Fluffity fluffing fluff.

Mr. Carson awoke one chilly December morning feeling rather cheerful, though he couldn't have said why. Perhaps because Christmas is nearing, he thought as he dressed for the day. He didn't participate in many Christmas traditions, but he still enjoyed watching the children enjoy the holiday. He was almost dressed when a surprising sight caught his eye. There was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling of his bedroom, just inside the door! It had been quite late when he retired the night before, but he was certain he would have noticed that little arrangement of leaves and berries if it had been there when he went to bed. Who on earth had been in his room, while he was sleeping, and had hung that mistletoe? And what exactly did he or she mean to imply? Who would Mr. Carson be kissing in his bedroom, of all places? It was terribly improper, and he wanted to find out who it was so he could mete out appropriate punishment, but he would have to tread carefully in order to avoid embarrassing himself.

Mr. Carson gave the offending plant a disapproving look as he left his room, but he couldn't push away the thoughts that sprung to his mind unbidden. Supposing he ever found himself trapped under mistletoe with various members of staff, what would he do? A nice kiss on the cheek for a few he had known the longest would be acceptable, but he didn't think he could bring himself to kiss the youngest maids that he barely knew. He would pretend it just wasn't there. They were all probably too intimidated by him to want a kiss from him anyway. For Mrs. Patmore he had always felt a sisterly affection and after so many years he had developed almost a paternal affection for a few of the younger ones, such as Anna and Daisy. And Mrs. Hughes, of course, held his esteem as an equal, just as Mrs. Patmore did, although he did not think of her as a sister. She was a dear friend, and he would only feel odd kissing her cheek if they had an audience.

When Mr. Carson got downstairs, he was dismayed to discover that there was mistletoe everywhere. It hung in every doorway and in a variety of other spots as well. It would be difficult to find a place to stand that would not subject him to that silly tradition of kissing any person who had the unfortunate timing to be under it with him. This could be a treacherous day.

The first person to find herself standing under a sprig of mistletoe with Mr. Carson was Mrs. Hughes. She wished him good morning and started speaking to him about the upstairs breakfast, but she stopped when she noticed Mr. Carson's expression. "Whatever's the matter?" Before he had a chance to answer, however, she noticed his surreptitious glances up to the ceiling, where the mistletoe hung. She smiled and tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, Mr. Carson," she told him with a wave of her hand. "You don't have to worry that I'll hold you to the silly tradition of the mistletoe. We're far too busy for that."

At this, Mr. Carson relaxed and was able to pay attention to what Mrs. Hughes was telling him. Once they had separated, he breathed a sigh of relief. The day might not be as treacherous as he had feared. He made up his mind to set Mr. Molesley to the task of taking down the excess mistletoe. He could tolerate leaving a few sprigs in doorways, but the current situation really was simply ridiculous. Mr. Molesley was quite busy, however, and all the hallboys were occupied as well. Mr. Carson wondered if he ought to take some down himself, but he couldn't find the time to do more than pull down what he found hanging in his pantry. The holiday festivities were keeping everyone busy from dawn to dusk or later.

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That night before he went to bed, Mr. Carson stood on a chair and took down the mistletoe that hung in his bedroom. He laid it on the bureau so he would remember to throw it away in the morning and then fell into bed, worn out. In spite of his exhaustion, however, Mr. Carson could not fall asleep immediately. He could discipline his actions, but he was having more difficulty with his thoughts. Seeing so much mistletoe had kept him thinking all day of kissing. Polishing silver. Kissing. Breakfast in the servants' hall. Kissing. Afternoon post to the kitchen staff. Kissing. Tea. Kissing. There was even a sprig of the stuff hanging upstairs in the servery. Kissing, kissing, and more kissing. And now that he was trying to sleep, he had no work to distract him from this very inappropriate line of thought.

There was no use in denying that his thoughts (daydreams?) of kissing throughout the day had followed a particular pattern. First he went into the kitchen and gave Mrs. Patmore a kiss on the cheek. She laughed, called him cheeky, and shooed him out into the corridor. On his way out of the kitchen, he ran across Daisy in the doorway. He wished her happy Christmas with a kiss on her forehead. She thanked him and went into the kitchen. In the servants' hall he discovered Mr. and Mrs. Bates kissing beneath the mistletoe and he let them be. Everywhere else in these little imaginings, however, was Mrs. Hughes, but he never kissed her. He would see her down the corridor or across a room, standing under a sprig of mistletoe, but when he tried to approach her, she moved away before he reached her. He could never catch her and she seemed to tease him by speaking just a little too softly for him to hear, and often he only entered a room to see her leave it. The real Mrs. Hughes did not flee from him, however, nor did she behave differently than she did every other day, aside from assuring him that she would not force him to kiss her when they found themselves under a sprig of mistletoe, as happened quite a few times throughout the day.

Mr. Carson found these musings very frustrating. While kissing Mrs. Patmore and Daisy seemed a bit odd, he thought he could tolerate such situations without much loss of dignity, if they ever occurred. And as far as Mr. and Mrs. Bates went, they weren't foolish youths to be scolded; he was willing to look the other way, trusting them not to allow the mistletoe to prevent them from doing their jobs. He seemed to be in constant pursuit of Mrs. Hughes, however, and she was very successful at eluding him. Mr. Carson couldn't understand this. Mrs. Hughes only occasionally avoided him, usually when she was cross with him. This teasing phantom of a housekeeper befuddled him, both within his imagination and when he found himself speaking to the real Mrs. Hughes.

Eventually, Mr. Carson could puzzle no further. He told himself that his imaginary Mrs. Hughes would receive a kiss on the cheek just as Mrs. Patmore had, and that she would probably respond similarly. A bit of teasing in the moment, but the kiss would be quickly forgotten. As he fell asleep he tried to force his mind to create this picture, but he failed. All night long, Mrs. Hughes repeatedly slipped away from him, though he let his work go undone in favor of seeking her throughout the house. He awoke the next morning feeling thwarted, and he was not nearly as cheerful as he had been the morning before, when his mind dwelt on thoughts of how much the children enjoyed the Christmas season. Mr. Carson was not enjoying the season himself and he knew he would be uncomfortable until he was able to discipline his thoughts. Perhaps he really ought to consider removing the mistletoe a priority, regardless of how busy he was otherwise. It was far too distracting.

To be continued…

a/n: Some people go bargain-hunting at 12:15 am on Black Friday. I, apparently, post fanfic.

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