A timing note: set just after S4 and the end of the Season. Later chapters include some S5 speculation stemming from some very vague teasers/trailers from ITV.

Also, please refer to my blanket legal disclaimer on my profile page. Thank you.

Guests were wandering about the lawn, glasses in hand and bellies full with Mrs. Patmore's and Daisy's finest garden party fare. The Yorkshire air was full of laughter, of ebullient voices as the Downton Abbey staff diligently tended to it all. Empty glasses were refreshed as footmen weaved about small congregations of Grantham-Crawley family and friends. Maids handling trays were constantly coming and going from the servant's entrance to the marquees dotting the lawn.

In the periphery, under a tree planted well before his arrival at Downton, Charles Carson stood with his arms and hands unconsciously stretching and relaxing by his sides, taking it all in. Standing resolutely in the shade, he exuded pride out of every pore. Pride for a job well done. Pride for a woman who conjured up and managed a marvelous party with their beloved abbey serving as an unparalleled backdrop.

It was in these moments, full of fluid movements by a synchronized staff, that he felt in his element. All of it flowed from a domestic show performed with precision and diligence by each player that they both had trained. All of it flowed from trust and confidence. In Him and because of Her.

He was able to acknowledge for himself how she buoyed his work and his life. He was content the two spheres were separate, after letting go some of the painful memories from the past. He knew she would always be a part of and improve both. This party was one more piece of evidence confirming it. The thought was enough to make him stand even taller as he placed his hands behind his back and a contented sigh billowed out.

"You have every right to feel proud, Mr. Carson."

Without looking upon the housekeeper that managed to sneak up on him, he returned the smile he could hear in her voice. It warmed him – relaxing and enlivening simultaneously.

"As do you, Mrs. Hughes. It's been a rousing success, although I might have ordered a few extra bottles of champagne."

With a sidelong glance, Mrs. Hughes inquired, "Have you, now?" If this had been a previous garden party, she would have chalked his misstep to caution. Running out of libations would never do for Charles Carson.

But, after a most unusual year and Season, Mrs. Hughes knew Charles Carson had more up his sleeve. Before, there was always something he was thinking, but not sharing. But now, more was making its way through the wall that divided Charles Carson, man, from the world. Like now. The subtle twitch of his right cheek as she asked him confirmed it.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's not of the quality his lordship usually favors for cocktails or desserts. I'm not sure when, if ever, it will be consumed," he explained.

"And do you think it will go to the heads of our staff if we provide a wee bit to them after dinner?"

"I don't think it will be too much, provided Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates keeps them in line."

Her body had turned to face him now, compelling him to look over, to show his hand. "And why are they to keep everyone in line?"

His hands, now unfolded, were moving again by his side. Perceptibly. His head rotated to her, but his eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "I thought we could forego our usual sherry and enjoy a glass to ourselves in your sitting room. That is, unless you'd rather have an early night."

She turned to face the party and smiled. "I think I can make an exception just this once, Mr. Carson. Champagne in my sitting room, it is, then."

He looked down as he smiled – bashful, but pleased. "Until then."

Drawing his head up, his countenance changed as he surveyed the party once more. His back stiffened as he cleared his throat. The wall closed on Charles Carson. The butler façade returned.

"The party looks to be winding down. Better get a move on. Excuse me, Mrs. Hughes." Abruptly, off the butler went, moving about the lawn to ensure that each guest was tended to on their way home.

Discombobulated by his offer and his subsequent behavior, Mrs. Hughes drew a steadying breath as she watched him move gracefully amongst empty chairs towards the waiting cars. He was bringing order to the party, to his thoughts. But his hands, still grasping and opening by his sides, spoke volumes to her. He left something unexpressed.

As she realized this, he stopped and turned his heel. Mr. Carson glanced back at her, his eyes finally meeting hers. He gave her a small smile filled with promise. When she returned it, he quickly carried on. An endearing half smile remained as his arms swung purposely, his long strides moving him elegantly onwards to the queue of motors. Perhaps the wall wasn't completely closed when he was 'on duty,' after all.

The evidence of his quiet evolution was enough to quit her woolgathering. Her shoulders squared, Mrs. Hughes strode into the closest marquee to see to her girls. She best get a move on. A great deal of work stood between her and a well-deserved glass of champagne on their own.

Perhaps, behind the closed door of her sitting room, his wall would open further, stay open longer. They were getting on, after all.

Dear readers: this is my first fic for any fandom in quite a long time. This is dedicated to all the Chelsie writers who inspired me to submit my own prose after copiously reading theirs. Thank you for reading, and for any comments you might have.