I may be changing the dates of a few things that happen in canon here to suit the story, but isn't that the fun of fanfiction? I do hope you enjoy this next installment. I am working on another, new Dickie and Isobel story. Honestly, it's a bit more…dark (I guess that's the right word?) or angst-ridden than usual - so stay tuned. I'm also re-writing an older Ever Decreasing Circles fanfic of mine. I posted it several years ago, took it down (like the madwoman I am at times - haha!) because I was not happy with its tone, and now decided to re-write. Not sure how many out there love the show, but I'll be posting bits and pieces of that soon. I guess, as a writer, I am back after a long hiatus. Probably because I am thrilled to bits for the new Downton movie and have been binge-watching Penny movies/tv shows lately. Enough from me though - onward, my dears, onward!

…..

August 1923

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the Village Hospital, casting long beams of light onto the polished floors. Isobel Crawley, now well into her work as almoner, sat hunched over a desk in the corner of a small administrative office. She had grown accustomed to this new routine, finding a sense of purpose in helping those who otherwise could not have afforded medical attention. Although, she would admit that, at times, she found the financial work a bit tedious, preferring to be at a patient's bedside.

It had been a quiet afternoon, and Isobel was now ready to return to the ward to visit her last few patients. She stepped out of the back office, holding a stack of papers she had just gone over. And then she saw him.

Lord Merton.

He was just leaving one of Doctor Clarkson's examination rooms, looking slightly disheveled and more worn than their last meeting. His impeccable attire seemed less pressed than usual, his coat hanging loosely on his thin frame. The exhaustion on his face was evident, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on him. He did not see her immediately, but she could not help but notice how pale he looked.

"Lord Merton," she said, stepping toward him.

He turned at the sound of her voice, a flicker of surprise passing over his features before he masked it with a polite, albeit restrained, smile. "Mrs. Crawley," he greeted her, his voice steady and kind. "I didn't expect to see you here this afternoon."

Isobel raised an eyebrow. "You didn't? Surely you remember I work here." Her tone was light, though there was an edge of concern in her voice as she noticed how he leaned slightly against the doorframe.

"Of course," he said, pushing himself off the door and straightening up. "How could I forget?" He chuckled. "I just didn't expect to run into you this afternoon is all."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Is everything all right?"

He hesitated a moment, surprised at her interest. "Just a routine follow-up with Doctor Clarkson. Nothing to be worried about." He gave her a tight smile.

Isobel nodded, but his demeanor gave her pause. There was something in his tone, something too guarded, that made her uneasy. "I see," she said slowly. Before she could probe further, Doctor Clarkson's voice called from down the hall.

"Lord Merton, if you'll come back for a moment."

Dickie turned towards the sound of his name, his expression shifting slightly as he nodded. "I suppose there's something else I've forgotten," he murmured weakly walking down the hallway back to the doctor's office.

Isobel watched him go, unsure of what to make of the exchange. Her concern, however, was palpably felt. His quiet demeanor - the pallor of his complexion - it was all off. She wondered when it all began. Had she been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she did not notice the difference in him? His weariness is worrisome. And the fact that she worried about him must speak something about her own feelings.

She continued down the hall to the ward, passing Doctor Clarkson's office, the door cracked open. "...it could be more severe than we initially thought," Doctor Clarkson's voice was low but clear. "We'll need to monitor you more closely, Lord Merton. It's crucial we rule out other possibilities."

She did not mean to overhear part of the conversation and now wished she hadn't. Her heart clenched as she absorbed the words - a hollow feeling in her chest.

How can I ignore this…ignore him…now? What is so serious?

She walked quickly towards the ward, her mind racing, hoping he did not notice her outside the door.

…

When she had finished her rounds in the patient ward, Isobel determined that she needed to speak with Doctor Clarkson. He was in the process of filling out the last of the day's paperwork when she interrupted him.

Isobel knew that it was none of her business, but she was never one to let something go if she believed that she could help.

"Doctor Clarkson," she spoke softly, tapping gently on his door. "Do you mind if we have a quick word?"

Richard paused, his pen hovering over the paper. "Not at all, Mrs. Crawley. Come in."

"I was wondering…" she began, not quite sure how to put what she wanted to say into words.

"Yes?"

"Well…do you know what's troubling Lord Merton?" she asked, knowing full well Doctor Clarkson could not provide her an answer. A patient's health was a private matter.

Richard shook his head. "You know I cannot answer that, Mrs. Crawley."

"I know, I know," she shook her head, "but…"

"You should not be listening in doorways," Doctor Clarkson admonished her lightly, then chuckled. "You know, you should be glad he did not see you."

"I didn't mean to overhear…but…" she bit her lower lip, feeling rather like an errant schoolgirl.

He placed his hand up, silencing her. "Your feelings do you credit." He stacked his papers and walked to a filing cabinet. "The symptoms are worrisome," he admitted, "more testing is needed. But that is all I will say," his voice was clear.

"Of course," Isobel murmured, her voice steady despite the slight tension in her chest, "is there something that I might do to help?"

"Perhaps. He is rather anxious." Doctor Clarkson replied, thinking for a moment. "You are friends, yes?" Isobel shook her head in agreement. "Then, maybe you could take his mind away from it all - tea or something. He does not need the stress at this point."

"Understood," Isobel smiled, beginning to develop a course of action in her head. If Lord Merton was not one to reach out and ask for help, then perhaps, she could offer it?

…

Later that evening, as dusk settled over the village, Isobel paced the sitting room of Crawley House, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it was thoughts of Lord Merton that consumed her mind. She had to do something.

She picked up the phone, took a breath, and dialed the number to Cavenham. Her fingers trembled slightly as she waited for the line to connect.

After waiting for the butler to find the lord of the estate, Isobel had all but wrapped her entire hand in the wire of the phone, her fingers twirling the cable unconsciously.

"Hello?" Lord Merton's voice answered, low and a little rough, as if he had not expected a call.

"Good Evening, Dickie," Isobel said, keeping her voice light, choosing to use his name rather than title. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No, not at all," he replied quickly. "It's rather good to hear your voice. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to extend an invitation. I'm having tea tomorrow at Crawley House, and well, I thought you might like to join me." Her voice was hopeful.

There was a brief silence on the other end, and she could almost hear him weighing the offer. "Tea, you say? I suppose that does sound…rather pleasant. Thank you, Isobel."

Isobel's heart lifted at the warmth in his voice. "Stop by around eleven," she said, keeping the invitation casual. "But, you're more than welcome to come whenever suits you."

"Eleven it is. I'll see you then. And thank you for the invitation," he added before hanging up.

She set the phone down, a sense of quiet relief washing over her. Perhaps, the comfort of tea and good company, and she would admit that he was indeed good company, would allow the two of them to begin again.

…

When Lord Merton arrived that morning, the bright sunlight danced across the sitting room of Crawley House, softening any edges of formality. He stepped into the room, looking ever the gentleman, but his eyes betrayed the tiredness she had already seen yesterday.

"Good morning, Isobel," he greeted, his tone warm, as if her invitation had begun to ease some of his fears.

"Good morning, Dickie," she returned politely, gesturing to the small tea table prepared. "Please make yourself comfortable."

He did, though there was a weariness about him now that did not go unnoticed. He sank into a cream-colored armchair with a slight sigh, looking every bit of a proud man who had always been able to mask his vulnerabilities - his hurt.

After a brief moment of silence, Isobel poured the tea, taking care to keep her movements steady and calm. Inside - her heart raced. "How was your appointment with Doctor Clarkson?" she asked casually, keeping her voice light.

Dickie hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing, wondering what she may know. "It wasn't anything alarming. Just a follow-up. My health is not as robust as it once was, but I manage."

Isobel studied him for a moment. "We are friends, yes?" She glanced down at her hands. "I know I behaved rudely, and I am sorry for that. Can we be friends again?" Her heart - hopeful.

Dickie smiled at her as if nothing ill had ever passed between them. "I would like nothing more, Isobel."

Her eyes lit up for the briefest of moments. She met his gaze, her voice gentle. "Since we are friends, I wish you would tell me what's troubling you. I don't want to pry, but if you need someone to help, I'm here."

His eyes softened, and for a second, he struggled with his usual pride - the mask he worked so hard to perfect over the years. He took a sip of tea, his hand unsteady, before he placed the cup back down gently. "I don't know what to say," he rubbed his knees. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to burden you."

"I mean it, Dickie. Please," she implored, "you don't have to go through this alone." She reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I have something to confess," she said carefully, as if weighing what his reaction would be, "I overheard some of what Doctor Clarkson said to you in his office."

Dickie looked at her in surprise, a flicker of something - relief, perhaps - passed across his features. "I suppose I should have expected that," he chuckled.

"Doctor Clarkson did not share details, but I've known you long enough. I can tell that something is wrong," Isobel said kindly.

For a long moment, he did not speak, the only sound was the occasional clink of porcelain as they sipped their tea. Eventually, Dickie sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as if some weight had been lifted. "I don't know what to make of all of this," he admitted quietly. "It's a bit much to take in, I suppose."

Isobel listened intently, her eyes studying the man before her.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not just the anemia," he said, voicing his diagnosis for the first time aloud. "There's more, but I don't want to…I won't burden you, Isobel. You've already had too much to bear."

She placed her hand over his, stilling his shaking one as a gesture of quiet comfort. "And I can shoulder more. I care about you, and I won't let you go through anything alone."

Then, with a slow exhale, he nodded. "I'm glad we're friends again."

"I admit that I can be stubborn," Isobel chuckled. "I was hurt, Dickie," she admitted freely, "and I let that get in the way."

"You've always had a certain…pride," he teased gently, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "But, that's something I've always respected, even when things have been difficult between us."

Isobel smiled, noting softly, "You have that same pride."

She could tell he was processing everything - their rekindled friendship, his tests, his uncertainty and a fear that he tried to mask.

He then laughed. "You're right, you know…that pride. I've always preferred to keep things to myself, my feelings and all. But, I suppose that's always been a mistake of mine."

Isobel nodded in understanding. "It's not necessarily a mistake, Dickie. It's part of who you are. But that doesn't mean you need to keep it all to yourself. I've worked in a hospital long enough to know that none of us can manage everything by ourselves, no matter how much we want to."

He met her gaze. "I've been a fool, haven't I?"

She smiled gently. "Maybe," she chuckled. "But I'm not perfect either."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, reveling in the warmth and the quiet companionship that they both had sorely missed. Isobel knew that Dickie's road ahead would not be easy; there would be obstacles. But, for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope that they could find their way back to the friendship of their youth.

And, that, she thought, was a good place to start.

…

December 1991

Jack stood from his seat on the comfortable wing back chair, enraptured in the story. "Don't tell me, don't tell me…but Dickie dies in the end, doesn't he?"

"What makes you say that?" his brother-in-law, Matthew, questioned.

"I mean Grandpa George has told this sweeping epic of a story, and now, we finally hear that Isobel and Dickie are friends again, but he's got some disease," Jack noted, his arms gesturing wildly.

"Anemia, right, Grandfather?" Liz asked from her place at her grandfather's feet.

George nodded.

"But anemia isn't all that serious, is it?" Matthew voiced - a bit confused.

"Well, it was back then. You see they thought at the time it was pernicious," George noted.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Matthew asked as he thumbed through some of the photographs in the trunk.

"Deadly," George replied. "Neurological damage, fatigue, and other complications that could not be resolved. It was not a good outcome," he said as he cleaned his glasses.

"Thank God for modern medicine," Jack noted.

"So, why did it take them so long to get married?" Liz voiced eager to get on with the story. "If Dickie was in fact dying…"

"Well…" George began, "it did not take Dickie too long to propose."

"You look like there is a but coming on," Matthew noted.

"You remember Dickie's sons?" George asked.

Liz, Jack, and Matthew nodded.

"They were a bit difficult," George noted, "and my grandmother had her own feelings that she had trouble admitting too as well."

"And what of the mantle?" Liz asked. "Where does that fit in? Dickie still thinks she does not have it."

"Ah yes…now that is an interesting part of the story," George smiled.