A/N: I'm back. Terribly sorry this has been so long in coming. Who would have known that mothering an 11-, a 9-, and a 7-year-old could be such a whirlwind? I truly don't know where the last two months went. Anyhow. My apologies for having kept you waiting, and I do hope this proves worth your while.

xx,
~ejb~

It's been a week, and he hasn't seen her again. It's given him distance from the events of that day, and on the whole that's a good thing. He thinks that he's just about over the shock of it.

Cor, but he was angry when he first saw her! Perhaps he ought not to have thought himself safe from reminders of the past, given the fact that the Royal Yorkshire was the very hospital that subsumed Downton Cottage. But in nearly two years he'd never once heard the Crawley family's names spoken; never run into them; never been called upon to go back and visit his former place of employment. To his mind that had indicated that he was finally free.

He supposes he'd hoped that if he ever did see her again she'd be miserable. Hopeless. Those thoughts fuelled many a night of working too late and drinking too much. But as soon as he laid eyes on her, they'd vanished.

He'd be a terrible liar if he said he hadn't felt a trace of relief on learning that Dickie Grey was no longer in the picture. That wasn't to say he took joy in the man's demise, but he'd never been able to understand her fascination with him. Nor could he comprehend why she'd so readily dismissed the notion of even discussing marriage with him, but the instant that sallow-faced bore had said "I love you," she'd melted.

Many times in the past week her words have echoed in his head. "I went mad after I lost him, Richard." He understands her assertion that her life was turned back-to-front by Matthew's death. His heart had nearly broken when she asked whether he'd believed she ought to have been put away. He will admit —privately, at least— that he had, indeed, entertained the notion.

One thing makes as little sense to him now as it did then: if she was so starved for love and so much in need of a place to belong, to be useful, why didn't she turn to him? He had done everything in his power to support her, to offer sympathy without pity. To listen without judgement, to remind her that she was not as alone as she believed. Why wasn't it enough?

He would have done anything for her. She could have taken back her position as head nurse at any time and he'd have been relieved to have her. Well, some of the time he'd have been relieved, and at other times she'd have driven him to the brink. To say she'd have infuriated him, with her high ideals and patient-centric zeal, was likely closer to the truth. But oh, how he'd have welcomed it! How far preferable that would have been to the listless, aimless, empty shell she became. He would even have borne it if she'd felt the need to lash out, to hit him, to scream. To rage until at him until she broke, at which point he would gratefully have caught her up and held her fast and fitted the pieces back together.

Instead she had chosen to believe that she was unloved. That she had to rail against everything and everyone who cared for her. To take every difference of opinion as a personal affront. Worst of all, she had concluded that her only means of proving her worth was in rescuing a poorly man from his abusive son.

At some point, he reckons, he's going to have to concede that all the puzzling in the world won't bring him answers. She is no longer bound to Dickie Grey, and it appears that since his death, her uncontainable spirit has been resurrected. He has only spent a single afternoon with her, but in that time he'd seen incontrovertible proof that the woman he used to know —the closest friend he'd ever had— is still alive and well.

oOo

Reminiscences of their friendship had come to him over and over again during his lecture. Whilst speaking about the state of Downton Cottage Hospital and its operations in wartime, he realised just how much he had relied on her. In fact, he called her up to the lectern and introduced her during the question and answer period. Some of the students recognised the name of Richard Grey, Lord Merton; many more were familiar with the work of Dr. Reginald Crawley. One student posed a question to them both: what was the most difficult case they treated during the war?

She had looked at him, and he at her, and it was like old times. She deferred to him and he answered, "Without question I would have to say it was that of Captain Matthew Crawley, who happened to have been Lady Merton's son."

She glanced at him, silently seeking permission to interject, and he nodded. "My son and his soldier-servant sustained injuries in a shell attack at Amiens. The were sent home to Downton, where the other young man succumbed straightaway. The blast damage to his lungs was too extensive to survive. My son's spine was believed by the field medics to have been damaged, and Dr. Clarkson's own examination confirmed their findings. As a nurse, I was disheartened, for I knew the road that was ahead of him. As a mother, I was devastated …" she trailed off. He glanced at her and their eyes met.

You don't have to do this, he told her without words.

I'm sorry, but I think I do. His story needs to be told.

Very well then. Just remember that I'm here.

She smiled so softly that only he would have recognised it. He watched her draw up taller, squaring her shoulders. She continued:

"Matthew had his entire life ahead of him, and some rather interesting prospects on the near horizon. Day after day, as he languished in bed, they began to dim, one by one."

"Every indication was that the spinal cord had been transected, and given that Captain Crawley had no feeling in his legs, it appeared that he would be rendered impotent," he supplied.

"Which was most distressing when you consider the fact that he was engaged to be married at the time, and he was also in line to become the next Earl of Grantham." She eyed him again. He could see that speaking so candidly before a group was taking a toll on her.

Are you alright?

I will be.

He gave her a nod and a small smile of encouragement and watched her draw a deep breath.

"Matthew was my only child, and I had so looked forward to grandchildren. It stung a great deal, but gradually I let that dream go and learned to be grateful that he was alive. So many mothers, after all, couldn't say the same. He tried to set his fiancée free, but she wouldn't have it, darling girl. We were all trying to put our best face on it, and then one day a few months on she caught her foot whilst attempting to clear away a tea tray, and next thing they knew he had stood up to catch her." She paused to smile brightly at the memory, and it took his breath away for a moment. How wrong he had been to ever have thought he could be unaffected by her.

He noticed that she was looking expectantly at him. Clearing his throat (and tugging at his bow tie) he picked up the story. "Which could only have meant that my diagnosis was wrong. Now, mark you, I have never been more pleased to have been mistaken …" At that she chuckled softly, as did several of the students. "... But the family felt I had misled them. Shortly after his arrival, Captain Crawley had been examined by Sir John Coates, who believed that the injury was a severe case of spinal shock, and that recovery was possible. I didn't share his optimism, and I thought it best not to raise Captain Crawley's hopes to no purpose. The family didn't see it that way, however."

"Dr. Clarkson risked his livelihood by withholding that information, but as Matthew's mother I felt grateful that he had considered all that my son had been through, and had chosen to protect him from what very well could have been crushed hopes."

He felt certain, after hearing her utter the words, "as Matthew's mother," that she must have had to work very hard to bite back, "my opinion was the only one that ought to have mattered." She'd have been right, and he found himself wishing idly for the opportunity to speak privately with her about Captain Crawley's case now, so many years removed from the turmoil of it all.

He concluded by telling the students that the Crawley case had brought to light the disadvantages of Downton being such a small, remotely-located hospital and that, almost certainly, had he had access to the more sophisticated radiography equipment that the London hospitals enjoyed, he'd have been able to more accurately assess —and thereby treat— Captain Crawley's condition.

All in all, it had been a delightful experience: having her beside him, discussing medicine once again. It wasn't lost on him that the students had taken to her straightaway, or that there had been a fire in her eyes the likes of which he'd not seen since … well, since the conclusion of the very incident they'd just addressed, when she'd witnessed with her own eyes the sight of her son walking again.

oOo

But from that day, having not seen her again (or heard from her, which has truly surprised him), it has played havoc with his thoughts. He has found himself swaying between one end of the spectrum (You've only spent five years getting over that woman! She's poison, and you should have run when you saw her coming!) and the other (Perhaps this is a second chance, and you know how seldom those come round at this stage of the game. She was out of her mind for a time; the things she did and said weren't her. Who she truly is. She's that woman again, the … the one you fell in love with in 1912).

He wonders, has she thought better of coming to work —and soon, to teach— at the hospital, knowing that he's there? Surely she can't have been frightened off by the certification process; if ever he'd encountered a closet academic, it was she. To his mind that only leaves one conclusion: she has reservations about the advisability of their becoming reacquainted. He agrees, for the most part.

But there is a truth undergirding the entire predicament, and try as he might, he simply cannot deny it:

No matter the animosity between them at any given moment, they have always been able to lay it down and come together for the good of the patient. And when they do, they are natural extensions of one another, as if they share the same brain.

Or at least, they always were. It's been the better part of a decade since they've worked together now. But the way that they interacted during his lecture leads him to believe that dynamic still runs strong.

So where is she?

oOo

He isn't left to wonder for long. On a Wednesday afternoon he is holed up in his office marking exams. It is almost unbearably warm, and he's taken off his white coat and rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. The windows are open and every so often a wisp of a coolish breeze ruffles the shades, and for the first time in weeks his thoughts don't run to Isobel.

Instead he laments the brown trout he is currently not catching. It would be the perfect day for a foray down to the River Aire. The air is thick and muggy; a fog is rolling in, signaling ground temperatures warmer than the air. The mayflies will be hatching in droves. Those fish will be leaping right onto the banks today. And he's just finished tying a new Hornberg that he's itching to test. He shakes his head, returns to his work. It's only two weeks now until the term break, and there should still be plenty of fine fishing before the spring spawn is through.

He can almost feel the bite, the wriggling fight of a big fish on his hook, when a knock sounds at his door.

"Come," he answers, expecting a student. He turns his chair around to face the doorpost and is met, instead, by the Dean of Medicine.

Scrambling abruptly to his feet, he rolls his sleeves down and reaches for his coat. "Sir, you must excuse my lackadaisical appearance. I wasn't expecting to encounter anyone this late in the day."

The Dean shook his proffered hand, then waved him off. "Never mind all that, Clarkson. You know I don't bother about such things. I've come in regards to a friend of yours."

"Oh, yes?"

"Yes; Isobel Grey, Baroness Merton. You are aware that the board have offered her a teaching position here?"

"Yes, well … that is to say, she was my Head of Nursing at Downton Cottage Hospital. But we lost touch with one another some years ago. Our paths crossed again on the day she was here to speak to the board, and she told me of the offer that was made her." He treads carefully; he mustn't speak ill of the merger between the cottage hospital and the one that now employs him, and the enmity between himself and Isobel does not —and never did— tarnish her reputation as a first-rate nurse.

"I see. I assume she will have explained that her position will require clinical service to the hospital?"

"She did say that, yes."

"That is the purpose of my visit. The board of directors have determined that surgery is the department with the greatest need for additional nursing staff, particularly a highly-qualified individual such as Lady Merton. I have relayed this information to her, and she is eager to begin at the earliest opportunity."

He has to bite the inside of his cheek in order to keep from smirking. Eager, indeed. Some things never change.

"She would be an asset to any department, and she's a great deal of surgical experience, owing to Downton's having been designated a military hospital during the War."

"Then you've no qualms about working with her? Only she was adamant that we obtain your approval of her placement before she would start."

He nearly chokes, but manages to hide it with a raised eyebrow, clearing his throat. "Did she say why?" He silently prays that he won't have to do damage control. But Isobel wouldn't betray their past. Would she?

"Only that there was some dissension between the two of you at the end of your tenure. She insisted that her position on the hospital board was the cause, and that it was nothing to do with your professionalism."

Well, that was good of her, he thinks. "Nor had it anything to do with hers. No; we work well together. She'll be a welcome addition to the surgical department." So long as her enthusiasm doesn't get in her way.

"If you're sure. I know I don't need to tell you that there is no room for infighting amongst staff in this hospital."

As a younger man he'd have bristled at those words; as it is he knows it's part and parcel of managerial due diligence.

"Certainly not, Sir. Please advise Lady Merton that she has my endorsement."

The Dean eyes him with a bit of incredulity. "Very well then, Clarkson. I shan't take up any more of your time. Good day."

"Good day, Sir." They shake hands in parting and then he is left alone to wonder what in God's name just happened.