I'm so sorry if this isn't exactly canon compliant, it's been in my head and i'm stressed about finals etc. so I just had to write it as it was (canon is blerrrrgh anyway, who are we kidding). Theoretically set the last time Phyllis has to go to London with Cora, before Joseph moves into his cottage. I really hope you like it.

He stood with her on the platform as the porter took away the suitcases to load onto the train. It was rare that he'd be to come this far with her, usually when her Ladyship was going away it was a swift goodbye for them as he stacked the cases onto the motor car, but with everything changing, he had a little bit more freedom and he'd chosen to come with her. It was very kind of him. She tried not to be sad when she thought about how much she would miss his kindness, in even the smallest gesture to her, punctuating her everyday-…

She stood a little way from where the cases had been a moment ago, half turned away from him, as if still occupied by the luggage, which had gone. She didn't want to think about the fact that by the time she came back, he would be gone too, or at least would have moved out. She knew that she would still see him, but this was the end of their existence under one roof, this thing that she had never imagined would end. And she wanted to hide how much it hurt her, how much she-…

That was why she was here, half-turned away from him, when he'd been kind enough to come and see her off. But he wasn't turned away from her. He stood there, facing her directly, paying her the utmost attention, watching her with concern in his eyes, waiting, it seemed for some sort of a sign from her that she was alright. She owed him that, at least.

She attempted a smile.

"Thank you for coming to see me off, Mr. Molesley," she told him, her voice impressively level.

"It's my pleasure," he told her in reply. And then, a second later, "Funny, that you won't be back before I'm gone."

It was obviously on his mind as well.

"Yes, I'm sorry I won't be," she told him, because she was, "I would have liked to have helped you move your things."

"Don't worry about it," he told her quietly, "There'll be plenty of help. Mr. Bates said he'd give me a hand."

"That's nice of him," she replied smiling a little, "I wanted to be able to see you go, though."

There was a pause.

"That's not what I meant," she told him hurriedly, panicked by the look on his face, "I don't want-… rid of you, I don't want you to go-… I-…"

She fell silent, unable, for once, to read his expression.

"I thought you thought it was a good idea for me to take the cottage," he asked her, puzzled, "That's what you said I should do."

"I do," she insisted, "I want you to make the most of the chance to have what you want. And you can't say you don't want it," she implored him, silently, to understand, "But that doesn't mean I really want you to leave Downton," she admitted, "And if you are going, I want to be there, with you."

He fell silent, looking alarmed. She must really have done it now, she thought. But she didn't realise, and it took her a second to catch on, that his look of alarm was directed over her shoulder and not at her. She turned swiftly, surprised and taken aback herself to see her Ladyship standing there with an uncertain but not unsympathetic look on her face.

"I don't mean to interrupt anything," she told them, "But, Baxter, I think we really should be getting onto the train."

Phyllis flushed.

"Yes, your Ladyship," she replied immediately, "I'm sorry."

But her Ladyship was smiling.

"I'm sure I can ask the guard to hold the train another moment or two," she told her.

And Phyllis watched in astonishment as her employer turned away as if it was the most natural thing in the world, heading down the platform to the official in question, looking suspiciously ready to launch a staggering charm offensive.

Phyllis turned back towards him in disbelief and saw her own surprise mirrored in his face. She was hard-pressed not to laugh.

"She right, though," she told him sadly, "I should be going. I've got to be off in a minute."

"I know," he conceded softly.

He looked so dispirited at the thought, she managed to find the courage to reach out and touch him gently on the arm. He looked down at where her gloved hand was caressing him through his coat.

"And I mean it," she told him quietly, "I think you should go. But I'll miss you," unconsciously, her fingers tranced back over the same spot on his arm, "I'll miss you so much."

His other hand lifted up, crossed his body, took hold of her hand in his.

"I won't be far," he told her, "I'll never be far, if you need me. Not that you would," he added hurriedly, "But if you ever did-…"

"Oh, I would," she told him, trying to swallow the tremble in her voice.

She worried that she'd alarmed him, but she looked in her face and somehow saw everything she was feeling herself. His hand had wound into her, and their fingers were wrapped together.

"You would come to me, then?" he asked, "If you did?"

"If you'd let me," she confirmed to him as best she could.

She could feel a tear on her cheek. God, she wished she didn't have to go.

"Then come to me," he told her very quietly, conscious of the people around them. That was all she expected, but then he went on in a low voice, "Stay with me."

She looked up at him in surprise.

"Stay with me?" he implored her.

"Always?" she asked him.

"Yes."

"Baxter!" her Ladyship's voice came at the very worst time it could have done.

"I have to go," she told him swiftly.

He nodded, letting go of her hand.

"Let me know?" he asked her, "Think about it?"

She gave him one last look before she had to half-run down the platform. Oh, if looks could kiss. If they could caress-…

"Of course. Of course."

Please review if you have the time.