Anthony barely slept that night, and still he woke feeling more rested than he had in a very long time. A great burden had been lifted from his shoulders; the weight of uncertainty that had pressed on him for months had been lost somewhere on Edith Crawley's lips. Even now, as he stood in a hot shower, staring up at a pre-dawn sky through his skylight, he smiled to himself at the memory of her. He'd be lying if he said every inch of him inside and out didn't hurt for her. It almost frightened him, his reaction to their relatively innocent kisses.

Of course, there was that nagging and consistent reminder in the back of his mind, like a faucet dripping in a distant room. It told him to be cautious, to keep his feet on the ground, and to always act in Edith's best interest, even if it broke his heart.

In the mirror of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, Anthony examined his reflection. It was the same reflection he'd seen for fifty years, though it had gradually and incrementally gotten grayer, more lines in the face, less hair around the forehead perhaps. "Rather pudgy these days, old friend," he muttered to himself, poking the very slight belly he had recently formed. He smiled to himself like a fool, knowing that it was likely Edith's cooking that had added the extra pounds. Snapping to, he frowned at the mirror and scolded himself for acting like a school boy.

In his closet, Anthony turned to his shelves of sweaters, just as he had done every morning for the majority of his adult life. Trousers, shirt, sweater—his wardrobe certainly wasn't fussy. Now, though, standing before the great array of blues, greens, grays, and browns, Anthony began to wonder which Edith would prefer for herself, and which she would prefer on him. Choosing one at random, he slipped it over his plaid button-up shirt only to realize it was one of Edith's favorites. A thick fisherman's sweater in heather gray, a bit of a v-neck and a downturned collar, and he smiled again. She'd borrowed it just briefly the last time she had been to his flat in Dublin, which was always too cold for her. He had folded it back up and packed it home, and now he could detect the slightest hint of Edith's smell on it—her shea lotion, the light hint of lavender from her shampoo.

"Good god, man, get a hold of yourself," he grumbled, straightening his sweater and stalking off. It was barely seven by then, and he knew the rest of the house would still be sleeping. As he passed Edith's door he paused, listening in the hopes of hearing her up and about. All he heard was the stillness of a house at rest, and the quickening of his own heartbeat.

As stealthily as possible, Anthony cracked her door, stealing a glance. Edith was facing toward him in her bed, curled on her side with her arms wrapped around a pillow. She was still wearing his dark gray cardigan and leggings, and the way the blankets puddled around the curve of her hip intrigued him. Her breathing was steady, and she looked so peaceful, and stunningly beautiful. Anthony hung his head in resignation and shut the door again without a sound. You're done for, he warned himself as he made his way to the kitchen.

Anthony was surprised to see Mary not long after. She padded into the kitchen, her hair eerily perfect for so early in the morning.

"You're an early riser," she offered with a thin, cool smile.

"You as well, I see. I've made tea, but I can start the coffee if you'd like," Anthony said, setting aside the crossword he'd been doing.

"Coffee would be heaven, please," Mary sighed, taking the stool furthest from Anthony's and folding her long, thin arms on the counter.

"Do you always get up so early?" Anthony asked conversationally, moving about his kitchen.

"Yes, force of habit I'm afraid. I usually wake up and go for a run, but I'm not sure I would fare well running in ankle-deep snow. Anyway, Papa emailed some things to me last night, so I thought I might as well get a start on work."

"Pretty demanding employer, eh?" Anthony asked. He glanced up to offer a friendly smile. In a fleeting thought, Anthony wondered if he might be related to Mary one day, in the near future, and if maybe he should start building bridges now, for Edith's sake.

But in return for his smile, Anthony received little more than a narrowed gaze. Mary folded her hands under her chin and arched her back pertly. "Don't you think it's a little strange?"

"What's that?"

"You and Edith, playing house."

Anthony froze, completely caught off guard by Mary's question.

"I mean, if you and Edith are together, which by every account you appear to be, don't you think it's just a little bit of an odd pairing? And if you aren't together, what's the point of having us all out here, having her over all the time, doing the domestic thing?"

Anthony couldn't form a thought, let alone a sentence. He opened his mouth to say something sensible and concluding, but Mary interrupted, holding up her hands.

"Not that it's any of my business of course. I just wonder if you've really thought it through. I mean Edith, lord knows, has never done the normal thing and she's forever trying to get attention in the strangest ways. I just wonder if this odd little friendship you two have is her way of sticking it to Mama and Papa like going to Dublin was."

Anthony numbly set the fresh pot of coffee before Mary, working out a way to reply without sounding so angry—he'd hate to cause problems for Edith. To suggest that Edith came to Dublin as some kind of petulant rebellion just proved how little Mary knew of her. But to imply that Edith was strange or unnatural for being so wonderfully bright and inimitable caused something akin to ire to stir in Anthony. He set a mug out for the cold woman, who was watching him as if she'd been discussing the weather.

"You do know she's a virgin, don't you? I'm sorry to be blunt, it's just that Edith is so inexperienced, and she's never had anyone interested. It's no wonder she's had her head turned by the first male attention she finds. But shouldn't you be the more reasonable of the two? I mean, really, I don't think bedding my little sister is what Papa had in mind when you asked you to look out for her," Mary said with a dry laugh, blowing on her coffee.

And then Anthony's shock was not at Mary's words, but at their truth. No, Robert did not call on Anthony with the intent of "setting him up" with Edith. And she was young, impossibly young it seemed suddenly. Edith had said herself her family pays her no mind. Could he really be a convenient way to get a rise out of her parents? No, he told himself, she deserves more credit than that.

"She deserves more credit than that," Anthony said quietly, repeating the one thought he knew to be definitively right. "Whatever you think of me, and whatever misconceptions you have about mine and Edith's friendship, she deserves far better than you've just done by her."

Mary arched a challenging eyebrow and was clearly gearing up an argument when Matthew came in, all smiles and politeness. "Good morning all. Happy Christmas," he greeted, walking over to kiss Mary on the cheek. "Are we the only ones up?"

"So far," she replied, as if nothing at all had happened.

"Well I'm afraid we may have to head out sooner than we'd planned. Robert just sent me some specs on the new outbuilding-turned-winery he wants to remodel and apparently the contractor is meeting with him tomorrow. With the snow and all I don't want to risk getting stuck overnight."

"No, getting stuck here would be next to unbearable," Mary sniffed, slipping off her stool and tossing her hair. Matthew offered an apologetic grimace to Anthony that his wife didn't notice. "I'm going to go shower and get ready. We'll let the others sleep in and we can head out after lunch, no?"

When she was gone, Matthew took her seat. "I know how she can seem, especially off the bat. She's a bit standoffish, but she always comes around."

"I don't doubt it," Anthony said with a polite grin. Edith would have recognized it, seen through it right away, and would have urged him to tell her what's wrong. Edith. "Say, would you have the room to take Edith back with you?" Anthony heard himself ask.

Matthew frowned, taking a muffin from the nearby platter and peeling back the paper. "Well, yeah, we could make room for sure. I thought you two were making a real weekend of it, coming back tomorrow or the next day, though?"

Anthony cringed, wondering if everyone had assumed he was some lecherous old man who'd bedded the daughter of a friend, half his age. Suddenly their kiss, which had seemed so natural an hour ago, felt like a very bad idea.

"I don't know what Edith had planned, but I have some work to get done, and I'd hate her to feel obligated to stay," Anthony said lamely, knowing full well that Edith would be glad to sit in the library with him or make the trip back home just the two of them.

"Alright, yeah. Absolutely," Matthew agreed, though he still seemed a bit confused.

Anthony was hiding in his library a few hours later when Edith came in, freshly showered and in her own clothes. "Matthew said I'm riding back to Dublin with them today," she stated, her voice small. She approached the chair Anthony occupied. Her peach cardigan and cream shirt seemed to light up her whole visage, and Anthony was a bit dumbstruck by her beauty.

"Well, yes. I thought it might be best," he finally managed. "I have some things to take care of here."

Edith smiled shyly and took a step closer so that she was nestled just barely between Anthony's knees. "I have some things I wanted to take care of here as well," she said, blushing profusely. Standing in front of him as Edith was, Anthony longed to pull her down to him, hold her against his chest, to pick up where they had left off the night before.

Instead he settled for taking her hand in his. They were both quiet for a moment, adjusting to the newness of deliberate touch.

"Please don't send me away, Dr. Strallan," Edith whispered, staring him directly in the eye while her fingers entwined with his.

Could this creature really love him, Anthony wondered. Could she, so young and inexperienced even know what love was? Or was he, the lonely codger, preventing her from living the life she was meant.

Anthony couldn't sort it, couldn't think through it all. Especially when Edith, unable to wait any longer, took the liberty of sitting on the arm of his chair. She was bold, allowing the backs of her legs to rest against his inner thigh as she wrapped her free hand around his neck.

"I know you, Anthony. There's some trouble brewing in the brilliant mind of yours, and you aren't letting me in on it." Her voice was soft, lulling. Her touch was light, and terrifying, and Anthony closed his eyes to take in the feel of her nearly sitting in his lap. It had been years since he'd been so physically close to another human being, let alone one as charming and kind and beautiful as Edith Crawley. Looking up to finally meet her large brown eyes, so trusting and entreating, Anthony felt a small part of him break just a little as he made his decision.

"The thing of it is, Edith," he began, willing himself to sound as aloof and not in love as he could manage.

"Edith, darling, Matthew says we're leaving in twenty," Sybil called, popping her head into the library. "Oh! Sorry, I, um, twenty minutes," she said quickly before hurrying off.

Edith sighed. "Hold that thought, Anthony. Whatever you were going to say, just hold onto it for a day or two, and when you get back to Dublin, if you still want to say it you can. I'll be all ears. Until then," Edith pleaded.

Anthony looked up, waiting for the end of her sentence. But it wasn't words she wanted to part by. Instead Edith, his darling Edith, leant down and kissed him quite soundly on the lips. He responded against his own will and better judgment, relishing the feel of her mouth, the peppermint of her toothpaste, her fingers in his hair. His hands wanted desperately to reach under her blouse to the bare skin at the small of her back, but he resisted.

Edith, bless her, ended the kiss. "A day or two, and please no more," she begged as she made her way to the door, her lips red from the kiss and her cheeks even darker. She smiled and bit her lip, nodding once before leaving the little room.

The Crawleys left not long after that. Anthony waved to them from the drive, Edith making pointed eye contact from her window as Matthew backed out. Stepping back into his house, he barely recognized it. Not because of the Christmas decorations still up, or the small bit of rearranging Edith had done, but because every inch of it seemed empty now without her. The fire was less robust, the kitchen a bit more sterile, and the sofa entirely lacking in comfort.

Something in Anthony told him that no matter what he did for the rest of his life, he would feel this aching, as though a piece of him were missing and the separation was causing pain. He may as well have lost use of a limb, without his Edith there.

"Damn," he growled, wishing he had a choice. But it was a decision already made—he was in love for the first and last time in his life, and he was in love with Edith Crawley.

In the library, Anthony pulled his mobile from his pocket and sank heavily back into his favorite chair, though it was now irreparably colored with the memory of Edith's parting kiss.

"Gertie?" he greeted, so grateful she answered. "Yes, Happy Christmas. You were right, you know… About Edith. About everything… I didn't say I was surprised, I said you were right."


A/N: I keep wanting to like Mary, to trust her and see the good in her. But in canon DA this past season, I think the way she's treated Edith is consistently and unforgivably awful. As such, I just couldn't overlook her faults, even in this modern AU.

So Edith and Anthony are in for a bit of a bumpy road, I think, but they'll no doubt get it sorted.

Thank you, thank you, as ever, for your reviews. Your kindness really makes this whole thing one hundred percent better. And thank you for continuing to read!

Always,
Eleanor.