Thanks for reading, all! This is also from the script book. It's the last one from the book, though - the good unfilmed scenes were all toward the beginning. ( Carrie86 - I couldn't reply directly to your review because you have PMs disabled, but you - and anyone else who's interested - can find the script book at Amazon, or doubtless other booksellers. It's a pretty good read.)

May 1913

Bates was sitting at the table in the servants' hall, cleaning a top hat. He frowned at the stain down the side. What on earth had his lordship walked under?

Then Mrs. Hughes came in, with a pale but smiling Anna right behind her. The hat forgotten, Bates practically leapt to his feet, he was so relieved to see her well. The days she'd spent in bed had been the longest of his sojourn at Downton so far. "Does this mean you're better?" he asked. He would have winced at the eagerness in his own voice, but it appeared to go largely unnoticed by the assemblage in the room. Except, of course, for O'Brien, who sneered at him, and Anna, whose smile widened.

O'Brien said, "Don't tell me. Let me guess. She doesn't feel up to starting work."

"I do. I want to," Anna assured her. O'Brien sniffed, no more pleased with that answer than she would have been with the other. Nothing did seem to please O'Brien.

Mrs. Hughes patted Anna on the arm. "Not yet. Try a little mending, but that's enough for now." She put a sewing basket down at Anna's place and pointed to it sternly. Or what would have passed for sternly in another woman. Mrs. Hughes' soft heart was all too evident in the concern in her eyes as she waited to make sure Anna actually sat down.

Bates sat, as well, feeling immeasurably happier now that Anna was in her place at his side.

Anna dug into the basket, removing a torn apron. She sighed. "I wish she'd let me do more."

"Of course you do," O'Brien said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

They sat for a moment in silence while Anna threaded her needle and began mending the tear. "I hate being ill," she said. "My mother used to look down on ill people. She used to say 'oh, they're always ill,' as if it were their fault."

Thomas blew out a long plume of smoke from his cigarette. "My mother worshipped disease. If we ever wanted to get anything out of her, we had to start by pretending to be ill."

As Daisy laughed as though Thomas had said the funniest thing ever, Bates reflected how easy it was to see those two attitudes in Thomas and Anna's differing approaches to life and work. One who shirked as much as he could, one who worked herself as hard as was necessary, and sometimes harder, to get things done right.

William snorted, glaring at Daisy. Poor fellow, he really had no chance as long as Thomas's light continued to shine so brightly in the kitchen maid's eyes. "You talk such rubbish."

Daisy frowned at him. "Don't say that." To Thomas, she added, "Tell us more."

But Mrs. Patmore was in the doorway of the kitchen. She waved a spoon. "Daisy, perhaps you can delay hearing Thomas's life story, and come and help with the dinner."

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore." Daisy was on her feet immediately, heading for the kitchen, but not without a lingering glance at Thomas.

The byplay between the rest of the staff was the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before, but now Anna was back, her soft lips tightening as she watched Daisy go, and Bates could feel that someone else heard and saw things the same way he did. He leaned over, whispering, "Welcome back. It wasn't the same, without you."

O'Brien muttered to Thomas, not quietly, "Some people are easily pleased," but it didn't matter to Bates what she thought, because Anna was smiling and her cheeks were turning pink, and perhaps tonight after dinner they would sit together and talk quietly over their tea. Bates returned to the hat, feeling as though all was right again with his world.