A/N: Thank you again for all your support. I'm glad you're enjoying this.

Preferred Stock 14/?

Matthew had never wanted Mary more than this moment. The IMF analyst was droning on and on about the Greek disaster and he suddenly wanted to pass her notes the way he did in Brussels three months ago. Three months ago, when they didn't know, even though he felt as if he'd known his whole life. She'd find this funnier than I do, he thought and that thought alone made him smile at a wildly inappropriate moment. He wondered idly if the fact that Matthew Crawley smiled at the idea of extracting Greece from the euro would cause a mess on any stock exchanges and wished again he could just have Mary sitting next to him, her mind extracting information as quickly as his own, her own eyes flicking to his in complete understanding.

The good news was that it had happened on Rob's watch. The bad news was that a likely fine for those idiotic interest rate shenanigans was not what the company needed right now. They had not been named yet in any of the news coverage. The PR director told Mary and Alastair only that morning that no one had asked about it, which meant only that they had more time to come up with a response. Her inclination was to take the medicine and move on, but Alastair was more reluctant about admitting wrongdoing, no matter whose watch it happened on.

"Unless they actually point the finger over here, there's no reason for us to jump up and down and point to ourselves. Be prepared to admit exactly what we did and nothing more," he'd said after the public relations director left. "I can't imagine what else an investigation might turn up, especially during that era."

She knew exactly what an investigation would turn up, and until Percy managed to get a little more information, she hoped to keep all the balls in the air. Exhausted and it's only Wednesday, she sighed to herself when Alastair finally strolled out. She missed Matthew in more ways than one.

A red message scrolled across her screen. Call from Matthew Crawley.

I'll take it, she typed back and the desk phone trilled softly. "Mary Crawley," she said.

"Do you know how lucky you are?" he asked.

She grinned. "I'm the luckiest woman on earth."

"Yes, you are, because you didn't have to sit through what I just heard about Spain bank mergers."

"About how there weren't enough mergers?"

There was a pause, and then a quiet laugh. "Too few mergers. Exactly. There needed to be more. There need to be more mergers."

"More mergers in Spain," she said slowly. "Or elsewhere, if there's a need for it."

"I think there is a need." They were silent for a moment, and then he sighed. "I really needed you here today. No one else understands why this proposed separation is so hard."

"For Greece."

"And for other entities."

She put her head down on her desk and listened to him breathe, one, two, three, before she spoke again. "So the Libor story is starting to break."

"I noticed. Amazing what some people will put in emails." She heard a door slam through the phone line. "I'm at the hotel. Give me a call later about Spain."

"I will. Thank you, Matthew."

"Thank you, Mary."

She waited until she heard the click on the line to replace the receiver, wishing she could climb through it and into his hotel room.

There was deleted, really deleted, and never existed. Percy was good, but he didn't know if he was this good. The digital recording of the conference call (and the entire day in question) was definitely deleted, and really deleted, but it had existed, and the mirror files had not been completely destroyed, and there were little things that kept turning up on his search that made him think that even if he couldn't get actual voices, he would know the codes entered by each participant, and those codes would tell him who was on the call.

The call. It had ruined lives, destroyed businesses and reputations, and still had the power to do great damage, and he could not let it go.

He knew one more thing than he'd known yesterday. There were five codes entered. It was possible more than one person could have been listening on a line, perhaps on speaker, but he could safely say five people were on that phone call that may or may not have led to the demise of Heidelmann-McIntyre. He knew Mary was on it, and he'd even managed to spot her code on what he was able to retrieve. Patrick's code was partially retrieved, but there were three he could not yet piece together.

He did have his suspicions though, if the board meeting following the FSA and SEC's announcements that they would be looking into Crawley Martin Thorpe's role in the spiraling destruction of Heidelmann-McIntyre was any indication, and it depressed him to no end to think of who might have had a role.

"Greg?"

"Yes?"

Mary stared at him. "You know about the executive operations analyst position?"

"Yes."

"Are you applying for it?"

"Do you think I should?" He did not look up.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"I don't know," he said. "To both questions." Greg finally looked up at her. "I know you don't want to be rid of me."

"No, I don't," she replied. "But I want you to do what makes you happy."

"You'll be the first to know," he said and smiled. "So are you excited about Paris this weekend?"

"Only if I've lost Freddie over there." Greg peered at the guard, who glared back. "I can't see enjoying cafes with him in a corner."

"You meeting someone?"

Oh, God, if only, she thought, and did not answer the question.

The knock at his door made him think for a moment of dark hair, jeans, and an old Radiohead t-shirt, but it was Aurelie, as impeccably dressed as if it was morning and not an hour before midnight. "Your flight is set for next Wednesday night to New York," she said as soon as she entered. "I can change it to the night before so you don't have to go to that fundraiser Tuesday night."

"Why wouldn't I want to go to it?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't want to spend any more time around this family than I could help."

He peered at the itinerary. "So just Brussels tomorrow and then home by Friday?"

"Yes." Aurelie picked up two folders. "Soltz wants to talk tomorrow morning about the security details."

"Only if he tells me I can get rid of mine," Matthew muttered. "No offense," he said to the man standing in the doorway, who neither responded, nor gave any indication he'd even heard. He accepted the folder she handed him. "Thank you, Aurelie. Good night."

"Good night," she replied just as his phone rang.

He waited until the door clicked shut before answering it. "Matthew Crawley."

"It's Mary."

He sank into a chair. "Hello."

"I do hope you weren't suggesting more than two banks ought to merge."

Matthew burst out laughing. "You prefer traditional mergers, then?"

"I think it gets messy." She giggled, and the sound made him happier than he thought possible. "I think the structure of the merger could be non-traditional, providing it's between only two banks."

"You were needed today," he said suddenly. "It's as if Germany wants this to be World War Three."

Her voice dropped. "François Hollande's going to be trouble for Merkel and she knows it."

"The socialists are going to win in France." Matthew propped his feet up and thought of her curled next to him, against him. "And then there's Spain."

"Spain," she repeated softly. "Are you going to the charity thing on Tuesday, by the way? I know it's the night before your holiday starts, but Granny Violet's asked after you."

"Has she? I like her. She reminds me of someone I know."

"Does she?" He could hear the smile in her voice. "Anyway, if you go, you'll get to meet her cousins and frankly, they're mad and delightful."

"The Strallans?"

"Clever. You remembered." There was a small sigh on the line, and then she continued. "They always join the family for this event and it's really quite a nice one. Sybil's even deigned to stop by a few times."

"The famous Sybil," he murmured. "Well, I'll be there." He fiddled with the book on the nightstand. "You're in Friday, right? We can discuss the Spain plan at some point?"

"Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I." He picked up the book. "Have you read the Conard book yet?"

"No. Should I?"

"I think so," he replied. "I'll give you my copy. Almost finished and I don't think I want to keep it."

"That wonderful?"

"Awful," he said. "What are you reading?"

"What Money Can't Buy," she said. "I love it."

"Love," he said.

"Love," she replied. "I'll see you Friday. It'll just be us at the meeting."

"Good night, Mary."

"Good night, Matthew."

Shower, he thought as he slowly stood up.

"Absolutely not," Matthew said. "As long as you promise me I'm not causing people to be laid off."

"They won't be. They're regular staff members. No one loses a job. I just want you to be sure. I don't think it's the worst idea in the world for the chairman to have a regular security detail."

"When I get back, we'll discuss when it feels appropriate. Thank you, Jason. Have you told Ms. Crawley yet?"

"She knows the jet wasn't sabotaged. I'm on my way to her office to discuss what she wants to do about her detail."

Matthew grinned, knowing full well what Mary would want to do, and after Jason rang off, he dashed off a quick email.

You're free. Apparently the jet and the lightning were the only things after us. Let me know what you decide. I'll call later about the Spain plan.

"Darling, I'm home," Mary called out as she poked her head through the door and was promptly assaulted by two small creatures who squealed her name. She grinned as she knelt down and accepted banana-flavoured kisses. "Look how tall you are," she murmured. "Maida, are you taller than Harper now?"

A fight ensued between the twin girls, with Harper refusing to consider that her sister could possibly be taller, and it could only be settled by Mary placing them back to back to determine that no, they were exactly the same.

"Girls, let Mary come in here." Jemma called out, and Mary was dragged by two sticky hands into the kitchen, where she was greeted by a whirlwind of kisses from Jemma and Nate, and another pair of tiny arms attaching themselves to her.

"Hello." Mary picked up Jack, who smiled as he nestled against her. "You can walk, Jack."

"Yesh," he told her, and as she kissed his golden head, an odd lurch of her heart surprised her, and Jemma laughed at the look on her face.

"Tick tock," she whispered naughtily. "Beautiful eyes could give you one of those."

"Stop." But it had shaken her slightly, the vividness of the image flashing inside her head, and she wished Matthew was standing next to her. Dinner with Nate and Jemma, the children crawling all over Matthew, making him laugh, his eyes meeting hers...

"Congratulations." Nate held out a glass of wine. "I hear Crawley Martin Thorpe is ready to take over the world again."

Mary returned from the girls' bedroom, having read Tacky the Penguin twice, with special voices. "I can't believe how grown up the girls seem," she said softly as she flopped onto the long sofa next to Jemma.

"They're very grown up for you," Nate replied. "They're three for us." He yawned. "Sorry. On a schedule for the new book. I'm calling it a night." He kissed Jemma. "Good night, Mary."

"Thank you for a wonderful dinner," Mary said as she hugged him.

"Thank you for doing the good night story." Nate grinned at her. "I'm really tired of Tacky."

"He looks good," Mary remarked as the door shut. "New book?"

"Nearly finished," Jemma said. "He's ahead of deadline right now, and you know him."

"I can't wait to read it." She curled into a ball on the cushion. "So glad tomorrow's Friday. I might sleep right here."

"If you like." Jemma twisted Mary's ponytail idly around her hand. "So how did the week go?"

"A lot of messy bits," she said. "Libor stuff, which could bite us rather badly."

"On Rob's watch, though?"

"Of course it was." Mary rubbed her eyes. "Still doesn't mean we won't have to pay for it. At least we weren't the ringleaders."

"I don't think Rob was bright enough to come up with the scheme," Jemma murmured, which earned a laugh. "What else?"

"Percy's trying to work impossible magic, reverse time, and recreate the conference call." Her voice barely got above a whisper. "And he thinks he can figure out who was on it."

"Mary, that's wonderful."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not."

"Why not?" she asked, but Mary was already asleep.

He nearly hung up, but on the fourth ring he heard a click. "Mary Crawley's phone," the voice told him.

"Hello?"

"You've reached Mary Crawley's phone." The speaker was female. "May I help you with something?"

"Could I speak to Mary, please?"

"You're very polite." Whoever she was, she was clearly amused. "She's asleep on my sofa, and I can only imagine you know how hard it is to wake her up."

He was about to hang up when he heard a scuffle and a loud "Ow!" before Mary's slightly breathless voice came on. "Matthew."

"Was that your sister?"

"A friend. Jemma." She glared at Jemma, who looked entirely unperturbed as she wandered back into the kitchen.

"Does she..?"

"Yes," she said smoothly. "So you're back tomorrow?"

"Yes. We should discuss Spain then."

"Absolutely. Did you keep your security?"

"I can't very well dump them in Brussels, can I?" He laughed. "But I'll be dropping it once I return. You?"

"I've said goodbye to Freddie, Bert, and Scott until further notice. Jason says he'd still like us to fly with them. I guess we get the jet back next week." They were silent for a moment, and she sighed. "Does your sister?"

He had to think for a moment. "Yes," he said. "But not really. I'll explain tomorrow."

"So will I," she replied. "What time?"

She knew his itinerary, knew he would be arriving by two in the afternoon, but she still felt as if she could sense when he stepped off the lift, so she was not surprised when Greg ushered him in and shut the door behind him.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he replied. He was still carrying his briefcase, and she smiled as she realized he'd not even stopped in his own office. He smiled at her smile, and it turned into grins, and then inexplicably into laughter as he sat down across from her. "Did you get to drive into work today?"

"Yes," she said. "And it was wonderful."

"I can't wait until tomorrow," he said. "Going to ride out to my sister's. What are you doing?"

"Paris," she said. "I think I need to be out of the city."

He knew precisely what she meant. "I thought the same thing."

"Matthew..."

His eyes changed colour as they flicked up to hers, bright blue to almost black as his pupils dilated, and she felt that heavy weight again inside, the need worse than it had ever been. She heard a breath shudder out of her as he leaned forward. "Mary, I.."

"Matthew, you're back!" Alastair's voice boomed across the room. "Are we as hated by the Germans as we were in Lisbon?"

Mary turned in her chair, seeking a quick glimpse of her face in the glass to ensure it wasn't bright red before smiling up at Alastair. "He informs me it's a bit like the war. Both wars," she added. "And Germany's still looking for a win."

"I'm not sure France will allow it." Alastair lowered himself into a chair. "We should discuss Libor before anything else. Matthew, I assume you know Crawley Martin Thorpe was a part of that interest rate manipulation?"

And as they discussed how much they could reasonably expect to pay in fines, Mary kept thinking back to the look in his eyes, the sense that something had changed again, and she desperately wanted to know what it was.

But as the hour ticked by, she knew they wouldn't get a moment alone before she left to catch the train to Paris, and when Greg slipped in to put her iPad into her bag and remind her that the car was waiting to take her to St. Pancras, she could not think of a reason why Matthew should walk her out.

"Have a lovely weekend," Alastair said. "Will you be reachable or should we go through Greg?"

"Greg first. Call me if it's an emergency, but email will go to Greg." She looked at Matthew and smiled. "Enjoy your freedom."

"I'll try," he said. "Oh, wait. You'll want this." He reached into his case and pulled out a book. "Here. Something to read on the train."

"Is that the Conard book?" Alastair frowned. "I've been wanting to read it. As annoying as they say it is?"

Mary noticed Matthew's grip tighten on the binding. "More, if that's possible. I promised my copy to Mary so she can see what all the fuss is about."

"And I don't want to give him any more money if I can help it," Mary said slowly as she took the book from Matthew. "Thank you, I think."

"At least get through the introduction," he replied. "And apologies in advance for the marginalia. I still scribble in all my books."

The train picked up speed, and Mary tucked her feet under her as she picked up the book with a small sigh. She did not want to read it, but knew she should, if only to have better answers for Patrick when he began touting its brilliance at the next board meeting. The first page of the book was filled with exclamation points in the white space and she laughed. "Marginalia indeed," she whispered. SHOCKING he wrote next to a dig at Paul Krugman's logic. REALLY? ALERT THE MEDIA was his notation next to the paragraph on current economic debate being inherently partisan. LOVE was attached to an arrow, and she followed it into the text and gasped.

It pointed to the word you.

He can't mean... She turned the page, and there it was again.

MISS... you.

She turned the pages, tears marking them as she found THIS attached to "grows more intense over time," and she burst into a giggle when she found a circled phrase "ideas having sex with one another." LOVE appeared over and over. MISS nearly as often.

And as the train came to a stop some time later, and she picked up her bags and slipped out into the twilight of Paris, she clutched the most wonderful book she had ever read to her chest and thought of how it would be if he was here with her tonight, if he sat next to her in the taxi that sped through the streets into the sixth arrondissement, if he took their bags up the narrow stairs to her flat near St. Sulpice. He would throw open the windows, letting in the sounds of the square, and he would kiss her, again and again, before they would decide what to do about dinner.

And so she stood in the middle of her flat, the windows flung open, the noise of the Place St. Sulpice filling the room as she texted Matthew. Your notes improved the book immensely, she wrote. They made me love it.

It was only a minute before he replied.

I'm glad. I hoped you'd love it the way I love it.

The lump in her throat returned as she sent back How could I not love it?

It rang in her hand, and she swiped it, lifting it to her ear as she sat on the window seat. She could hear his breath catching, and she blinked back tears. "Did you need to fill me in on the Spain plan? We never talked about it."

"I hope to fill you in sometime soon," he murmured. "I don't think six months is the right way to go."

"Neither do I," she replied. "But we shouldn't rush into that decision. Let's discuss it when we're back in the city. Sunday night?"

"Sunday," he said. "Have a good weekend, Mary."

She did not move from the window for some time, watching Paris come to life on a May night when she had never felt so loved, and never felt so alone.

TBC