A/N: Oh my, all of your lovely lovely reviews! I will respond to them, I promise. But I only have a few minutes before I need to start getting dinner ready and it was either a new drabble, or replies. I didn't think you would mind too much if I went with this:

_reckless one_

The hospital keeps them all busy. It also breaks down more of those barriers between roles and class that the war has slowly been wearing away at.

Mrs Crawley can be seen covered in blood and sickness as often as Lady Sybil and Ethel.

Lady Edith came to her after a week and asked if perhaps there was something she could do to help. She does not know why the girl came to her and not Mrs Crawley or her own sister, but she mentions that she has started to sit with the patients when she has time. That they seem to benefit from a quiet presence and a hand to hold, if that's something the young Lady thinks she can offer.

She does not say that she finds as much comfort in those few minutes she spends in the wards as she suspects the soldiers do.

The world is not run on checks and balances and yet when she holds a young man's hand and talks him through his pain, she feels it may tip the scales a little. That if one of her boys - the Lord forbid - ever needs the same, they will get it because of what she is doing here.

Charles would shake his head at her sentimental thinking, but he would bring her a cup of tea and not try to drag her away until she was done.

"You have someone still out there, Mrs Hughes?"

Today her hand is held by a man who has told her he is a farmer, with a wife and two little girls who are making the trip to Yorkshire to see him. Doctor Clarkson is sure he will regain full use of his leg once the bone has fixed. There is nothing he can do for the blindness.

She smiles at him, even though he cannot see her and squeezes his fingers between her own.

"Many of the young men from the staff are fighting, Mr Beck."

He shakes his head, tugs at her hand to draw her closer.

"Someone else." He says and she realises that his first had not really been a question.

She hesitates only a moment, her voice quiet in the busy ward.

"Mr Carson. He was-is the Butler here. He left for France in early Spring last year." She pauses, has to gather strength to speak through the lump in her throat. "He is very dear to me."

There is silence while she blinks away the tears that have sprung to her eyes - she has not cried since the first month when she discovered he had taken a photograph of her with him, she will not do so now.

Mr Beck squeezes her fingers and she looks down at the crooked smile that has settled on his lips.

"And you will hold his hand when he returns, won't you Mrs Hughes? Whether he asks for it or not."

Her laugh draws the eyes of Lady Sybil and Mrs Crawley and she waves off their looks, happy that they too are now smiling as they turn away.

She was born a farmer's daughter and is not insulted by his cheek. "Yes," she says, laughter still in her voice. "I do believe I will."

And he will enjoy it, she thinks, whether it is proper or not.