a boxy looking sitting room. The staircase jutted awkwardly into the middle of the entranceway, not leaving much room for anything else save a mirror and coat rack by the door.

Molesley peered into the sitting room, noticing a small cot lining the back wall with a roll top desk tucked into the corner at the foot of it. A curtain hung just in front of it, making a second bedroom. Mrs. Pierce was bent slightly over the desk, gathering the papers in question, which she had not folded to keep the contents private.

He realized with a flush of embarrassment that she likely read the bit of it, or perhaps Tommy had accidentally.

She glided back towards him with an easy smile, flourishing them, "Here we are."

"Thank you," He took them quickly and folded the pages in half.

"Oh, and while you're here…" She brushed up against him in an effort to make it passed the staircase and down the hall. She called over her shoulder in route to the kitchen, "…I can bring those scones to you also."

"Oh no, that…I have to hurry home," He jerked his thumb towards the front door.

She halted and then replied with a slightly deflated air, "Right of course. To finish your letter, I'm sure."

"Well yes but see my Dad…he's…not well." To say the words out loud took great effort, but once he unloaded them off his chest and into thin air, he felt pound lighter. "He has cancer of the lung, you see. I can't leave him alone for very long."

"Oh yes," She nodded and then added with a slightly embarrassed edge in her words, "I-I'm sorry I…couldn't help but notice. I didn't mean to pry." She took a few hurried steps towards him, holding her hands anxiously together, "Honest. I truthfully was just trying to understand what it was."

He supposed there was some plausibility in her explanation. And truthfully it didn't bother him much that she knew. Shrugging he offered lightly, "It's alright. I understand. Thank you, for this though." He lifted the papers before remaking with a smile. "My wife will surely thank you as well. It's been a time since…well, I owe her…anyway…" He shrugged again and jerked his head in the direction of the door.

"I understand. It's hard when you're apart. Especially when it's not through your own choosing."

"Well its...a bit more complicated than that." Was he could say on the matter without giving away too much.

"It's alright," She flipped an indifferent hand, reaching for the front door. "I do hope she'll return to you soon. You deserve that." She opened it for him, waiting for him to take his leave.

"Thank you, Mrs. Pierce," He inclined his head. "That's very kind."

She smiled in response and added politely, "See you next week then?"

"Of course, goodnight," He nodded and then pressed the paper flat against his chest, his heart set on returning home to reach his wife now more than ever.