Title: Overdue
Pairing: Isobel/Richard
Rating: K
Summary: A date between us must surely be overdue.
Spoilers: Set post Christmas episode but nothing specific.
Disclaimer: The characters being to Julian Fellowes, I merely play a little but for no financial gain, and certainly with no disrespect.
Author's Notes: One line in a magazine on a flight and this is what you get. There is a second story/chapter to this if people like it (maybe more) but I'm not sure if I have the characters right. It was more of a distraction than an intention to write them.

Overdue

Isobel was overwrought, she thought it was possible that she had been like this for weeks, months even, but she had quite frankly had enough of feeling this way. It was cousin Violet's fault with her commentary of life in the post war era and Cora's desire to return to life pre-war. And then there was Doctor Clarkson and his controlling, meddling, obstinate behaviour. While none of them wanted the world to change they all failed to see that the world had changed them, which wasn't a bad thing, if they embraced it.

It was the controlling, meddling and obstinate doctor that was the cause of her temper today. Since the war ended and he was demobbed he had found himself at a loss. The hospital was busy but with the soldiers gone, his patients presented him with less challenging ailments, his work with less consuming passion. He had therefore taken to managing the hospital, taking personal control over each and every detail.

Whilst in the middle of doing a linen rotation she had been interrupted because he had scheduled lunch. The new timetable left the nurses with little time to carry out the necessary duties and put the patients on some sort of conveyor belt of care. She had a good mind to remind him that it wasn't St Thomas' and it wasn't an army hospital run to within an inch of its life, it was a cottage hospital where patients mainly needed rest and individual care.

Glancing around the ward she folded her arms across her chest, taking deep controlled breaths as her annoyance grew. He needed to be told and she was going to be the one to do it. Turning on her heel she strode purposefully towards his office. Taking a deep breath she rapped on his door.

"Enter," came his voice, his tone that of professional patience.

Isobel pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind her.

Richard looked up and inwardly groaned. His hand moved immediately to his temples, rubbing gently at the look of determination on her face. "Mrs Crawley."

"Do you have a minute, doctor?" she asked, bracing her hands on the back of a chair.

He rose reluctantly to his feet, finding height was often an asset when dealing with Isobel. "Of course, for you."

"I don't want to seem like I'm interfering," she started and he knew then that was exactly what she was going to do.

"Is this about the new rotas?" he asked with a sigh.

"Yes, they just don't allow the nurses enough time to prepare the wards for afternoon rounds."

"You don't agree with them."

"They are impractical, unworkable."

She really was beautiful when she was riled, he mused, even when she was riled at him. Her delicate hands moved through the air as though conducting an orchestra, while she made her point, her eyes darkened the more animated she became and he often found himself staring at her lips as she spoke.

"Dr Clarkson, are you still with me?"

Shaking himself, he smiled. "Of course."

"So instead of supervising lunch the nurses are still changing the beds," Isobel continued, oblivious to his lack of enthusiasm for the discussion.

He thought it a shame that she insisted on wearing black and navy to the hospital when she looked almost perfect in purples and blues. It had something to do with her eyes he suspected. The eyes that were now staring intently at him, one eyebrow arched. He was about to get an dose of her temper if he read the signs right and usually he would indulge her, maybe even placate her but for once he didn't feel so inclined. Instead he allowed himself a small grin and tried a different tact.

"Richard."

As much as he loved hearing her say his name he knew it only happened when she was about to shout at him. Taking a deep breath he said simply, "A date between us must surely be overdue."

Isobel visibly started, her jaw dropping, her eyes widening in surprise. "Dr Clarkson?"

Richard moved around the desk, finally coming to rest against the front of the desk, the width of the chair between them. "We've circumvented the subject for more years than I'd care to remember. Near on eight if you want to be precise," he offered more confident in the face of her obvious consternation.

"We have . . ."

He wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question but he continued regardless. "So allow me to take you somewhere respectable in York and buy you dinner?"

"Dr Clarkson." Isobel allowed her eyes to move around the room, deliberately avoiding his eyes, stifling the girlish grin that threatened to quirk at her lips. Something in her stomach fluttered at the prospect of an evening in his company.

"Richard, please. Or would you rather I obtain Matthews permission?" His grin morphed into a smirk in the knowledge for once he had the upper hand in their conversation.

"Dear God, no," she replied vehemently, not wanting Matthew to have even the slightest knowledge that his mother may still want to court.

"Dear God no to dinner, or dear God no to asking Matthew?" he queried in a teasing tone. "You are usually so clear in your opposition, Isobel."

She wanted to slap him, would have if it were not so unladylike. "My opposition, Richard, is to you speaking to my son, not to the proposition of dinner."

"Invitation, Isobel. Proposition has many more interesting connotations."

The heat spread through her body and she was sure her face must have the hue of a raspberry. "That was what I meant."

He opened his mouth to speak but as usual she gave him little chance.

"Invitation, Richard." She rolled her eyes dramatically then her lips began to tweak into a smile, a plan forming in her head. "You have never eaten at Crawley House, why is that?"

He hesitated momentarily, pondering the correct response then ploughed on, "Could it possibly be that it would be improper for us to dine there alone?"

"No," she said shaking her head, "more likely that one of our disagreements prevented me asking before now. I feel that it is time we rectified that." Isobel lifted her head, her eyes finally catching and locking with his. "Richard, I would like very much if you would dine with me at Crawley House."

His brow furrowed as he wondered how they had gone from a very public dinner in a restaurant to a very intimate affair in her house. Suddenly the whole situation had gotten out of his control but she was smiling at him and had yet to storm out in dismay. That was a promising development in itself.

"We could arrange it for Friday night," she continued unabated. "Wednesday is Moseley's day off. Thursday afternoon Mrs Bird likes to go to Ripon, and I'm afraid I'm expected at the Abbey on Saturday."

"Yes," was all he could manage.

"Good. That settles it, Friday night it is," she said with a slight nod of her head and a smile. "Now I need to be getting back, and I am sure you have a million and one things to do."

He was sure he did too but his mind was still processing what had just happened. "Yes."

Isobel stepped away from the chair, smoothing down the silk of her dress as she moved. For all her confidence moments before, the realisation that they were indeed going on a date was starting to hit her. "Friday, shall we say seven thirty for eight?"

"Yes, Mrs Crawley." Richard released his grip on the desk and rose to stand upright. "Seven thirty sounds perfect." The little boy in him wanted to rock on his heels and dance around the room at the prospect, the man in him contemplated the consequences of courting her. Neither thought seemed appropriate as she stood there watching him.

"Well goodbye, Dr Clarkson," Isobel offered as she stepped through the open doorway into the hallway. She pulled the door shut behind her, leaning against the wall as she let out the breath she had been holding, her corset finally loosening its constraint. When she had entered his office it had been on the pretence of berating him on some subject or another. She had weeks of pent up frustration, finally bubbling to the surface and it was so easy, usually, to get him riled enough to argue with her. It released her tension, and his she suspected. This time it had failed to go to plan. They had traded a few barbs and then he had completely thrown her off kilter, in a way only he could, with a date. Now she was not only going to share a meal with him, but the sanctity of her home too. It was slight crazy to contemplate but it simultaneously sent a thrill through her, making her want to scream like love struck girl. Her eyes caught sight of the young nurse watching her and she nodded perfunctory, before darting down the corridor oblivious to the beaming smile on her face.