Well here I am again with another update! (Don't get used to the 2 in 1 week deal, it's a limited time only..tee hee...) Also, another grand THANK YOU to those of you who sent me along your thoughts. Your words of encouragement, questions, and shared headcanons are much welcomed & appreciated. Anyway, since I bored you all with my long winded author's note last night, I'll simply say: happy new year & enjoy!

xoxo,

Lynn

"Ms. Baxter."

She paused on her way upstairs, arms full of a new evening gown that Lady Grantham wished to wear that evening. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Ana standing below on the other side of the main staircase.

"I wonder if you might take this up for Lady Edith?" She smiled hopefully, extending what appeared to be a gold chain with some pink beads above her head. Her lips twitched while she explained, "I forgot it on my way up earlier."

"Certainly," Baxter nodded before leaning over the railing to take hold of the piece of jewelry.

She draped the necklace around her wrist, careful to not let it snag along the intricate silver beading that lined Lady Grantham's gown. Pressing forward with her gaze fixated on the steps, she let out a slight gasp of surprise when she rounded the corner and nearly collided with Thomas Barrow.

He stood on the step above, his expression darker as it usually was around her these days.

"Mr. Barrow," She remarked formally, inclining her head and attempting to pass him on the staircase.

However, he slid in front of her, blocking her intended route.

Baxter's head shot up, her eyes narrowing as if to question the motives behind his actions.

"I'm tired of waiting, Ms. Baxter," He intoned lowly, not bothering to disguise his irritation.

She took an uneasy step up, angling back her face and muttering through gritted teeth, "And I'm tired of being bullied."

Thomas leaned forward, prompting her to move down from the step, unless she wanted him to tread on her foot. "I got you this job, and you knew what I wanted in return. So don't complain about it now." He growled menacingly, and she felt a few flecks of sip hit her in the face as he made his frustrations known.

The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention, and she felt a chill course through her entire body. He soon left her, knowing there wasn't anything else he needed to say in order to force her to submit to his will.

He was right. He spoke in truths that made her feel uncomfortable. But she couldn't blame him. As much as she wanted to blame him for causing her so much grief, she had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who committed the crime, not him. She was the one who paid the price. And she hadn't even been forced to pay it in full, but they could take that away from her at any moment if she let one toe step out of line.

Even the thought of returning to the stone walls of Holloway, prompted a dull ache to spread across her back. Her legs tightened as ghosts of the past rushed back, and she shuddered to think of what would become of her if she'd be forced to return to that place. Forced back into her dingy cell, under the constant watch of the guards starved faces.

Baxter shook her head, dispelling any thoughts that might transport her back to the past. There was no sense in allowing herself to completely despair. Not when she still had a real chance for a future here at Downton.

And with this thought, she found solace in the memories she made thus far. She thought back to Mrs. Hughes acceptance of her and fair judgment in entrusting her with additional duties. Daisy's enthusiasm in learning how to work her sewing machine. Lady Grantham's praise and gratitude for a job well done. Anna's kindness and willingness to lend a hand when she needed it most. And not the furthest from her mind was Mr. Molesley. His encouragement and protection over the last several months gave her reason to smile. The memories from their time at the beach swirled to the forefront of her mind, and Baxter somehow felt lighter now as she ascended the stairs.

The decision was impulsive and unlike anything he'd ever done in his life. Molesley often aired on the side of caution. He gave every decision he was faced with deep contemplation and consideration. But now he felt that approach was no longer beneficial to him.

Now he had to act, lest he miss out on another chance that could change his life. And while it was still hypothetical, while things hadn't been concretely established or identified yet, he still held onto the hope that she might take notice. That this action might somehow change the way she saw him.

He could only wish for it while he locked the washroom door behind him, seeking to complete the whole process while everyone was still tucked away in bed.

Taking two vials out of the box; one labeled celeste water, the other yellow cyanide. He thought for a moment back to what the precise ratio for mixing the two was. He had been more concerned at being discovered purchasing the product than listening to what the woman who sold it to him was saying.

So Molesley did the best he could, pouring copious amounts of both into one of the bowls he procured from an unknowing Mrs. Patmore. Taking the comb he intended to use for spreading the stuff around, he started mixing until the yellow and black liquid swirled into a thicker, tar-like substance.

His eyes watered, and he coughed a bit once the pungent chemicals hit his lungs. The stuff was strong, and this obviously wasn't a task for the faint of heart. It was a bold move that much he knew. But as Molesley caught sight of himself in the mirror, any anxieties or precautions that gave him pause evaporated.

He was fifty-one last week, and what did he have to show for it? His forehead creased as he regarded the few remaining flecks of hair at the front of his head. It would be tricky not to get any on his balding scalp, but he had steady hands enough to get the job done.

As he draped a towel over both shoulders and started brushing the dark gunk through his thinning hair, he held his breath and did the only thing he could; hope this would achieve something meaningful for him.

With every call of "Mr. Molesley," he jumped excitedly only to feel put out when it was merely Mr. Carson or Thomas requesting him to help with something. He woke up several hours earlier only for nobody to take notice to the change in him. And he was beginning to lose hope in the power of the chemicals he purchased.

But he caught Mr. Carson regarding him curiously, and he even dared to peer into one of the nearby mirrors to see that this new version of himself had turned out right. As far as he could tell, his hair was black as coal. He was pleased with it, but he wanted someone else to take notice and confirm his believes; for he should hate to appear ridiculous.

Still, the day was only half over. There was still time. Some people he had yet to catch a glimpse of, what with news of Lord Gillingham making his arrival in the coming days, there was more work for Molesley than usual.

He strode into the servant's hall when he caught some time for a break in the middle of the afternoon. His shoulders rolled back and head held high, hoping someone might look up and take notice of his new look. Mr. and Mrs. Bates sat at the table with their backs to him. Ms. Baxter sat across the table, his book splayed open across the table. All three of them appeared to be engrossed in their activities, not looking up to take notice of his sudden presence.

Letting out a deflated sigh, he settled down in one of the chairs near the fireplace just as Mr. Bates was wondering quietly to his wife.

"I hope you're right about Lord Gillingham. What would I have felt if I inherited a family with you?"

Molesley flipped open the paper just as Anna responded, "You'd have loved them I hope."

"I would. But I can't deny that I'd prefer one of my own," He heard Mr. Bates remark before asking. "You feel the same?"

"Well they do say a mother's love is the strongest love there is. But...that's all in god's hands."

Suddenly a slight breeze fluttered over Mr. Molesley's shoulder, and he glanced up at the prospect of someone perhaps taking notice of him. His disappointment was only accentuated when he came to realize it was Thomas Barrow.

And it was no surprise at all to witness Thomas make way for Ms. Baxter without so much as a glance over his shoulder. She appeared to be looking up behind half closed lids, her attention directed towards the Bates'.

Molesley shifted forward in his seat, watching them curiously from a distance. Thomas leaned in close, prompting her to sit back, trying to deflect his blatant advances. He folded back up the paper he initially intended to read, the contents hardly seeming important to him anymore.

"I'll have it out of you," He growled lowly.

Standing abruptly, Molesley stepped in their direction, placing his hand on the table in front of Ms. Baxter. Her eyes shot up to meet him as he suggested with a reassuring smile, "Fancy a breath of air before the gong?"

"Thank you, Mr. Molesley," She pushed back her chair, and rushed past Thomas Barrow with her face bent low.

He regarded Thomas stiffly, waiting for her to exit the room first before turning abruptly on his heel to follow her. She started up the stairs, and he followed her determinedly.

"Ms. Baxter," He called after her, watching her pivot slowly on the stairs to face him. "I meant what I said if you wanted to…" He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder where her main focus was.

Thomas Barrow was staring back at them from the doorway of the servants hall, lighting up another cigarette.

He took a step in his direction, only to feel something tug on his arm. His focus shifted back to Ms. Baxter, who urged quietly, "Come with me."

Molesley obliged, allowing her to guide him up the steps until they reached the first landing. His hand curled around her forearm, their hands eventually slipping together while they hurried to find a quieter place to talk.

His heartbeat quickened in his chest as he felt the warmth of her palm radiating against his. The frantic energy of their motions prompted his stomach to bubble with excitement. Her desire to steal him away like this was a pleasant surprise. He had to bite on the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning so broadly.

Once they arrived at the first landing, she pulled him off to the side, her hand falling away from his. Molesley leaned forward, watching her try take in a unsteady breath before turning around to face him.

"So what's he on about?" Molesley probed quietly.

She swallowed, running her fingers along the railing of the landing while formulating her response, "He thinks I know something about Mr. Bates."

"And do you?" He asked, angling his face in her direction.

"Maybe," She chewed on her bottom lip, flashing her gaze up in his direction. Letting out a breath, she admitted weakly, "Mr. Bates may have done something he wouldn't want known."

"Something?" His brow furrowed in response and he asked further, "What do you mean? A crime?"

She shrugged, her dark eyes widened with uncertainty, "I'm not sure. I know he took a journey which he might deny."

Molesley blinked back at her, stunned to learn that she knew more about the Bates' than he initially believed. "Look, I don't want to know anymore," He held up his hands, not wanting her to confess something that might get her into more trouble than it appeared she was in already.

Nodding his head, he continued to explain evenly, "But pounds to a penny, Mr. Barrow thinks he can use it against Mr. Bates. Report him to her Ladyship. She'd soon put a stop to it."

"I can't," Baxter bemoaned dejectedly, lowering her gaze and shaking her head. "It's complicated, but I can't."

He tilted his head forward, trying to read her expression as if there was more of an explanation to be found in her gaze.

When she glanced up once more, she cocked her head to the side, asking, "What is it?"

"What's what?" Molesley's head instantly snapped up.

Knitting her brow together she elaborated, "You're doing something funny with your head. Sort of tilting it." She mimicked the gesture, her lips edging into a slightly amused smile.

He noticed her studying the top of his head now, and he instantly feeling warmer at this realization. Had she noticed? Would she comment on it? He tried to maintain his calm, shaking his head, and laughing nervously, "I'm not, am I? How do you think I look?"

"Why?" She blinked perplexed, her eyes traveling down toward his neck, "Have you got a rash?"

"I've not got a rash," He asserted plainly.

Did he? His hand flew to back of his neck, and he tried to feel the skin around his collar for any dry, uneven patches of skin.

She appeared gladdened by his response, smiling reassuringly. "Then it's alright then."

But that's not what he hoped she would notice. So, releasing his neck he cocked his head to the other side and wondered hesitantly, "No, what I mean is, how old...do you say I am?"

"I don't know," She shrugged, glancing around as if the answer was floating about in midair.

He watched her survey him closely, fusing her lips together while she tried to determine an appropriate number. Lifting her shoulders again she grimaced uncomfortably before supposing, "Maybe...fifty-two?"

Her guess was closer to the truth than he would have hoped for. "Oh," Was all he could think to come back with, trying not to seem too disappointed that the smelly substance he combed throughout his hair made no lick of difference to his appearance.

"Why?" She asked suddenly, "How old are you?"

"I'm fifty-one," He answered sullenly.

"Oh," Ms. Baxter looked downward, clearly sharing in his embarrassment from having guessed it. "Sorry," She shot him an apologetic half smile.

"Ehh…" He shrugged it off grimly, "…you we're close enough, anyway."

"Well if it makes a difference...I think...you look…good...for fifty-one," She admitted softly, causing his eyes to train on hers.

The tentative quality in her voice paired with her meek smile sent his heart into frenzy again. She was sweet for saying so, and he was never more grateful to know someone so warm and encouraging.

After several seconds of their prolonged gaze, she looked off to the side, sighing anxiously. "Not that my opinion counts for much," She remarked self-effacingly.

"Oh I-I think it does," He found himself reaching for her hand that grazed the top of the railing, his bold words propelling him forward.

She tensed beneath his touch, her mouth parting and eyes alighting with surprise. He suddenly feared he'd gone too far, pulling his hand away from hers.

"I-I should be off. The gong," She explained lamely as her hand fell back against her side. Ms. Baxter nodded her thanks to him before whirling around and disappearing back downstairs.

He stood there motionless, trying to determine if he somehow offended her, for he certainly hadn't heard the gong.

The next day, the whole downstairs was awaiting the arrival of Lord Gillingham. Most anxious out of them all was probably Mr. Molesley, who wasn't so sure that the Viscount had found a replacement valet for himself, following the untimely demise of Mr. Greene. This time he'd be ready and willing to offer up his services without any hesitation. He drummed his fingers at the tabletop, unable to have another sip of his tea or bite of his toast as his mind whirled with anticipation.

"What's the matter with you?" Jimmy asked, nodding in the direction of his hand. A note of annoyance could be heard as he frowned in Mr. Molesley's direction.

"Oh, it's nothing," Molesley picked up on the insinuation, taking hold of his teacup to still the anxious motion of his hand.

It wasn't just the matter of additional duties that had him alert. But the anticipated arrival of Ms. Baxter also made Molesley more vigilant as to who was where and what they were doing in the hall.

He hadn't seen her since their private conversation yesterday; since he took it upon himself to cross into unfamiliar and perhaps inappropriate territory with their relationship. And from that moment onward, his mind couldn't focus on much else for too long.

Still, he tried to keep calm. Nothing happened, he convinced himself over and over again. Yet something had happened. And if he were called before a judge, Molesley wasn't so sure he could claim that the gesture was entirely one of a platonic nature.

He was soon put out of his misery whenever he heard the groaning of the chair to his right as it was pulled out from beneath the table. Jumping ever so slightly, Molesley cast his gaze upward and saw Ms. Baxter smiling pleasantly back at him.

"Morning, Mr. Molesley," She greeted, already offering her teacup to Jimmy, who silently picked up the tea kettle from across the table to serve her.

"Good morning, Ms. Baxter," He returned automatically, trying to read her demeanor for any inconsistencies that might signal something was amiss between them.

As she stirred some milk into her tea, and picked up a biscuit from the platter, he couldn't sense anything out of place. And when she stared up at him, arching a questioning brow, it was clear he had spent the last day and a half worrying about nothing.

"You alright?" She asked, tilting her head to the side. "You look a bit…peaky."

"Do I?" He retorted, surprised by her observation.

"Well…" Her mouth curved into a bashful half smile, shrugging, "…just a bit."

"God," Jimmy scoffed from across the table.

Molesley shot a puzzled look to the opposite side of the table inquiring, "Something the matter, Jimmy?"

"Nothing, really." He sneered, "Except the stairwell isn't occupied if you'd rather conduct your business there so the rest of us can eat."

Molesley's mouth dropped open at Jimmy's bold assertion. His eyes shifted about, but nobody else appeared to be paying attention. That is, until Mr. Carson's booming voice resonated from behind his right shoulder.

"What's this James? Sounds as though you've suddenly forgot you aren't in a boys club in London any longer, but back in the servants hall at Downton." Mr. Carson scolded as Jimmy lowered his head out of embarrassment from talking inappropriately. "What on Earth would prompt you to say such a thing? And to Ms. Baxter, of all people in the house?"

"He was only teasing, Mr. Carson," Ms. Baxter assured him that she wasn't offended by the remark.

Molesley felt someone kick him from beneath the table, turning his face in Ms. Baxter's direction to find out it was her urging him to agree with her, else the situation could turn out worse. Clearing his throat, he then added confidently, "Yeah, I'm sure Jimmy didn't mean anything by it. Not really."

But Mr. Carson seemed unconvinced that the comment was altogether meaningless. He instructed plainly, his sharp eye resting on Molesley's, "See that he didn't, Mr. Molesley."

Before anyone else in the room could take notice in what this interesting exchange was really about, Mr. Carson continued on addressing the whole room. "As I'm sure you're all aware, Lord Gillingham is coming to join us this evening. And I'm afraid he'll be traveling alone."

"Shame about Mr. Greene, isn't it?" Thomas interjected, sounding almost bored from the corner he leaned in.

"Indeed it is, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson agreed neutrally, ignoring his callous tone. "So as it stands, Lord Gillingham will be in need of a valet." He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

There it was. A chance to use put his skills to good use again.

Molesley sat up straighter in his chair, craning back his neck to regard Mr. Carson more fully from his seated position. "Yes, Mr. Carson," He bobbed his head eagerly, "I'd be happy to help."

"Not you, Mr. Molesey," Carson shook his head as though it wasn't a good idea. "Mr. Bates…" He called out, from across the room, catching the other man's attention.

Molesley turned back around in his seat, sipping the rest of his tea sullenly. He caught Jimmy's sly grin from across the table as if the earlier bristle had altered Mr. Carson's good opinion of Mr. Molesley. It wasn't that Jimmy was a bad fellow. But he was certainly quick to jealousy, as was evident by the whole Ivy-Daisy-Alfred conundrum.

Not wanting to allow him to stir up another situation, Molesley decided he was finished with breakfast. Besides, there was work to be done. But he refused to let Jimmy think his retreat was one of surrender. So he leaned forward in his chair and muttering stiffly so that only Jimmy could hear, "Thanks for that."

Jimmy rolled his eyes and retorted quietly. "Perhaps if you weren't too busy flirting with Ms. Baxter here," He jerked his head towards her, drawing her into the exchange, "you wouldn't have missed yer chance."

Baxter set down her teacup with a noticeable clink. Standing to take her leave, she hovered over the table long enough just to whisper her smart remark, "Just because you aren't capable of having a real female friend, doesn't mean everyone else is incapable."

And with that, she took her leave.

"Good work," Molesley complimented sarcastically before following after her. "Ms. Baxter," He hissed, trying to catch her attention without anyone noticing.

She shot a look over her shoulder and slowed her gait for him to catch up with her.

He began with a downcast expression, "I am sorry if you were…"

"Why are you sorry?" She questioned, frowning before starting back down the corridor.

Molesley matched her pace, explaining, "If you were…offended. By what Jimmy said."

"Oh please," She rolled her shoulders back, and shot him a good-natured look. "He's just a boy who hasn't quite learned to think before he speaks."

"I suppose you're right," Molesley agreed, following her into the boot room.

"I am sorry if it hurt your chances of being valet to Lord Gillingham though," She told him weakly, picking up a pair of Lady Grantham's black shoes and moving to set them atop the center table.

"No need to be. I'm sure it did, but…" He trailed off, feigning indifference. He didn't want her to think she was the cause of him not being awarded the task.

He resolved to look for a pair of Mr. Branson's shoes that Mr. Bates asked him to work on the other day. Now seemed like a good time to catch up on them. Setting them on the table beside her pair, Molesley slid onto the nearest emptied chair.

They started working in silence and then Molesley remarked curiously, "I mean, why else couldn't I manage Lord Gillingham? There's no need to burden Mr. Bates with him. I think Mr. Carson forgets that I'm a valet too."

"I know, and it seems a bit ironic for Mr. Bates to dress him." She concurred, not looking up from dusting off the dirt from the bottom of Her Ladyship's shoes.

Her comment didn't align with their train of thought. Molesley's head shot up and he wondered, "Why's it ironic?"

Baxter's hands froze, and it dawned upon what she just said. Shaking her head as if to gloss over the remark, she let out a nervous breath of air, "I don't know why I said that."

"Why did you say it, Ms. Baxter?" Thomas sharp tone interrupted from the doorway, causing her to jump.

"It was rubbish nonsense," She decided flatly, setting down the shoe brush. Lowering her head, she rushed out of the room, murmuring under her breath, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late."

"But you just got here," Thomas' drawled after her. If she heard him, Ms. Baxter didn't indicate it.

"Something I can help you with, Mr. Barrow?" Mr. Molesley snapped, quite annoyed with Mr. Barrow interfering with matters that didn't concern him.

Slowly pivoting in place, Thomas' mouth curled into a devious smirk as he retorted, "Oh, I doubt very much you'd help me, Mr. Molesley."

"In terms of bullying Ms. Baxter, no," He spoke plainly, not bothering to hide his feelings of displeasure on the matter. Standing purposefully, he squared off with Thomas Barrow, challenging, "I'll not help you on that score. And I'm sure if only Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes knew what it was you were doing to her…" He trailed off suggestively, figuring Thomas would understand the meaning behind his words, and stand down.

But he didn't. Instead, his smile deepened along with the hint of trouble that glimmered in his lifeless eyes, "Why are you so interested in her? When you barely know a thing about her."

Molesley felt his stomach tighten. There was some truth in Thomas' words. And there would be no use pretending that he was better informed about who Ms. Baxter really was in front of Thomas. Even so, he'd come to learn some things about her.

And he could say with absolute certainty now, "I know she's too good to be hitched to the likes of you."

Thomas smug expression faltered for a moment. He took a step back, bowing mockingly towards Mr. Molesley. "But she is hitched to me, Mr. Molesley, and there's a reason for that." His response was veiled with a slyness that unsettled Molesley as he was left with nothing more than a sinister, "You'd best remember that part."

All he could do was stare dumbfounded at the abandoned shoes that lay on the table and mull over the obvious question that plagued him now. What had Ms. Baxter done?