A/N In honor of libbybell's birthday (or putmeinyourpocketmike if you want to find her on tumblr), I've come up with a little one-shot. It's based on the following prompt from tumblr's otpdisaster:
Imagine person B of your OTP sternly addressing (or reprimanding) a large crowd of co-workers, subordinates, or teammates. Then imagine Person A coming through the door to kiss Person B on the nose, give them a lunch, and all manner of other cute things that throws Person B off, flustering Person B in front of the crowd.
BONUS: If person C is part of the crowd, laughs at them, and gets severely punished for it.
Libbybell, this little fic comes with well wishes for all sorts of good things on your special day, sincere gratitude for your being such a dedicated, devoted, diligent reviewer, and most of all, appreciation for your being such a nice person and delightful human being.
Sometime shortly after the Carsons' wedding …
"And another thing ... " Mr. Carson barreled on. "Andrew, you came perilously close to knocking over Mrs. Crawley's water glass! Please do be more cautious in future!"
"Yes, Mr. Carson," the guilty footman replied apologetically.
The servants stood at attention around the table just before their luncheon, enduring Mr. Carson's tirade. The serving of the family's luncheon had not gone well, at least by the butler's high standards. Mr. Barrow and Mr. Molesley had already been chastised for speaking impertinently and for wearing a sloppily-tied bow tie, respectively. Mr. Carson's foul temper was exacerbated by the fact that he'd just returned to work that morning after having been sick in bed for several days. While things had gone perfectly smoothly in his absence, the very thought of not having personally overseen every detail always unsettled him, and his under butler and footmen were now bearing the brunt of his ill humor. Their shoddy performance upstairs provided a convenient outlet for the butler's frustration.
The staff breathed a collective sigh of relief when Mrs. Carson appeared in the doorway. The housekeeper's ability to calm the butler was well-known, and her pacifying powers had become even more potent since they'd married.
"What's all this?" asked Mrs. Carson as she walked into the servants' hall and noticed her husband's perturbed expression and the dismayed looks on the faces of those assembled, ranging from Mr. Barrow's mild annoyance to Mr. Molesley's typical confusion to Andrew's sheer terror.
Not answering his wife's question immediately, Mr. Carson motioned for everyone to sit and asked Daisy to begin serving. Once the meal was underway and there was subdued chatter around the table, he explained the situation to Mrs. Carson.
"The family's luncheon was a disaster! First, Mr. Barrow hinted that – What are you doing?" he asked in alarm as Mrs. Carson pulled his plate closer to her and began to cut his meat and butter his bread.
"I'm helping you. You've just been ill, and I don't want you to strain yourself. You need to save your strength," she answered sensibly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Carson, but I'm perfectly capable – "
"I'm sure you are, but you've only just recovered. There's no harm in my helping." She returned the plate to him, while Miss Baxter hid a smile behind her napkin.
"Yes, well, as I was saying … After Mr. Barrow's rude behavior, Andrew nearly – " He stopped talking as his wife placed her hand over his on the table and stroked his fingers soothingly.
"Oh, come, now, Mr. Carson. You mustn't upset yourself. It can't have been all that bad. Here. Let's get you some tea." And she prepared a cup for him, just the way he liked it. Anna grinned, and Madge failed to stifle a soft giggle.
Mr. Carson accepted his tea while shooting warning glances around the table. "Thank you. That's very kind," he said to Mrs. Carson. "But that's not all. Mr. Molesley's tie … I'm certain the Dowager was staring at it disapprovingly!"
"Your face looks red. Is your fever coming back?" Mrs. Carson bent nearer and felt Mr. Carson's forehead and neck. "No, you don't feel too warm. Are your eyes a bit bloodshot? Let me see." And she moved her face very close to his and checked carefully. "No, I suppose they look all right."
The whole staff were now watching and listening to the exchange with great amusement. Luncheon continued awkwardly for a few minutes, until Mrs. Carson leaned over and whispered to her husband, "You've got a bit of sauce on your chin."
He lifted his napkin and wiped his chin but failed to remove the offending sauce. He looked to the housekeeper, raising his eyebrows, silently asking if he'd got all the food off his face. She shook her head, indicating that he had not, and raised her own napkin to his face, delicately wiping away the remains. When Mr. Carson coughed and sputtered, Mrs. Carson reached over and gently patted him on the back. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"Yes, yes. Perfectly fine, thank you," he replied.
Poorly-muffled sniggering erupted from around the table.
"All right! All of you, finish your meal and get on with your day! There's plenty of work to be done!" bellowed the butler.
The assembly obediently quieted down and finished eating, and the remainder of luncheon passed uneventfully. When the bells began ringing, Mr. Carson dismissed everyone and asked to speak with Mrs. Carson, and she accompanied him to his pantry.
"What was that all about?" he asked once the door was closed behind them.
"What was what all about?" she inquired in return.
"All that attention! You were fussing over me as if I were helpless!"
"Oh, nonsense! I was merely taking care of my husband who, I'll remind you, just returned to work this morning, having been ill for a week."
"I appreciate your taking care of me, Elsie, but … Well, in front of everyone, like that?! It's embarrassing!" blustered the butler.
"I'm sorry, love. You're right," she admitted remorsefully. "Perhaps I was a bit overbearing."
"You cut my food as you would for a child! You wiped my face!"
"Oh, Charles. I never meant to embarrass you in front of the staff or to diminish your authority. I suppose I'm just not accustomed to being your wife yet. I like doting on you, and now that I'm finally allowed to do so freely, I can't help it," apologized Mrs. Carson.
"It's all right, love." Mr. Carson relented at seeing his wife's sincere contrition and pulled her into an embrace.
"You'd been so ill, and I'd been so worried. I just didn't want you to overexert yourself on your first day back – or to get yourself all upset over Mr. Molesley's crooked tie! Dr. Clarkson said you could resume your work, but he also said you shouldn't overdo it," she reminded him.
"You're right, my dear. I promise not to work too hard. And I'll stop immediately if I start to feel ill again," he assured her.
"Thank you. That makes me feel better."
"And don't think for a moment that I don't appreciate your loving ministrations, because I do. I just prefer to enjoy such tender affections when we're alone." He bent to kiss her sweetly but meaningfully.
"Understood," she acknowledged with a smile. "Come on, then. We should get on before someone thinks we're up to no good in here."
Mr. Carson released his wife from his embrace but held her hand as he led her to the door, opened it, and ushered her out into the corridor. Just before they were about to part ways, Mrs. Carson reached up to straighten her husband's tie and smooth his lapels.
Mr. Barrow, who had just rounded the corner, met them with a smirk. "My, my, Mr. Carson. Mrs. Carson certainly takes good care of you. I find myself quite jealous."
"As well you should, Mr. Barrow. I'm a very lucky man. We should all be so fortunate as to have someone look after us half as well as my darling wife looks after me," responded the butler, and he stooped to kiss his housekeeper lovingly on the cheek. "Now, Mr. Barrow, shouldn't you be helping Mr. Molesley and Andrew set up for tea?"
"Yes, Mr. Carson." And the under butler loped off to tend to his duties.
A/N Thank you for reading. Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments. Also, be sure to send birthday greetings to libbybell/putmeinyourpocketmike here on fanfiction-dot-net or on tumblr.
Side note: When I asked my teenage daughters if one of them would proofread this for me, my nine-year-old son volunteered to do it. Good thing this is PG-9. The following conversation actually occurred:
Son: "What's a dowager?"
Me: "Granny."
Son: "Oh."
Then my daughter gave it a second once-over and reminded me that I missed the part of the prompt about Person A kissing Person B on the nose. I just couldn't see Mrs. Carson kissing Mr. Carson on the nose in front of the staff. But the rest might happen, in some wacky, cracky AU world.