A/N: Dear Readers, thank you so much for your kind support of my last story! It was absolutely overwhelming and very much appreciated. This story will be a bit lighter, less emotional turmoil, but of course will have plenty of tension between our OTP. :)
Thanks, and Happy Reading!
Edith Crawley sat, gripping the edge of an old wooden bench, watching winter birds peck at the frozen ground for bits of twig and grass to make their nests. She felt sick to her stomach with embarrassment, and a bit with loss. She had planned her whole speech, practiced it even, and what had come out was a rambling, trembling, emotional, irrational blur. "Oh god," she moaned, dropping her head and wincing against the memory as she replayed it over, and over.
Anthony Strallan was her boss, the Senior Editor to her Assistant Editor status, and had been for over a year. They worked very well together, complemented one another perfectly. Where he was wise she was bold, he was experienced, she was fresh, where he had patience she pushed. Between the two of them they were a powerhouse, nearly unstoppable in the small world of independent publishing. Over the past year they had spent many long days and marathon work sessions and lunch meetings together, and they had seemed to understand one another right from the start.
It was reasonable, then, that he would be Edith's choice. She didn't want a stranger—it was too foreign, left too many questions unanswerable. Having gone through the entire catalogue of men she knew, there really was only one answer for her. Anthony Strallan. Technically Sir Anthony Strallan, though anyone who called him that would get a dismissive roll of the eyes. Very much like the fact that Edith was technically a "Lady," but grew legitimately furious with anyone who addressed her as such.
But she had flubbed the whole thing. Stuttering and blushing, at one point half-way through she nearly gave up and left. When it came to actually saying it, she had no other way of putting it. "Will you, please, help me to have a baby? The doctor says it's now or never, and never just can't be an option. And you're tall and healthy and smart, and you have blue eyes, and I just need a donor."
Anthony had balked, and before he could answer Edith blurted, "Take your time, of course. Don't answer right away." And then, faltering, feeling so unsure, she had added quickly, "I shouldn't have asked. I'm so sorry. Just forget I said anything. This is, well it was a mistake. I just—just don't worry, really, please."
And then she had run away, quite literally, from the office and from him. "Oh god," she said again, slapping her hand to her forehead at the picture of his stunned expression now permanently etched into her mind.
"Edith?" came Anthony's voice from behind her. She opened her eyes and turned to him reluctantly. He was wearing a dark gray sweater with a navy silk tie and a white shirt beneath and dark jeans. The sun was out despite the cold, and cast his blue eyes even brighter. He approached tentatively and awkwardly. Then, as if he gave up waiting on an invite, sat next to her gracefully and close enough that their shoulders were touching. Looking up at him, she was reminded of why he had been her only choice.
"Anthony, I'm so," Edith began but he stopped her short.
"No, I want to say something. I'm sorry I didn't earlier, only it wasn't the conversation I had expected during our usual morning tea," he said with a lopsided little grin.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," but again he held up a hand to cut her short.
"No, I really want to get this out. Edith, I was a little caught off guard. I mean, technically I'm your boss, though I think you probably throw more orders my way than I do yours."
"I know, it wasn't—"
"Edith Crawley, if you don't shut up I'll never finish a sentence. I know you're used to doing all the talking, but just this once try to listen for more than thirty seconds together, alright?"
Edith nodded weakly, relieved that he hadn't lost his humor with her.
"I had a son once," Anthony said softly.
That Edith knew practically everything about Anthony and didn't know this surprised her. But the tilt of his head and the slump of his shoulders told Edith she was being let in on something he didn't often share.
"He lived eight days. His mother, my late wife, died in birth. I assumed I would never have children." Turning to her he added, "I'm flattered that you asked me, I admit. I'm fifty next birthday and I had decidedly given up on ever having another child. I find the whole prospect a little overwhelming."
"I understand," Edith said quietly, blushing again despite herself and staring down into her lap. Of course she understood. It was a very large and very strange favor to ask of someone.
"No, you see, my answer is yes," he said brightly, if a little hesitantly.
"Oh!" Edith heaved. "Oh, do you really mean it? Oh, Anthony. Thank you. Thank you so, so much."
"I'm sorry you thought I would say no. I can't imagine what a difficult thing it must be to ask someone that question."
"No harder than hearing it, I imagine," she said, wiping her face of the embarrassing tears.
"So how do we," he began awkwardly, "I mean, what do I do? Well, I imagine I know that part, but how do we…go about this?"
Edith laughed away a little sob and straightened up a bit. "I'll take care of everything. You won't have to do anything, aside from the obvious. The doctor will contact you. I'm afraid you might learn a bit more about my ovulation than you ever cared to, but I'll try to keep it all as private as possible."
"I don't mind all that," he said quietly. "You know me better than anyone as it is. I just…" He paused, took a deep breath, and then laughed. "I guess it's just new territory."
"For you and me both," she smiled.
If an omniscient stranger had appeared to them at that moment and suggested that perhaps there was more at work than Edith's want of a child, both parties would have emphatically denied the accusation. They were friends, and they were determined to remain so despite such an emotional thing as making a baby.
Seven weeks later when Edith burst into Anthony's office with a wide and telling grin, they were both delighted. Their endeavor had succeeded. To Edith, Anthony had become the rescuer; for him, Edith was the fiercely brave mother. And they celebrated their success with a rather indulgent meal of curry takeout at Edith's flat. That Edith promptly threw up said meal and fell asleep on her sofa, where Anthony laid a blanket across her and turned out the light before cleaning up the dishes, was seen largely as a happy confirmation by both.
"And how are we feeling this morning?" Anthony asked a week later as Edith came into his office and sat weakly on the sofa.
"The doctor said morning sickness usually abates after the first trimester. Six weeks has never felt so far away," she replied with a yawn. Still, she couldn't hide the satisfied grin that pulled at her full lips. When Anthony tossed aside the manuscript in his hands and dropped next to her, he found her contented glee a bit contagious.
"What doctor is that?" he asked conversationally.
"My doctor, the one who will look after me during the pregnancy. Rich Clarkson. I had my first appointment today."
"Oh," Anthony replied, looking somewhat stricken. Edith sat up quickly.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
"Nothing at all," Anthony said, trying to seem as casual as possible. But Edith gave him that look—the one she had when she really dug her heels in about something. He sighed. "If you'd like someone to take you to the appointments, that is if you need the company, or a hand or what have you. Well, I certainly wouldn't mind."
"You needn't feel responsible, you know," she said tenuously. She worried it might be too much to ask, being that he'd already given so much. She didn't know how to articulate the loneliness she felt lying on the table all by herself, or how she had longed to have him there with her.
Anthony shrugged. The fact was, he wanted to go to the appointments, to see the ultrasounds and hear the heartbeat and even hold Edith's hair when she was sick. Anthony Strallan, in fact, wanted to be a father. But Edith had not asked him to raise a baby with her, only to help her make one, and his job as detached donor had finished.
"No, well," he muttered noncommittally. "If you ever need a ride, just let me know."
"Yes, alright, thank you," she replied. After a moment of uncomfortable silence—a new phenomenon the two of them had never experienced before—Edith perked up. "Oh, there is one thing, if you would be so kind."
"Anything at all," he said, glad to be of further use.
Edith chewed her lip. "It's nearly Christmas, and I'm telling my family on Christmas Eve about the baby and all. They didn't even know I was having problems. Anyway, we're not incredibly close, but they've a right to know I suppose. And I was thinking, it might be easier to explain it all if maybe you came with."
Anthony's heart admittedly quickened. "I—you want me to tell them with you?"
"Is it too much? It is, isn't it? I'm sorry. You needn't worry," Edith said quickly. She began straightening the papers on the table before them for something busy to do.
"No, no, no," Anthony said, gently stilling her hands by the wrists. "No, I would be glad to. Will you tell them the whole truth? That we work together and it was…artificial and whatnot?"
"Takes a bit of the romance out of the thing," she joked wryly, "But yes, the truth. You're my friend, and you did me a favor, and now I'm going to be a mum. Simple as that."
"Yes," Anthony agreed. "Simple."
The real truth Edith had mentioned was not actually something she or Anthony was willing to address or even acknowledge. With so much unspoken, and so many rules yet to be laid, the two of them carried on blindly, knowing only how they felt and never what the other was thinking.
Instead, they believed their own propaganda: that this was a simple arrangement, with simple plans, and no mess. Edith would be a mother, Anthony simply facilitated that—no more, no less.
Simple.