Cora cut through a piece of Mrs. Patmore's wonderful chicken, purposely letting the clinking of her knife against her plate fill the air. It was the only sound in the large ornate dining room and whenever she lifted a piece of meat to her lips the silence return, oppressive and crushing. Or it would have been for anyone else. But for Cora Crawley silence had become an old friend… perhaps her only friend.

'And how terribly sad is that?'

It felt so very, very wrong for the Downton dining room to be so quiet. It was by no means a blusterous place, like some Western tavern filled with the honky-tonk banging of a piano and the laughter of men as they gambled with beer stained cards while cigar smoke stank up the air. But there had been life in the room once and now that it was as quiet as a tomb Cora felt even the inanimate objects that filled the room were judging her, scornful of the quiet when there should have been light chatter the fill the air.

Cora had long had visions of what her life would be like when her girls were gone. She'd imagined some loneliness but had thought that she'd be able to move beyond it easily enough. After all with three daughters there would be plenty of homes to visit and grandchildren to spoil with gifts. And when she wasn't visiting them there would be so many other things to do. Charities to help, friends to visit… and with Mary married to the heir (first Patrick and then Matthew) she would be able to run Downton, to take up control of the estate, and free\ her and Robert up to travel. Cora wanted to visit Paris and walk along its streets and dine of their fine food. She loned to see New York again and perhaps even travel to the likes of Spain or the Swiss Alps. The see the Pacific and perhaps even the Orient, or visit the lands that Robert had fought upon and gaze upon creatures that seemed more like myth than truth.

But all those dreams had turned to ash.

'With the war everyone is so focused on other things that there is no time for the charities I'm used to.' She let out a small huff but Robert didn't even bother to look at her. Not that she was surprised. He'd learned that when she wanted his attention she'd ask for it and unless he had something important to tell her it was better for him to keep his mouth shut. 'And travel is simply out of the question. Not until the war is done and even then it may be years before I can go. Sooner if Robert would go with me but as things are he won't risk leaving Downton unless I am here as his replacement.' Carson walked over and filled her wine glass and Cora lifted it and in one long, steady pull drained it dry and held it out to be refilled. 'And the girls… there will be no welcomings from them.'

Cora tried so very, very hard to focus on happier thoughts, brighter moments with her girls. But as always her mind traveled back to that fateful day at the Grantham Arms when she had made her greatest mistake. Before that she had been blameless in the whole feud, seen only as guilty in the sense that she was loyal to her husband. The girls had understood that and thus why Mary had been willing to meet with her, to try and sort out their problems and bring the family back together. But Cora had been bitter upon realizing that Mary hadn't truly been suffering after their fleeing of Downton and in fact seemed to flourish in London. Rather than her child looking about the grassy fields and hills of Downton with longing and seeking out a way to return from the exile of dirty and dingy London Mary had instead smiled fondly but made it clear she had moved past the trappings of her home. Where Cora had expected to find a child who was regretting her choices instead she found a woman content. Seeing her so happy and knowing how bad things were at Downton had led Cora to press her harder than she had planned, trying to coax her into coming to Downton and making amends with Robert and hopefully bring that light and joy back into the old house.

But that was when she'd made her mistake.

Mary had asked if Robert would welcome Matthew back into Downton and Cora, knowing how her husband was, had told her that at that time she didn't see such a reunion taking place. Mary had answered that she didn't see any need to return to Downton as it wasn't she who deserved an apology from Robert but Matthew. Her swift rebuttal, combined with Cora's own weariness with the entire feud, had led her to plead with Mary to reconsider, to come to Downton and make things right with her father, to swallow her pride and do what was good for the family. But Mary had taken that wrong, seeing it as Cora wanting her to apologize to Robert and get nothing in return. And when she had said just that Cora had told her that at this time that might be what was best… that Mary knew how her father was and that she needed to be the one to apologize, not him. And accept that for now it would be best for the family if she and Matthew parted.

After that their meeting had disintegrated. Mary had come at her with fire, any desire on her part to at least meet Robert half way, to find a compromise, was incinerated. Her daughter had demanded that she had done nothing wrong, that it was all Robert's fault, and that in turn Cora demanding that Mary apologize without getting even a 'sorry' from her father meant that she felt the same way about Matthew as Robert did. Cora had chastised her, told her that she was being silly and childish and blind, but Mary had refused to listen. Cora had chased after her daughter as she'd stormed out of the Grantham Arms and even ran after the motor that took Mary back to the train station until the vehicle was just a speck in the distance. She would have continued on if it hadn't been fear about the baby within her, as that little life had been the only reason she hadn't chased after Mary all the way to London. It was only when she couldn't see her anymore that Cora had realized just what she had done and fallen to her knees, not caring about her dress in the slightest as she'd screamed and sobbed Mary's name.

From that point on it was as if her daughters didn't exist. Letters sent pleading with them to come back to Downton went unanswered. Attempts to get third parties to talk with them, to arrange for them to return, only resulted in negative responses from her kind friends who worked to build any sort of bridge between the two different generations of Crawleys… and then news that the Crawley girls had completely cut them off as well. By the time Cora had recovered from Lillian's birth and could attempt a visit to London she hadn't been able to make the journey. Not because she didn't want to and not because of what she was sure the girls believed, that Robert had forbidden her. Cora would have rather enjoyed laughing in her husband's face if he had tried to command her not to do anything these days.

'No… it's because I'm a coward,' Cora thought to herself with disgust. 'I could see them right now… but if I got to their home and they refused to open the door…'

Her mental self-castigation came to a quick end when, of all things, Ethel the maid appeared in the doorway. Carson looked fit to be tied by the appearance of the woman at dinner but when he went over to her to obviously chastise her there was a quick conversation that was mostly hisses and whispers before Carson suddenly straightened and took on an air of dignity and respect before telling the maid quietly to go back downstairs but not before he accepted something the maid passed him. He missed her scowl at that command, but Cora didn't and knew that had Carson been in his right state of mind he would have never missed such blatant disrespect. Though, to be fair, if he were in his right state of mind the likes of Ethel would never have been hired. Cora utterly hated the maid who did not understand her place, who felt no fear in speaking to her before she was acknowledged. Cora missed Mary and Gwen and wondered when they would find maids of their caliber again.

Walking over to Robert the butler cleared his throat and said, "A message from the War Office, my lord."

"Oh?" Robert said, accepting the telegram. He looked over the note and upon his face blossomed a smile of utter satisfaction, one that Cora instantly found herself hating for she knew that he would not be smiling so if it were news about the girls. No, what he should care about, make his sole concern in all the world, would not have made him smile as he was and Cora had a feeling that whatever he was finding such pride and joy in would be something she'd find utterly disagreeable.

"Well, this is certainly a bit of sunlight to brighten the day!" he declared, puffing up all the more. Cora knew that he wanted her to ask what had him so excited but her own glowering mood would not let her give him such succor and as such Robert finally on his own had to speak out. "It's from the War Office. They have decided to give me a Colonelcy!" He clenched his fist in celebration and smacked the telegram against the table. "Finally! I was worried all this business with Matthew would see me painted with the same brush as him but someone clearly understands that I am no coward." He looked at her, eyes twinkling like a child of Christmas morning. "A chance to earn Downton some honor! To repair all the damage that has been heaped upon us these last two years! At last out burden will be lifted!"

But if Robert was like a boy seeing Father Christmas Cora was a naughty girl who suddenly realized that Krampus had come to punish the wicked. While she might have been trapped in Downton for these last few years with only Lillian to dedicate her time too she wasn't blind to what was happening outside the great stone walls of the Abbey. The papers had made it clear the nightmare that so many women were living now throughout Brittan. Tales of young mothers made widows, of grandmothers who found themselves outliving their children and grandchildren when the boys came home in boxes. Of souls who had dreamed of better lives who now had to care for the broken shells that had been the men they loved. Robert still lived in a world where every Englishman was invincible and with just a bit of pluck and moxie one could win the day. Cora had come to realize that Matthew had been right about everything and his act to keep himself in London had been the greatest gift of love a man could give a woman.

And in that moment she realized she did love Robert, for the thought of him dead and gone struck her straight to the bone.

What an utterly cruel thing to discover, that the author of your suffering was all you had left to care for.

"When must you go?" Cora found herself asked.

Robert smiled, clearly believing that her question meant that she was just as excited as him. "Oh, it will take a few days to make it official and I'll need to go to London in a month for a celebratory dinner... but after that I should know. Hopefully not too long... I want to get out there and give it my all, to stand shoulder to shoulder with those brave fighting lads and show them what Crawley blood will do. Oh, to feel the wind in my face and know that I am aiding my country once more... there is nothing like it, truly nothing..."

Cora rose up from the table. "Yes, win your honor, Robert. It will be a warm comfort to your wife and remaining child when you return to us in a pine box." And with that she stood up and left, not bothering to hear what Robert had to say.

~MC~MC~MC~

"What are you brooding about?" Catherine Lothrop asked, causing Mary to start. The two of them were waiting in the entrance of The Blue Diamond, one of London's most popular tea rooms. A favorite of the upper middle class and the upper class itself, The Blue Diamond was a place where one went when they wanted a bit of tea and a feast for all their other senses. Run by a man who came from a long line of bohemian artists to the point that the word bohemian hadn't even been invented yet for those of his line, the shop was a far cry from the tepid tea rooms that Mary was used to. If you'd been in one you had been in them all, with their small round tables and cream colored walls and fine white china that offset the stitched padded chairs in all their pastel glory.

The first thing one noticed when they walked into The Blue Diamond were the walls, each of which looked like a painting had burst from its frame, unable to be contained on a single canvas and deciding to live upon the walls themselves. A French park filled with picnickers that looked so real in spots Mary feared she might take a step forward and tumble into the painting like Alice going through the looking glass. Another was a woodland scene with a majestic buck staring at her between the trees, making her feel foolish for being quiet and worrying that she might spook him. But it wasn't just the sight that was treated. There was the light strumming of a sad guitar, its notes wavering and fluttering like the flapping of a butterfly's wings. The customary smells one would find in tea rooms were there as well but someone seemed to be taken far beyond what one would encounter anyplace else. It was as if in all those other shops the scents were merely phantoms while here they lived and breathed. Even the air somehow felt better on her skin, a relief from the summer sun that had decided to make up for all the cold blasting winds with a hot day that sent even the most sun-starved of Londoners seeking shelter.

'And yes I can't help but find something other than happiness here,' she thought to herself before Catherine nudged her.

"You are doing it again. Might as well speak up... I'm not like the women in your class, as I won't let go of this line of questions merely because you ask me too."

Mary scoffed. "You obviously haven't been paying attention to Granny when she visits if you think all upper class women drops subjects when they become awkward." Catherine though merely continued to stare her down and Mary realized that the woman was quite right and that she wasn't about to let up until Mary opened up. "Do you ever feel as if we are being ignorant of the world around us?" Catherine merely raised an eyebrow and Mary, in a low but passionate voice that reminded even her of Sybil's fierce breathy tones, said, "There are young men in France who are dying in the mud right now. Women who are receiving letters that their husbands or brothers or sons are dying or maimed. And what are we doing?" She gestured around them. "Having tea. Like there is no war at all! And I... I don't know..." She sighed, running the back of her fingers against her forehead. "I feel like we are spitting on their sacrifice."

Before Catherine could respond the hostess walked up to them and smiled. "A table just cleared up, Lady Catherine. Please, follow me."

Catherine quirked an eyebrow at that. They'd come to the tea room without a reservation and found it quite crowded and had been ready to head out and find someplace else when the hostess had assured them she would find a table for them. Mary, for her part, had a sinking feeling they'd either forced someone to rush their meal or had just stolen a table meant for someone else. When she'd been Mary Crawley of Downton Abbey she'd encountered such acts and never blinked. In fact she had been quite smug about it, enjoying the power she felt that others bowed out of her way. But now that she was Mrs. Matthew Crawley who only received such perks thanks to the patronage of the Lothrops she was far more bothered by the favoritism.

'The table selected is a fine one,' she thought, 'though thankfully not the best they have. I don't know how I'd handle that.'

Once they were settled and put in their requests (Chamomile for Mary as it would pair well with the scones she was already eyeing up, Rose Congou for Catherine as that was always her preferred favorite) and the attendant went to fetch their drinks and the cart of desserts and little sandwiches Catherine finally spoke, "Your problem isn't what we are doing," she said simply, cutting right to the point. "Were a meal like this a tedious, dull affair, no matter how extravagant, you'd not consider it an issue. No. Your issue is the feelings that such activities bring." She paused, locking eyes with Mary. "It is the pleasure that we get that is the fault. You feel that we have no right to be happy with so much pain in the world. That if others suffer then we should as well lest we rub it in the faces of others that we have escaped so much pain."

"Yes, exactly," Mary said, relieved that at least Catherine understood and was able to put to words that which Mary had struggled to express. "I don't think the whole world should turn to depression and heartache, of course. I'm not that foolish. I don't begrudge any of the Swiss, for example, for enjoying life. They want no part in the war and have only armed themselves in case the rest of us fail to listen. But for the two of us it is different. We are in the heart of this matter; the only way we could be closer is if the two of us were on the Front ourselves."

Catherine huffed at that as the attendant returned with their tea while another wheeled over the cart so they might make their choices. "We'd have won the whole thing a year ago if I were in charge." Mary chuckled at that and selected a few choice pieces from the cart, as did Catherine.

"For myself I only avoided the angst so many poor women are going through right now through luck and a twist of fate. Had Lord Merton not known Allen..." Mary shuddered slightly. Her dreams, every so often, would turn to horrid terrors where Matthew hadn't escaped the Front and she was left to wait in Downton to find out his fate. In some he returned to her utterly changed, as some men did when faced with the horrors of war. Visions of him becoming a drunkard, finding solace in a bottle and her only role in his life being something for him to smack and hit with his temper bubbled forth. In others he was a broken man, left shattered like a fallen glass, rocking back and forth in a corner while sobbing and nothing she did helped as he clawed bloody gouges in his cheeks. She dreamed of him crippled and never able to have children, a bitter thing in a wheelchair who watched the world from the window. Or his limbs blown away and his body riddled with scars, unable to do anything that made life worth living. In one truly nightmarish scenario she'd found him sitting in a chair, his back to her and mumbling to himself. When she'd finally gotten annoyed and walked around to confront him she'd found that Matthew was mumbling because he didn't have a face anymore, just melted flesh that covered where his mouth should have been, a shredded hole for a nose, and blood gushing from his egg-white eyes.

Her screams had brought the General bursting into her room with a gun drawn, thinking she had been attacked, Thomas shortly behind with his own service revolver.

But the worst, the absolute worst, were the dreams of his death. When she was sitting in Downton again, chatting with mama as if nothing had happened to drive them apart, when Carson would come in with an ashen face and a telegram that told her that Matthew had taken a bullet in the skull. Or going for a drive and papa telling her that Mary should feel so proud and she'd be confused until they arrived at the cemetery and she realized that they were going to Matthew's funeral but at least he was being buried with full honors her father would boost as he patted the headstone. One time she'd dreamt she herself was on the Somme, wearing a man's uniform and crawling through the muck, trying to reach Matthew as he was restrained by a pair of monstrous Germans, getting within grasping distance before one slit her husband's throat. She'd dreamed of him dying on an operating table as Sybil held her back and talking with him on the phone only for screams to fill the line before there was a great explosion. Of visiting Edith and Tom at the paper only for the news to arrive that Matthew had been drawn and quartered by the Germans.

Each time she awoke sobbing and many times she made him late for breakfast because she would cling to him like she was a child and he was a favored stuffy. Even in the tea room Mary felt a cold wave a dread fill her and she fought the urge to rush out of the shop and go right to the War Office and assure herself that he was alive. That he'd refused to listen to Papa and put her before honor and country. That he was alive and well.

"I feel like I am mocking those who are suffering by going about my life like nothing has happened," Mary said after the attendant had left and the two began to eat. "Am I wrong?"

"Yes," Catherine said simply, taking a sip of her tea. "You are."

Mary pursed her lips a glowered a bit.

"Oh don't give me that look. I'm older than you I'm allowed to be short and to the point. I have so much less life than you to waste."

Mary huffed. "You're like Granny… you'll outlive us all. I'll look like some mummy they yanked out of a tomb while you'll still have a spring in your step."

"Allen did love to claim he was Ares reborn when he was a younger man and I was his Aphrodite who'd merely forgotten her past," Catherine said, a small smile forming on her lips that Mary chose to ignore because thinking of the Lothrops being like her and Matthew in THAT aspect of their lives was horrifying; they were her surrogate parents, for goodness sake! "But my point remains, Mary: you are speaking utter nonsense."

Catherine held up her hand when Mary attempted to speak, making to clear that she had more to say but also wanted to savor her tea. Mary snapped her jaw shut, politeness the only thing keeping her from speaking, before Catherine finally continued. "Now, nibble on a scone and listen to me. You are just starting on this path… Matthew may return to being a lawyer when this war is done but he might also decide to remain with the War Office. As a lawyer he could rise to be Prime Minister, but with the Army? With the way he's integrated so well with Allen and the rest of the staff he could easily work his way up the ranks. I have been married to an army man for decades… I know what it is like to fear for them and I also know the relief that comes from knowing they are safe while others are asked to sacrifice all for our country."

Mary squirmed at that. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she wasn't the only person in the world with a husband in the military, even in the place she called home.

"Yes, there is misery in the world. Pain and suffering. Decent people have to go through horrible things and there is no sense in it. But that's why you must embrace the good when you can." She held up a miniature tart and stared at with a small smile on her face. "Enjoy life and all the pleasures it can bring when you can… because life is as fickle and changing as a New York socialite and will take it all away without warning."

"You make it sound so simple," Mary said, finally taking her tea and sipping on it.

"Sometimes the simple solutions are the right ones." She nibbled on her tart. "I sometimes think that is the problem with growing up. We are so desperate to race to adulthood and all the complexities it brings that we forget that sometimes life works best when we keep it simple. We can't enjoy things anymore, we have to overanalyze them. Look at them from every angle to determine all the facets of something and all the ramifications of our actions and when we finally do decide to partake we have so exhausted ourselves we've sapped the joy from the entire world. A child does not worry about what an extra biscuit will do to her figure she simply partakes! A boy does not worry what others think when he stomps in a puddle he does so because it is fun! It is age that makes us steal joy out of life."

Mary shook her head, setting down her cup. "But is it right? To just enjoy ourselves when there is so much bad in the world?"

"Are we flaunting our good fortunes?" Catherine asked right back. "Are we parading about the streets dripping with gems or mocking the unlucky?"

"Well... no. But-"

"Do we help how we can? Perhaps not as much as Sybil but then I think the Saints above is shaking his head and telling that girl to take a break."

Mary chuckled at that before nodding. "Yes, we do." They did their charity events and put in time helping those that needed aid. Mary had especially become fond of reading to soldiers at the hospital where Sybil worked. She remembered well how Matthew had made her own convalescence, when she'd been forced to stay in bed after Pamuk's attack upon her, go all the quicker by simply sitting at her bedside and reading to her. Sybil had confirmed the need for such people and Mary had spent many afternoons reading short stories and letters from home to the brave lads laid up in those beds. She often revealed that she was an Earl's daughter so that they would have a story to tell when they returned to their sleepy little villages and homes. In turn she never felt any danger and no soldier attempted to ask for more from her; she'd found out from a few men eight months back that one rather amorous soldier, a fellow by the name of Bryant, had made a lewd joke about her after a visit... and the next day had been sent to the intensive care ward when he was found bruised and bloodied in his bed, no one sure how the man had ended up beaten so badly. But after that when a soldier leered a second too long she would hear a cough and spot someone nodding in their direction and that was the end of that.

"Then there is no reason to be concerned," Catherine said with a small shrug. "What we do quietly does not bring misery to others. And if we suffer it does not lesser their own." The older woman frowned. "Oh dear," she said, looking over Mary's shoulder, a frown falling upon her lips. "I fear I have just argued against my point without realizing it. It seems I've discovered just how we were able to secure a table."

Mary turned slightly so she might take a peek without gawking. Standing near the entrance was the hostess, her face no longer welcoming but rather firm and set, talking to a woman maybe one or two years Mary's junior. No great beauty that was to be sure but there was something about her that made Mary hold her gaze. It took several moments to put it into words but she finally settled on 'innocence'. There was an unspoiled air about the woman, as if she had somehow stepped out of a picture book where the sins and vanity of man did not exist. She seemed so out of place for London before the war and certainly for it now as the military engine chugged along and everyone had become utterly jaded. She sported red hair but not the color of a harlot or a temptress as one might imagine Delilah as she tempted Samson. No, this newcomer had hair like warm inviting embers in a cozy hearth. She had a gentle face that would not cause a man to go to war but would at the very least inspire poets to weave tales of simpler times. She was dressed in a cream dress and held a sunhat in her hands, which she slowly rotated in her hands as she listened to the hostess speak. She never interrupted or injected a word but rather waited her turm, which was when she surprised Mary for she could tell by the tilt of her chin and the slight narrowing of her eyes that innocence in that one didn't not also mean meekness. No, she was holding her ground, refusing to back down, and that was only making the hostess all the more angry.

"Poor dear," Catherine said, moving to stand. "I should go apologize-"

"No, let me," Mary said, feeling a sudden kinship with the younger woman. It was clear that while she was well off she was not of the upper class and with her marriage Mary had grown to greatly respect middle class women. While she herself did not have to struggle she understand that was out of the kindness of the Lothrops than anything else and had it not been for them she would have very likely ended up right where the other woman was standing. Mary Crawley might have been new to her current side in the class war but she would be just a loyal and as fierce to them as she had been when she'd been an Earl's daughter.

Moving across the room Mary was able to finally hear what was being said and it confirmed that Catherine was correct.

"There must be some mistake. I came in her last week to make the reservation."

The hostess merely shot daggers at her. "And I am telling you that your name isn't on the list. And even if it was do you think there is a table for you?" While for anyone else it would have seemed that the hostess was pointing out that the tea room was quite full Mary could hear the judgmental undertones in the woman's voice. Clearly the jilted customer did as well, for her face screwed up in a scowl. In that moment she proved to Mary that while she may have been innocent that didn't mean she was weak-willed or easily cowed.

"I know for a fact that I talked to you last week," she said, putting as much steel in her voice as she could. "You complimented my hat. Now I don't know what changed between then and now but I reserved a table-"

"And the reservation is no longer here," the hostess said firmly.

"So you admit that you did have it," the younger woman said with a triumphant smirk.

The hostess, using the same stone cold drawl that Carson used to use when one of the Grey boys had been particularly naughty, stated, "So far I have been polite. Leave now and you can keep what little dignity you and yours have. But push me and I will see that ripped away by the constables when they-"

That was enough for Mary and she made her presence known. But it would have shocked so many who knew her from only her days from Downton how she chose to handle the situation. Sybil and Edith would have been indignant in their own particular ways. Darling Sybil would have stormed forth like Joan of Arc upon the battlefield, snarling and lecturing the hostess till all could hear. She would have directed her anger like a preacher during sermon, casting the hostess down for all she did. Edith would have feigned surprise before resorting to a mock snobbery, declaring that if the tea room wasn't good enough for the red-haired girl it wasn't good enough for her and made passing threats of what would come of upsetting her. Mary may have done one or the other or a blend of them back in her youth but with age came wisdom and she decided rather than make a scene like a child or even resort to passive aggressive retorts like mama Mary would instead emulate the strongest women she knew. Granny, Catherine, and even Grandmama Martha all would attack the problem in one way and one way only and now it was time for Mary to join their ranks.

"There you are!" Mary said, hurrying over with a delighted grin, the two turning and staring at her in surprise. "Oh lamb, it has been too long!" She embraced the younger woman in a close hug and whispered, "Play along." She felt the red-head stiffen before returning the hug as best she could and if there was any unease she may have felt it was hidden by the hostess' surprise. "Yes yes, I know we said 2 but Catherine and I were dreadfully hungry... you know how she is, lamb, and how there is no convincing her otherwise when she gets it in her mind that it is time for tea. We told them we were early but they said they had the table YOU arranged for us already set up and would bring another chair when you arrived. And here you are!" Mary squeezed her shoulders, much like she would have Sybil had they been parted for weeks on end and then finally reunited. "For once we were the early ones!" she turned to the hostess. "She always beats us everywhere, so this is a shock."

The hostess gapped at Mary, the color draining from her cheeks like a man who thought he was being invited to a party only to find it was actually his execution. "You... you know this woman, Lady Mary?"

"But of course!" she said with utter cheer. "We met... oh, what is it, one year ago or two?"

To her credit the redhead quickly supplied, "Year and a half, I think. Or close to it."

"Close to it," Mary repeated before turning to the hostess, holding the younger' woman's hand in her own. "Such a dear friend of mine... I would do anything for her and she for me. And of course you know that Catherine-oh dear me, look at me being so casual! Lady Oakwood so does get protective of those she's taken under her wing."

The younger woman impressed all the more by adding, "Can be smothering at times but I wouldn't have it any other way."

Mary allowed her smile to become all teeth and no joy. A predator's smile. "Now… about that chair?" The hostess rushed to go find a third chair and Mary wrapped her arm through the other woman's and led her to the table, walking like they had taken such strolls for years. Mary quickly caught Catherine's eye and the general's wife merely raised an eyebrow before smirking and standing up, Mary releasing the younger woman so that Cat could hug her and kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh my dear, it has been far too long."

"Yes. Almost feels like we're strangers now."

"We could never be that." The hostess brought the chair over and gave the woman a menu, taking her order and scurrying off with her tail between her legs. "Well, I see you've had fun, Mary."

Mary turned to the other woman. "We're the reason you didn't get your table. They gave it to us as we are more important in their eyes, it seems."

"Are you really Lady Oakwood?" the younger woman asked.

"Well, I will be once my husband takes the title but for all intents and purposes I am." She gestured towards Mary. "And this is Lady Mary Crawley, Earl's Daughter In Exile."

"Self Imposed," Mary said with a small chuckle.

"Well, thank you for your kindness. I dare say I would have been driven out had you not pretended to be my friend."

Mary didn't know why but the word 'pretend' bothered her. She knew that she was a hard woman to be friends with, that she had made many enemies before Matthew had gotten her to greet the world with open arms rather than with clenched fists, to have a song in her heart instead of acid on her tongue. And now finding companions in London was tricky, as the scandal that was her and papa's relationship tainted everything. She'd been relying on Sybil and Edith these last few years but knew she needed to do better, as even those relationships were infected. With Sybil she could never be truly open with her because she would always see her as the baby of the family. And with Edith… there had been too much pettiness from both of them for the two Crawley sisters to be true friends. But this woman before her? This was a chance to create something new. A friendship that would last decades.

And Mary would seize it.

"I don't see why it must be pretend," she said as she took hold of her tea cup. "People have met under odder circumstances."

"It gives a good story," Catherine added.

"Well…" the woman said, surprised that Mary wasn't going to brush her aside now that her good deed was done.

"Let us do this properly then… treat this meal as an introduction and go from there." She extended raised her cup in a mock toast. "This is the Lady Catherine Lothrop and I am Lady Mary Crawley."

The younger woman smiled gently before answering.

"Lavinia. Lavinia Swire."

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: *rubs hands together* Bwahahahahahahahahaha!

Oh, poor poor Matthew. What is worse than your wife and your ex becoming friends? Neither remembering the ex being an ex and thus there is no justification for your panic! Bwahahahahahahaha!

Now then, some plot bunnies.

The first one is one I teased on my twitter account as something I am demanding of the aliens I keep housed in Area 51 come up with (because Area 51 is my base where I get Bilbel and the other aliens to write plot bunnies… so please, no raids, the aliens need their sleep). Taking place in any season but I'd say 3 would be best, the Crawleys learn that a strange group has built a house without Lord Grantham's knowledge and a small number of the Crawleys go to investigate and basically kick the squatters off. Imagine their surprise though when they arrive at the large lakehouse and find a young, rather excitable boy named Steven there who is happy to greet them all… and his three 'aunts'. One a tall thin woman whose desire for order, manners, and constraint has Carson feeling cupid's arrow. Another a short, brash woman who has no problem speaking her mind and annoying Robert. And the leader of the 'aunts'… a VERY talk black woman with a deep soothing voice who may or may not be two female lovers merged together.

Yes, its 'What if Steven Universe took place in the 1900s and near Downton Abbey'.

It probably would work best as a series of one shots and contained tales rather than a full plot with villains and such… just like Steven Universe. Steven coming to visit Downton and constantly asking Carson questions of why he doesn't do things a certain way and the butler getting mad… only to realize that Steven is right. Pearl, Amethyst, and Garnet being invited to dinner and the awkwardness of all that. Tom learning about Rose Quartz and the war and being excited to talk to rebels only for the weight of what they went through and the cost to temper his excitement. So on and so forth.

The second plotbunny is inspired by something I did in 'Beckett and Castle Amok'. Taking place after the famous Perseus speech Mary goes to bed that night thinking about how she wishes her life were more like the tales of adventure and wonder rather than the annoyances of the real world where she must coddle cousin Matthew and deal with so much unknown.

And then the next morning she walks up to find everything changed. Her features are more exaggerated but not in a bad way… in fact she looks rather stunning and even more beautiful. Her nose smaller, eyes bigger and doe-like, body thin and lithe. Her garments are finer and all of Downton brighter and more majestic. And then there are the people! Anna enters singing a song as she cleans and birds swirl around her and help! Papa chortles and laughs more. Edith is quiet and demure and so is Sybil, both fading into the woodwork. The servants move with practiced ease without saying a word! It is amazing.

Mary soon realizes her life has suddenly become like a fairy tale, where she is the princess who has gotten all she wishes. There is even a prince coming to wed her and make Downton into a kingdom. She is thrilled and excited…

…until she begins to find out why living in a fairy tale and merely hearing one are far, far different.

For it seems very odd that other than Anna everyone else from Downstairs doesn't talk to her. And even Anna merely parrots thin compliments. She finds herself missing the passion her sisters had. The meals are always the same and her days are filled with boredom. And the prince is dull as dishwater.

Now, there are two ways this could go. Mary could decide to try and make the world like her old one, finding Matthew who seems the least affected and getting his aid. Love story, blah blah blah.

You could do that… or maybe Mary begins to behave like her old self and discovers something she never considered about fairy tales: most times they aren't from the focus of the princess or the royalty that already has all they want. Perhaps Mary learns that Downton is a cage, a trap, and like Rapunzel she has been captured and needs to find a way to get Matthew, the hero, to save her.

Or perhaps Mary behaves as she did in season one only for the world to course correct… and she realize she isn't the princess. She is the villain. And whoever takes this could make her struggle to get a happy end… or embrace it and decide "Screw it, I'm evil then", fleeing Downton and finding Matthew who, because she saw him as a usurper, is a villain in this fairy tale world because he isn't a perfect prince, and decides to become the evil queen and live out some evil fantasies.

Up to you.