Author's Note: So excited about this chapter! And so pleased with the response to the first one! I hope you can all forgive the distance between posts…the holiday was crazy (working 2 retail jobs ~womp) and time got away from me. But I hope that this proves worth the wait. And don't be afraid to let me know what you think!

And of course forever shout-out to La Donna Ingenua for being a thoroughly wonderful beta.

(p.s. I made a fic/downton specific Tumblr, so find me there if that's your thing: anomalousbliss{dot}tumblr{dot}com. Fair warning though, it's not spoiler free!)

"Long Nights and Glowing Lights"

11:04 AM
Twenty six more minutes. God, has it really only been three minutes? Seated at his desk, his fingers tapping anxiously against his knees, Matthew Crawley is literally vibrating with nervous energy. It's just a bloody board meeting, pull yourself together! He feels like a boy on his first day of school, full of uncertainty and nervous energy. You're not on trial, for Christ's sake! You're just being formally introduced to the Executive Board.

He's never been very fond of cubicles, but he finds himself thankful that his associates can't see him fidgeting about. It's a small department—five people including himself—and they've all been nice enough so far. But he is fairly certain his behavior would not inspire their confidence in his professionalism.

He's been at Grantham for a little over two weeks now–two weeks filled with countless meetings, extensive legal briefings, and late nights followed by early mornings. But he still feels as if he's on the outside looking in, as if there is something bigger at play and he has yet to be keyed in. As an employee of a family business, he knows relatively little about the family he is working for–the family that shares his last name, but apparently not his lineage. He's met Rosamond and Mary, of course, but has yet to see much of anyone else bearing the Crawley name. It is this fact that he attributes his nervousness to, more than anything else. In twenty four minutes now he's finally going to meet the Chairman of the Board (as well as Grantham's Director of Public Relations), Violet Crawley–Dowager Countess, family matriarch, and apparently the most fearsome woman to inhabit the British Isles.

Even thinking her name causes a lump to rise in his throat and he works hard to swallow it down. Before arriving he assumed, perhaps falsely, that the Crawleys were a united front—a commercial conglomerate—each operating within a different niche. But from the little that he learned, it appears more like there is a line drawn in the sand separating two entirely different factions.

He vaguely knew of Robert Crawley before starting at Grantham, but was able to discern much more about him from the bits of gossip he's overheard from his co-workers. While the legal department may be fairly straight laced, the people in design and production have no qualms about talking frequently and openly about the undercurrent of the Crawley drama. It surprised Matthew to learn that an affair caused the end of Robert's marriage to Mary's mother, and that his current wife was his once mistress. He also learned that his step-son, with a reputation of being an insufferable git, is being polished to one day take over Crawley Investment Group, rather than one of his own daughters. He knows that Mary has two sisters, from the picture she keeps of the three of them on her desk—but he doesn't even know their names. He hasn't found the right opportunity to talk to her about them, even though he's been curious. She can't be more than thirteen or so in the picture, and the other girls are noticeably younger. He can't recall much about their appearance though, because the way Mary is smiling in the picture has burned itself into his brain. He's positive that he's never seen her smile so brightly in person, and he can't help but think that it's a bloody shame.

His heel is tapping incessantly against the floor, and the sound is as soothing as it is irritating. Twenty-two minutes. Distract yourself, go do something! Rising from his chair, he leans his head over the cube opposite his and asks Bill if he'd like a cup of tea. Matthew has wondered nearly every day of the past two weeks what exactly brought Bill VanAlstyne (a rather rotund man of about forty-five, whose interest in fashion is about as apparent as his interest in fitness) to Grantham. As the supervisor of Accounts Payable, his tasks focus more on spreadsheets and data than catwalks and catalogues, but it still strikes Matthew as an odd fit.

"No thank you, my lord; although it's very kind of you to offer," Bill answers with mock deference, a Cheshire cat smile plastered across his face. Matthew knows that the teasing is all in good fun, but he hoped they would have tired of it by now. He can hear Taylor sniggering from her desk in the corner, but he chooses to ignore them both. He learned well by now that reacting only adds fuel to their fire.

He shakes his head as he walks away, deciding that coffee might be a better choice than tea. He could use a bit more fortification. Their break room is small but well appointed, much like the suite itself, designed with efficiency in mind. The executive offices are on one side of the floor; the legal department on the other, break room and conference room situated towards the front, with the design and production team positioned in the middle—like a perimeter around the creative core.

As he enters the kitchenette area he is pleased to discover a fresh pot of coffee. He pulls a mug down from the overhead cabinet and slowly pours the steaming liquid into it. Hazelnut, he thinks as he brings the mug to his lips, thankful that it's not the dreadful holiday blend that someone brought in last week. He sips slowly, but still manages to scald the tip of his tongue. He sets the mug down on the counter, sighing in frustration. He runs his fingers through his hair before glancing at his watch to check the time. Fifteen minutes. Nearly there.

He picks the mug up off the counter to take back to his desk, even though it is still far from a drinkable temperature. He's just about to exit the break room when he happens to see a woman that looks startlingly like Mary—or rather what he assumes Mary might look like in about twenty five years—exiting her office. Before he has a chance to process this, however, the lift door slides open and he sees who he can only imagine to be Violet Crawley step into the room. She's impeccably dressed in Grantham's own design, and the lights on the floor make her hair shine like polished chrome. Everything about her, from the way she holds her bag to the set of her eyebrows, is rigid and Matthew understands immediately why everyone seems to fear her.

Standing in the break room doorway, he is quite literally caught between them. He sees the moment their eyes meet—the tension that immediately straightens both of their postures and squares their shoulders. He sees the simultaneous intakes of breath, deep and steadying. He sees the smiles, paper thin and pressed, cautious if not entirely inauthentic. It's a bit like watching a lion sizing up a gazelle, although he can't quite make out who is the predator and who is the prey.

It took her a bit longer than her ex, but Cora eventually remarried as well. She met her new husband, a cardiothoracic surgeon, Max Chambers, at a party in Newport her first summer back in the States. He was charismatic and funny with light hair and dark eyes, and he didn't remind her of Robert, even a little bit. The first night they met—under the stars and after several drinks—he had gently brought his palm to her cheek and told her that he knew how to fix a broken heart. She couldn't help but laugh, despite how earnest he appeared. When she could not stop laughing, he told her that a heart surgeon named Dr. Chambers should get a lifetime pass on corny jokes. She smiled then and kissed him, feeling for the first time in months that maybe her life didn't need to be so terrible. They talked through the night and went for a walk on the beach as the sun came up. He made her feel appreciated in a way that she hadn't felt in years—maybe ever. But the divorce left her guarded, and she was reluctant to begin dating again so soon, even if her ex-husband was already remarried. Max, however, was very patient. He was a friend first, a confidant, and eventually a lover. He proposed after a year of dating, and when she said that she wasn't sure she ever wanted to be married again, he told her he would keep asking until the day she said yes. It took another six months before she finally agreed to marry him. It had been hard for her to accept that someone might want to be with her because of who she was, and not because she had something to offer. Max didn't care about her money; he had his own. And he didn't care that she couldn't trace her ancestry back to the fourteenth century. He loved her, and that was enough. It was a simple ceremony compared to her first wedding, but her girls were there, and she didn't have any of the jittery feelings that she felt the first time around.

"Hello, Violet," the dark haired woman is first to break the silence. She smiles in a way that looks like it hurts—as if she is biting the insides of her cheeks to keep her lips from falling into a frown. Matthew doesn't notice the man standing beside her until he puts his arm around her shoulder. The gesture somehow seems as confrontational as it does protective.

"Cora, dear! My, what a pleasant surprise." Matthew watches their interaction in quiet fascination. The expression on her Violet's face belies any of the sincerity of her words, but he realizes that more than anything, she looks embarrassed–not angry, or fearsome, or any of the other things he had expected of her, but chastened, maybe even apologetic.

Before either of them have a chance to continue, Mary jogs out of her office, calling out "Mum, you forgot your phone!" She comes up short, and it takes her a moment to pick up on to the tension in the room around her. She looks from the woman who Matthew now knows to be her mother, to her grandmother, and back again, the color immediately draining from her face.

"Granny, you're a bit early for the meeting. I'm afraid we're not ready yet."

She glances quickly in the direction of the conference room and her eyes lock with his. He is frozen by her glare, which is both desperate and bewildered. She is unguarded—transparent—and he has no idea how to respond. But then she looks away again, the moment of clarity gone, and he does not know how it happened so quickly. She speaks around Violet to the woman seated at the desk in front of the lift.

"Gwen, please see that everything is arranged for the board meeting. And get Mrs. Crawley whatever she needs." Gwen is on her feet immediately, ushering Violet into the conference room. She follows without any resistance.

Mary turns back to her mother, placing a palm gently on her arm. Cora brings her hand up and pats Mary's gently. It is not an extravagant display of affection, but the weight of it is palpable. Everything about her Cora's countenance seems more relaxed now that the showdown has passed, and Matthew feels oddly emotional about witnessing such an intimate family moment. The man beside Cora seems to be more at ease as well, and he is glancing at her with unmistakable look of pride.

"Well, that went about as well as can be expected, don't you think?" He says with a smile.

Cora and Mary share an enthused glance, and Cora loops her arm through his, leaning into his side. If Matthew did not know otherwise, it would not have been difficult to assume that the three of them were a simple, happy family. Mary hands her mother the phone, and links arms on the opposite side of her, moving to lead them out. But as she gets nearer to where Matthew is standing, she stops.

"Mum, Max, this is Matthew Crawley, the newest member of our team. He's a fashion solicitor. And Matthew, this is my mother, Cora, and my step-father Max."

Hands are shaken and hellos are exchanged, and Matthew is surprised to discover that Mary's mother and step-father are both American. As far as he can remember, no one mentioned it. But there isn't time for more than the basic pleasantries, and all too soon Mary is leading them out. As the lift door is about to shut, she stops it with her arm and calls out to him.

"I'm just going to see them out, I'll be back before we're meant to start."

He's not entirely sure why she tells him; she's in charge, after all. But so little of what's happened in the past few minutes made any sense to him, so he decides to let it go. He walks back to his desk, depositing his coffee and steeling himself for what may come.

8:33 PM
As he replays the events of the day in his head, he thinks that perhaps being on trial wouldhave been better.

The meeting itself should not have been very taxing; after all, he already knew everyone aside from Violet. He gets along quite well with Anthony Abbot, the Chief Legal Officer (and his direct supervisor), despite his seemingly boundless enthusiasm and inability to control the volume of his voice. While he doesn't spend very much time with Rosamond, he admires her tremendously. And then there's Mary, of course. Mary. They've consulted together on several projects over the past few weeks, and each time has left him a little more enamored than the last.

But Violet proved to be every bit as fiery as her reputation. Despite a glowing report from everyone in the room, she still looked at Matthew as if he was the embodiment of everything that she could not stand. "What is a fashion solicitor?" She asked, scoffing at the very sound of his profession. Even after his duties were explained, she was not quite convinced. "We've managed quite well so far, why should we have one now?" He could do nothing but stand there and bear the brunt of her scrutiny, savoring the apologetic looks from the others.

By the time Rosamond jumped in to save him, saying "Enough, mother. Matthew is a valuable part of our team and he's not going anywhere," he felt two inches tall. After being dismissed from the meeting, he returned to his desk and his cold cup of coffee, his battered confidence trailing behind him like a shadow.

Deciding that there's nothing more to be done tonight, he starts to pack up his things. Standing from his desk, he sees that Mary's light is still on. Part of him thinks he should go and knock on her door, just to see if she might want some company. Before he can decide, however, the light turns off. They step out into the main floor at the same time. She raises an eyebrow at him and he shrugs his shoulders. She reaches the lift just before he does and pushes the button to call in up.

"Still think it was such a good idea to let people assume you're related to us?"

It's a rhetorical question, really, but he smiles at her nonetheless.

While they worked together on a few projects, he hasn't been alone with her since his first night, even though there have been many nights like this one since, when he's seen the light from her office glowing. His reaction to being in her presence, however, is much the same as it was then. Did she smell this good the last time? he catches himself wondering. She looks…well, not frazzled exactly, but much less polished than is typical. The long hours have left dark circles below her eyes, and she holds her high heels in her hand, deciding on a pair that certainly tips the scales to practical rather than fashionable. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and is just a tad frizzy around the crown of her head. He thinks that seeing her a bit undone might be the most charming thing that he's ever seen.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to spend more time with your family today."

She smirks at him "I spend every day with my family."

"You know what I meant."

The lift arrives and they both step inside. He can't help but wonder if they chose to stand in the same spots on purpose, or if it is just coincidence.

"They're staying with my sister Edith for Christmas, so I'll see them again."

"You must miss them terribly."

"Of course I do; even more now that Sybil, my youngest sister, is with them. I try to visit as often as I can, but with all this…it's been difficult." Her stance is rigid, shoulders tensed, and from the way she keeps tapping the tips of her fingers together, Matthew can tell that she's deciding whether to say anything more. He wants to know more—everything, really—but he doesn't want to pry.

"How long has she been away?"

"My mother? She moved back when I was a teenager. Sybil's been about two years now. She's there for university, studying biology. Well, pre-med actually, at Yale. Max is an Associate Professor there, although she didn't need any help getting in. She's brilliant. Max has been wonderful to all of us, but he and Sybil have always favored each other. She was still so young when they married—so much less bitter about it all than Edith and I were. He let her listen to her heart with his stethoscope and that was it. She's been determined to study medicine ever since." She looks happier than he can recall seeing her, almost as happy as the picture on her desk, and he wishes that he could capture the look on her face and show it to the people in the business who claim she has no heart.

"It must be nice for your mother, to have her there. And she and Max seem quite happy." He smiles earnestly at her, hoping that his gesture is enough encouragement to continue.

She turns to him, the faintest of smiles tracing the corner of her lips. "They do, don't they? I don't think I ever really realized how unhappy she was with my father, even before…" She hesitates for just a moment, and suddenly she seems so much younger to him. The pain in her expression appears fresh, despite the years that have passed. "I don't think I knew how unhappy she had been before until I saw how happy she is with Max. The way she is with him…it was never like that between the two of them."

"I know it's none of my business, but just talking about them…you seem happier as well."

The door opens to the lobby, but neither of them move right away.

"I am, I suppose. Sometimes I wish that it was all easier. I've gotten better at it over the years…but seeing her and Max, and hearing how well Sybil is doing it's just…like being homesick for a place that was never your home."

And when he imagines what it would feel like to close the distance between them, and to take her into his arms, he thinks that he knows exactly what she means.