- Set between the 2nd and the 3rd series, even if it is not important for the fic. -

- No copyright infringement intended, I just borrowed the two of them from Fellowes, who still does not seem to want toproperly use them. What a shame, Julian, really. I'll give them back to you - and maybe also other characters - in a few chapters. -

- For Lavender and Hay, the masterful Captain of the Ship, here and on Tumblr. You rocks! -

"Mrs. Crawley! What are you doing here?"

She lifted her head and looked in front of her in the dark street, barely lightened by few street lamps. The weather was not that bad when she had left the Abbey, there was barely some clouds in the sky, but now it was heavy raining and the road had turned from a country-road into a treacherous quagmire.

"Dr. Clarkson!"

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, quickly approaching her, an amused yet surprised smile on his lips, "It's late and it's raining."

"I was up at the big house and -"

"You were at the Abbey and they let you to go away, alone and in the middle of the night?" there was something in his voice, surely surprise, maybe also indignation and worry, that made her heart flutter with silly happiness.

"Of course not!" she let out a small laugh, "Matthew will never allowed something like that!"

"Then why...?"

"I told the chauffeur that I fancied a walk and he let me down at the beginning of the village," she said, shrugging a little, "So I headed back home but it started raining. And I ended up here, talking with you, in the middle of the street and under the water." Isobel smiled at him, amused by the situation, "What about you?"

"I was working at the hospital, checking the last patients, the last papers... God gracious, Mrs. Crawley, shouldn't we continue this in a drier place? You're soaked, you'll catch the death of you!"

She looked around them, trembling a little, and finally understood completely the absurdity of the situation: there they were, in the middle of the main street, under a heavy rain, both of them without an umbrella, soaked till their bones, and still chatting as they were at the hospital, maybe in his office. She smiled a little: really, she cannot think about another person to be with in such a situation then Richard Clarkson.

Isobel lifted her eyes studying the man in front of her: his clothes were sopping and the end of his brown trousers and his leather shoes were cover with mud. She can imagine she was in the very same conditions. Still, his light hair were almost dry, thanks to the jacket that he was using to protect his head and shoulders, while hers were soaked and the first curls were falling from her modest knot. Clarkson seemed to thing the same thing, because he let out a hand for her.

"Come on."

"What?"

"Mrs. Crawley, I am not letting you under the rain. My jacket may not be the best to keep us from the water, but at least you'll be protected a little until we reached a drier place," his hand moved quickly towards hers, "Come on!"

She took it, smiling gratefully and joining him under the modest shelter of the fabric of the jacket. He was really near her now and Isobel could smell his soft cologne and the faint smell of disinfectant from the hospital, something that was unique him. Again, she smiled at the good doctor, "Here we are."

"Here we are..." he replied a little bit out of breath, but Isobel couldn't tell if it was because of the cold or because of her sudden nearness: needless to say, she hoped it was the second, "What are we going to do?"

Clarkson's low voice took her out of her reveries and she looked at him, blinking twice: their bodies were almost touching, they have never been so close in all the years they have known each another. Of course at the hospital happened to be near, specially during the operations, but not in that way, not in the intimacy that that damp jacket seemed to provide them.

"We should go home, I think." she murmured, leaving her reveries for the second time that evening.

"You're right."

"Mine is nearer."

There was something in her voice, something so soft and little, that made him look at her: she seemed so vulnerable... nudging at her arm with his one, he made her took one side of his jacket and held it above their heads before wrapping his now free arm around her shoulders. He felt her stiffening a little and then relaxing against him and he smiled slightly to himself "Come on, to Crawley House then."

...

"Here we go." Clarkson closed the door and stood still in the lobby of Crawley House, trying not to move to avoid soiling around, although both of them were wet and on the floor a pool of icy water was already forming. She did not seem to care, probably she was too tired to think about it, because she took off her light coat and dropped it unceremoniously in a corner of the small entrance. There she was, in front of him, in her dark blue velvet-and-lace dress glued to her form, elegant and beautiful even though she was wet to the bone, slightly trembling.

"Yes." Isobel looked at him with a soft smile, both of them shuddering with cold.

Then they y spoke together.

"You should change your clothes, Mrs. Crawley," he noticed the faint blush on her cheeks at his words, but decided to attribute it to the sudden change in temperature compared to the outside "You will get sick, I told you."

"Are you cold?" she asked at the same time, noticing him shivering "Would you like some tea? I can prepare it and you can -"

"No, thank you. I have to go back home, it's quite late."

"But it's still raining! You can not go out again!"

"Can you lend me an umbrella, then? It would do a little, but -"

"Don't be stubborn, doctor, you have seen how it's raining!"

"Well, Mrs. Crawley, I can not either stay here until the rain stops."

She blinked and he understood that she was considering what he had just said.

"Mrs. Crawley, I -" he began again, but her soft voice interrupted him shyly.

"You can. Stay, I mean, not going outside." she stepped closer to him and lowered her eyes on her hands, clapped tightly in front of her stomach, "You should."

There was something vulnerable about her. Maybe it was the wet hair that was slowly slipping out of her simple knot, perhaps the slight tremor that shook her because of the wet clothes glued to her slim figure, maybe it was the small, sweet smile she had given him, without looking at him, something made her seem too fragile.

"Mrs. Crawley... I can not. It would not it be..." he looked for the right word, realizing immediately how empty and stupid it sounded. Without thinking, he slowly moved a blonde curl from her shoulder, caressing it, he watched her intently, and it was good that she had her eyes lowered, so she could not see his eyes darkened with desire, "Appropriate."

"But I'd love to," she finally lifted her face and looked him squarely in the eyes, "Very much."

He looked at her carefully, her pupils dilated, the lips just parted, lips that had to be very soft. Her chocolate eyes looked like two black puddles and he knew that his ones should not be very different. She was the one openly flirting now, she was the one pulling the string, teasing him. Of course, when they worked at the hospital, they had teased each another often, but never that outright. It was dangerous, she was asking him something that he would give her more than happily, something that he can not give her.

"Isobel..." her Christian name slipped from his lips, making her smile lighlty.

"Richard." She took his hand and gently stroked his knuckles "Stay. Please. It's cold outside..."

In hindsight, he could not have said what made him act that way. For seven long years they had worked side by side and, although he adored her, he had always managed to keep his distance, not to give in to his feelings for her, aware of their class differences and the problems that a... deeper relationship between the two of them would bring, especially thinking about the Dowager Countess and her opinion on Isobel Crawley.

This time he could not stop himself.

The hand that was not clenched between Isobel's small and delicate ones ran to her waist, hugging her slim body to his chest. Without thinking too much, the rational part of his brain clouded with desire, he kissed her on the lips, hungrily, angrily, as if years of restrain were finally free to made him act following his deepest, most hidden desires.

She heard her gasp in surprise, but he did not mind, all his attention focused on the dark pink lips under his ones, soft and slightly parted. She moaned louder and her hands found their way around his neck, holding him tightly to her chest.

He pinned her lightly against the wall, one hand on her waist, the other caressing her elegant neck. Richard felt her lips move gently under his ones and another soft moan escaped from her throat, her small hands sliding to his chest and gripping the front of his shirt as to steadied herself from falling, as if her knees had suddenly gone weak.

His lips moved to kiss her jaw and her tense neck, sucking almost angrily at her fair skin. A small, little part of his brain reminded him he would with all probability leave a angry, red mark on her neck, and that it would easily embarrassed her, but I gave it no importance. He opened the first buttons of her blouse with trembling hands, still feeling her small ones gripping at his front shirt, and buried his nose in her collarbone. Lavender, soft, now warm skin smelling of lavender… he wondered if...

The rational part of his brain scolded him again, remembering him that she was a dignified woman, with a good reputation, a woman which he cared truly - and loved, he was no ashamed to finally admit it, not someone he can just ravish against the entrance wall. She deserved better. And he did not deserve her.

"Mrs. Crawley. Isobel," he drew back from her, panting a little, looking at her, at her flushed cheeks, at her swollen lips, at her surprised eyes. Maybe she hadn't expected such a reaction from him, maybe she was expecting a chaste, light kiss, not a hot, devouring one. He panicked: had he gone too far? Had he scared her? "Isobel, I have to go now."

"Yes," she murmured, slowly covering her lips with trembling fingers without looking at him, "Yes, you have to."

"Isobel..." he reached out for her, but she cringed a little and he simply let his hand fall helplessly at his side, "Good night, my dear."

"Richard," he was ready to leave when her voice, as well as her light hand on his arm, made his heart fluttered in hope. Richard turned to face her and for some blissful seconds her lips were softly pressed against his own again, her body pressed flatly against his, "Thank you..."

Another moment later Richard found himself out of her house, the door firmly closed behind him, in the cold darkness, again under the heavy and cold rain. For a long moment he cursed himself for having refused her invitation to stay in a little longer, but then he admitted that staying with her would have been a huge mistake. If he had reacted that way, kissing her senseless, just because she had squeezed his hand and smiled at him, he could not imagine what he could do if he had really stayed with her, alone, until the rain had ceased.

He sighed, leaving the front-garden of Crawley House and her. He could not deny, at least not to himself, that it he had admired her since the first moment he saw her, seven years before. At the time, he had admired her for the fact that she had relied on her reasons, right reasons, against the Dowager Countess of Grantham. Now, after the war, he admired that beautiful, frustrating, incredible woman for her courage and for her kindness, for her unstoppable desire to help others and for her strength. Nothing seemed to be able to knock her down, not even the momentary paralysis of her only child or the sudden death of her future daughter-in-law. Yet he feared, in his heart, that she had succumbed to tears when she was alone in Crawley House, and it hurt him not having been able to support her, but on the other hand they were just colleagues at the hospital, he hoped even friend, but not so close.

With a deep sigh, not minding the heavy rain, Richard put on his wet jacket and walked toward his cottage, trying not to think about the wonderful woman who had just left alone at home.

- Oh, poor Richard, all alone in the rain *hugs* - Reviews are very welcome. But be nice, it is not that easy to write in English! ;) -