A/N: It seems this fic just wants to occasionally fill in little moments. So be it. This has been brewing since early S4, and now we're almost to S5! Goodness. Perhaps it's time for a little catching up (but let's just discourage the notion that there might be anything approaching regular updates right up front, yeah?)

Infuriating, meddlesome woman!

He stood stiffly, hands behind his back, watching her retreating form.

An open wound, she'd said. Better to stitch it up and let it heal, she'd said. What the bloody hell did she know about it? Nothing, that's what. She knew nothing about it. Only what she could find out by snooping.

He'd meant what he said a few nights ago. He really did not understand her. Oh, he understood her need to unearth secrets about those around her. It was one of the things he'd always admired, envied a little, even, that she had that knack for getting to the heart of others' problems. It was one of the things that made her so exemplary at her job. But now that her radar of curiosity was focused on him, he was starting to re-think his admiration for this particular personality quirk.

Blast it all, it was a matter of respect. He had told her, flat out, that she had no business prying into his affairs with Grigg. So what did she do? Took it as a challenge and went the whole hog. Retrieved the sorry bastard from the workhouse, invoking his own name in the process. And then she brought Mrs. Crawley into the mess on top of it. It was almost beyond intolerable.

Isobel Crawley he could manage. The divide between upstairs and down had its advantages. Mrs. Crawley had always been more willing than average to push that boundary, but she wouldn't go beyond a certain point. But Elsie Hughes, well. Not a chance. She was probably the only person alive who would dare push her way this far in to his private affairs. And he had no illusions that any of this was really Mrs. Crawley's idea. No, this was one-hundred percent her, from the moment she'd seen his reaction to that letter and gone rifling through his bin.

Charlie Bloody Grigg. He had dealt with this, years ago. He was done with it. And now here came Elsie Hughes, saviour of the downtrodden and irredeemable, occasionally nosy to a fault, agony aunt even to the firmly unwilling, dredging it all back up.

(The workhouse, though, that thought had pained him. To imagine that with just the smallest twist of fate, it could have been him in there. She knew it, too, knew enough of his past to recognize how close he had been, had he not come to his senses and gone another way.)

Well, that will teach you, old boy, he fumed silently. Open yourself up a little and look where it gets you. He'd let her get under his skin and wrap herself around his heart and now there was no escaping her, especially when she was on a mission.

He allowed himself to simmer until she was well out of sight. Eventually he sighed, and his posture relaxed.

Ah, but that's not what's really bothering you about this, it is Charlie? It's not really Grigg that's the issue. It's not even — he closed his eyes, the name he didn't want to think about forcing its way up through — it's not even about Alice. When he'd dealt with Grigg before the war, they had actively avoided that topic altogether, never even broached it. No, the thing really bothering him wasn't that he was being forced to face all that past unpleasantness. The real problem here was about what he wanted from Elsie Hughes.

Among all the things he wanted and had begun to hope for as his feelings for her had started to evolve, there was one thing that had remained constant. He wanted — no, needed — her respect. Yes, he had also wanted her friendship. In his more contemplative moments, he had silently but actively begun to hope for more than that some day. (Her companionship — the thought made him flush). But underlying all of it, there was always a firm grounding of mutual respect.

What he did not want, though, was to be a focal point of one of her bloody projects, all full of good intentions, Christian charity, a smattering of pity and a healthy dose of mothering. Yet somehow, here he was. And worst of all, she was right again, dammit. She and Mrs. Crawley were meddling busybodies, but they were right. Making amends with Grigg and seeing him off to Belfast with a handshake and words of good will was the right thing to do. No matter how painful, it was right. It would finally be closure.

Dammit.

So, what to do? Dig in his heels for the sake of pride? Or extend a hand, and take her lead through the murky waters?

Tomorrow.

He would decide tomorrow.