My first contribution for MM AU Fest on Tumblr, a.k.a., what happens when I watch Chuck for hours on end. This one's a few hours early for me, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to get the next one up since I'm driving home from a wedding in the morning.

Another giant thanks to the wonderful Patsan for organizing the event! :)

Downton quotes are italicized.

Enjoy!

Agent Grantham vs. The Handsome Stranger

She lay on the floor, her heart racing from the run she'd just attempted. The pain in her knee made it feel as though her leg had been split in half. If only she had seen that end table. But what it was doing in a dark hallway, she couldn't tell. Especially since Mary prided herself on being agile, stealthy, and, above all things, perceptive. But tonight she was off her game.

"Agent Grantham, what's your location?"

Mary grimaced as her handler barked at her over the earwig. She took a few breaths before righting herself, her kneecap smarting as she got to her feet.

"Forth floor, east corridor," she said with a grimace, adjusting her leg holster beneath her cocktail dress. The gun was still in place above a large bruise that was beginning to form. She slipped the gun out, relaxing as she felt the familiar metal case against her skin.

"Have you reached the position of the dead drop?" his voice resounded again, causing Mary to roll her eyes in the darkness.

"Negative, Carson," she retorted with a grunt. "In fifty feet."

"Why do you sound like that?" Carson asked.

"Like what?" Mary whispered, taking in her surroundings before continuing down the corridor, the only sound her own breathing and the soft click of her heels on the floor.

"Like you got hit by a truck," he replied. "Do I need to send in Branson?"

"No," she spat back, moving as noiselessly as her legs could carry her body. "Everything is under control."

"Then secure the package and get the hell out of there, Grantham," Carson said. "We can't lose this one."

"Yes, sir," Mary replied, pressing her body against the wall as she reached a corner.

She held her breath, listening for signs of movement. Hearing none, she slipped her gun out of sight, knowing her movements would be on camera once she turned into the adjoining corridor. Mary had to look like nothing more than a hotel guest returning to her room after the wedding reception currently dying down three floors below.

She stepped around the corner, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she pulled a room key from her clutch and headed down the deserted corridor.

"It's 422," Carson spoke in her ear.

Mary clenched her teeth, fighting the urge to yell that she knew what the bloody room number was. She'd been briefed on this mission five hours earlier. She hadn't forgotten its details in that time, no matter how unsettled she had been by the handsome stranger.

"I can't help but notice you're all alone, miss."

The man had moved into the empty seat beside hers at the reception, his blue eyes warm and friendly as she looked into them.

"Yes, well, who would have thought a third cousin's wedding would be so devoid of people I actually know?" she replied in jest.

"Bride or groom side?" he asked with a smile.

"Bride," Mary replied after a beat, her eyes tracing over the contour of the man's jaw. "And you?"

"Groom," he said, looking up at the head table. "My mother babysat for Jim and his brothers when they were all toddlers. Until she met dad and they moved to Manchester."

Mary offered a smile to him as Carson's voice had reverberated in her ear, barking at her to find out this man's name. "Flirt, Grantham. We need to know if he's a civilian," Carson had said.

"You know, you're the first person who's come to talk to me?" Mary asked, batting her eyelashes at him. Rather convincingly, too. Mary prided herself on making men fall in love with her on sight. It was one of her patterns.

He smiled, leaning forward to prop his chin on his fist as he gazed at her, clearly taken with her. Good, Mary thought to herself.

"Really? A beautiful woman like you? Is everyone here blind but me?" he asked. "And where are my manners? I'm Matthew. Matthew Carmichael."

He extended his hand to her and she shook it.

"Mary Gillingham," she told him. Another cover.

Matthew's hand held hers longer than was necessary, but she didn't really mind. At least he was making this mission a little less boring, if only for a few minutes. Sitting through an hour-long wedding ceremony had taken its toll on Mary's patience. As had Carson's constant orders in her ear. She was a seasoned agent, after all. He didn't need to keep barking at her.

"So, Mary, how about a dance?" Matthew asked. "You look like you could use some excitement."

"Oh, I don't know," Mary protested, waiting for Carson to finish the background check on Matthew's surname. "I don't really dance."

"He's clear. Parents are from Manchester. An Eton and Oxford grad. Not so much as a parking ticket. He's useless to us," Carson muttered over the earwig.

Mary continued to smile at Matthew, despite the harshness of Carson's final words.

"Come on, how about a little fun, Mary?" he asked, holding his hand out to her again.

She sighed, feigning an unwilling admission. "Oh, alright," she agreed, taking Matthew's hand. He pulled her to her feet easily, leading her over to the dance floor with a grin on his face.

"So what do you do, Mary?" he asked as he held her close. Mary's heart raced from his nearness, hoping he didn't notice the color rise in her cheeks. That was not intentional.

"I'm a teacher at a girl's primary school," she said. "And you?"

"No, I don't want to tell you. It's boring," Matthew said, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

"Come on. More boring than a primary schoolteacher?" Mary asked with a laugh, wondering if he was really hiding something. She smiled with encouragement and Matthew sighed.

"Ah, fine. I'm an accountant," he muttered, blushing. "I bet you want to stop dancing with me now? I might bore you to death."

She laughed and Matthew smiled hopefully, his fingers tightening slightly on hers.

"I'm sure it's more interesting than you think," she replied. He did seem pretty useless to her mission, but at least he was cute. And Mary hadn't had this much real attention for quite some time. Due to the nature of her work, Mary rarely spoke to men outside of work except on missions and even then it was only for information or a cover.

After a few dances, they headed for an empty table, Mary sharing made-up stories about imaginary schoolgirls while Matthew told her about his family and being an accountant in Carnby. While her time with Matthew hadn't exactly provided any help to her, he was so friendly and interesting, Mary regretted the fact that the number she wrote down for him was a fake.

Field agents did not have the luxury of falling in love.

"Be careful, Grantham," Carson's voice said, pulling Mary back into the present. Back into the mission.

Again she didn't respond, instead making an effort to look nonchalant as she slipped the key card into the door of room 422. She yawned, her eyes surveying the corridor one last time before she slipped into the room, locking the door at her back.

Once inside she surveyed her surroundings, albeit unsuccessfully. The curtains had been drawn over the front windows, no doubt to ensure no one saw inside, but it made it impossible for Mary to see anything once the door was shut. She listened for a moment, the silence making her ears ring, before flicking on a single light.

She crossed the newly illuminated room, her eyes adjusting quickly as she first went for the armoire holding a flat-screen television. Slipping a handkerchief from the top of her dress, Mary silently slid open the first drawer, her fingerprints blocked by the fabric of the cloth. And then she heard a click behind her.

Mary whipped around, drawing her gun from its hidden holster and pointing it in the direction of the noise. Mary's heart gave a start.

In a high-backed armchair sat Matthew, a smirk on his face as the gun he held pointed right at her chest.

"Drop it, Agent Grantham. I don't think you're wearing a bullet proof vest under that dress of yours," he murmured, the familiarity in his voice making her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with his sudden appearance.

"Who are you?" Mary asked, ignoring his demand for her to drop her weapon as well as Carson' nervous entreaties in her ear.

"Tell your handler to can it," Matthew told her, getting to his feet. "He's even louder when he's actually worried for your safety."

Mary widened her eyes. "How can you hear him?"

"Pick a more private frequency, Mary. If that is your real name. But judging by your real profession, I think not," Matthew said with a chuckle, moving a few steps closer to her.

"Why are you here?" she asked as he came nearer, her hands sweating unintentionally. She tightened her grip on the gun lest it slip from her fingers.

"For the same reason you are, darling," he said, slipping one hand into his pocked while his gun remained leveled at her. "This."

Withdrawing his hand and laying it flat, Mary saw the object she desperately needed in Matthew's palm. A USB drive.

"I can't let you have that," Mary told him, her teeth clenched as she aimed her gun at his head.

"Relax. Do you really think MI6 would only send one agent for a package like this? They said you were good, but, God, the racket you made in the east corridor probably alerted half of London to your location," he said with a laugh, lowering his weapon finally. "Who knew that someone so sexy could be so clumsy?"

She glared, releasing the safety on her gun. "How do I know you're MI6? Give me one reason I shouldn't just shoot you here and now."

Matthew chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he regarded her. "Oh Mary, Mary, Mary," he murmured softly. "You'd only notify our enemies of the package's extraction. And you wouldn't want to do that, would you?"

"Codephrase," she demanded through her teeth, every ounce of her being longing to knock him unconscious with the butt of her gun.

"The Fifth Earl," Matthew said smoothly, eyebrows raised smugly.

Dammit, she thought to herself. Mary bit the inside of her lip as Carson spoke to her.

"That's it, he's clear. Secure the package and leave," he said over the earpiece.

"What's your agent number?" she asked, ignoring Carson's order, her gun still pointing at Matthew's head.

He laughed. "I followed protocol," he said in disbelief.

"Protocol? You didn't follow any bloody protocol!" Mary retorted, her blood boiling as she stepped forward, bringing her face so close to Matthew's that a look of surprise filled his eyes. "You showed up, without making contact, and snuck up on me. I almost shot you!"

"But you didn't," he replied, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Agent number, arsehole," Mary demanded, still glaring at him.

"00-" he began.

"If you say 007, I swear to God, I will shoot you," Mary said, tilting her gun against Matthew's chin.

"0012," Matthew sighed, clearly exasperated by her.

"He's Agent Matthew Crawley," Carson murmured in Mary's ear. She rolled her eyes, dropping her gun and turning the safety back on.

"I bet you didn't go to Oxford though," Mary said.

"Actually, I was at Magdalene College," Matthew replied sharply. "And, yes, that's part of Oxford."

Mary ignored him pointedly, running her tongue over her lips before replying. "So they sent you in case I cocked it up?" she asked bitterly.

"That's not very ladylike," Matthew told her, slipping the USB drive into his jacket's breast pocket. "But you could say that."

"Why didn't you tell me when we were dancing. You could have saved me a lot of adrenaline," Mary said angrily.

"We thought it best to make it look as though we didn't know one another. But now it's time to go, Mary. And I suggest you don't cock this up."

Mary frowned. "What's our cover?"

"Well, we obviously hit it off earlier when we were dancing. Anyone could see how much you enjoyed talking to me. And I got your number, didn't I?" he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yeah, that's a disconnected number," she replied.

Ignoring her interjection, he continued. "So it's completely plausible that we moved to a more...comfortable location."

"To do what, play tonsil hockey?" Mary asked with a snort.

"You know, I'm pretty sure we were getting along earlier when you thought I was an accountant. Fake number or not, you wanted me to think it was real, so as not to hurt me, didn't you?" Matthew asked. "A bit of friendly snogging wouldn't go amiss."

"Maybe it was to get you off my back," she retorted, causing him to chuckle.

"If that were so, you wouldn't have blushed so much when I asked for your number," he said matter-of-factly. She narrowed her eyes at him, about to respond as Carson's voice boomed in her ear again.

"Get on with it, Grantham," Carson said, clearly losing patience with this detour.

"Alright, Agent Crawley, let's get out of here," Mary said, slipping her gun out of site and back into its holster. She made sure the latch on her purse was fastened, the key card to 422 and her handkerchief safely hidden away.

Matthew grinned, stowing his own gun inside a holster beneath his jacket. He offered her his hand, which she took grudgingly, before pulling her over to the door.

"Smile, Mary," he prompted, as he pulled her close, resting his free hand on the small of her back. "You like me, remember?"

Instead of speaking, she mussed up his hair with her hand, trying to disregard the silkiness of his locks as well as the grin that remained on his face. "Try not to look so pleased with yourself," she instructed, rumpling her own hair before flicking off the lights.

"Shouldn't I be?" he asked in a thick voice as he pulled the door open and guided her into the corridor.

It shut at their backs and he pushed her against the wall before tracing a path of kisses along her jaw. Damn, she thought to herself. "Is the area of secure?" he murmured between kisses.

Mary took a quick survey of their surroundings, finding the hallway as empty as it had been when she left it ten minutes earlier.

"Empty," she whispered in his ear, her voice shaky as he pulled back, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Keep it together, Grantham," Matthew muttered, lacing his fingers with hers as they meandered down the corridor to the lift.

He punched the floor button, drawing her close as they waited for it to open. Keeping up the charade, Mary giggled softly and ran her fingers through the back of his hair. The doors slid open, revealing that an older couple was already inside. Mary recognized them from the reception and they offered the younger couple a smile.

"Evening," Matthew told them as they slipped into the compartment, holding Mary against his side as the doors shut once more. Mary smiled quickly at the other couple before returning her attention to Matthew, whose eyes gazed back into hers unreservedly. Her breath catching, Mary drew her finger across Matthew's chin.

"Your dress is so lovely, dear," the woman told Mary. "You two are adorable together."

"Thank you," Mary replied, her eyes flicking to the couple momentarily.

The man had slipped his hand into his jacket and Mary's body tensed against Matthew's as she glimpsed the handle of a weapon. Sensing this, he pressed his lips into her ear, his whisper so low she could hardly hear it over the lift music.

"Calm."

Mary wanted to smash her fist into the side of Matthew's face at this directive, which he'd given as though he was somehow in charge of her. Instead, she turned his face to hers and kissed him hard on the mouth. Beneath her kiss she felt Matthew's lips part in surprise momentarily before his hand moved to rest on her neck.

"Oh, how sweet," the lady murmured to the man, apparently fooled by their snog.

The lift doors slid open again at the lobby and Matthew pulled Mary out, his hand firmly on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her ear and shepherded her away from the lift. The older couple stepped out as well, following them at a slower pace. But Mary had almost no doubt that they were following them.

"Are they still on our six?" Matthew murmured, a sloppy grin planted on his face. Mary turned her head, nuzzling her nose into his cheek as she checked her peripherals.

"Yes," she said, noting the man's hand was still in his jacket. "How do you plan on loosing them?"

"Relax, Grantham," he replied, pulling her down a side-hallway and shoving her against the wall.

His lips moved against her neck, sending a shiver down Mary's back. Through half-closed eyes, Mary watched as the couple passed them, their eyes glancing at them before they slipped out the main entrance of the hotel.

"We're clear," Mary stated, shoving Matthew away with more force than was necessary.

He laughed gruffly, inspecting the corridor as Carson spoke over the frequency again.

"They're heading for the parking garage. We've ID-ed them through the hotel surveillance system. They're British defectors, working for a covert spy ring that gathers counterintelligence. They're after the package. I suggest you two get out before they realize you have it."

"Don't worry, Mary," Matthew said, grabbing her hand again. "I've got a ride."

Mary clenched her teeth, following him back into the lobby before heading out the front doors, taking the same path the defectors had traveled minutes earlier.

"I still don't understand why no one informed me you were assigned to this mission. How did they know I wouldn't shoot you in the face?" Mary muttered as they entered the parking garage.

"You're not exactly known for shooting on sight, are you?" was his amused reply.

"You read my file?" she asked, furrowing her brow as she looked at him.

"Your expression doesn't match our cover," he informed her smartly. Mary sighed before adopting a more pleasant expression. "And of course I did. How else would I know who I was dealing with?"

"Well I still don't," she retorted harshly. "I wouldn't want to push in."

"Oh, are you still hung up on the fact that I got to the package before you did?" he sighed, his thumb running over the back of her hand as they turned the corner.

"I think you have something of ours."

Matthew's hand tightened on Mary's wrist as they came face to face with the couple from earlier. Both had guns aimed at Mary and Matthew.

"If you hand that over, there won't be a reason for any unpleasantness, Agent Crawley," the woman spoke, a sneer on her face as she turned the safety off with a click.

Matthew released Mary's wrist, his fingers flexing at his side.

"You know I can't do that," he said simply, his lips forming into a begrudging smile.

"Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to shoot your pretty little girlfriend," the man replied, aiming his gun at Mary's heart. She almost resented the fact that he thought she was merely a civilian, a piece of arm candy for a spy, but if that were the case, she was more useful to Matthew that way.

"Darling, what's going on?" Mary asked, feigning innocence as she looked worriedly at Matthew. "Who are these people?" She brought fake tears to her eyes, her hands reaching out for his arm.

"Poor thing," the woman said with fake sympathy. "So young, too."

They moved closer to where Mary and Matthew stood, forcing Mary to release a few tears as she gripped Matthew's arm.

"Give us the package," the man demanded, now so close to Mary she could almost reach out and touch him.

Matthew cast a glance at Mary who widened her eyes for a millisecond before sighing and sliding his hand into the front of his coat, withdrawing the USB drive.

"See, Agent Crawley, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" the man asked, plucking the drive from Matthew's hand.

"No," Matthew said through clenched teeth.

Using Matthew's arm to balance herself, Mary used every ounce of her strength to issue a hard roundhouse kick to the man's head. The USB drive clattered to the floor as he toppled to the ground along with his gun, which Mary kicked under a nearby car. The man was surprised and disoriented, but not unconscious.

The woman fired a few shots at Matthew, who pulled out his own gun and pulled the trigger, prompting her to dive behind a car for cover.

Shaking his head, the man dove at the USB drive, as did Mary, who reached it before he did. She slipped it into the bust of her dress, to the man's surprise, but he swept his leg into the back of Mary's knee. She fell to the ground with a thud and the man launched himself on top of her, his hands tightly closing around her neck. Chocking, Mary sputtered as she tried to pull the man's hands away, but his grip was stronger than hers. She was quickly loosing consciousness, her vision blurring as his grip tightened.

"Mary!" Matthew shouted as her eyes slid shut.

"Oh, she has a name, does she?" the man asked. Mary's hands dropped from his and he let go of her neck, patting her cheek hard. "Judging by that kick, she knows her way around a gun."

Keeping her breathing shallow, Mary feigned unconsciousness, although she had nearly passed out from his grip. The man flipped up the hem of her skirt, pulling her gun from its holster and aiming it at Matthew as he returned to a standing position over Mary.

"Retrieve the package from your partner, Agent Crawley," he demanded, kicking the supposedly unconscious Mary in the shin before taking one step back.

Mary listened as Matthew crouched down by her head, his breathing heavy as he placed his gun on the ground and his hand touched her shoulder gently.

"Mary," he repeated quietly, his hand warm as it slid down her arm.

"Do it," the woman said, now emerging from her hiding place.

Mary opened her eyes a fraction, surprise evident on Matthew's face as he looked back at her. He bit his lip, his eyes darting to the floor before returning to her face. She shut her eyes again, almost able to feel the sensation of Matthew's gun on the back of her hand.

"I can't believe this," he said in frustration, speaking to the defectors.

With a sigh, Matthew slid his hand into the top of her dress. Providing Mary with this distraction, she retrieved his gun from the floor, opened her eyes, and fired it directly at the man's kneecap. The man cried out in pain and toppled to the floor once again, dropping Mary's stolen gun with a clatter. Matthew grabbed and kicked the man in the head, finally knocking him unconscious as he turned the gun on the woman. Mary got to her feet, aiming her gun at the lady, who looked rather surprised by Mary's sudden return to consciousness.

"Drop your weapon," Mary said with authority.

With a frown, the woman placed her gun at her feet and kicked it towards Mary and Matthew.

"Get on the ground," Matthew said, stepping forward as Mary picked up the discarded gun.

Holding her hands in the air, the woman got to her knees, allowing Matthew to easily handcuff her hands behind her back. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out another pair of cuffs, which he threw to Mary for her to place on the unconscious man.

"Carson, we're going to need an extraction," Matthew spoke into his watch. Mary glared as she watched him do this, her stomach turning in anger.

"You mean you've been talking to him the entire time?" Mary spat, ignoring the fact that the woman was watching them and her neck felt as though it had been bruised. "The whole damn time?"

"Don't do this right now," Matthew admonished her. Mary rolled her eyes.

"Trouble in paradise?" the woman ventured.

Tires squealed as a black van rounded the corner. As soon as Matthew opened the door, she knew who would be inside. The eyes of Colonel Carson and Agent Tom Branson looked cautiously back at her from the front seat.

"Help me with this dead weight," Matthew told Tom as he slid out the passenger door, eyes still on Mary as she huffed.

"What the hell, Carson?" she shouted, her voice reverberating off the ceiling of the parking garage. She pulled the woman to her feet, rougher than necessary, and shoved her into the back of the van beside her unconscious partner. "What the bloody hell?"

"Agent Grantham, keep your voice down," Carson replied tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You'll be debriefed when we get back to HQ."

"Do you need an ice pack?" Tom asked as she climbed into the van, throwing herself into one of the chairs as she glared at him. "Never mind."

"Wise move, Agent Branson," Matthew said with a laugh, taking the seat beside Mary as Tom slid the van door shut and returned to the front seat.

Mary clenched her hands into fists in her lap, her knee throbbing and her vocal cords feeling raw from being nearly strangled and all the shouting she'd been doing. She ignored Matthew's eyes on her as the van drove out of the garage. It took all of her self-control to keep her fists from slamming into his face.

God, she hated Agent Matthew Crawley.

Thanks for reading! And please review. :)