Chapter 8 – Late-Night Chat

A/N: Guys, I've been gone too long, I know. And this entire chapter contains nary a Chelsie moment. It's basically a conversation between Isobel and Matthew. But I PROMISE I am setting up some great, twisty plot things as well as some great, feels-filled Chelsie things. Also, Richobel! ~CeeCee

PS – I am adding an extra chapter to In Flux for Christmas.

Isobel let herself into her house several hours after Thursday night became Friday morning, feeling very much like a girl sneaking into her parents' place after staying out just a little too late for the door to still be unlocked. The feeling was only reinforced by the greeting from living room down the short hallway. I've been caught, she thought, and grinned.

"Hi, Mother! I have popcorn! And booze!"

She laughed, a little nervously, wiped at her mouth, little shivers hitting her body everywhere, remembering the bristly tickle of Richard's mustache against her lips. She hadn't been kissed in nearly a decade, and Reg never did facial hair. A lot of nearly-forgotten sensations were suddenly reappearing, but that particular sensation, both abrasive and appealing, was completely new to her.

She kicked her heels off, her feet sighing in relief. She threw her coat on the hook and went to join Matt. He was lounging on the couch in sweats and a Stanford Law hoodie, some moody-looking comic book show playing at low volume on the TV. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, so happy he was here, he was home, for the next few weeks. They were both quite independent, but she missed him sorely while school was in session.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be home yet," she said, took the glass of wine he offered her willingly, snagged the promised bowl of popcorn off his lap. Her romantic dinner seemed ages ago, after triage in Donk's parking lot, chatting, dancing, flirting, dancing some more, helping Lizzy and Charles clean up, then, well, Rich's mustache.

"Got here about an hour ago," Matt gave her a lopsided grin. "Did you have a good time? Do I even need to ask, given that it's nearly two in the morning?"

"I did, a very good time," she paused, trying to read his face. This was completely new territory for both of them. Reg had died, very suddenly, of an aneurysm, when Matt was a sophomore in high school. For a long time, for years, getting through each day, then each week, then each month, had been the best they both could do. She could honestly say she hadn't even contemplated going out with anyone (though she'd been asked a few times) until Matt started law school two and a half years ago.

"I'm glad, Mother," he answered, his voice containing the teasing but warm lilt it usually did when he said her name. He had only started calling her formally after Reg died. She'd been "Mom" until then. He had switched so gradually, she hadn't noticed at first. When she did, and asked him about it, he merely said she was doing the job of both parents, and he wanted to remind himself to take her seriously.

"Are you, Matt? I know this has to be pretty weird for you…"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, it's really fucking strange, coming home and watching Luke Cage and waiting up for my mom to come home from her date," he laughed, ran a hand through his dark blond hair, making it stick up in several directions. "But yeah, I am glad; mostly that you met someone that you wanted to go on a date with. You take zero shit from anyone, so the guy must be pretty okay. I mean aside from the porn 'stache."

"Matthew Grant!" She swatted at him, both of them laughing.

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry – did he grow it for Movember November and forget to shave it off? My bad!"

"I like the mustache, okay?"

"Listen, this conversation is gonna get super uncomfortable real fast if we keep talking about how cute you think he is," Matt rolled his eyes at her.

"Well, what about you, then? Why are you home so early?"

"I got home at one! I'm usually asleep by eleven most nights these days. This as wild as I get, sorry to disappoint," he rolled his eyes, took the popcorn back from her. "But it was fun, sure. We went back to the Crawley Manse – and yes, that's what I'll be calling it going forward – after leaving that dive all you old folks like," he paused, getting the swat from her he deserved, then continued. "We drank some really expensive whiskey while Mary Crawley held court with the male model bro, Kamal. But the other friend of Edith's –the normal guy, Evan, not the model bro – works with Bert Pelham!"

"Oh, Bertie! Get out!" Bert Pelham had been one of Matt's closest friends since middle school; they'd been on the cross country team together, the debate team. As a mother, Isobel could never overvalue the young man; he'd been there for Matt, unfailingly, when Reg died, from emailing him school assignments to getting Matt to start running again, start taking an interest in being a sixteen-year-old boy again.

"Yeah, he was alright, Evan. And Bert's gonna be back at his folks' in a few days, he texted me earlier. He's interested in meeting the Sisters Crawley. Apparently, Evan has been talking up Edith to him. I guess he's trying to set them up," Matt shrugged. "Funny that they going to meet up here, when they both live in New York."

"What's she like, Edith? I feel like I always saw those girls, well, women now, around New Hope and stuff, back when you all were in middle and high school, but I don't really know them at all."

"Well, you know I love Syb – no, not like that, as hot as she is – and Edith's pretty cool too. Totally different than Doc Fem, she wasn't lying about that. But Edith's got some super junior editing position at The New Yorker – so yeah, junior, and I am sure her folks know someone who knows someone, but she's like, twenty-four and working at The New Yorker, so she's pretty sharp. She's a little awkward, but warm and enthusiastic, once you start talking to her. I think that's why this Evan guy thought of Bert – they definitely have that in common. Edith seems like the kind of person that, if she's on your side, she's really got your back."

"And Mary?" Isobel noticed something – a very, very small something – flicker in her son's eyes when she said the eldest Crawley sister's name. Was it interest? Maybe.

"Well, Mother, I know there are a handful of words you mightily disapprove of, usually used in reference to women, so I don't think I should tell you what I really think of Mary, other than she's a total snob," Matt replied, and Isobel was surprised to see her mild-mannered son seemed a little…agitated.

"Well –" She began, but Matt cut her off.

"Whatever you're gonna say, whatever excuse you've got for her – she's beautiful, she's rich, she's privileged, she's super smart – don't forget, so's Doc Fem, and Sybil's one of the chillest people I know."

"Matt, are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, Mom," he laughed, stood, cleaning up the coffee table. "Mary's just the kind of person who really gets to me. Someone who has everything and tries to make everyone who doesn't, including her sister, feel like shit if they don't," he stopped, thought for a second. "And it wasn't just her being a bit– a snob – it was something else, something with that Kamal guy."

"Well, look, Matt, even your old mom noticed how good-looking that guy was, so…"

"No, not that, it was…I don't know. I don't want to say. Something's off there, maybe with her, definitely with him. But whatever, it's nothing to do with me, and Doc Fem wouldn't get caught up in it…so..." he trailed off, as if he suddenly remembered he was talking to his mother. Who was a psychiatrist.

"Good night, Mother," he leaned down, kissed her heartily on the cheek. "Shouldn't you get to bed? Don't you have minds to bend and lives to change tomorrow? With the added distraction of your coworker's…mustache?"

"Go on, get out here," she shooed him, laughing. Watched his retreating figure, listened as he cleaned everything up in the kitchen. Then, his heavy tread on the staircase as he went up to bed. She leaned back on the couch, sipping the dregs of her wine.

Matt's show was still on. She had no idea what it was about, but some good-looking guy picked up a dresser and threw it across a room. A somewhat haunted-looking young woman showed up, and threw something else heavy. Isobel got the impression they liked each other.

Sometimes it's so hard to tell, she laughed to herself. What the hell am I watching? God, tomorrow at the clinic is going to be…interesting.

She mused pleasantly on her date with Rich, just how much she enjoyed his company, his willingness to help out, both with John Bates' injury and with Lizzy's end-of-night cleaning up. And mostly, his kisses out in front of her house, not twenty minutes ago. She thought about the fact that they had left Lizzy and Charlie Carson alone at Donk's, and wondered if her friend would have a similar story to tell tomorrow as well.

She knew Liz carried around a lot of guilt – about her sister, about Joe – and that she, Isobel, didn't know everything there was to know about Joe's death, things Lizzy hadn't told her. She resisted the occasional urge to pull Joe Burns' autopsy report, which she could access relatively easily, as he died on the New Jersey side of the Delaware River. She ignored her curiosity when it reared its ugly head, because whatever was in that report, whatever it would tell her, as a professional, wouldn't be worth the huge gaping maw it would create between her and her friend. Friends, because Bee would have none of it, going behind Lizzy's back. But maybe Bee knew more…

She thought about Matt, his visceral dislike and apparent interest in Mary Crawley creating an agitation he rarely saw in her son, and never about a woman. She wondered what it was about her, and what it was, exactly, about that good-looking guy Kamal that set Matt on edge.

Too late, too many mysteries, she thought sleepily. The young couple on Matt's show were now embracing. Aha! I was right! She laughed, and then her phone rattled against the glass coffee tabletop. She jumped. Picked it up.

Definitely the most interesting first date I've EVER had. Thank you, Isobel. See you tomorrow.

She laughed, her stomach fluttering in a way she vaguely remembered from college, when she first started dating Reg. She paused, thinking, then typed, hit "Send".

Oh, I quite agree. But just wait until our second.

She shook her head at her phone, plugged it in. Headed up to bed, at last. Excited to see what tomorrow held.