Author's Notes: And welcome to Series 2! Thank you all who have reviewed and made this story so popular its cracked the Top 100 (Rank is 77 currently, no idea how high up if you remove all the 'Modern AU' fics).

Don't expect updates this close together, by the way. Last week was just a treat and now we are back on schedule.

Remember, reviews make me want to write!

~A~O~O~O~F~

July 12th, 1916

"As you can see we are proud to be part of the war effort."

Matthew followed the plump form of Nicholas Rutter, the owner of the Dartmont Automotive Company, as he led both him and Thomas through his factory. They made an odd grouping, what with the corpulent man in his suit that, while baggy, did little to hide his wide frame and the two of them dressed in their military uniforms, all marks of their status clear to see. The rotund man had clearly tried to dress the place up, having British flags flying out front and colorful blue, white, and red bunting along the counters while posters proclaiming support for the military hanging on the walls. But it couldn't hide that this was a factory. Rutter was forced to raise his voice over the cacophony coming from the factory floor but Matthew was well used to that and didn't even bat an eye at the chaotic noises that swirled about them. Rutter spent most of his days in this factory while Matthew and Thomas moved about the countryside, visiting hundreds of such facilities both larger and smaller. This visit was an old hat for them, as it were.

"What was it you did before this?" Matthew asked as they passed by an area clearly designated as a spot for the workers and car assemblers to change and store their meager personal belongings. It was a cramp room with a long bench running down the middle and lockers on either side. It reminded Matthew very much of the changing space from his schooling days, when he'd take time out of learning history and mathematics to run and climb ropes and strengthen his body rather than his mind.

Thomas took a moment to peek inside, Rutter frowning at that. "Oh, no need to look in there… just a dirty, smelly room for the workers. All the factory is like that… are you sure you wouldn't rather just handle this in my office?"

"We came to see the factory and that is what we are going to do," Matthew said firmly while Thomas continued to peer about. Alarms had been screaming in his head the moment the owner had attempted, the moment they had arrived, to get the two of them to just go to his most likely well-furnished office and enjoy a drink rather than actually walk the factory floor and do their inspection. The man probably thought himself rather clever but it was painfully obvious to Matthew that he was nervous and if he could have had his way Rutter would have seen the two of them off as soon as possible. Perhaps, had Matthew been some high born lord's son he would have seen such actions as wonderful suggests and ate up the platitudes the man was sending their way as being true fawning by a loyal subject of the realm. But he was a middle class lawyer and had been doing this job for nearly 2 years. He had seen it far too many times and didn't buy into the rubbish Rutter was trying to peddle. "If our fighting men can battle on through the muck we can handle rooms that smell of sweat and are filled with dust."

Rutter bobbed his head rapidly at that. "Oh, of course Capt. Crawley, of course. That is why I was so happy to aid in the war effort. Only by acting together can we beat the Germans!" He began to move on and after a moment Matthew and Thomas followed him, moving towards the main floor where the workers were assembling the jeeps and trucks that would move the much needed supplies General Lothrop was procuring to the front and the men that needed them. It was a rather cheerless place, not because of any cruelty or malice but because of the need of function over style. No bunting here, no flags or posters. Only exposed steel beams, cold cement floors, the ringing of metal and flash of welding sparks. Three teams of men, roughly 8 to 10 on each, were moving around three rather skeletal looking jeeps, calling out for tools and assembling pieces. Once more Matthew wondered if a higher born man would have passed by this floor and not seen it as the most important place in the inspection, dismissing it as little more than the work of the peons-

'Stop it,' he thought, pushing aside all thoughts of lords and titles from his head. He hated to think of such things these days and when he did it always put him in a black mood.

"What did you make here before the war?" Thomas asked. Rutter looked at him and he smiled what was, for him, an innocent smile. Matthew knew that while Rutter might have only seen kindness what that grin really meant was that a wolf was among the chickens and the farmer had gone to church. "I mean obviously you made motor vehicles, I am curious which ones."

"High end ones, Sgt. Barrow," Rutter said proudly. "There was always a lord or a duke looking to buy a fleet of cars. I sold ten to the Marquess of Hexham just a few years before the war. Very impressive, purred like kittens and roared like lions. He entertained quite a bit and would need to drive people about for hunting and travel."

Thomas pursed his lips at that. "Sounds as if the war caused you to take quite a step down." When Rutter shot him a confused look Thomas gave a slight shrug. "We have a friend whose brother owns a garage and from we've been told high end cars, especially the ones you were selling, can cost quite a bit… and bring in quite a bit of money. Special parts, special needs. Rather different from constantly making the same jeep over and over."

"Ah, but I am happy to be able to help the war effort. My sister's boy in serving near the Somme…"

Matthew though wasn't interested in the man's family. "You are helping but not quite at the speed we were hoping for. In fact you've fallen quite behind in delivery."

Thomas pulled out a notebook and flipped through the pages while Rutters blustered a bit. "When we drew up your contract you claimed that roughly 60 jeeps and 40 trucks a month could be produced, with the possibility of shifting towards larger transport trucks as well as single man motorcycles with sidecars. You have over the last 12 months averaged only 29 jeeps, 15 trucks, and no transporters or cycles each month."

"So you understand our concern," Matthew added, cutting to the heart of the matter. "We have supplies waiting at camps that can't get to the front lines, warehouses filled with needed medicine that can't reach field hospitals because we lack transport, and to move beyond our own aspect of the war relief troops that merely trickle to the front lines rather than flow."

Rutter waved off their concerns. "Jeeps and trucks might be rather utilitarian but they are actually rather like pieces of art. Every nut and bolt must be in its proper place. I know how important these vehicles are but if I were to send them out without ensuring that every bolt was in place and that cost a young man his life… well… I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Switching from the cars we are used to building to these vehicles has also been a learning process. We are getting better, I assure you, but it will take time."

"It might go a bit faster if your entire staff were actually building the jeeps," Thomas said with a breezy tone. He pointed to one group. "Of the eight men working on that jeep only three have truly done anything. Those two keep walking back to the tool box, selecting a different tool, then walking back. Not using it or giving it to anyone… just pick up a tool, walk around the car, walk back and select a new one. That one is lying under the body but hasn't actually done anything; if it weren't for the noise I'd think he was asleep. And those two keep tightening and loosening the same four bolts; they rotate every two minutes." He turned back to Rutter who, to Matthew's amusement, was turning several different shades of purple. "The same with the other teams. I would say you have at best 10 of the 30 men down here that actually are working."

"I… I do not know what you are implying-" Rutter began to snap and snarl, only for Matthew to hold up his hand.

"I think you know exactly what Thomas is implying. But if he is wrong it is easy enough to determine. We have all day… Thomas will select 10 men and they will put together a jeep. Even if they don't get done we should see progress."

Rutter was sweating now, his round face looking like a frog who had just emerged from swamp water. "They are new hires. Learning their trade. We… we wanted to put on a good show for you but we've been hit by men leaving… to fight the good fight-"

"Then they must have left a long time ago," Thomas said, rocking back on his heels. "Only a third of the lockers have been used."

"As I said-" Rutter began.

"I don't mean used recently. I mean ever. While you two were talking I looked at the paint on the hinges… you can where it his chipped off on the lockers being used by your actual employees but the rest look prestine. But not fresh… you can see where a couple lockers got repainted recently but the paint doesn't quite match."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "I wonder if we ask around we'll find out that a road crew was offered a day of easy pay under a roof if they pretended to be mechanics."

"Why would I do that?" Rutter exclaimed, truly going into a good panic. "Why would I think of doing such a thing? You make claims about me but do not answer the why!"

Now it was Matthew's turn to play Holmes after acting as Thomas' Watson. "Because of the contract. I wasn't one of the men to draw that one up, much to my annoyance but Sgt. Barrow and I were on other tasks and the General was forced to use those less knowledgeable than me. But I did read it all the same before it was sent for you to sign, Mr. Rutter… you requested, as a way of 'helping King and Country', to be paid not per vehicle but a flat rate per day. You were offering to build at a faster pace than all others and at first you did deliver closer to the number promised, but as time has gone on you have slowed in production. You never hired the full crew you claimed you would. You instead kept your numbers small, knowing that you would be able to pocket more money the longer it took to produce the vehicles we needed… and with us in desperate need you knew we wouldn't risk terminating the contract due to you not meeting the goal."

The factory owner puffed up a bit at that, his previous kindness and good nature fading away. "You are correct in that, Capt. Crawley. There is nothing you or your general can do. The contract is iron clad and as you said you are in desperate need of my vehicles. So there will be no altering of terms… and you will keep me employed as long as you need me."

Matthew and Thomas shared a look.

"I don't think his sister's son is in the army at all," Thomas said.

"I don't think he has a sister at all," Matthew countered before turning back to Rutter and smiling. "Well, I suppose you are right… we won't be seeking any alternations to the contract. And the contract is iron clad." Here he leaned forward, his smile becoming a hyena's mocking visage. "Including the clause I put in before the contract was sent to you to finalize."

"What… what clause?" Rutter said, his boastfulness doing what his sweat would not and evaporating away.

"Oh, nothing to be concerned about. I buried it deep in the contract, hard to see but it was there if you bothered to read over the details. It merely states that should you fail to provide the army with 700 jeeps and 400 trucks within 13 months' time, which is actually under what you promised, you would refund half of the funds we paid you since the contract began. And you seem to be under half of that for your quota of jeeps and trucks with only… how many days left, Sgt. Barrow?"

"12 days, Cpt. Crawley."

"12 days left to reach the agreed upon goal." Matthew looked over at the workers, who were once more loosening bolts they had just tightened. "Seeing as you are having quite a time teaching your new employees how to properly affix bolts you are welcome to pay us early."

"I… I…"

Thomas shrugged. "Oh, and before you do give us our check know that you STILL are required to produce the jeeps and trucks we paid for… without payment until the quota is met. Only then will we begin discussing a new contract."

"I… I can't do that. I used the funds-"

"To improve the factory?" Matthew pressed. "Or only the parts that will help after the war when you return to building those luxury cars? Or are you merely short sighted and lined your own pockets?" He glared at the now stammering man and took a step forward, jabbing his finger into the man's chest. "Should you fail to meet the quota and return to us the funds we are owed I am quite ready to contact the military police about your breach of contract… and stealing of military funds. For that is what you have done, Mr. Rutter. Sgt. Barrow, what would you call stealing from the government, hampering the war effort, and causing the deaths of soldiers?"

"I would say treason, Cpt. Crawley."

It wouldn't get that far but that threat did make the fat man squirm all the more.

"And what is the punishment for traitors?"

"Hanging most times. Though with our friend here they might elect for a firing squad…"

A foul odor hit their nose and Matthew glanced down only to look back up, avoiding any chance of looking at the dark stain that was forming on the front of Rutter's trousers. The man was trembling so hard it was a wonder that his blubber didn't drip off him like pudding shaken from a whisk and the man's gasps were hard and ragged. He lurched forward, fingers squeezing open and shut and Matthew backed away as the owner tried to grab onto his coat.

"Please… I needed the money-"

"No you didn't," Matthew said coldly. "You wanted the money. There is a difference. Don't equate yourself with a widow with a mewling babe who stole a loaf of bread. You are a rich man that wanted to get richer."

Rutter shook his head. "No… I just… the money. I needed the money. And the military has so much and everyone else is taking their share why not me-"

"This isn't about the money!" Matthew roared, Rutter trembling and falling backwards onto the floor, his workers stopping what they were doing and staring at them. Thomas reached over and forced Matthew not to fly upon Rutter with fists swinging and Matthew took a heard breath, forcing himself to calm down. "This… is about the soldiers that are dying in muddy trenches because they aren't getting the proper medical supplies or food rations or weapons because you got greedy. You still haven't accepted that, have you? You still think it was in your right to take all that money. That there was nothing wrong with it. Do you even feel remorse?"

"I… of course…"

"I didn't mean remorse for yourself," Matthew said in disgust

Thomas shot him a look. Not one of disapproval, nor one willing him to stop. No, it was another one of their silent communications that said 'I want a turn'. Matthew finally nodded and stepped back, allowing Thomas to make his move. "Are you a God fearing man, Mr. Rutter?" The owner looked at Thomas, his entire bearing and form utterly pitiful, but the former footman wasn't moved. "I don't think you are now. Not at the moment. You might claim you are but not truly. That is just something else to fake, to make a mockery of. But I want you to consider something: Thou Shall Not Kill. Every life on the battlefield that is lost because they didn't have what they needed to survive? That is on your head. Each life will be weighed against your own in judgment. Each. Life. And mercy on you if they are all waiting for you on the other side, ready to pass judgment of their own. Gold can't buy your way out of where you are headed."

"We'll see you in two weeks, Mr. Rutter, to discuss your paying back the military." With that Matthew spun on his heels and walked off, Thomas only a step behind him. They didn't spare at glance back at the factory as they made for their car, Thomas slipping into the driver's seat (Matthew would never drive again… dying had killed any urge to get behind a wheel) and the two shared a look before starting off, barely noticing the muffed BANG behind them.

It would be two days later that they'd learn that Mr. Rutter had decided to face his judgment then and there.

~MC~MC~MC~

"Are you sure there is nothing I can do, my lady-"

Mary reached out and gently bopped the top of Anna's hand. "No you may not. And might I remind you that you don't need to call me that? You aren't my maid anymore."

"Force of habit," Anna said, settling back in her chair, wiggling as she tried to find a way to get more comfortable. She was seated in a highback chair while Mary stood at the counter in the Lothrop's kitchen. "Besides, our stations-"

"I am the wife of a lawyer, Anna. One who isn't practicing law at the moment. You are the wife of a hotel owner. And if we take ranks into account you are married to a major and I a captain. You exceed me on both fronts in society's eyes."

"You are a lady though-"

"I was a lady," Mary said with a shrug. "And now I am not. I am the wife of a good man. So either I call YOU milady or we address each other as friends."

"Of course m...Mary," Anna said before letting out a grunt.

"Besides, you need to take it easy," Mary said, pointing the spoon she was holding at Anna's dome of a belly. "Your husband will have my head if you overtax yourself."

Anna rolled her eyes as she shifted again, wiggling her hips before finally finding a position that didn't cause her heavily pregnant belly to pull her forward so much as to hurt her back. "John treats me like glass nowadays. Won't even let me walk up the stairs anymore and he even thought about moving us from our bedroom to one on the first floor."

"There are worse things than a man caring for his wife and their first child."

"Yes but I wish he would realize that I can actually move about on my own!" Anna complained.

"He's scared," Mary reminded her gently. She flashed back to that horrible moment several months ago, when Isobel had rung to tell them that she had Anna and John with her and they needed a car to get them to the hospital.

Matthew's mother had gone to serve as a personal reference to Mrs. Byrd, who had gotten a job with the Merryweathers, and decided to stop by the Grantham Arms when there had been a delay with her train and visit the Bates family. All had been going well until Anna had begun to complain of pains in her stomach and Isobel, bless her soul a thousand times over in Mary's opinion, had quickly realized that Anna was suffering the first stages of a miscarriage. With Dr. Clarkson off God knows where and the man covering for him being so green that one would 'lose him in a field of grass' Iosbel had decided to risk the train ride to London to get Anna help. Catherine Lothrop had gotten their car ready with barked commands that would have made her husband proud and Anna had been rushed to the hospital in time to save the baby. After that though John had demanded, rightly in Mary's opinion, that Anna have monthly appointments in London to ensure all was well with their child, damn the expense. Someone from the London Crawley Household (as their group had taken to calling themselves) would always be there to meet her at that station and would make sure she safely got back once the appointment was finished. Mary in particular had volunteered repeatedly for that duty as it let her see her old men and now dear friend.

"And I don't blame him. Now, the only thing I want you to do is watch as I make these cookies and then tell me how much you enjoy them." Moving over to the mixing bowling she'd been working with Mary measured out a slab of butter before pulling out a large grinder and securing it to the table before selecting a tin of raisins and slowly pouring them in with one hand while she turned the crank with the other, a long tube of crushed raisins going into her batter. "I think you'll really enjoy these. Ground up raisin cookies. I read about them the other day and I have been dying to try them."

Anna shook her head and smiled. "I still find it so strange that you cook."

"Bake," Mary said with a slight grunt. "There is a difference. Cakes? Pies? Cookies and biscuits? Oh, I love making those! But the idea of sticking my hand into a chicken's carcass?" Mary gave a full body shiver. "No, I will happily leave that to Mrs. Jones' capable hands."

"Well, that is a small relief," Anna said with a chuckle. "I don't know how I'd handle it if you were seeking to replace the cook."

"I've informed Matthew that while I am willing to be a lawyer's wife I draw the line at handling raw meat so a cook must be included with our household."

"You know, you never did tell me what caused you to take up this hobby," Anna said as Mary finished grinding up the dried fruit and had moved to mixing everything together.

"Boredom and shame, in equal parts," Mary said matter-of-factly. "After we settled in here I was ready to continue on with life as I had at Downton-" it was a testament to the passage of time and the mellowing of past pains that she was able to get the name of her home out in one breath without hissing it, "-only to find that I didn't want that. I couldn't go back to that. Switching useless things and reading the same old dry books no longer appealed to me. I blame Matthew entirely, he corrupted me with his middle class ways."

"I'm sure," Anna said with a smile. "And the shame?"

Mary pulled a slight face. "That came from the realization that everyone else had something to do in this new life. Matthew and Thomas work with Allen, sometimes at the War Office and other times crisscrossing the country. Edith and Tom are at the paper- Tom says hello, by the way, he wasn't sure if he'd be back before you left." Several years spent seeing the former footman and former chauffeur had cured Mary of past habits of treating them like servants and now they were merely members of her odd and patchwork family. "And Isobel and Sybil work at the hospital... though with the way Sybil had taken charge it is more that Isobel words FOR Sybil rather than with." Mary shook her head, smiling slightly before she pulled out a pan and began to spoon out dollops of cookie dough upon it. "I had nothing though and that bothered me. You know me Anna... I don't like being seen as a burden. I like to be in control, at the front of the pack as the Americans would say, but instead I found myself falling behind.

"It was Catherine who helped me. After a few weeks of seeing me wander about this place in a half daze she finally took me to her private study." While the Lothrops were kind people that did have their rules and the main one was to respect the privacy of others. They had their rooms, Mary and Matthew had their own, as did Thomas (Tom had moved out after a few months, having wanted his own space, while Isobel had gotten a small flat and invited Sybil to move in with her so that the youngest Crawley could have a taste of freedom; Edith technically had a room at the Lothrop house but she spent so much time at the paper that it only really got used for sleep). Everyone would respect that these rooms, along with a few others, were to be entered only by permission. The Lothrops' personal studies were two such rooms. The General had a small sitting room where he could relax in a chair and read a book in peace while Catherine had her own room that no one entered... until the day she invited Mary inside. "There she explained that while she has the normal charities and such that one would expect a woman of her station to be a part of her greatest passion was writing. Books, Anna! Novels! All under pennames, of course, but published work. When her mind became weighed down with boredom she would turn to her typewriter.

"She told me to do the same, to find my own passion. I am rubbish at writing, that's Edith's domain. I can't play music well and it would be far too distracting if I went about singing. But then I remembered when I was young, maybe 5 or 6 years old, and I went down to the kitchens because I was tired of my governess' lessons, and I found Mrs. Bradley... she was the cook before Mrs. Patmore. And she asked if I wanted some biscuits and then sat me on a stool and explained everything she was doing. It seemed so... magical! Like a sorceress brewing up some secret potion! Oh, it was so much fun to watch her! And when I thought of that I decided to try my hand at it here and..." she waved her hand at the tray of cookie dough she was preparing to put in the oven. "Well, not right away. I did have to handle a few small hang-ups."

"And those were?" Anna asked.

Mary held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. Gone were the days when her hands were creamy white with soft skin and carefully painted nails. For one thing her nails were trimmed down short, almost scandalously short, and there was no polish or paint on them at the moment. Another was her skin, which while not scarred up like Mrs. Patmore there were calluses and worn spots upon each digit of her hand.

"I was so timid at first that it took a whole day just to make a simple biscuit. Afraid of burns, of cuts. I finally got annoyed with myself, grabbed a paring knife, and nicked my ring finger. Don't give me that look Anna." Mary wagged her finger at her friend. "I didn't go hacking off tips at the joints, if that is what you are fearing. You've probably done worse pricking yourself with a needle. Just a small cut, no worse than what I've gotten from letters, but enough to get me over my fear. Oh, I've burned myself of course and the first time I used this grinder I gave myself a blister but nothing too dreadful and it did help me throw myself into my hobby." She grabbed a towel and used it to open the oven and slide the tray inside. "And unlike other hobbies you can eat mine."

Anna laughed at that before watching Mary get a second tray set up. "What would Mrs. Patmore think of you doing this?"

"Probably scoff at me drifting into a domain she felt didn't belong to me," Mary said, not looking up as she readied her next batch.

"Could you imagine her walking in on you baking in her kitchen? She would have a fit!"

"I am sure she would," Mary said with a slight smile before her mood sobered. "But lucky for her that will never happen." Anna sighed in response. "If you have something to say please say it. I promise not to shriek and scream."

"Mrs. Hughes came to see me the other day. She comes to visit John and I at the hotel, from time to time, when she can get away. I think she needs to see our faces." Anna looked down at her own hands, folded on her large belly. "She would love to see you again, to hear how your life is from your own lips, rather than my second hand tales. And you know she can't easily get away-"

"No," Mary said firmly, cutting her off.

"You wouldn't need to go to the House," Anna pointed out. "You could come to the hotel-"

"And bring papa's wrath upon you and John? I think not."

"He wouldn't take it out on us," Anna said.

Mary laughed. "You don't know papa like I do!" Mary countered. "Our war has entered a stalemate. It is an uneasy ceasefire but any excuse will make it flame right up. He knows he can't target me, I am out of his reach, but he can harm others I care for. I will not risk you, John, or Little Franklin-"

"We aren't calling him that; you aren't allowed to name my baby!" Anna said with mock exasperation. It was a game they played, with Mary coming up with a new name for the unborn child every visit. That got a chuckle out of Mary and a teasing glint in her eye, something Anna clearly was happy to see. But her good mood vanished as Anna pressed the topic. "Is there no chance of a thawing of things? It has been two years."

"Exactly," Mary said firmly, forcing herself not to make her words clipped and short. Anna was her friend and was merely doing what friends did. It had taken Mary a while to learn that lesson, far too used to approaching the world where people always agreed with her or were fools, and she would not backslide now. "Two years. Papa has held his grudge for two years. Granny still rails against him, from what I hear… in fact during her last visit she mentioned that she was considering closing her home since she spent so much time at Downton trying to get it through papa's head that he is a fool. As for mama…" Mary tone grew bitter. "I have not spoken to her since she suggested I go and apologize to him."

Anna, having sadly been a witness to that little meeting between the two Crawley women, let that line go and went a different route. "Still, it would be nice if you came to visit. John and I have done wonderful things with the hotel…"

"As you have told me," Mary said, patting her hand. "And I can't wait to see them. But I fear it will be a long time before Matthew and I make our way back to Downton."

"…and many of the staff would love to see you again."

"They know where I live," Mary said firmly. "John has made the trip and he has a hotel to run. And Sybil and Gwen saw each other several times last year and if the war would calm down and give her less to do I'm sure Sybil would see her all the more."

"It isn't that easy for the staff to get away."

"Oh please," Mary said with a roll of her eyes. "Mama and papa came to the London house last January and brought much of the staff. O'Brien came to see Thomas here on her day off, Molesley told me about it. If Mrs. Hughes or Mrs. Patmore wish to see me they can. Though I do believe they are the only ones… Gwen is gone, so are you. Thomas and Tom. William would refuse, thanks to papa pouring poison in his ear. And I don't believe there is anyone else from the staff that I would recognize… perhaps Lynch…"

"What… what about Mr. Carson?" Anna broached.

Mary gripped the table, calling upon all her patience and reserves not to begin snarling. 'Anna is your friend… Anna is your friend. Your pregnant friend. You care for her and you will not scream at her.' She repeated this over and over in her head until she was able to calm herself down.

"I do not wish to speak of him."

"Mrs. Hughes says-"

"I sent him a letter, you know," Mary stated. Anna looked down; she knew of this for Mary had told her before but it was good of her to be reminded, in Mary's opinion. "Shortly after that last fight with papa. I told him I had married Matthew and I was sorry that I had left without saying goodbye. I thanked him for his kindness and told him that I would be willing to write if he so desired."

"And he never responded."

"And he never responded," Mary repeated. "So no… we will not speak of Carson again." Glancing at the timer she had set Mary quickly turned the dial, getting a sharp ring from the device, before she took up her towel and pulled out a tray of freshly baked cookies. "No… what we will do is eat these cookies and discuss what you will be doing for Little Franklin's room."

And all Anna could do was smile and do just that.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And welcome to Series 2 where the jokes are made up and the points don't matter. I'm your host Drew Carey.

…okay, no idea where that came from.

So this chapter, along with the next two, are my Post Time Skip Trilogy (and yes, I do realize that makes it sound like One Piece… hmmmm Note to self, Downton Abbey where Mary and Matthew get dragged into One Piece…). These three chapters will take place over the same two days, allowing us to see what life is like for the cast before we begin moving into the plot lines of Series 2. We will cover 6 groups that can be sorted into 3 larger groups: Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Crawley here (with Anna and Thomas along for the ride), the future Mr. and Mrs. Tom Branson (because they are getting married Tom just doesn't realize it yet), and Downton as a whole.

First section we see Thomas as Sherlock Holmes and Matthew as his Watson. I know some might feel that I glorify Thomas a bit too much… I've been accused of such with Tywin Lannister over in A Man of Iron. But here is the thing… I like writing villains. I am currently working on a Yu-Gi-Oh story, a self-insert (I've never done one before despite what people claim about Jack Kenway and Geno Roads). It sees myself sucked into Yu-Gi-Oh right before Duelist Kingdom. And I swore I would be 100% honest about myself and my flaws and in plotting it out I realized… I'd end up an anti hero. And not in the dark cool way… in the way that, in a world where I felt I could get away with manipulating things and conning people and lying… I would. Because I do have a problem with lying at times (I am an amazing storyteller in person but people know I will embellish stories for that reason) and I can be self centered. Furthermore, when I was an actor I got typecast as the villain. I was the villain in Donovan's Daughters and had I not stepped aside I would have been Jafar in Aladdin (I took the role of the narrator but everyone agreed I should have played Jafar and the one time I stood in for my friend who did play the role everyone said I nailed it). As Sir Ian once said "The devil gets the best dance numbers"

So it is natural for me to see villainous characters and… enjoy writing for them. To find the humanity in them. In fact I have an easier time with anti-heroes then I do pure heroes. Perhaps that's why I turned the Sweetest Soul In Downton into a 1910s mob boss who put a hit out on Pamuk.

Anyway, with this chapter I wanted to show that Thomas, with all his scheming and weasely ways… would make a good detective. Heck, he falls into the Psych role, really… if he pretended to be psychic he could get away with it, I think. Matthew, meanwhile, is good at being the hammer that drops once Thomas has set up the nail.

I discussed with some people in the reviews that I hold that Matthew suffered from shell shock/PTSD due to the war, at least in my story. I feel that the show missed out on great drama and story potential by not exploring more what that would mean for Matthew. For example, I imagine that while a fox hunt would be fine for him going bird hunting would be bad… because a bunch of guns, going off all around him? He would tackle Mary to the ground if she went with him and warn her to stay silent because they were in enemy territory. Thus here, with Rutter, we see Matthew snap because he remembers the war and how he and his men suffered because of people like him.

Originally Matthew was going to give Rutter and out and do a new contract… but I decided I wanted something more dramatic. Thus Rutter suckled on a revolver.

Speaking of suckling, Anna's pregnant!

For those worried I might not remember continuity… well, I do my best to remember details and Anna's problems getting pregnant were remembered. Luckily in this world Anna doesn't hide things from Bates and even more luckily she can be seen in the company of others and thus have Isobel help her out.

Before anyone complains they should be called biscuits… no. Mary is making cookies and I don't mean that as a filthy American. A biscuit is "any of various hard or crisp dry baked product" while a cookie is larger and softer. And Mary is making my family's famous Ground Up Raisin Cookies and those are very soft and moist… so not a biscuit.

Oh, and as an aside? We make them EXACTLY as Mary is with that grinding press. My father used food processors but always had a heck of a time cleaning them… then he found at a garage sale that press for the 1910s and it works perfectly. Raisins slowly dumped in, you get a tube of ground up raisins, mix into dough. Makes for a more spread out taste, a more pleasant texture, and just overall an amazing cookie.

As for Mary loving to bake? I wanted to show that she is embracing the middle class life… but she isn't barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. She makes desserts. It is her hobby. She makes cookies and cakes and Matthew brings them to the War Office to share with everyone. It makes her happy because it is something she can create with her own two hands that people love.

One of the important things I wanted to establish in this trilogy is how things have changed in terms of character interactions. Matthew and Thomas have worked together for 2 years and each can tell what the other is thinking. Mary and Anna are now friends though Anna still struggles with that. Mary sees Thomas and Tom as part of the London Crawleys… they are like… well, not brothers, more like cousins. The General and Catherine have become like a favorite uncle and aunt who are almost like second parents but not quite because they are fun parents you like hanging out with (for most people… honestly my mom and I were very close before she passed and when she was in the hospital my father and I got much closer and now he and I talk every day and I almost once a week drive up to hang out with him).

Things are being set up in this chapter that will pay off later in the trilogy. Little hints of events that, when we get to other people, we will see their side.

Okay, time for the plot bunny and NO it isn't Mary and Matthew and One Piece. I might do that one next time if people want the details. No, this one is inspired by a fanfic that deserves a TON more love: Dance with the Star Wars and its sequels Racing Through the Stars and Skating with the Star Wars. Those fics imagined that, during Episode II, to hide Padme it was decided… to have her and Anakin compete on a reality show where couples learn to dance and compete against others. The sequel was based on the Amazing Race and saw Padme and Anakin again undercover… and Obi Wan and Mace joining in. The final one was Anakin and Padme in a skating reality show and Obi Wan and Siri forced to join in. Humor and romance.

I am basing this plot bunny on the second idea and also borrowing from an earlier plot bunny where I said TVs got invented during WWI. Basically, in this reality everything is the same in Downton save for two little things: Televisions are real and WWI never happened. Or at least it got settled so fast that nothing came about. The British government, needing to buck up spirits after the War That Almost Was decides to go with an INSANE idea: to draft random people and have them compete in the reality show The Great Global Race. These people will be paired up into teams of two and forced to travel to exotic locations around the globe, competing in challenges. There is a huge prize so everyone wants to win, as well as fame and honor.

…and it just so happens that because of a fluke nearly all the contestants are connected to Downton.

Matthew is already annoyed with having to do this, as it means he has to be away from Lavina. He is even MORE annoyed when his partner is revealed to be Mary. He makes it clear that while the money will be nice and he has been warned that he can't just throw the Race if they just do a so so job they can get booted out.

Too bad Mary, who hasn't met Sir Richard yet, still loves Matthew and decides to make the Race last as LONG as possible so that she and Matthew spend a ton of time together.

As for the other racing teams we have Sybil and Tom (who everyone keep disappearing during events and when they return Sybil has odd hickies on her neck), Edith and some guy from up north named Bertie (see, I can do something other than Michael!), Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson (the latter competing for the 'honor of Downton'), Anna and Thomas (Bates' leg would never let him race but he can watch and comment), and Robert and Cora (oh Robert trying to do challenges). There would be other characters from the shows that could be part of the race, up to whoever grabs this. And I also imagine that, with much of the house gone, the Dowager and Bates would end up watching the show together and giving commentary to the whole thing.

Imagine Anna trying to zipline in India. Robert forced to crawl through a massive cream pie to find a clue in France. Sybil and Tom having to drink glass after glass of sake to find the one that is water so they can get their clue and getting completely trashed and Sybil announcing to the world that she loves Tom and wants to have little Socialist babies. And through it all Mary and Matthew bickering and fighting and falling back in love.