A/N: In the new year there will be brand new fics – like all of you I am eagerly awaiting the Christmas special and have no doubt it will bring oodles of inspiration (Mr Carson is holding little Sibby! Mrs Hughes interacts with the child! I think I might die, really). Until then there will be a few fics from the NaNo-files. As always, reviews are very much appreciated.

'If I pass on before those two get things sorted, I will haunt their rooms.' Violet Crawley thinks to herself as she watches Carson and Mrs Hughes confer in a corner of the hall. They are standing opposite from each other, but so close, so incredibly close. Their right sides touch as she has her hand on his chest and stands on her toes to whisper something in his ear. It's not a long stretch of the imagination to see his arm slip around her waist to help steady her.

He doesn't.

Of course he doesn't.

Violet has known Carson for so long, she cannot imagine the house without him. He came to them as a second footman and worked his way up, diligently. He was always hard working and ambitious.

She doesn't know much about his private life.

Carson had arrived with one reference only, from a family in London. Between finishing his education and starting service was a gap. She had asked him what he did with himself in these years. 'Travel' he had said. She did not believe him, but it didn't matter. She liked the boy.

Charles started as second footman and he struck an impressive figure. He was tall, carried himself well, understood the workings of the house. He worked hard, stayed close to Jarvis, watched the butler with hawkeyes, learning all the tricks there were to being a good butler. He learned how to help ladies in their evening cloaks without touching them, carried heavy trays with silver tea things, stood in whenever a guest had failed to bring a valet.

He always looked utterly presentable. Once she had come across him in the gardens. He was walking slowly over the path parallel to the house and she had asked him what he was doing.

"I have new shoes, Milady." His enigmatic answer had been. He must have known she had thought his answer ridiculous, because he added: "They squeak. Can't have squeaky shoes when serving the French Ambassador." with a shy smile.

Carson was in no way shy anymore.

He was charismatic. A force. As much a Downtonian as she was herself, as Edward had been.

Carson and Edward had always seen eye to eye. When Jarvis chose to retire - after some heavy coaxing from Violet - Edward didn't hesitate giving Carson the job.

Edward.

By now she was almost used to not having him around.

That was a lie she told herself.

She would never get used to dining alone. To him not taking her arm as she walked through town. She would never get used to him not being there to simply listen to her.

Carson was a bit like Edward had been, Violet contemplated. A bit inflexible. A traditionalist. Broad shouldered. Seeing Carson in his traditional tails and Edward too, one could almost think they were on an equal footing. It was the way Carson held himself, the pride he simply oozed. The dignity with which he carried out every single task.

Together they have seen everything happen and everything change at Downton. Together they had buried Edward, had seen Robert marry Cora, Rosamund go off with Painswick - she still did not know where she had gone wrong with the girl, she really didn't - they had seen the birth of three little girls and the loss of a little boy.

They had seen the death of Sybil.

She had not known if she could bear it. The pain was overwhelming, so harsh and cutting so deeply, she had almost forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other as she had come to the house to support her eldest child.

Carson had stood behind her and she knew that if she should tremble, if she should faint dead away, he would be there to catch her. The knowledge that he was there had strengthened her in ways nothing else could have.

Now there was an Irish socialist running the estate with a country solicitor, there was a Catholic baby in the nursery, Robert's valet had married Mary's Lady's Maid and they were living in a cottage together and all of them - well, not all of them, her mind went fleetingly to William Mason - had survived the war.

The flu had only claimed a little slip of a girl who had been too intimidated to have ever made a good countess. Not that she had wished the poor girl dead, of course not, that would be a terrible thing to say, but she was glad the situation had been resolved in such a... definite way.

If she wasn't mistaken, Carson had not been too enamoured with Lavinia Swire. He had not been too pleased with Cora in the beginning either, but at least Cora had the advantage of not knowing the rules as a direct consequence of not actually being English, not, what Violet liked to call 'one of us'.

She knew how Carson doted on Mary, who was in so many ways quite a lot like her. She found it a compliment and a blessing that a man as steadfast and strong as Carson would stand by her granddaughter when she had taken up with that dreadful Richard Carlisle. Her moving to Hatfield was one thing, but with that social climber was one of the things that truly had her in a tizzy.

Richard Carlisle did not understand that money couldn't buy anything, least of all class. He did get that he was not very refined in the ways of the aristocracy and had been very upfront in how he would depend on Mary to guide him in that aspect.

How the man could have worn a heavy tweed for a simple walk through the heather was a mystery to Violet. The look on Carson's face had been priceless. His doubt about going with Mary had tugged at her heart. She could see he did not respect Sir Richard - the way he spoke his name told you anything you wanted to know about Carson's opinion of the man - but she knew his deep fondness for Mary.

Mrs Hughes might have been a factor too.

Mrs Hughes was not like Carson. She had come to the house when Violet was no longer in charge. Had she been in charge, she probably wouldn't have hired the woman. Her chin is always held that tiny bit too high. Her replies always that smidgen too forward. Oh, the woman can do miracles and pull of orders that would make a lesser Housekeeper weep. Elsie Hughes has a sense of overview generals in his majesty's army would give their right arms for. The woman can pull together garden parties with both hands tied behind her back.

She manages to sort out the Servants' Ball in one afternoon.

But Violet and Elsie Hughes do not see eye to eye.

Perhaps they are too much the same. Perhaps it is because of the way Violet depends on Carson. Might there be an element of jealousy, Violet contemplates, but for no more than a second. Mrs Hughes knows what she is worth and she knows Carson.

Mrs Hughes knows the Carson who is not the butler.

Violet does not.

Violet has inquired after Carson's health through Robert, Elsie Hughes nurses the tall, broad shouldered man back to health. Violet would never dream of standing in a corner with Carson to whisper as her shoulder would touch his. She is certain he would pull away as if burnt. It's not done and Violet agrees. Carson is the butler, a servant. He is very much appreciated, an authority, but he is not a friend.

Which is a pity really, because unlike Carson, she doesn't really like most of her friends.

She watches the butler and housekeeper conduct their meeting, they are arguing, she can see it in his body language, as if he is containing his annoyance or anger in his muscles and doesn't want to let it go. Mrs Hughes' eyes are shooting daggers, but they don't back away from each other, they keep talking, their whispers are getting slightly louder, but never can Violet hear what's being said.

It's almost as if she is looking at herself, arguing with Edward. They would stand like that, ready to throw the last punch. Is that why she doesn't really like Mrs Hughes while she cannot help admire her? Because they represent the same thing, the same being, in different parts of the house?

They will always fight for their family and that family will always come first. She has witnessed it in Mrs Hughes' fierce protection of Anna Bates, in the soft and gentle care for William. She has seen it in the endless cups of tea she took upstairs when Carson had caught that flu.

The loyalty that makes Carson hold on to tradition, is what makes Mrs Hughes want to move with the times. They are perfect partners, as perfect as Edward and she had been and it is a waste they don't do anything about it.

These days, after the war, after the epidemic, after hemlines get shorter every year and girls cut their hair - oh, Edith, your beautiful hair - it's not so uncommon to have a married couple running a house together. In London it is becoming quite the thing, especially since good staff is hard to get by. So many men and women are going into factories, new careers open for the lower classes, with education available for all, with things shifting so rapidly.

They have stopped their fighting. Mrs Hughes smiles a tiny smile at Carson who has put his hand on her shoulder. Mrs Hughes picks a piece of lint from his waistcoat.

Really.

Something has to be done about those two and Violet Crawley knows exactly the person who could make it happen.

It has to be her.