It had been a long night for Charles Carson, the butler of Downton Abbey, and he was a man who had suffered many a long night in service. He had suffered the indignity of having his past as half of a mediocre music hall double-act exposed to his employer. He had suffered some sort of embarrassing heart malfunction (which he commonly referred to in company as "getting flustered") at the dinner table. He had even suffered working beside or over Thomas Barrow for nearly a decade of his life.

This night, though—this night might've been the worst.

As he walked through the house, doing his nightly inspection of each and every room of the house, his mind returned to the unfortunate drawing room, home to, just a few short hours before, a melodrama of the highest and least dignified order. It had actually gotten worse when Lady Mary left the room, and after the painful horrors of that scene, that was a near impossible feat.

First there was Lord Grantham—who, apart from being utterly shocked by his daughter's account, was surprised to find that he and Mr. Crawley was apparently the only people in the room who were not familiar with at least some variation on it. He then demanded to know where Bates' wife had heard it with enough corroboration to think it possible to blackmail her husband. Lady Edith had started sobbing hysterically after minimal grilling, through her tears admitting that she had written to the Turkish Embassy when she was cross with her sister, which of course set off Lord Grantham again.

The evening reached fever pitch when the Dowager Countess "accidentally" let it slip that this story was the reason Lady Mary had hesitated accepting Mr. Crawley's proposal of marriage in 1914.

That was what brought the young heir to the house out of the catatonic stupor he'd been in ever since Lady Mary left the room, in fact.

"Carson, is that you?"

The butler did not jump (you did not get to be butler of one of the finest houses in all Yorkshire by jumping), but he was surprised to see selfsame Mr. Crawley sitting in the library, in the very chair by the fire that was so often the sanctuary of the house's owner.

"Mr. Crawley—" He recovered himself admirably. "I'm sorry, sir. I was not expecting anyone to be in here. I thought you had left with Mrs. Crawley some time ago."

"No, she—went on home ahead of me."

"Do you wish for me to call for the car?"

"I wouldn't want to trouble the chauffeur at this hour. I'll walk." Matthew ran one hand nervously through his hair. "I know it's very late, I ought to have left hours ago. You must feel very put out."

The stared at each other, then, mano-a-butler, and for a moment they were not a servant and an heir, but instead just two men who cared deeply for the same woman.

"If any man should have the right to use this house as he sees fits," Carson said, his hard shell virtually impenetrable. "I believe the honor should lie with the man who will own it one day."

"It's nice of you to say, Carson, but I don't feel particularly deserving this evening." He massaged his temples wearily. "Please, go about your business—pay no attention to me."

Silently, Carson walked the familiar path through the library that he walked every evening. He straightened up the cushions, and looked for any stray books that might need to be put back into their rightful places. On the table next to Matthew sat a lengthy-looking historical tome that he was clearly not reading, but that his hand hovered over protectively for lack of anything better to do.

Or perhaps he just didn't want to be left alone.

The butler coughed discreetly.

"Will you be needing this, sir, or may I—"

"Did you really say that to Mary, Carson?"

If Carson understood what he meant, he did not let on.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Did you tell Mary she should try to—get me back?" He had not stopped staring into the fire. "Only I couldn't help noticing—that was what she said, you know." He was very far away. "It was one of…many things she said."

He may have been an old and stodgy fool (he knew it was what Thomas called him behind broom closets and in the back courtyard), but looking at the handsome, young, and utterly morose man before him, he remembered how difficult that age could be and feel.

"With all due respect, Mr. Crawley I prefer to use discretion with regards to my conversations with members of the family."

He looked up from the fire at last, a self-deprecating smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Carson, I'd forgotten that butlers have an unwritten code about that sort of thing," Matthew picked up the fire poker and idly poked one of the dying logs. "Loyalty to the house's family, and all that. It wasn't fair of me to ask you."

"Loyalty isn't like an estate or a title, sir." He paused, significantly. "It can be earned as well as inherited."

Matthew nodded in understanding, and the flame's light danced in agreement on the wall.

"Mary earned yours. I can't imagine someone not wanting to be loyal to her…" he trailed off, a sad, fond look in the pale eyes, glassy with the reflection of waning fire. "I never blamed her for resenting me. If I were in her position—it's always been terribly unfair to Mary. I wish I could make it up to her. I wish I could give her the money and the title."

"…There's still one way you could, sir," the older servant pointed out, gently.

"I'm not sure she'd want to get it that way at this point." He sighed and laughed.

"Am I that big a fool, Carson? Was it so obvious to everyone else?"

"Sir, if I may overstep the bounds of propriety for a moment—"

"If 'overstep the bounds of propriety' means you're going to tell me I've been a fool," he snapped, wondering if Robert paid Mr. Carson to be nice to him and wishing that he didn't. "Then yes, I bloody well want you to—"

"No, sir, it's not that," Carson briskly cut off Matthew's moody ranting before it could escalate into something approaching Lady Mary's earlier display. "It's about the first thing you said. About what Lady Mary may or may not want."

"…Yes?"

"Sir, I've known Lady Mary since she was a very small girl—since she was born, in fact. I've watched her grow up, and I've seen how she guards herself. It's not an easy world for a woman of her spirit, and she's always been very careful to protect herself." Matthew looked up at Carson so earnestly that the older man found himself feeling very fond—he was a very difficult young man to hate, at any rate. "But I've never once seen her lose her temper with any man in public." Another significant look. "If that's worth anything to you."

"…I suppose it is," he replied, understandingly, and he smirked at Carson. "I can imagine how Mary would react to me saying that. You won't tell her, will you, Carson?"

"Discretion is the better part of valor." He gave a small bow. "I'll leave you now, Mr. Crawley."

"Of course, Carson—I didn't mean to keep you," he rose, apologetically. "I really should leave myself, shouldn't I?" Matthew was half talking to himself, and half to Carson, half cursing his awkwardness and half regretting leaving the house without…

"By all means, sir, stay. There is a decanter of brandy in his lordship's cabinet," he pointed to it, adjacent to the desk. "For occasions such as these."

Matthew sat back down again.

"Of course. Goodnight, Carson…and thank you."

The old and—in his own estimation, foolish and sentimental—man turned, just as he had gotten to the door.

"Sir—about the second thing you asked me."

Matthew looked up.

"Yes?"

"When it comes to matters of the heart…I think a great many people are fools."

As good as he felt about where he'd steered the young man (toward Lady Mary, his true north), Carson was troubled when he walked back downstairs. He was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts, in fact, that he barely noticed Anna until he ran headlong into her on the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson!" she apologized, obviously lost in her own thoughts. "I didn't see you."

"Excuse me, Anna—what are you still doing up at this hour?"

"I was just about to go up to Lady Mary's room, only she asked me to go fetch her book, something Greek or Roman I expect—" A flash in his mind—a history, sitting on the end table, and an engraved red bookmark—Lady Mary's favorite color. "Have you just come from the library? Did you happen to see it?"

"…There weren't any books out, none at all. If Lady Mary hasn't taken it up herself, I expect it's been put back by Lord Grantham—" Inwardly he winced at the falsehood, but he thought of how much the Dowager Countess would approve of him and it lifted a petty lie to an act of nobility in his mind. "She'll have to come down and get it herself, if she really wants it."

Only two more sleeps….only two more sleeps…this is very difficult, isn't it? Well, only one more chapter. The denouement! Thank you for all the fabulous support. This was a fun one to write, because I think there's a very interesting dynamic between Matthew and Carson. It sort of makes me want more interaction between them in series 3.