A/N: only took me one gazillion years to write an update for this... It's just a little idea that popped up in my hear after a silly conversation with a friend about baxley literally not losing touch after the series 6 finale. Please do not expect too much, and enjoy!

„Joseph", she whispered softly. Perhaps too softly, she mused, when the man next to her showed no reaction. They were the only ones in the servants hall but years of living at Downton Abbey had taught her that this privacy was often deceiving.

For a moment or two she just looked at him, sitting in the chair right between her and the front end of the long table, so engrossed in his own work that the ongoings around him did not reach his senses. She admired that ability, to be able to focus solely on the task before him and concentrate on nothing else but the work that needed be done. To her, it showed once again his dedication to his new job.

Of course, Phyllis was no stranger to blocking out her surroundings as good as possible, but in a crowded and busy household like Downton she preferred to save the more delicate projects for the daytime when concentration came easier than in the dim evening light after a day full of work.

She sighed into the quietness of the room and a smile appeared on her face as she allowed herself to enjoy the situation for a few moments longer. It would be interrupted soon enough, time in this house never worked in favour of those who were hiding something. It wasn't so much being afraid of the other servants finding out that her relationship with Mr. Molesley had … well, progressed in the last weeks, but much more apprehension of sharing the news with them. Gone would be the days of more or less secret detours to Molesley cottage whenever she had some errands to run in the village – although she was certain that at least Mr. Barrow knew much more about the reason for her delays than he would let on – or the hurried smiles whenever they met in public, always careful to hide their real emotions, or the silly holding of hands as they sat next to each other in the servants hall with their chairs a little closer together than usual.

It was a funny thing, being in love, if it meant simultaneously wanting to show the world that Joseph Molesley belonged to her and she to him, and wanting to collect as many memories of only them as she could before the inevitable would happen.

Her glance fell upon their hands between them. Her small fingers loosely intertwined with his larger ones, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles on her palm. Phyllis let her gaze wander up his arm, his shirtsleeves were halfway rolled up his forearm due to the warm weather in a way that would have made Carson give them all a stern talking to about dressing standards in a respectable house, had he been there to see the former footman in this 'terrible state of undress'.

Phyllis moved her eyes further upwards until they come to rest on the face of the man next to her. A small frown that could be mistaken for one out of worry rather than concentration by an unobservant bystander had found its way on Molesley's face. Phyllis' heart made a small leap upon the thought that it was her who knew him well enough by now to make out the difference. In the last few weeks she had come to know the man she had called a friend for years so much better. They had always spent a great deal of time in each other's company, but only now since he lived in his own house, had she had the privilege to find out more about him as a person. It was her knowledge about small things such as his favourite flowers or that he always used his late mother's porcelain whenever Phyllis came around for tea, which made her secretly proud to be the one person he shared all that with.

They had come so much further – together – than she ever deemed possible. Despite being sure about her own feelings for a while, and knowing about his growing fondness for her for almost as long, Phyllis had not expected her companion's words when they were uttered to her in a way so honest and pure and funnily old-fashioned that was completely him. From that day on, the times he escorted her back to the Abbey after her visits increased as well as the visits themselves, and one time they even went out for a proper tea on her day off. In York – for old times sake, he had meant with a smile she shared over the memory.

That was the first time he had kissed her goodbye as they had reached the entry to the servants backyard, the two of them lingering outside the walls to hide from prying eyes. And now, there they were, holding hands in the servants hall, being almost ready and yet not quite to share their happiness with their friends and workmates.

„Joseph", she repeated, a bit louder that second time, pulling herself out of her own reveries and squeezing the man's hand to catch his attention, „I hate to interrupt you but as much as I enjoy this, I need my hand back if I want to get this mending done before nightfall."

„Oh, I'm so sorry, dear", he replied, his reluctance noticeable both in his tone of voice and the fact that he made no attempt at releasing her hand. „I'm almost finished with this, it's the last one for today anyway, you'll be free of me soon."

With his free hand he took off his reading glasses to rub his eyes. There was still a pile of homework that needed to be marked but the dim light isn't becoming on his eyes.

„Five more minutes?"

„Alright, a few more minutes", she replied, furrowing her eyes. Then after a second, she added lightly, „I do remember that I once said we won't lose touch, but I did not mean it this – physically."

The confused grin on his face soon turned into an honest, apologetic smile when he noticed the slight teasing in her voice.

A few more minutes were all the couple would get that evening. Much too soon the comfortable silence was disrupted by the shrill sound of a bell. Lady Grantham's room, Phyllis noted with a hint of disappointment as she glanced at the board.

But once again, the man next to her seemed lost in his own world. How he managed to overhear the constant ringing was beyond her, Phyllis smiled to herself and shook her head. She moved to stand up only to find her hand clasped tightly.

„Mr. Molesley", she began, the relaxed mode from earlier now replaced by her professional lady's maid attitude, „would you kindly let go of my hand now, please?"

„Not yet, please", he murmured, then louder, „Not ever. I don't ever want to let you go."

Had she not been in such a hurry, Phyllis would have wanted nothing more than to sit back down and comply to his request. There was something in Molesley's expression that was well accustomed to her and also altogether new. There was that sincere, loving look in his eyes that she always wanted to drown in but this time it was mixed with something else. Apprehension, maybe fear, and … determination?

„Joe love, you have to", she whispered against his ear, „unless you want to explain to Lady Grantham just why you are in her bedroom with us while I get her ready for the night."

As expected, that did the trick. Molesley's ears turned a dark shade of red in the matter of a second and he dropped her hand as if it was burning his skin.

„No – no, of course not!", he quickly exclaimed, „Will I see you before you retreat for the night?"

Phyllis could not hide her smile. It was cute how he always insisted on a proper goodbye before they parted. „If it's not too late then", she replied neutrally and turned to make her way up the stairs.

„Good!", he called after her over his shoulder, „Because I need to talk to you about something."

She was halfway up the first flight of stairs when his words reached her. Her smile widened. She had a good idea what it was he needed to tell her, and if she was right then there would be no reason for either of them any longer to fear that they could lose touch, ever.

„But first things first, Phyllis", she uttered under her breath, „there's no good in getting your hopes up over nothing." It would not do for Lady Grantham to notice her giddy mood. However, despite her best efforts to stay reasonable and controlled as she helped the other woman get in her nightclothes and brushed and braided her long hair, Phyllis could not help her growing excitement about the conversation to come, spread her whole body.

Much later that night, as she lay in her own bed, happier than she had been in a very long time, she hoped her Ladyship had not noticed her hurrying slightly through their evening routine in order to get back downstairs that little bit faster than normally. And even if she had, Phyllis thought right before she fell asleep, it was absolutely worth it.

Any thoughts? You know where you can put them... ;-) Thanks for reading.