Somewhere in between completing the outfits for Lady Grantham and Mrs. Levinson, Baxter found a moment to herself. The family was eating dinner, and Ivy already set the table in the hall for the servant's meal. She settled in a chair by the fire, Mr. Molesley's book resting in her lap. Opening it up to the place where she left off, Baxter continued reading on about the early life of Queen Anne.
It was mostly a factual rendering that commented on the socioeconomic and political tensions at the time. However, Baxter was also intrigued by the bits of private history that were included in this biographical retelling. She was engrossed on a passage of letters and diary scrapings that were reprinted to reflect Anne's innermost thoughts and feelings following the death of her grandmother, aunt, and mother in quick succession. Baxter couldn't imagine having to face all of that in such a short span of time, and she felt her heart grow heavy at the lamentations as she read them.
She was about to turn the page whenever Thomas' oily tone broke through the quiet, prompting her to jump out of slight surprise. "You're very thoughtful, Ms. Baxter."
"Am I?" Her jaw clenched and she swiftly turned the page.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing his presence unnerved her. Instead, she insisted on keeping her focus on the book, eyes scanning across each line as if the words were actually sinking in.
"Must be some book Mr. Molesley gave ye," He taunted, the floorboards creaking beneath his shifting feet as he stepped beside her chair.
"It's very good, yes," She attempted to keep her tone indifferent, her gaze trained on the bit about Queen Anne's budding, adolescent friendship with Sarah Jennings.
He reached forward, closing the book in her lap. She had no choice but to catch his eye.
She could see them glittering darkly back at her, his crooked smile looking more wicked in the low lighting of the room. "It's no use ganging up with Mr. Molesley. He can't protect you like I can. He doesn't know what I know, does he?"
His derision only incited her irritation. And even though he was partially correct in his assumption, Baxter refused to let on that it bothered her.
"He knows how to be kind, Mr. Barrow." She countered, feeling her heart hammer fiercely inside of her chest at the unexpected confidence ringing through her words. "He has the advantage of you there."
His grin faltered, and he took back his hand, standing up straight again. When he regained his composure he retorted plainly, "No amount of kindness can save you from the truth, Ms. Baxter. We both know that. Facts are stone cold and hard. Just like iron bars, no?"
Her mouth ran dry at his choice words, but she forced herself to stand. She remarked through clenched teeth, narrowing her gaze at him, "If you've come here to threaten me..."
"Threaten you?" He interrupted, tilting his head to the side. Clucking his tongue as though her insinuation was unsavory and uncharacteristic of him, he continued on lightly, "Goodness no. I merely want to know what you've discovered about the Bates' since you arrived."
Her mind flashed back only for a split second to her early run-in with Mrs. Hughes. But she shook it out of her head when she asserted, "I'm afraid you'll only be disappointed to know I learned nothing so far, Mr. Barrow."
Baxter tried to shuffle passed him without mentioning another word of it, but his hand caught her elbow. Whirling her head around to look up at him, she read the skepticism creasing his brow.
"What was all that business between Anna and Mrs. Hughes, and about his coat? That seemed very interesting to you," He noted, his fingers digging painfully into the crook of her arm as she tried to wrench it free.
"If you're so curious, why don't you ask Mrs. Hughes all about it yourself?" She challenged.
There was the pitter-patter of footsteps approaching, and Baxter's arm fell into her side as Thomas released it. She turned to see Anna standing there, studying the pair of them curiously.
Baxter took this as her chance to depart the servant's hall, hugging Mr. Molesley's book to her chest, and keeping her head bent forward so as to avoid Anna's probing gaze. She aimed to ignore the pulsating ache in her arm from his harsh grip. She knew there'd be a bruise forming there in the next day or so. But no one would notice it except her. She'd make sure of it.
With the family's departure to Buckingham Palace looming in the near future, the kitchen staff were working double time to ensure things were all settled later that evening for the at home. Mrs. Patmore was alternating between barking orders and singing Daisy's praises when Mr. Molesley strode into the kitchen. Keeping close to the edges of the room so as to not interrupt, he helped himself to a cup of coffee.
While he set the kettle back on the warm burner, he felt someone appear behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he was pleasantly surprised to see Ms. Baxter standing there with an empty mug in between her hands. Without prompting, Molesley picked up the kettle again and carefully poured some for her.
"They're off already?" He asked.
"They're off," She confirmed before reaching across him for the milk jug.
Molesley leaned back slightly, placing the kettle down again whenever she retrieved the milk. "How did her Ladyship look?" He wondered.
Baxter stirred the in the contents of her cup and went on conversationally, "Well I don't mean to brag but…I think she looked rather elegant." A proud grin crept across her face, and he was glad to hear of her success.
"You should be able to brag, that's all you're doing," He spooned two lumps of sugar into his cup, stirring them into the drink.
"I can't take all the credit," She shook her head slowly before adding; "the color choice was all hers."
"Well I'm sure you had some influence on what she chose," He insisted.
Baxter shrugged, remarking casually, "Lavender suits her complexion well." She set the spoon down on the saucer, moving to the opposite wall of the room to be out of the way of the kitchen staff.
He could tell she wasn't going to be persuaded to accept full credit, even though he was sure it was much deserved on her part. In the months he'd gotten to know her, he learned that above all, she was modest when it came to her work. And even though it was exemplary, extending her various compliments seemed to embarrass her. So he left it at that.
He strode over to the towering desk with overheard cupboards. Leaning up against the piece of furniture that stood beside her, he probed curiously, "How did Mrs. Levinson's wardrobe fair?"
He figured this was one subject that there'd be lots to comment on.
"Alright I think," She answered warily, leaning forward and glancing about the room.
Tilting his head to the side, Molesley prompted, "Not too good then?"
"Well…" She started, chewing on her bottom lip and then looking up at him through widened eyes. Nodding to something that was on the other side of the desk, she shot him another meaningful glance before lowering her gaze into her teacup and continuing her thought, "…she seemed pleased enough."
He craned his neck around and saw Ethan Slade, Mr. Levinson's valet, standing about a foot away from them. He looked around the room, intrigued by all the chaos that was unfolding around him. Molesley suddenly understood the restraint in her answer, and nodded politely in Mr. Slade's direction when their gazes met.
For a moment, it looked as though he was going to approach them. But luckily, Mr. Carson stepped in front of him, his booming voice filling the entire kitchen. "Mr. Levinson, I wonder, would you mind playing the footman on occasion while you're here?"
"I beg your pardon?" Molesley heard the American valet's confusion ringing through his words.
"I know it may be beneath your dignity, but I'd appreciate an extra set of hands. It'll just be when we're entertaining, like tonight or for Lady Rose's Ball."
"We don't entertain much back in New York so…why not?"
"I appreciate your cooperation."
"And Mr. Carson, my employer's name is Levinson. Not mine."
Molesley dared to look up at Mr. Carson, noticing the momentary gratitude being replaced with irritation. He wasn't used to be spoken to so frankly in the open like this. His nostrils flaring, and eyes glittering darkly, he countered with a definitive nod.
"In this house, both of you are."
He left a rather unsettled Ethan Slade rooted on the spot, and Molesley leaned back behind the cupboards again. He didn't want the lad to think he was intentionally eavesdropping. He saw Ms. Baxter's sympathetic half smile shot in Mr. Slade's direction before settling back on him. She pushed off the wall, and stood across from him now, closer to the middle of the room.
"Poor lad," Molesley exhaled quietly in a voice only she could hear. "He must feel like a fish outta water."
She nodded, casting a fleeting glance over to where Mr. Slade stood. "He must've assumed Mr. Carson would take his opinions into consideration like Mr. Levinson does," Baxter told him in hushed tones.
"Does he have strong influence over the Levinson's?" Mr. Molesley questioned.
"Well…" Baxter looked over her shoulder again before turning back to him and whispering, "it appears that way. Else, they've put him up to some kind of scheme."
"What do ye mean by that?"
"Not here. Come with me," Baxter jerked her head in the direction of the doorway, and he obediently followed.
She led him towards the back staircase that opened up in a courtyard beneath the outside steps of Grantham House. He squinted in the sunlight, his eyes not used to the brightness after spending so much time in the dimly lit downstairs rooms. But he felt his gaze relax whenever Baxter continued beneath the upper walkway that led into the front of Gratham House.
There where stacks of crates full of food and other necessities that had yet to be taken inside as well as a bench that resided in the shade. She quickly looked around, and he instinctively mimicked this gesture to ensure they were alone as well.
"If I tell you…" She began solemnly, "…you have to swear you won't breathe a word of it to anyone."
"I swear," He promised, sinking down on the empty bench.
She nodded and sat beside him. Leaning forward she told him, "He was…asking me some questions."
"What sort of questions?" Molesley asked, taking a sip of coffee while he waited patiently for her to answer.
She took in a deep breath and then exhaled, "Like if I'd ever been to America, or if I ever wanted to go there. And then…" Baxter paused, narrowing her gaze at him.
"Then?" He arched a brow.
"He…he asked about me wages."
Molesley balked at her admission, "He didn't?!"
"He did," She confirmed, fusing her lips together, and looking away as though flustered by the sheer thought of it.
"Well, what did you say?"
She answered plainly, "I told him that sort of talk might be appropriate in America, but it certainly isn't here."
"I'll say," Molesley resounded encouragingly.
"Anyway," Baxter sighed, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee. "I don't rightly know what to make of it all," She looked up at him as if seeking his opinion on the matter.
He took a moment to work through it all. Thinking carefully over the questions Mr. Slade was positing, there seemed to be one possibility that was more likely than any other. A possibility he hoped wouldn't actually become a reality.
"Well…to me it sounds like…" He started uncertainly, willing his tone to remain indifferent. "…it sounds like he's trying to steal you away from Lady Grantham for Mrs. Levinson's benefit."
Once he said the words out loud, he couldn't mask his agitation. His jaw clenched and he felt his heart beginning to race.
Her dark eyes studied him with mild concern before she responded softly, "He did mention Mrs. Levinson was in need of a new ladies maid when he arrived."
"You're not…I mean you aren't considering it are ye?" He exclaimed in a high pitched tone.
She blinked back at him temporarily stunned by his sudden reaction to this. Baxter reminded him, "They haven't given me anything to consider." Her mouth turned down and she arched a curious brow.
"But if they ask ye…" He intoned frantically, "you wouldn't…actually go to America…would ye?"
Ms. Baxter shifted in her seat until she faced forward. He watched her silently deliberate this point. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she stared beyond the crates stacked up on the other side of the courtyard. There was a wistful sparkle in her eyes, as if she was trying to envision what life in America might be like. "Maybe…" She trailed off softly.
Her hesitation made his heart sink, and he stared down at this feet. He heard her take another drink before the clink of her cup came into contact with the saucer, and she formulated her conclusive response.
"Maybe if I was younger and if Mrs. Levinson was as easy to please as Lady Grantham. But I don't think at this stage I'd want to go to America."
He couldn't mask the relief that washed through him, the edges of his lips curling into a pleasant smile as he confessed, "Well that's good to hear. We'd miss ye here, Ms. Baxter."
She looked down to her lap, smiling demurely as she acknowledged this, "That's kind of ye to say."
"Well it's the truth," He assured, lifting his cup and finishing off the rest of his coffee.
The chaos downstairs only intensified the closer they got to Lady Rose's ball. All the preparations passed by in a blur for Baxter. Mrs. Levinson made it easy for her, now trusting Baxter enough to select her outfit, and style her hair as she saw fit with minimal interruptions. Given the questions Mr. Slade had been peppering her with since his arrival, she was fully prepared to politely decline Mrs. Levinson's offer to take her across the raging seas.
"But are you sure, dear? You know there's more to life than the English countryside. And whatever it is my daughter is paying you, I assure you, I can double it."
It was an enticing offer. Twice the sum she was currently earning. A new life in a modern country where the societal ideas were more progressive. Perhaps they'd be more forgiving of her past if it were to come out? She'd be free, truly free, of Thomas' debt once and for all. That is, if she managed to escape to America before he broadcasted her past for all to hear.
But she couldn't sneak off into the dead of night, not like Lady Grantham's previous ladies maid. Not after she had every indication that her work was deeply appreciated by her mistress. Not after the trust had been so carefully built between them, and she found the post to be to her liking. It would undoubtedly create more tension between mother and daughter, and Baxter refused to be the cause of any familial drama or incite any distress in Lady Grantham's life. She was kind and she deserved a reliable and trustworthy employee.
Not to mention, there was a chance that Mrs. Levinson might not want her after she learned the truth of her past. And there wasn't any doubt in her mind, Lady Grantham would feel similarly. It would be back to the workhouse again. She shuddered to think of going back there. She couldn't do it now that she had a respectable post with generous earnings and a comfortable place to live.
So Baxter smiled gratefully and declined Mrs. Levinson's offer, "Your offer is very generous, Mrs. Levinson. And I am rather flattered by it. But you see, at this point in my life, I'm not interested in leaving the only place I've considered to be home."
Mrs. Levinson accepted her response, and Baxter let out the breath she'd been holding in the entire time. She left the room and went on to dress Lady Grantham until she glimmered from head to toe with heavy diamonds. Baxter suspected the sum of them would pay out her wages for the rest of her life. However, she didn't dare speak this thought out loud to anyone. Instead, she sung praises of Lady Grantham's elegance, pleasing her mistress immensely.
When she returned downstairs, she discovered a lull descended over the place in her absence. Yet the air still buzzed with anticipation as the footman waited by the bottom of the staircase, silently staring upward while they waited for Mr. Carson's signal. Ivy and Helen, the scullery maid were among them, ready to inform Mrs. Patmore, who was unusually quiet in the kitchens, that the hors d'oeuvres should go up with them.
The sea of black parted for Ms. Baxter as she kept her head down, and moved out of the way. She poked her head in the servant's hall, and saw that Mr. Bates had already returned and was reading by the fire. Ana's quickened footsteps soon shuffled down the stairs, signaling that Lady Mary was ready for the ball as well.
"How's Madge making out with Lady Rose & Lady Edith?" Baxter met her gaze and wondered in hushed tones, not wanting to disturb the silence that engulfed the rest of the staff.
"I took care of Lady Edith," Ana assured with a smile.
She hadn't thought about offering to help. Of course, the other ladies maid's knew she had enough on her plate with Mrs. Levinson and Lady Grantham.
"Madge insisted that Lady Rose be her special project," She explained, lifting the weight of guilt off of Baxter's shoulders.
"Good for her," Baxter returned with a nod.
Ana was about to open her mouth and comment further when Mr. Carson's deep voice carried throughout the downstairs from halfway on the steps.
"The Dowager and Mrs. Crawley have already arrived," And with these words, everyone jumped to begin gathering what they'd need for the first round of guests. "But before everyone gets too excited…" He interjected, causing everyone to halt their motions and fix their eyes on him, "…I would like to announce that decision on our outing has been made."
The mood tensed a bit. Mr. Carson's earlier suggestions hadn't sparked great interest among any of them. Everyone cast wary glances to those standing nearby, bracing themselves for whatever Mr. Carson deemed to be a fun outing for them.
"We're to go to Victoria Pier the day after tomorrow." Many sighs and exhalations of relief followed by a hum of approval filled the air. But Mr. Carson continued on, "With that being said, I don't want any lollygagging while we're entertaining tonight. Everything must continue on just as we initially planned. No slacking else you may find yourself packing away the silver and fine china while the rest of us enjoy the sunshine. Are we understood?"
Murmurs of, "Yes Mr. Carson," could be heard to varying degrees of enthusiasm. Nobody would willingly sacrifice a day at the beach to complete such a tedious task.
"Good," He clapped his hands together. "Everyone take their starting places, and remember this is a marathon not a sprint. We must encourage them to engage in the merriment for as long as possible." With that he turned on his heel, disappearing back upstairs.
"Why'd we want to do that?" Baxter asked Ana curiously.
She replied knowingly, "The longer they stay awake, the greater recovery they'll need. Which means more time away for us."
Baxter nodded, understanding it better now. She was about to cross the corridor to look in the kitchen and see if she could be of any use to Mrs. Patmore when Madge returned, letting out a lengthy sigh.
"Whew!" She glanced between Baxter and Ana, a look of satisfaction crossing her face. "Sure glad that's all finished with."
"How'd she look?" Ana asked excitedly.
"Beautiful, if I may say so," Madge wiggled her shoulders and smirked, clearly pleased by her work. "Hopefully she dances the night away with a full card of potential suitors."
"If your fine work at the presentation was any indication, I'm sure she will." Baxter complimented warmly.
"Thank you Ms. Baxter," Madge beamed back, he hazel eyes glittering with pride.
"Ladies, is this a social holiday I'm unaware of?" Mrs. Hughes interrupted their brief interlude, causing each of them to tense at being discovered. "Madge, Ms. Baxter, can you see if Mrs. Patmore needs help in the kitchen? Ana, I need your help in getting some additional crystal and linens ready." She paused to add in a lowered voice, "Apparently the Prince of Wales has graced us with his presence."
"What?" Ana and Madge sounded their shock in unison while Baxter questioned.
"The Prince of Wales?"
"Yes," Mrs. Hughes nodded at all three of them before insisting solemnly, "which is why we must all look lively. Now come on."
"Can you believe it? The Prince of Wales is here?" Madge intoned, her words tinged with an edge of girlish giggles at the prospect while they walked towards the bustling atmosphere of the kitchen.
"It is an honor for the family," Baxter agreed, angling her face towards the young girl she remarked plainly. "But...he wasn't invited was he?"
"Who cares?" Madge nudged her in the side with her elbow, "This is the Prince of Wales we're talking about. He doesn't need an invitation, now does he?"
"I suppose not."
"You know what we should do?" Madge insisted emphatically, clinging onto Baxter's arm and forcing her eye again. "We should watch him from the bottom of the stairs when he leaves. See if it's true what they write about his handsome good looks in the papers."
Baxter rolled her eyes and chuckled softly at Madge's silliness. It was exciting, to claim that they once served royalty, albeit temporarily. Baxter wouldn't deny that much, but she didn't share in the intense gaiety that seemed to seize hold of all the other women. He was just a man born into a position of immense privilege as far as she was concerned.
"Madge!" Mrs. Patmore barked from inside the kitchen, stealing their attention, "Would ye mind putting a hold on yer daydreaming & help Daisy here gather another tray that needs taken up."
"Yes, Mrs. Patmore," Madge inclined her head and scurried away from Baxter's side.
Baxter took a step closer to the kitchens whenever a familiar voice stole her attention from over her shoulder. "Oh Ms. Baxter, did ye hear the news?" Mr. Molesley wondered curiously, prompting her to turn and see the broad grin tugging at his mouth.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" She arched a brow, finding his enthusiasm similar to Madge's and just as entertaining.
He bobbed his head, "Oh it's exciting to see the Prince of Wales close up."
"We're gonna watch him from the basement steps when he leaves," Baxter blurted out, her smile deepening. She could feel her embarrassment reaching new levels, and decided to turn and head into the kitchen.
But she felt his hand descend upon her arm, causing her to jump and shoot him a widened expression from the suddenness of the gesture. Mr. Molesley instantly retracted his hand, looking startled from her reaction.
He drew her further out into the corridor, concern flooding his tone while he lifted his brow seriously, "I don't know what Mr. Barrow's got over you. And I don't want to know. But he mustn't let you do things that aren't right. And you can't let him bully you."
She appreciated his comforting words, but still he hadn't the slightest clue about her relationship with Thomas. Letting out an uneasy breath, she replied quietly, "That's easy to say."
"I know," He agreed, forcing her gaze to shoot up and find his. Tilting his head to the other side, he consider an alternate point, "But if he draws you into his schemes that's not going to be easy for you either. Sometimes it's better to...to take a risk than go down the wrong path. That's all."
He wasn't trying to lecture her, but he wanted to help. She appreciated it, and wanted him to know it.
But when she opened her mouth to vocalize her feelings about what he was suggesting, Mrs. Patmore interrupted, "Are you taking this up or should I carry it up to the ballroom myself?" She inclined her head to the tray in her hands before peering up at Mr. Molesley expectantly.
He jumped to attention and took it from the cook's hands, quick to pivot and hurry back upstairs.
Baxter felt Mrs. Patmore's look of disapproval upon her, and she turned immediately to go off in the opposite direction. She wasn't exactly where she was headed; Baxter just knew she couldn't quite face Mrs. Patmore now given what she thought she might have witnessed.
They huddled together near the top of the stairs, trying not to draw attention to themselves as they heard the Prince of Wales was leaving for the night. Baxter was among them, but her mind was fixated on a brief exchange that occurred less than an hour ago. Her distraction must have been noticeable for Ana nudged her in the arm, and inquired, "You alright, Ms. Baxter?"
"Oh yes, I'm fine." She nodded, brandishing a weak half smile.
"You look a bit…worried." Ana observed with a furrowing brow.
"No, I'm not worried." Baxter shook his head, rolling back her shoulders. "Just excited that's all. It's not every day you boast you can see royalty up close."
Ana hummed in amusement. Then there was a crowd exiting the saloon, a man with chestnut brown hair, dressed in a royal uniform made his appearance. The younger maids, who were kneeling in the front row of their huddle, squealed in delight. Ana and Ms. Baxter shared a knowing look and merely shook their heads and chuckled at their dramatic reactions.
"Is that him?" Ana asked, trying to balance on the balls of her feet to catch a proper glimpse of him. Casting a look at Ms. Baxter, she posed another question, "Who do you suppose he's with?"
"Erm..." Baxter squinted, and then decided plainly, "...I think that's Mrs. Dudley Ward."
Ana's mouth dropped open in surprise by Baxter's confident response, "How'd you know that?"
"She was mentioned in a newspaper Mr. Molesley and I read a while ago," Baxter explained, still trying to catch a glimpse of the Prince's retreating figure.
He certainly was handsome, and she was certain it had something to do with the way he carried himself or the uniform he donned. Either way, Baxter knew Madge would be disappointed that she missed catching a sight of him.
She turned on the steps, and started back down again with Ana on her left side. Only the sound of their boots clipping against the wood resonated through the stairwell for a few moments.
Then Ana piped up interestedly, "You and Mr. Molesley like to read together quite a bit, don't ye?"
Baxter's mouth ran dry, the color draining from her face. As her heart fluttered unexplainably in her chest, she carefully replied, "I think we just like to read when we get the chance." She glanced over at Ana, who was studying her skeptically. "There's nothing improper about that," Baxter argued, her tone rising defensively.
"I didn't mean to make it sound as though it were," Ana insisted, lifting her hands in the air out of surrender. "But…there's something you should know about Mr. Molesley." She continued tentatively, "I'm sure you've been able to gather that he's a good man who's been through hard times. Be careful that you don't lead him on. He's been disappointed by enough people in his life."
"I don't think I've given him any impression that our relationship extends beyond friendship," Baxter asserted calmly. "And I daresay he'd say the same about me, if ye asked." A peal of nervous laughter invaded her words.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Ana cautioned an air of hopefulness about her.
"Why?"
"Well…he's given you a book, hasn't he?" Ana informed her with a knowing half smile, "His books are his most prized possessions. He doesn't just share them with anyone, ye know."
Baxter tilted her head to the side, inquiring with keen interest, "And how do you know this?"
A look of discomfort flickered across Ana's visage and she exhaled, "Because…there was a time…before Mr. Bates & I were married that he…he shared a book with me."
She couldn't explain why, but Baxter suddenly felt as though the wind was knocked out of her stomach. "Oh…oh I see," Is all she could manage to stammer out, without giving away her true feelings.
"Nothing ever happened between us," Ana quickly assured her. "It couldn't. Even then, I knew that I'd never be able to love anyone as much as I love Mr. Bates."
Baxter asked evenly, "And it broke his heart to learn this?"
"Oh I doubt that," Ana scoffed, rolling her eyes modestly at this thought. "But I think he was sad for a while. Although he doesn't seem sad anymore. Not since you arrived." She smiled up at her encouragingly, as though this meant something.
Baxter shook her head, "I've just shown him the same kindness he has me. There's nothing more to it than that."
"I didn't mean to pry," Ana entreated apologetically. "I know it's none of my business what you do and whom you spend your free time with. And I don't think you'd intentionally do anything to cause anyone any distress. I just thought you ought to know the whole story."
"Well I…I appreciate your honesty," Baxter returned smoothly. "If you'll excuse me…I should…be getting on."
She swiftly pivoted on her heel and started up the back stairs. Ana's revelation didn't bother her in the way she probably believed it to. Baxter didn't feel the sharp sting of jealousy; rather she felt a sort of sadness for him.
Even if it happened years ago, even if he'd long forgotten and ceased to see Ana in such a light, she felt a desire to be careful with him now. All the flirting that once seemed harmless, might amount more to him than it did for her. She'd have to be mindful. She cared for him, and would hate to be the cause of any injury he might experience. And above any heartache, she'd hate to lose her dearest friend.
I know this is long overdue, and I promised a couple of individuals on tumblr that this would updated sooner than I managed to. I hope this was worth the wait (And I KNOW. I cut the beach scene & moved it to the next update. Go on. Yell at me. But this Chapter was so lengthy, I felt like I had to save something for next time.). Some canon scenes with fanon infused in between (remember I added shit because this was for Nano). Anyway, it would be great to hear your thoughts if you have any because I semi-love/hate this chapter for various reasons. Thanks again to everyone who has shown an interest in this story so far! Your words of encouragement, follows, favorites, etc., mean a lot to me! Ok, enough of the rant. Thanks for reading, you're all quality humans! :)