Chapter 3

"Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin."

-Mother Theresa

Sometimes Carson curses Mrs Hughes' predisposition for stirring the pot, for adding complications, for creating trouble out of nothing. So many things could have been avoided if she did not insist on taking care of everybody around her. He knows she doesn't do it maliciously – rather, the opposite. She pokes and she prods if she thinks it will be beneficial, and more often than not, he can not argue with her results. He can, and will, however, argue with her methods. Because rifling for letters in rubbish bins is uncalled for. Poking grumpy bears with sticks is unwise as it will guarantee a head being chewed off.

He marches into her pantry sometime after luncheon when she's working on household accounts. He stands at attention in the middle of the room, chin up, livery straight, a steely expression expression gracing his features. He stares at a spot just above her right shoulder.

"I am not here to apologize."

Mrs Hughes sighs and places her pen down and peers at him over the top of the page she had been reading. She is supposed to be meeting with Her Ladyship in a few hours, and that mixup in the kitchen in the morning had set her back. She doesn't have time for this right now. "Go on then. Give me the speech you've been practicing in the mirror."

"Please be serious, Mrs Hughes," he breaks eye contact with the wall to shoot her a pointed glare. "I am here to set the record straight. "

"Mr Carson, can we do this some other time?" she rubs her temples.

"Oh no you don't!" he growls. "You always sweep everything under the rug. I am putting my foot down! There is only so much you can sweep before it gets lumpy and turns into a tripping hazard!"

"I am not sweeping anything!" She indicates the pile of papers on her desk. She is more annoyed at his timing than upset. "I'm in the middle of something, and I'm already running behind."

He takes in her frazzled state. Papers are piled neatly all over desk, a single marked-up sheet in her hand. He instantly regrets barging in, but in order to save face, he refuses to let it show through.

"When you've finished for the day, I'll come by for a cup of tea and we will finish this conversation." he declares, leaving no room for argument. He quickly turns to let her be.

He is almost at the door when she calls out to him belatedly. "Mr Carson, wait." He turns around. "I am sorry." At his arched eyebrow she finds herself clarifying: "For prying when I shouldn't have."

"I hate it when you do that," he finally replies evenly.

Mrs Hughes frowns. "What? Pry?"

"No," a ghost of a smirk crosses his lips. "Act superior."

A laugh escapes her, a bitter mix of humour and relief. It follows him out of her sitting room, down the hall, and through the rest of the day.

As promised, he appears later in the evening, tea tray in hand. At first, conversation is awkward and stilted and overly polite.

"How was your day?"

"Busy. How was yours?"

"The same."

She sips her tea slowly, almost burning her tongue in the process. She knows he has underlying motives because it is the entire purpose of the setting. "Oh for God's sake, just get on with it!" she snaps. "You have something to discuss and I know you want to discuss it. We can stop with the pretence already!"

He knows she's tired; it's late and she has had a long day. Part of him feels guilty for keeping her up when she could be enjoying the warmth of her bed. For whatever reason, she chose to stay up and keep him company because, for whatever reason, she wants to share his burdens. Sometimes he wonders if her shoulders ever get sore from carrying the weight of the world. "Why do you care so much?"

She tilts her head to the side. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

"Probably. I can't think of what they could be, but they probably exist."

He is reminded about the all times when he doesn't want to curse her. For the times when he is grateful to have her in his life. For all the times when she challenges him and enriches his very existence. A smile, a conversation, a cup of tea. He wonders if he has the same impact on her life.

She chuckles. "You're avoiding the subject again, Mr Carson."

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The dreaded topic has come up again. No use putting it off any longer. He clears his throat. "Mrs Hughes, about your retirement–"

Oh dear, not this again. She sighs internally, but keeps her stoic mask firmly in place. She does not want to risk him shutting her out again. She places her steaming cup on the table to cool it off.

" – when do you plan on leaving Downton?"

"I don't know. Not for awhile," she answers honestly. She shifts in her seat, adding, "It was just an idea."

Carson leans back. "I see."

"A lot of things can happen between now and then," she picks her cup off the table and gently blows on it.

"And what if something does happen, Mrs Hughes? Suppose you outlive your savings. Suppose the economy collapses. Suppose there is another war!" he exclaims. His imagination is running away and it is leaving him quite flustered. "How will you support yourself?"

She pauses. "I suppose I would have to cross those bridges if it came to that."

"These are valid concerns that you are refusing to consider," he points an accusatory finger at her.

"I don't see the point in living in hypothetical situations!" she snaps. "It might not even come to that."

"Might," Carson points out the key word. "The possibility still exists."

"Are you done chiding me?" she places her cup roughly on the table.

"I wasn't chiding."

"It was awfully similar to chiding."

He sighs and watches her across the table. She is tired and frustrated, and so is he. "My life is comprised of constants, and future is not," he tries explaining. He's staring into his half-empty cup, avoiding eye contact. "I just want to makes sure you're well taken care of."

She knows it took a lot for him to admit that and she appreciates that he did. She knows he cares about her, but it is not always when he admits it. She plays with her cup, thinking of what to do next. Suddenly, she stands and heads to her desk. He worries that he might have said something to set her off, but when she returns with a book in hand, his worry turns to confusion.

She drops it in front of him before reclaiming her seat. "Open it, Mr Carson," she encourages him.

Gingerly, he opens the book. Numbers and lists are scribbled on every line. He looks back at her in awe. "What is this?"

"Financial planning," she says simply.

He supposes he shouldn't be so surprised by this. As Housekeeper she is in charge of the house's expenses. It makes sense that she would keep track of her own. "You've thought this through," he says as he quickly flips through the book. He is a little hurt that she had downplayed her sentiments.

"Just the financial aspect," she admits. "You're right, though. There are plenty of other factors to consider."

He nods in agreement. "Finally, you see my point."

She pretends to ignore his smug comment. He can be so theatrical sometimes. "As you can see, I still have quite a bit left to save."

"It's not impossible though," he looks at it. "Judging from this, you'll be able to retire and afford to live within the decade."

"On one hand, I find it rather exciting," she bites her lip. "On the other, I would have to leave."

Carson understands her inner turmoil. He's proud of her for figuring all this out on her own, for being so close to her end goal. But it also means that she is one step closer to leaving Downton. One step closer to her leaving him.

And then an element is added to the equation and time seemingly stands still. Because up until now, they hadn't ever discussed this; it had never been a consideration.

Out of nowhere, Mrs Hughes asks Mr Carson, "Would you ever consider retiring with me?"

A rock is tossed into calm water, and status quo is gone.

A/N: This was meant to be a three parter. Oh well.