A/N: Mid-way through the Grigg plot here. A series of events (on/off/on screen in canon) over the course of what I imagine is three weeks, give or take.

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xx,

CSotA

But I don't want to be your second choice

Don't want to be just your friend …

Look over your shoulder, I'll be there.

You can count on me to stay.

February – March, 1922

Mrs. Hughes sits across from Mr. Carson at his desk, waiting patiently as his mind chews up the information she's boldly, but calmly, tossed his way.

When he finally manages to speak, his words are steady, belying the inner turmoil he's feeling. "Charlie Grigg is going to stay with Mrs. Crawley …"

"The authorities have released him into her charge. I'm collecting him on Friday."

"But why has she agreed to this?"

"Because she's a kind woman - and he's a man in need."

He just stares at her. He's clearly underestimated the housekeeper, who has gone ahead and done this thing and obviously not considered the impropriety of it all.

No, he amends silently, she more than likely has considered it, but just completely ignored the thought.

"I cannot believe that you're imposing on her at a time like this, when she's almost broken by grief," he tells her.

She knows he doesn't understand – she can see it in his face. It's in his eyes and in the set of his jaw; she thinks his disbelief might be second to his disappointment in her, however, and she's desperately hoping that once Mr. Grigg arrives, she'll be able to change Mr. Carson's mind about going to see the man.

We'll see.

By a small miracle, she manages to keep from rolling her eyes at him now. "It's because of her grief that I'm 'imposing.'"

He shakes his head slowly. "I don't understand you."

And she realizes then that, while he's certainly seen sadness in the past, he truly doesn't know this type of grief – not intimately, anyhow. Not in the way she does.

"No," she sighs, looking away sadly. "You wouldn't."

He doesn't know what it's like for Mrs. Crawley. The woman has buried her only child and feels as though she's got no proper place left in the world.

Mrs. Hughes may never have lost a child, but she knows what it has been like to lose Becky over the years. Putting her sister away in a home had felt to Mrs. Hughes as though she'd signed her sister's death sentence. The home is fairly nice, despite its lack of structural fanfare, and she's grateful to have found it. But she can barely manage to visit once a year, and even then Becky will sometimes refuse to see her; on her last visit, Becky almost didn't know who she was.

That pain of losing someone, someone who has perhaps not been her child but whom she always treated like more of a daughter than a sister … Yes, this is something Mrs. Hughes understands in a way she will likely never be able to put into words - not for Mr. Carson, nor for anyone else.

She rises from her seat and walks out of his pantry. She must get on with her day, get out of her own head, in order to collect herself mentally so that she can collect Charles Grigg from the train station.

oOoOoOoOoOo

She smiles when she hears the butler knock lightly on her door. She's been expecting him and asks if he would like to stay for a cup of tea.

"No, I don't think so," he replies, and he moves the door so that it's mostly closed. He hears her chair creak and he hears her footsteps, but he doesn't realize how close she'll be when he turns in his great stride; he notices a faint blush to her cheeks at their physical proximity.

She backs up quickly, wondering what she'd been thinking rushing over to him as she did.

"May we sit for a moment?" he asks, and she nods, motioning to their usual chairs.

He sits back and tents his fingers, and she waits. Clearly something is on his mind, and she tries not to think of the work piled up on her desk that she's currently ignoring.

"I should apologize," he says gruffly.

"Whatever for, Mr. Carson?"

"I … I should never have presumed that you were being unaware or ... uncaring ... of Mrs. Crawley's current … well, condition, I suppose," he stammers.

"But you don't think I should have asked for her assistance."

He turns to look at her, his eyebrows high. "Of course not. She's a member of the family, and Charlie Grigg is … he's … well, he has no business being anywhere near them."

"But he needs help, Mr. Carson. He would have died in that workhouse. As it is, his cough –"

"He's none of my concern."

It's her turn to quirk an eyebrow at him. "Surely you aren't completely incapable of having sympathy for this man. You once shared a stage with him, Mr. Carson. You were friends at one time," she gently chides.

"I don't wish him poorly," the butler admits. "But I don't have it within me to care any more than that. Not anymore."

"Isn't it possible that he's deserving of some kindness? It's been years since you've laid eyes on the man, Mr. Carson. A lot can happen in a few years."

"I understand that. But Mrs. Crawley …" He sighs, shaking his head.

"Mrs. Crawley needs to do something. She shows up here at the house and is denied the chance to visit with Master George – by the nanny, no less. No one in the family seeks her out because they don't know what to say to her - even her Ladyship has said as much directly to me. She has no job, no responsibilities, and no one will call on her because she's in mourning. Mrs. Crawley will only make it through this if she has somewhere to direct her mind."

"And you felt it was your place to offer her that in the form of Grigg."

She's becoming annoyed at his obstinance. "Yes, I did, Mr. Carson. Mrs. Crawley throws herself completely at whatever cause she's working on at any moment, and thank goodness for it! She's arranged for Mr. Grigg to be seen by Dr. Clarkson, has sorted clothing for him, and has a room all ready. She's interested in learning how best to help him, and means to get him employment somewhere so that he can become self-sufficient."

"None of which would be happening if not for you," he remarks.

She's taken aback. "I suppose not; I'd not thought of that, really."

"You did this because you knew I'd refuse to help him."

Mrs. Hughes purses her lips, thinking. "You did make that rather clear, Mr. Carson. But I do admit to hoping you'll change your mind once he's settled more. Don't you think you might visit him at least one time?"

"I will not – I cannot, Mrs. Hughes. It's … It's too much to ask."

She examines him intently, and sees his determination. But, underneath that steel will, she also sees pain, and she knows that whatever happened between the two Charlies, it clearly was not laid to rest all those years ago.

"This has nothing to do with his Lordship sending Mr. Grigg away before the war, does it?"

Mr. Carson shakes his head, but remains silent and trains his eyes on the floor.

Clearly he isn't going to divulge any more information, and she sighs softly.

"I accept your apology," she says quietly. "But it's unnecessary. I knew you wouldn't welcome our plans with any great happiness, that's for sure."

He looks up at her suddenly and sees the smirk.

After a minute, he nods in agreement.

The butler's fingertips catch hold of the edge of the box, dragging it out of the back of his wardrobe. He meant to open it in the privacy of his bedroom, but time has gotten away from him. He tucks it underneath his arm and heads downstairs.

Hours go by before he manages to have a moment to himself. Lifting the lid off the box, he peers in at its contents: a greeting card, notes …

Where is it?

He doesn't even hear the jingle of her chatelaine as she comes by his pantry.

"What're you doing?"

"Just sorting through some old papers," he replies, distracted. "I haven't looked at these in years."

She's intrigued and peers at the items on the desk. "Why are you looking at them now?"

"No particular reason."

She doesn't believe that for a moment – and then:

"Ahhh. I knew I hadn't thrown it away."

She watches as he selects a photograph from the array of items contained within the box. It's been a couple of weeks that Mr. Grigg has been staying with Mrs. Crawley, and Mrs. Hughes feels she and Mr. Carson are finally back to some semblance of normalcy. They've had to band together with Mr. Branson to keep an eye out for any trouble that Edna – or, rather, Miss Braithwaite – might bring to the house. What's more, Mrs. Hughes suspects that something happened recently with Lady Mary … a sorting out of a disagreement she'd had with the butler, which Mrs. Hughes has no doubt had to do with Lady Mary wanting to withdraw completely from her life and Mr. Carson having a distinctly different opinion of how the young woman should deal with her grief.

"Who is she?"

"Oh, just a friend – at one time."

"What was she called?"

"Alice. Alice Neal."

She sees the caring in his eyes, and her heart melts.

"And you were fond of her."

"I was," he replies. "But people drift in and out of your life, don't they?"

The idea of drifting out of his life stabs her like a knife in her chest, but she manages to keep that well-hidden on the inside.

When Mr. Carson looks up at her, he sees only kindness.

This is the way we're supposed to be, he thinks. Not bickering and at odds about the family, about Grigg ... but like this.

"Truth to tell, I thought she'd treated me badly." He's never said the words to another living soul; he hadn't realized that until he voiced them aloud to her.

Mrs. Hughes inhales sharply, knowing he'd just confirmed her suspicions about the falling out with Grigg without even realizing it.

"What does it matter now? We shout and scream and wail and cry, but in the end we must all die."

She looks up as if in contemplation. "Ah. That's cheered me up. Thank you. Now, I'll get on with my work."

He watches as she leaves his pantry, and when she turns and shoots him a knowing smile, he returns it in kind.

As he's packing up the box again, Mr. Carson heaves a contemplative sigh. It's a shout from one of the footmen in the corridor that pulls him out of his reverie and back to the present.

He returns the lid to the box and stuffs it all into his desk drawer, then heads out to see what sort of challenge awaits. A giggle from the kitchen tells him it just might have to do with one of his footmen and one of Mrs. Patmore's maids.

Again.

Thanks for reading, folks! One more chapter about Grigg and Alice before we move further ahead. xx