Chapter 5 – From the Ashes, Again

A/N: This is IT you guys! I love, love, love writing this 'ship, so much, but I am going to take a short break from Baxley and get back to my first love, Chelsie, for a bit. I have and love all of your prompts and plan on working on them in the coming weeks.

What this last chapter is about, for me, is that life is such a wonderful mix of planning and chance. We must be responsible for creating our own destiny, but the shape of it, how it plays out, is flexible, fluid.

Thank you so much for reading this little story!

~CeeCee

Just after Midnight, New Year's 1926

Servants' Hall, Downton Abbey

As Mrs. Hughes' pleasant, strong alto voice burst forth with the old tune, with her husband looking admiringly on and the rest of them slowly joining her, she felt Joseph's hand grasp hers, palm to palm. Then, with the slightest pressure, he laced his fingers through hers. She didn't react outwardly, save to squeeze his fingers tightly in response.

A New Year. A time to look forward, to move forward…she smiled, sipped her punch, sang quietly along, preferring to listen to Joseph's enthusiastic efforts. Once the housekeeper's tune ended, and the staff and their guests began milling about again. His hand gave hers another, final squeeze, then he let go.

She glanced over at him. He met her gaze and grinned.

"Miss Baxter," he cleared his throat, continued. "They'll be winding down upstairs shortly, I'm guessing, and then it'll be back to work for us for a while tonight. I was wondering, if…"

"I'll be waiting to say goodnight you, Mr. Molesley, before I retire, right in this very room," her heart raced. This is it. "I'd like to go speak to Mr. Barrow for a few minutes. I'll see you shortly, then?" He nodded, and she drifted off to where Thomas Barrow was standing, feeling somehow warm and cold at the same time.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Barrow," she greeted him, placed a kiss on his cheek. He looked as if his time away from Downton had taken something essential from him, but she could see something glimmering in his dark eyes. It looked like hope.

"Thank you, Miss Baxter, the same to you. I am even more flattered that you left Mr. Molesley's side to wish me so," there was teasing in his voice, but it was gentle.

"The best thing about Mr. Molesley, is he will be there, I think, always, for me to return to," she spoke plainly. There was no need to hide anything anymore.

"He's a good man," Thomas responded, and it surprised her. "I thought him a fool for a very long time, and I think maybe he was one. Maybe he thought himself a fool. He doesn't seem to, any longer. And good on him."

"I think…I think, sometimes, our own opinions of ourselves are the most difficult to change," she replied.

Thomas looked down at her for a long moment, then something in his haunted expression softened. "I believe you're right, Miss Baxter."

"You belong back here, at Downton, Mr. Barrow. And you'll be happy here, I think, if you remember that," she answered.

"It's a chance I'd not have even wished for, Miss Baxter, as it was impossible, to me," he replied, and she saw tears shining in his eyes. "I'd not wish for Mr. Carson's ill health for anything, and, to be certain, I'll need his guidance for some time to come. Not to just do things correctly, but to work with people well. I've been given a second chance, Miss Baxter, and I plan on respecting that."

"We'll all help you, Mr. Barrow, if you let us. If you let me," she answered, searched for Joseph with her eyes. He was speaking with Daisy, Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason. He caught her gaze, and grinned. "There's far more that's possible than I ever realized, I think."

"I believe you're right, Miss Baxter," his eyes moved between her and Joseph. "I'd not expected – nor believe I deserved – a friend such as yourself, for example."

Her heart filled with warmth. Change is possible…She looked back up at him, grinned.

"I remember the day I met you. Franny brought you from your crib, hand you to me," she giggled a little, remembering the toddler he'd been. "You were the sweetest baby I ever clapped eyes on, even if your nappy was soaked." She giggled harder at the expression on his face.

"Miss Baxter, you can hardly speak of the butler of Downton in that manner," his mouth was twitching upward into a smile.

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Barrow," she replied. "But I can remember the moment I met my friend, can't I?"

"I guess you can, at that, Miss Baxter."

oooOOOooo

A New Year…he thought, as he and Andy began clearing champagne flutes, discarded serviettes, and other celebratory debris from the dining room, slowly working their way towards the great hall. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had left for their cottage shortly after midnight, and Thomas Barrow was supervising the end-of-the-evening tasks the staff necessarily had to carry out.

As distracted as he was by the memory of Phyllis Baxter's hand in his, he could see how content the man looked, the shadows he'd brought with him earlier today already dissipating. Joseph hadn't always gotten on with him, but he could appreciate that anyone – even Thomas Barrow – could change, for the better.

He thought of Phyllis' fingers, laced through his, as the old year became the new. And that she would be waiting for him, or he for her, once their work was finished in these early morning hours, in the quiet of the servants' hall. The rest of the staff would be off to bed, or gone. And then, perhaps, he would get that quiet moment he'd been waiting for.

"That's it then, Mr. Molesley," Andy's pleasant but tired voice cut through his reverie. "I'll bring these down, then, let Mr. Barrow we're done?"

"Yes, please do, Andy," he replied. "I'll finish up in the hall, make sure it's in tiptop shape." He paused, deciding he could tease the younger man a little. "And if you hurry, maybe you'll get a chance to say goodnight to Daisy, before she finishes up in the kitchen."

"Indeed I might, Mr. Molesley," the other footman flushed, but grinned the way the young and the infatuated tend to. "Thank you, Mr. Molesley, for all your help this week. It's been good working with you again." He nodded, and headed for the stairway leading to the downstairs.

Joseph grinned at his retreating figure, then carefully navigated the great hall, ensuring everything was in the proper place, for once really appreciating the minutiae that came with working a grand house like this, perhaps because he knew it was over, after this evening.

He'd not experience the giddy, topsy-turvy sensation of running unexpectedly into Phyllis Baxter around the next corner or on the stairs; but he was hoping by tomorrow afternoon, he'd not have to rely on chance to be seeing her, often and always, for years to come.

He patted his pocket which held the delicate opal ring, a tiny band of gold with a glowing stone. He finally began extinguishing the electric chandeliers, one by one, and the smaller lamps, until most of the light in the grand room came from the grand, gorgeous Christmas tree, twinkling with fairy lights.

It was so beautiful, with its swathes of ribbon and delicate glass ornaments, he was loath to step behind and pull the cord quite yet, to douse the glow of the tiny specks of light. He stood there for a few moments, just gazing up at it, the massive house still and quiet around him.

A sound no more than a whisper broke into his thoughts. He turned. Phyllis Baxter was coming down the stairs, from the Countess' room. She saw him and her face broke into a smile. She walked over to him, stood by his side in the dim beauty of the hall.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, but she reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his again.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it?" She finally said.

"It is," he answered, then turned towards her, his heart pounding like a drum in his throat. "But you, Miss Baxter, are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She let out a small, happy sound and stepped closer to him, so he could feel the warmth radiating off her body, pulsing in time to the rush of blood in his own chest.

This would not wait for a planned encounter in the servants' hall, no. Their hands became untwined, as hers reached up, around his neck, and his sought out the rise and fall of her breath, beneath the waist of her dark dress.

He placed his other hand on her face, and she closed her eyes, pressed her cheek against his palm. Two tears escaped and rolls down her cheeks. He brushed them away, oh so gently, relishing in the softness of her skin. She opened them, her gaze aflame, inches away. She smiled.

"Joseph," she said. It was like a benediction. "Joseph Molesley." And her thumb pressed softly against his own cheek.

At last, he leaned in, and kissed her, losing himself in the taste and smell and feeling of her. At last, at last, at last…

The tree glimmered before them, and in his pocket, the ring glimmered as well, like the promise they were making right now.