I am so very sorry for the missing update yesterday. I could go on about the reason (which was broken router) but that not why you are here, is it?

That being said, don't be upset if I don't post on a daily basis. I am not an entity purely based inside my fanfiction account, so I have to deal with the outside world as well (ugh).

December 5: Love Wants to Come Down For Christmas

Pairing: Edith/Michael

Rated K+ for general angsty stuffings

Even before Papa opened his newspaper, Edith was expecting him to say something regarding her most recent article.

At breakfast, he read the same exact paper that Michael Gregson was editor of, and the one that Edith sometimes wrote for. She knew that somewhere inside her article was waiting to be read, then scrutinized mercilessly by her papa. It was the usual progression of events: he read the front page articles, then turned inside, scanned the titles, caught Edith's name, then proceeded to read, mentally evaluating the content of the writing.

Edith waited for that disparaging moment with bated breath, pretending to be nonchalant about the situation. She had been told multiple times, by multiple people, not to be bothered by critics and people who hated on articles for a living. But if one of those people were her father, then it was his opinion that especially mattered. If she wrote something that upset him horribly, then she'd never hear the end of it. That was a thought that sent her into a small panic before every time she submitted an article for publishing.

She steadied herself as he flipped the paper over, done with the important front-cover stories, and ran his eyes over the ink as smoothly as a figure skater on ice. Edith anxiously traced his eyes and where on the page they were reading. She knew exactly where her article was. Knowing that watching him read her piece would only give her an accelerated heartbeat, so she turned away and focused on a half-eaten plate of eggs. She also began to think about what Michael had asked her about a week before: did she want to stay at his flat in London the week of Christmas?

She heard an intake of breath, of someone about to speak, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Papa, just so you're aware, Tom Branson is coming to help me clean out some of the old Christmas decoration boxes. You remember, we talked about getting rid of some of them?"

Robert gave an affirmative sound. Edith breathed.

"Just so you're aware," Robert said pointedly, "only throw out the broken ones. Your grandmother will want a say in which of the old ones go."

Only Edith detected Sybil's eye roll.

"Well, even she would cringe at seeing some of that junk up again," Sybil said.

"Oh, really?" Edith noted, "You think she'll change her mind after fifty years of having some of those decorations?"

"Yes. It's more than ten years into the twenty-first century, and even she knows that," Sybil said. She finished her juice in one long gulp and then walked out, leaving Edith to suffer through her papa's critique alone.

Trying to keep her mind off of what her father was going to say, Edith thought about Michael's offer to let her stay with him for the week of Christmas in London. She seriously thought that she would be accepting that offer (although she wished often to make a permanent move with him). Even if Mary was already gone, it would not be as if Edith would be absent for long. Her parents would survive without her for a week, and they had Sybil and Matthew to keep them company. And Isobel Crawley would no doubt keep Granny occupied until New Year's.

"Well then, Edith," Robert said suddenly. Edith's head shot up, and she stared at her father with tense anticipation.

"Quite an article you have written here," he started.

"Is it?" Edith answered nervously. She wasn't sure how to gauge his emotion about the piece, whether it was distaste or slight interest.

Robert nodded. "I'm not entirely sure how much agree with what you have written, but nonetheless your language is coherent and your ideas are well developed."

He took a sip of tea. Edith waited for him to say something else, but he seemed to have moved onto another section of the paper. She let out a long breath: she hadn't unhinged him just yet.

"Oh, and on a related note, have you told Mr Gregson of your Christmas plans?" added Robert.

"What do you mean?" Edith asked.

"I mean, have you given him an answer as to what you are doing the week of Christmas?"

Edith, either due to a sixth sense or the knowledge that her father was not head-over-heels with delight about Michael Gregson, began to grow suspicious. "Are you implying something?"

Robert feigned defense. "What? Of course not. I was simply asking a question, nothing more."

Edith felt frustration rising inner face. Her father's constant pushing often made her feel like any relationship she got into was doomed. He had this same attitude the last time she had declared someone her significant other, and though that relationship had ended miserably, his relief at its termination effectively caused her to stop speaking to him civilly for several weeks.

"Do you not want me to stay with him for Christmas?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Robert folded the newspaper aggressively and turned to look his middle daughter in the eye. "Edith, listen to me very carefully. It's not a good idea to stay with Mr Gregson for an entire week in his house – !"

"What are you so upset about?" Edith interjected. "Are you really trying to keep me hostage at home?"

"Edith, that is not what I am implying. I am simply telling you —"

"Well, I don't think I need to hear it," Edith interrupted again. She released an exasperated sigh. "Why is it so difficult to please you? You tell me to go out sometimes, be with people, but when I'm invited to London for Christmas you want to keep me locked up inside my own home like some princess in a book!"

"That is not at all what I want!" Her father's voice raised dangerously. "I want you to be safe and happy, and to me, staying with a man you don't know very well does not merit anything good."

"I know Michael well, I'll have you know, and he is not a stranger to me. I want to stay with him for Christmas, and if you think that your dislike for him is going to keep me away, I'm very sorry, but you are wrong!"

With that, Edith threw down her napkin for dramatic effect and stomped out of the dining room. Her father made no attempt to call her back.

It really was not fair: once upon a time, she hadn't had anyone to pay her attention. Boyfriends were a devastatingly horrid part of her life that, no matter what happened, she both wished to have and never wanted to think about again. She wouldn't force herself to think about Patrick again – that was a disaster story of another day and age – but her breakup of over a year ago still haunted her. The humiliating event, in front of her family, was enough to send Edith into a spiral of despair. Fate had taken pity on her, though, and sent Michael Gregson her way, along with a chance to write a regular column in Michael's paper. Life was good for the most part, until someone decided that it wasn't good enough, and since Edith and Michael had declared themselves to be in a (somewhat long-distance) relationship, her father was hell-bent on letting Edith know did not approve.

She had not seen Michael for about three weeks: that was when he had asked her to join him for Christmas. She had been to his home in London a few times before for dinner, a nice cosy flat on a picturesque street. With a little bit of imagination, Edith could picture in her head how beautiful it would look when it was decorated. Michael had, however, said he was bad at decorating, and if he had Edith helping him out, he could go the grave knowing that he had made his flat look pretty for once.

Edith considered talking to her mother about going with Michael, but she knew her father would have the final say between the two of them. Mama said that, since Mary was gone, "it would be nice to have the remainder of our family here during the holidays." But Edith had spent the last two decades of Christmases with her family, so surely she should be permitted to spend one Christmas away from them. She had even said she would be home by New Years Eve, and next year she would stay at home for Christmas, but nothing was persuading anyone.

There were many times in her life when Edith felt absolutely useless. This was one of those times.

Hoping to take her mind off of things, Edith collected her car keys, slid on her gloves and coat, and slipped unseen out the door. She felt the morning wind chill biting and scratching as she walked to the garage where her lovely car was waiting. She adored the car that her parents had bought her last Christmas: with it, she could go anywhere, and it was the closest thing she had to a genuine golden ticket to freedom.

Going for drives was a sort of recreation for her, even before she could drive. With her own one now, she did not have to borrow one of the chauffeur-driven Chryslers. In the summertime she loved to drive with the top down, enjoying the bright views of the country all around her. It was getting much colder now, though, and Edith did not think it recreational to drive with icicles forming from her nostrils. After putting the top up, Edith started up the car and drove it off of the estate as fast as she could.

She drove down the long stretch of road that ran through the village. She passed through the small hamlet, and once outside, increased her speed to the legal limit. There stark, plain countryside as far as the eye could see. North England was grey and barren in the winter, an iceless Arctic. Edith imagined, right now, heading down to London, not stopping for anything until she got to the colored lights and tall towers of the city. To run away from her family determined to keep her away from the man she genuinely loved – it seemed a very storybook-like plot. The only thing that kept her from doing that right now was that she hated to be dishonorable. If only she had more gumption to actively disobey her parents as Sybil did; she might taste freedom more often.

But she loved Michael: she was completely and wholly sure of that fact. She needed to feel his love at Christmas. She felt like that would give her something she had been missing for several Decembers in a row. She wasn't sure of that missing feeling, but something – perhaps someone from above – was telling her that she would find that in London with Michael by her side.

Edith was hardly a selfish girl, but what she wanted most for Christmas was to have just one pair of eyes fixated on her, only her. Michael could give that to her. Even if she was forbidden from ever seeing him again, she would cherish that one Christmas with him.