Here's the next installment! I know many Sybil/Tom shippers are anxious for our happy couple to meet...hang in there guys, it's coming! Also, I had to make a few changes to some of the "events" in this fic from the actual movie, for example, while a foreign dignitary is coming to see Mary, it will be not the US President. I tried to think of something where I utilize a certain character, and this is what I came up with. I hope no one minds, and that it doesn't offend anyone. I really need to finish/post my next chapter to Downton Abbey & Zombies before I update this again, so I ask for your patience. But I am very happy, as well as amazed by how many people are enjoying this story! Thank you so very much for reading, following, favoriting, and commenting!

Chapter Four

4 Weeks to Christmas (part I)

"Alright, what's next?" Mary sighed, a little wearily. She had spent a bulk of her morning with her cabinet, locked away and trying to fix the messes left by the last administration. Her head was pounding from all the numbers that had been thrown about, as well as various facts and statistics that her staff had collected. Lord, what she wouldn't give for just a cup of tea…and a biscuit…a dark-chocolate biscuit. Yes, that would be perfect right now…

Gwen was sitting beside her, and pulled out a file, opening it and handing various copies of a report to the other members of the cabinet. "Next is the meeting with the Turkish Ambassador; it's scheduled for Wednesday of next week."

Mary took the copy of the report and had a quick read-through. "Mr. Kamal Pemuk," she read the name aloud, frowning ever so slightly. She heard of the gentleman and knew he was quite handsome…and very much a "lady's man". The tabloids had snapped shots of him coming out of various high-class nightclubs, and always with a different woman; perhaps not the most professional behavior for a foreign ambassador. "I see he wants to have a press conference on Thursday morning."

"Yes," Gwen explained. "He wants to know our stance about the two the Syrian girls."

"The lesbian case," someone down the table muttered under their breath.

Mary's brow furrowed at this. She had heard this story. Indeed, even before she took office, Gwen had told her that various human rights groups were flooding Number 10 Downing with letters, each begging that the British government take a stand and help these two girls who had fled their native land and were currently seeking asylum in Turkey. The reason? Not only had they run away from the arranged marriages their respective fathers had orchestrated, but it was also learned that the girls themselves were lovers, and had been meeting in secret for almost two years. With all the conflict that was going on between Turkey and Syria, the last thing the Turkish government wanted was for a war to break out over two runaway lovers who happened to be women.

"So what exactly does Mr. Pemuk expect us to do?" Mary asked, skimming the report.

"Basically for us to stand by whatever decision the Turkish government makes on the matter, and to try and be a 'calming voice' to the Syrians," a member of her cabinet explained.

"Of course," Gwen added, "another option, is that we, Britain, offer the girls asylum."

A grumble went up amongst the cabinet; clearly there were mixed feelings about this, and Mary knew why. Did a new administration really want to take such a stand this early? Besides, wasn't it more important to keep peace? The girls were safe so long as they stayed in Turkey…weren't they?

"Siding with the Turkish government is the smartest move," someone argued. "We don't want to cause any rifts."

"I say we take a stand!" another argued. "It will make us appear stronger!"

"Or foolish," another grumbled.

More voices were added to the fray, until it was near impossible to understand one from another. "Alright, alright!" Mary groaned, lifting her hands and bringing the room back to order. "I think it best that we hear from Mr. Pemuk when he arrives next week before a final decision is made." A few grumbles were still heard around the table, but everyone more or less nodded their heads in agreement. "Good, that's settled," she sighed with relief. She needed that cup of tea more than ever. "Alright, who do I have to screw to get a cup of Twinings English Breakfast and a dark-chocolate Hobnob?"

A chuckle went up around the table, which was Mary's intention. A little humor always helped to settle tensions. However, her smile quickly died…when around the corner, Matthew came through, holding a tray that included several cups and saucers and a steaming teapot.

"I intercepted Mrs. Hughes," Matthew explained, putting the tray down on the table. "Did I hear someone mention something about tea?"

Mary's face burned bright suddenly, and another chuckle began to rumble around the room. Indeed, the tensions had left everyone else…save for herself.

"What's so funny?" Matthew questioned, looking confused.

"NOTHING!" Mary coughed, and then reached for a cup and saucer. "Milk only, please," she muttered under her breath as he poured; she didn't dare to look into his eyes.

"Great news!"

Jimmy glanced across the car to the passenger seat where Alfred sat. He looked very…excited. This sort of behavior normally caused Jimmy to worry. "What…?"

"I did it," Alfred grinned. "I got a ticket…to the States!"

"You did what?" Jimmy asked, before muttering a curse as he swerved the car away from running into another in the next lane. "No, no, no, Alfred…please…tell me you are not proceeding with this stupid plan!"

"It's not a stupid plan!" Alfred defended. "It's bloody brilliant!"

Jimmy groaned. He should have tried to talk Alfred out of it the night he first mentioned the idea. Every other mad idea that Alfred had concocted over time had always blown up in his face; one would think the poor idiot would have learned by now?

"Want to know where I'm going?" Alfred grinned.

Jimmy answered with another groan and then added a shake of his head.

"An exotic place called…Wisconsin!"

"Why there?" Jimmy asked, his nose crinkling at the name. Wouldn't someone rather go someplace warm? Like Florida, or southern California…or Hawaii! Why not Hawaii?

Alfred shrugged, not seeming to mind. "It's in the middle of the country; I can start there and work my way to either coast," he laughed with a little waggle of his eyebrows.

"God almighty," Jimmy muttered. "Alfred…this is absolute madness. Don't you see that?"

"Why don't you see the brilliance of it? What do American girls love? British men! Look at the way they throw themselves at Colin Firth and Hugh Grant and…and…you know, that bloke with the weird name who plays Sherlock."

"You are honestly not trying to compare yourself with an actor, are you?"

Alfred only laughed. "Just wait and see, Jimmy. I'll go over there…and be like bloody Prince William…without the weird family."

"And I thought the actor comparison was a stretch," Jimmy muttered.

"No…" Alfred murmured, mentally correcting himself. "Prince William is married…so instead, I'll be like Prince Harry—which is even better, because like me, he's ginger and single…and don't girls like Harry more now, anyway?"

Jimmy looked at Alfred as if he had gone completely mental. No, he had gone mental; absolutely bat-shit bonkers, mental! "I don't know!" he threw a hand up in exasperation. "And no, you're far more likely to be mistaken for some missing 'Weasly' sibling," he groaned. "Alfred, refund the ticket, get your money back—"

"Can't; it's non-refundable."

"Alfred!" Jimmy was almost shouting. They were stopped a traffic light and so he used the moment to turn and confront his friend. "I know I've told you this before—and clearly, I should have saved those words for now, because by far, this is, without a doubt—THE STUPIDEST IDEA YOU HAVE EVER HAD!"

But Alfred only leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest and smiling that idiotic smile of his that was far too confident for the man's own good. "Wait and see my friend…just wait and see."

Jimmy wanted to say something further, but the light changed and the car behind them began to honk. He was tempted to roll down his window and flick the driver off, but instead pulled through the intersection, shaking his head and trying not to lash out further. Let the fool go and get slapped around by every woman he tries to hit on, a voice in his head muttered. He'll be deported back here before the end of the first day.

Still, it gnawed on his nerves to see Alfred just sitting there and looking so…smug. "I'm a man on a mission," Alfred murmured as he gazed out the window and the rain falling from the sky. "I'm like…Moses…preparing to journey to the Promised Land."

"More like Napoleon, marching into Russia in the dead of winter," Jimmy grumbled.

Isobel sat in a chair, enjoying a cup of Earl Grey that Dr. Clarkson—Richard, and been so kind to bring her. She blushed as she recalled how he insisted, after their second day of working together, to call him Richard. She said she only would if he called her Isobel. Throughout that week, they worked very hard, talking with directors, cameramen, script writers, lighting technicians, and of course, the actors, on how to act and perform the various medical tasks a nurse or doctor would do, if they were doing these things in 1917. Yet despite the busyness of the week…there were moments, like this one, where she could sit and relax and enjoy a cup of tea. And she couldn't deny that she was impressed by how Richard had quickly learned what her favorite tea was, and how she took it. Ever since that day he had learned it, he always tried to have a cup ready for her when she arrived. Really…she couldn't recall the last time a man had been so…thoughtful. Certainly not since her late husband.

Richard appeared then; he had just been on the set, showing the actors there how they would hold the instruments in which their characters would use if they were going to amputate an arm.

"Beastly work," he groaned, taking a chair next to hers.

"Have you ever had to perform one?" Isobel asked out of curiosity.

He shook his head. "No, thank God, but it was part of my training. I do more medical examinations now than surgeries. I prefer it, to be honest."

Isobel nodded her head with a smile. She found Dr. Clarkson quite fascinating, and enjoyed hearing his stories. "You know," she said, feeling like a complete idiot for not having shared this with him till now. "I can't believe I never told you this, but my late husband was a doctor too!"

"Really?" Richard said, his eyes widening at her revelation. "What did he practice?"

"He was a pediatrician, actually," she smiled at the memory. "He spent the final few years of his life as a medical professor, back in Manchester."

"Of course!" Richard gasped. "Why didn't I see it before? Dr. Reginald Crawley!"

Isobel was surprised to hear her husband's name spoken by someone other than her immediate family. "You've heard of my husband?"

"I read a paper he wrote for a medical journal on early childhood diseases. Very fascinating work, and very profound! Gracious, I can't believe I didn't make the connection until now…"

"Oh please; no need to beat yourself up over it. You are too kind."

Isobel couldn't deny that Richard's words did bring a warm rush to her heart. Her late-husband had always wondered if anyone cared about those articles he had written, and it was nice to know that at least one man had.

"Do you mind if I ask…?"

"Oh! Oh no, not at all," Isobel reassured. "It was nine years ago; cancer," she murmured sadly. "And while I do miss him, I am comforted to know that he lived a very good and fulfilling life."

Richard smiled back at her, and it was tender smile, one filled with both sympathy and understanding. "My wife passed away six years ago," he explained. "Also from cancer."

"Oh I'm so sorry," Isobel murmured, and without a second's thought, took his hand in hers and gave it a tender squeeze. He smiled back…as well as returned the squeeze.

"You know, I'm just as guilty, actually," he murmured. Isobel looked a little confused, but he quickly explained what he meant. "My wife was a secondary school teacher…whose area of specialty was history."

"No!" Isobel gasped, laughing then at the strange little coincidences the two of them were discovering. "Truly?"

He grinned and nodded his head. "And would you believe it if I told you her favorite era was early 20th century British and European history?"

Isobel saw the teasing twinkle in his eye. "Oh, now you truly are pulling my leg."

He laughed and nodded his head in guilty confession. "Alright, you caught me; although I was telling the truth about her favorite era dealing with British and European history…just during the 19th century."

They shared in another laugh…and only then did Isobel realize…that their hands were still joined.

Richard noticed this too, and quickly released her fingers, blushing and mumbling over and over, "I'm terribly sorry."

She was blushing too…but in truth, she wasn't feeling sorry at all.

She recalled how her son had asked her once if she would ever consider dating again. She had laughed at him, muttering something about "at my age?" before shaking her head as if someone had told her the grandest and most unbelievable joke of all time.

Yet now…that question didn't seem so…impossible, as she had once thought.

Richard was clearing his throat. "So…um…what do you think of our new Prime Minister?" he asked, dramatically changing the subject.

Isobel prayed her blush had calmed down. "I like her, actually; I think she'll do a fine job—although I dislike all these comparisons some people are making to Margaret Thatcher, simply because she's a woman," she rolled her eyes. "Did anyone try to compare Tony Blair to John Major because he was a man? Of course not; pure sexism if you ask me."

He chuckled then, but Isobel knew he wasn't making fun. "Well, she doesn't have an easy job, coming in now with the way things are. I don't envy her the tasks that are ahead."

"I have a feeling she's going to surprise all of us," Isobel murmured with an admiring grin, before taking a sip of her tea. "We'll just have to wait and see."

Mary didn't even lift her head when she heard the knock on her office door. "Come in!"

Footsteps moved across the carpet, and didn't stop until they were right in front of her desk. Mary looked up then and was surprised to see her housekeeper standing before her. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes! What a pleasant surprise!"

The housekeeper smiled; she was holding a tray. "Sorry to disturb you, Prime Minister, but..." she set the tray down and Mary's eyes went wide at the sight. "I understand…you were looking for these?"

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, you are a God-send!" Mary gasped, reaching forward and eagerly picking up the flat round biscuit, covered in dark-chocolate, and savoring its delicious flavor as she took a very eager bite.

The housekeeper chuckled and refilled Mary's teacup. "Rumor was floating around that our new Prime Minister likes chocolate-covered biscuits," she explained.

"It's not a rumor, it's a fact," Mary moaned in satisfaction as she took another bite. "And I don't like them…I love them."

Mrs. Hughes laughed again. "Well, just another reason why I'm glad you won, ma'am; our last Prime Minister, I was only here for a few months while he was still in office, but he liked his biscuits plain and ordinary. To each their own, of course, but…well, I think I can trust and better relate to someone who, like myself, also adores chocolate."

Mary laughed and offered the last biscuit to the housekeeper, insisting that she take it. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes; you have no idea how something as simple as this has turned my day around."

She smiled and nodded her head. "Well, as much as I wish I could take all your thanks, it's really Mr. Crawley who deserves it."

Mary almost choked on a biscuit crumb. "I…I beg your pardon?"

"Well, apparently he had overheard someone mention in your cabinet meeting today that you had a craving for dark-chocolate biscuits. So he relayed the message to me."

Mary felt her cheeks enflame again. Did that same person also tell Matthew her exact words, when she was hoping for tea and a biscuit?

"Well, I don't want to disturb you and keep you from important work," Mrs. Hughes said with a smile. "I'll come by with a fresh pot later, and if you wish…some more biscuits?"

Mary only nodded her head, still trying to look calm and casual, despite the questions that were raging through her mind at the moment. The housekeeper left then, quietly shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Mary let out a deep groan and then sank her head to her desk, fighting the temptation to bang it against the hard wood surface until there was nothing left.

"Oh, get a grip on yourself!" she hissed in frustration. "You're not some…some…naïve school girl who has her first crush; you're the Prime Minister for God's sake!" She groaned in frustration once more. Maggie never had this sort of problem.

"You wished to see me?"

Robert glanced up from his desk and felt his throat suddenly go dry as his beautiful secretary stood in the doorway, smiling at him in that dazzling way that seemed to linger long after she had left the room.

"Oh, um…yes, right…" he coughed, trying to get a hold on his voice. Lord, he was sounding like an adolescent boy going through puberty all over again. "Yes, I um…I wanted to go over details for the office Christmas party."

"Of course," Jane murmured, picking up a notepad and pen, before proceeding into his office…and sitting down on one of the nearby chairs, crossing one elegantly leg over the other. Robert couldn't help but notice, especially as she sat down, that she was wearing a short, black skirt, one that seemed to hug her curves perfectly, as if it had been sewn onto her. She was also wearing a lovely, cream-colored sweater, one that clung to her upper body just as…delicately…as her skirt. "I'm ready, sir…"

He swallowed. God help him. "Right! Um…well, Jane, I know this will be your first Christmas party with us, and I apologize for um…for having to more or less 'jump off the deep end' in trying to organize it, but—"

"Don't worry about me, sir," Jane reassured, her voice almost like a purr. "I'm up for anything."

Stop it, STOP IT! He ordered his brain to stop thinking what it was trying to think…and for the rest of his body to stop trying to take over his brain.

"Right…good, um…yes! So…alright, yes, let's get to it," he was stammering like a fool.

"Yes, please," Jane murmured under her breath, before lifting her eyes and smiling at him in the sort of way that caused men to go weak at the knees. That was exactly how Robert's knees were suddenly feeling…but despite that, he rose to his feet and began pacing…at the far side of his office, feeling that if he at least did something other than sit across from his beautiful secretary, perhaps he wouldn't find himself wondering about what she looked like beneath her clothes.

"Alright, we always try to have the Christmas party at some venue outside the office," he began, purposefully concentrating on a wall opposite of Jane. "Now, that normally tends to be the hardest part—"

"I know someone who has an art gallery in Chelsea, actually," Jane murmured. Robert glanced her way, but saw her concentrating on the notepad. "I could contact him; find out if it's available—when will the party be?"

"Um…" Robert quickly turned his head once more to the wall, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. "Exactly two weeks from this Friday," he bit his lip. This was really asking too much of her; he should have started planning this much, much earlier, and Jane had only been here since mid-November. Perhaps they should simply have the party here at the office? "Look, Jane, perhaps we should—"

"I don't think that will be a problem, sir," Jane reassured, smiling up at him, her ice-blue eyes sparkling. Robert swallowed and felt his whole body go numb. His legs felt like jelly, and his heart was beating rapidly.

"Are you…are you sure?" he asked, trying once more to get a hold of his voice. "It is a lot to ask, I know; and it's entirely my fault. Mrs. Bird, my former secretary, she always managed this on her own, in fact I rarely had a say in the matter, she just planned the whole thing out, even down to the food!"

Jane smiled and that light, tinkling laugh that reminded him of sleigh bells filled the room once more. "Well, I like working with you, sir," she reassured, her gaze capturing his once more. "And don't worry about me…I'm up for any task."

Robert fought the urge to groan. He also fought the urge to believe she was meaning more than what she was saying—but that was proving to be far more difficult. His body, as well as his ego, was once again trying to take over his brain.

He coughed, trying to once again regain a little composure. "Alright, best of luck to you there," he all but grumbled, before turning his focus, again, to the wall opposite of where she sat. "So um…we enjoyed Ivy's Catering at my daughter's wedding, so I would recommend asking her to handle all the food—I'll get you her card later."

Jane didn't respond, she was busy scribbling notes down. Robert felt the first smile of relaxation wash over him.

"Um…also, find out if her company will handle wine and other spirits, otherwise there's a supplier Mrs. Bird has used in the past, and I'm sure I have a card on them somewhere, so if you need it, I'll make sure you get it in time."

"Very good, sir," Jane murmured while writing. "And um…guests?"

"Guests? OH! Oh yes, um…well, obviously the office—but you mean can they bring someone outside the office to the party?"

She nodded her head…and Robert broke his promise to avoid looking at her…and found himself staring at her glistening pink lip, which she was worrying between her teeth. "Yes, that sort of thing…like…wives and kids and stuff…"

It sounded as if she were mumbling the words. But with the way his body had been behaving ever since she entered his office, he didn't trust his senses at the moment. "Well…I don't think the part is a place for children, and we've never had children attend before…but wives and husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends of course," he explained. And then a sudden image dawned on him. "Oh God, don't tell me you have some big brute of a boyfriend—some rugby player who will put the lot of us to shame?"

He wasn't sure why he had made the joke, it was a stupid joke really. But a part of him…a part of him that he was trying to suppress, but apparently insisted on being heard and speaking out…wanted desperately to know if the lovely secretary had a significant other. No, no, this is a good thing, Robert found himself saying. Perhaps if she has a partner, I can stop worrying about…well, I can just stop worrying!

Jane's sleigh bell laugh filled the air again. "No, no, I'll be the wallflower at the party," she sighed, before putting on a little pout that suddenly made his trousers feel rather tight. "I'll just be standing off to the side…hoping someone will ask me for a dance…" she murmured, her eyes sliding to his and holding his gaze. "And maybe…if I'm lucky…my partner and I will find some mistletoe…"

The phone, thank God, decided to ring at that moment. "I should get that!" Robert all but squeaked, rushing across the office and grabbing the phone. "Thank you, Jane; that will be all!"

She was still smiling as she rose from her chair. "Of course sir," she murmured, brushing past him, just slightly as she walked out of the office. Robert disobeyed his rule again, and found himself staring at her as she left, particularly on her swaying hips.

"Hello? HELLO? ROBERT, ARE YOU THERE?"

He woke from his stupor. "I'm sorry—terribly sorry…yes, yes, I can hear you, Mama."

Today is the day, he thought to himself. Today I am going to have William sit down and tell me what's on his mind.

He wasn't sure why he was nervous. He had had serious discussions with the lad before. And yet, he couldn't imagine anything more serious than this; trying to talk and learn about a man's depression when dealing with death. It had been over twenty-years since his own mother's passing, and Charles had never married, and really, his life, his home, his family…was The Edwardian. Was he the right man for this sort of thing, then? Perhaps I should have telephoned Mr. Mason—tell him my worries and have him speak to William? However, the last thing he wanted to do was burden the poor man with questions about the late Mrs. Mason, who no doubt Mr. Mason was also mourning as the Christmas holiday drew closer and closer. And Mr. Mason lived just outside of York, whereas Charles…was here. No…if anyone was to talk to William, it should be him. In some ways, he felt like a surrogate father to the lad. He just prayed he wouldn't muck things up.

A knock on his office door brought Charles out of his thoughts. "Come in?"

The very person he had been thinking about poked his head in. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Carson?"

"Ah yes! William, please come in…"

William gave a weak smile, and entered the office, straightening his well-tailored suit jacket that bore the hotel's name and insignia on its gold buttons. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, no, nothing at all," Charles quickly reassured, although he knew that wasn't entirely true. Yes, something was wrong, but he didn't know what. And he deeply hoped that William would tell him. "Um…won't you have a seat?" Charles asked, indicating one of the chairs that sat opposite his desk. He nervously tapped his fingers together as William sat down, shifting his weight slightly until he was comfortable, his hands gripping the armrests just slightly…and waiting for whatever his boss had to say.

Charles mind went blank.

Oh God, how do men do this? How do fathers do this? What would his father say if he were here right now?

"So um…how…how are you getting on, William?"

The lad gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I'm well, thank you, Mr. Carson."

It wasn't the most reassuring of answers. Someone who was truly "well" wouldn't look so downcast…or pale…or…miserable.

"Um…anything…interesting…happening?" Charles was wincing at his own stupid questions. Lord, this was bad. And judging from the odd looks William was giving him, he knew it to be true.

"Not…really…" William replied.

Should I tell him about Doctor Who? We certainly seem to have formed some kind of bond with that; would that be wise? Start with something simple, something frivolous, before asking the heavy questions?

"I just started watching Series Three," he explained. "I like Martha…much better than I expected, actually…although it's hard to imagine anyone holding a candle to Rose."

William gave a small smile, but it was the sort of smile you gave a person to be polite, even if you thought the conversation was rubbish. This isn't working! "Right…well…um…" he was trying to think of what to say, how best to approach the subject. Oh Lord, why hadn't he written his questions down ahead of time?

"Was that why you wanted to speak with me, Mr. Carson?"

"What? Oh! Oh, um…well, no, not exactly…"

An awkward silence passed between them again. William sat looking at the floor, while Charles stared at his tapping fingers. Movies always made this seem so much easier.

"Well…" William spoke, ending the silence. "I should be getting back to my duties."

"Oh…yes, of course…" Charles murmured, rising from his chair as William rose, giving the lad a nod before he turned to leave the office. No, no, no, this is your chance, possibly your ONLY chance, don't let this opportunity pass!

"William, wait!"

The footman paused and turned back to look at Charles, his brow furrowed with question. "Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"I um…I'm not very good at this sort of thing…at least not here," he confessed with a small smile.

William looked confused. "I…I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand—"

"Let's go for a walk," Charles stated, looking very determined. "I know it's cold outside, but…a little fresh air may do us good, hmm?"

William still looked confused, but mutely nodded his head. "If you say so, Mr. Carson."

Charles smiled, despite the lad's confusion and his own misgivings on how he would approach the delicate subjects behind William's depression, and held the door open for him while William stepped outside. They both gathered their coats from the employee cloak room, and Charles told the front desk that he would only be gone for twenty-minutes. Lord, please let that be enough time…

Once they were outside, the cold air whipped around them, but thankfully it wasn't an arctic blast. Tucking his scarf inside his jacket, Charles led the walk, to where? He wasn't sure, but he led the walk nonetheless, and William obediently followed behind him, his head tucked down against his chest, his hands stuffed inside his coat pockets.

They walked along the street, passing various shoppers and sightseers, Charles tipping his hat every so often and wishing the passers-by, "Merry Christmas," while William simply continued to follow in silence. They hadn't gone very far, when Charles spotted a bench overlooking the river, with Saint Paul's Cathedral in the distance. Right…good a place as any. "Let's stop here for a moment," he murmured, sitting down and waiting for William to do the same. The lad mimicked him, taking a seat, his hands still stuffed inside his pockets and his chin still lowered to his chest.

God give me strength, Charles silently prayed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath…and finally began. "William…forgive me, but…I don't really know how to say this, so I apologize for sounding…well, I apologize right now if I say the wrong thing."

William didn't say anything; he simply continued to gaze out onto the rolling gray waters of the Thames.

Charles swallowed and summoned all the courage he had. "I've noticed how…sad you've been looking. And…and not just recently, but…for a while now," he checked for the lad's reaction, but still, there wasn't any. "You've been very withdrawn," Charles continued. "I mean, you're still a good worker, I haven't had any complaints from management or guests, but…something's changed…"

William shifted slightly, but still remained focused on the river.

"I…I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling…" he carefully continued. "I…I know that this will be your first Christmas without…without your mother…" he watched William carefully, but the lad didn't flinch at the mention of the woman. "I just…I want to help. And I know that's one of those phrases that's thrown about by people because it seems like the right thing to say, but for me, lad, it is true…" William turned then and his eyes lifted slightly to meet Charles'. He felt some hope spring within him. "So please…just…say whatever is on your mind. I won't interrupt. I won't say anything at all if you don't wish me to. But…please…let me help in whatever way I can."

William shifted again, lifting his head and looking at the concierge next to him. Charles was actually holding his breath.

"You really want to know?"

YES! But he told the voice inside to sound calmer. "If I can help in anyway, then yes, I really do."

"I don't know if you can help me, Mr. Carson—"

"But I can listen. And I know that can be helpful, sometimes, to just…get it off one's chest."

Another long silence passed then, and the city continued moving and speaking around them. But Charles sat and waited, never once taking his gaze from William.

Finally, the lad spoke. "Alright…" he sighed.

Charles held his breath. Alright, whatever he says, don't mock him and don't say the wrong thing! Just listen…and wait until he asks for you to speak further…

"The truth is…" William whispered, looking down at the ground, before lifting his eyes again. "The truth is…I'm in love."

Charles stared at William. He blinked a few times, not fully processing what the lad had said, at least not right away…

"The truth is…I'm in love."

Love. William was…in love? That was the cause of his depression?

"Really?"

William frowned. "What's so surprising about that?"

Idiot! Charles quickly shook his head. "Nothing, nothing, I…" he stopped himself from saying anything stupider. "So…you're in love, then?"

William nodded his head. "Yes…for quite some time now," he murmured. "I know that…that this is my first Christmas without my mum, and a part of me thinks that I should be sad about that, but…I can't help it," he groaned, lowering his head and staring at the ground again.

Charles didn't realize until he leaned back against the bench that his body had been so tense. Now a wave of relief was washing over him. "Thank God…" he murmured more to himself than to William, but William did overhear.

"What?"

Charles smiled, and there was a bit of a chuckle to his voice as well. "I'm just glad it was nothing...horrible, you know?"

William frowned. "Nothing more horrible than the agonizing, nerve-wracking, gut-wrenching feeling of being absolutely, totally, and hopelessly in love?"

Charles' smile faded then. He turned his face away and now it was he who was gazing out at the Thames' gray waters. "Well…when you put it like that…"

To be continued...