Downton Abbey 1. Part 1 & 2

_Hello there darlings, and welcome to a Downton Au, where this Mary and Matthew get absolutely sloshed and dance the tango after eating a spice of life dinner..._

_Actually my modern au take on M/M is the Shiraz to that Sauvignon Blanc, so will you do me the honour of taking this dance with me?_

_For those that have been following this ficlet on Tumblr, I will still update there first and then post here in two part chapters. I've had a couple of requests to post my scribbling on FF, so thank you for your interest and I hope that I can write up to expectations. Let me know what you think!_

_Disclaimer: I invited M/M and some of the Downton cast over for a drink and a bite to eat, but they will always remain JF's and ITV's_

_With that: queue music... _

* * *

The electrifying vibe in the dark and golden lit room was slowing down for the night. The majority of the guests had left, leaving drunken parties at tables still in full swing, and huddling couples in corners talking together with heads close. The music throbbed soft blues and jazzy notes, and those in black swirled like a dance between tables in the throes of cleaning and resetting for the new day.

Tinkering in the kitchen subsided except for the blow torches of the sous chefs dishing up desserts, and a quiet hum of the coffee machine behind the bar. A few guests lingered in the lounge next to the bar sipping from cognac sniffers or liqueurs on ice. Barmen moved like a choreographed display, shaking, pouring, wiping, as bottles and glasses glinted in the golden lights of the night. The full length mirrors behind them sparkled like fireworks when the towers outside blew flames in the air to mark the hour. It was late, but in this precinct of the city, the revelry was just starting.

The front doors opened with a whoosh of air and a lone figure in a clean cut suit slowly meandered along the lounge chairs to the bar which opened into the etheric room. His breath hitched at the scene before him. It was the epitome of grand.

"I'm sorry sir, but the kitchen is closed at this hour. Or would you rather a drink at the bar?"

Matthew turned at the voice, and was greeted by a petite blonde dressed all in black with a long black apron tied around her waist, the restaurant's name embroidered across. He returned her smile and indicated the bar.

"Have a seat and Jimmy will make you a drink." She turned towards the barman and indicated with a wave of her hand as she set off across the floor again to attend to the remaining guests.

"What will it be tonight sir?" Jimmy leant across the row of bottles in front of him, hands on the bar opposite, to give the patron his full attention. The man was dressed impeccably in an expensive black suit, a crisp white collar, and a silk tie. _He dressed like money_.

"Johnnie Black on ice thanks." Matthew smiled at the young man as he turned to survey the room. He wanted to see the room working, those that attended to those that were fawned on. There would be a great deal of money splurged in this room and all for show and pleasure. Celebrities liked the hidden corners and dim lights looking out over the city. Wealthy businessmen liked to appear generous for clients and meetings. And then there were everyday Jo's splurging for special occasions.

Wait staff criss-crossed the floor with used plates, fresh desserts, wine bottles for topping up glasses, and flourishing clean tablecloths. It really was a beehive of activity.

"There you are sir. Black on ice. Here on business or pleasure?" Jimmy threw out the standard barman's quip to see if the guy wanted to talk.

"I'm actually new to the city. So I thought a night to wander out and about to orientate myself before I start work tomorrow." He turned back to reply, "I think this may be my last stop though, I feel like I have just walked into home here." He smirked, realising that the feeling was genuine even if it had a double meaning.

"It does that. For all the grandeur, this place gives a feeling of comfort. And trust me our staff here will treat you like you have come back to the most important place you can go outside your own home." The glass in Jimmy's hand was caressed with a cloth and held to the light, as he continued. "We welcome you into our family and fold, and treat you like royalty. Not much better service in the entire city if you ask me. But then that's partly due to our boss."

"Robert Crawley? His reputation precedes him; the Crawley's have been an established forerunner within the food industry for years." Matthew swirled his glass and the ice chinked against the thick curved edge.

"Rightly, Mr Crawley has been running the business for years after his own parents, but he is slowly stepping back and is here less. No, I mean his eldest daughter. She has been looking after the place for the last six months. She is the kind of woman to have her finger on the pulse and run this ship with military precision."

"Sounds like Robert Crawley is lucky to have such talent and professionalism within the family."

"She may be a hard task master, but then all the staff feels the need to rise to the challenge. Mary is not so much as undervalued as she was born the wrong sex."

"Oh, how so?" He cocked his head with the question, as this was certainly news for him.

"Well for starters, we have a new manager starting tomorrow, a guy from outta town that is to take over the helm. Great credentials, but it would have been easier for Mary to stay on running the place. She's been here long enough, and spends more time here than sleeping. Anyway…" Jimmy drifted off as he bent to retrieve the drinks order coming through the printer.

Matthew sipped his drink; the liquid burnt the back of his throat, cleansing his palate. He turned back to the buzzing room, activity drawing his eye to a large group of gentlemen standing, on the point of leaving. The petite blonde wove in and out of the large alcove off the main room, a long heavy table running down the centre with a dozen high backed leather chairs down each side_. _

_The private dining room perhaps?_ Matthew thought.

The blonde started gathering used glasses on trays and stacking crumpled napkins, working silently and invisibly as the men stood to say their goodbyes. Matthew looked toward the group and realized in amongst the twenty or so middle aged men in suits, a tall svelte woman sheathed in black stood kissing cheeks and shaking hands in farewell. Body language showed that she was among friends, making jokes and smiling warmly at passing comments, and the men were pleased with her attentions.

Matthew's eyes were riveted on her form, at one look she wavered between businesslike and yet another, utterly sexual. He could not shy away from the fact that her knee length dress clung like a second skin, revealing how long her legs were and every curve to her statuesque figure. Her arms moved with grace and her hands painted pictures in the air as she talked and laughed. A laughter, Matthew noticed as it drifted across the room and caressed his ear, that was deep and playful and warm. The darkness of her hair set the black of her dress off, and was pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck

_I wondered if I pulled out the pins, how far down her naked back it would fall?_

The thought came unbidden and Matthew suddenly realised that he never once felt a pull to a woman so instantly before. And in his line of business he had met many beautiful, rich and powerful women eager for a man's attention. He pondered what this one woman was doing with all these businessmen, and in such an elegant restaurant.

He was still looking at her as he took a small sip of his drink, more to give his hands something to do, when she turned.

* * *

In the art of hospitality, you are trained to value and become tuned in to your instincts, using it as a tool to be able to understand and anticipate others. Those that you provide service for and those that you work with. It becomes second, even first nature to read others without words. The art of observation meant a smooth running ship, and first class service to those to grace their floor. They strove to make customers happy, and in doing so created an environment people remembered and returned to. It was also good business.

Surrounded by a dozen charming ad execs' full of wine and placated by a fine dinner, many of whom she saw on a regular basis dining here, she felt the whisper of a caress against her neck , and her skin felt the touch.

The intrinsic pull of knowing that she needed to turn around and meet the eyes that tapped her on the shoulder rang in her mind, drowning out the men's chatter. The red thread of fate pulled her and she slowly pivoted on her high heel mid laugh to answer the question. Her face was open, her laugh echoing from her being, as she nodded to the man next to her, and placed her hand on his elbow.

In her act of facing the bar to start towards it, she saw him.

His turquoise eyes pierced her mind not ten metres away. They captured her dark ones, and in a minuscule of time, like that of taking stills for a moving camera, she had lost and then found her completed soul.

It was a moment when two atoms in the ether collide and make a new one, and nothing after that point would be the same.

The smile played still on her lips as she took the short distance to the bar in her long strides, not breaking eye contact with the man sitting with a drink in his hand.

He had not eaten here tonight she surmised, or she really would have noticed him before. His crisp suit accentuated the angular lines of his body. Broad shoulders narrowing to a small waist, long legs crossed at the ankle on the bar stool, polished black Italian cut shoes, given away by the blunt square toe. The glass was lost in his hands with strong manicured fingers.

And she noticed that he still watched her crossing the room, his eyes holding a question, an answer and a statement.

She read it all in that short space of time, she acknowledged the handsome man that he was, and the woman she could imagine she would be next to him.

The angle of her trajectory towards the bar gave no doubt that she was to come to stand beside him. She saw the breath hitch in his chest as she came besides him, and she let the full force of her smile greet his presence as both her hands grasped the bar, coasting to a stop as her torso brushed the wood.

Her head turned, "Jimmy, may I have a glass of sparkling, please."

Being the observant barman, he nodded and reached for a glass to fill.

"Looks like you have them wrapped around your little finger!" Matthew angled his head toward the group of suits she had just come from, a playfulness hinted in his voice.

Mary half turned to face him as she waited for the drink. She raised her eyebrows in mock resignation and twitched her lips. His voice had been deep and as soft and sweet as pure honey.

"I guess there is an art to it. Although if you must know, it remains in their best interest to stay on my good side." The slight smirk at the corners of her mouth gave the look of someone very confident at their abilities of persuasiveness.

"With which I am sure that they benefit from greatly."

The glance she gave him from the corners of her eyes showed her his honest teasing.

"I'm afraid it has been preached to me down through my family that it is always the look of things that matters. I treat them like aristocracy and they treat me like a Greek princess. It works both ways."

"That can easily be done!" He smirked into the glass, gesturing Jimmy for a refill. She pondered if he referred to the former or latter part of her statement, as he continued. "We all have to balance our personas and that which is true."

She leant forward, bringing her dark eyes closer to him. "Although I must confess. I am neither the tragic Greek beauty from the classics or an Italian to which the restaurant is renowned, but it seems to keep them happy!"

"Ah yes, we must maintain the game of charades which we call life."

"Am I that plain that you read me like a book?" Her eyes challenged him, but the creases that escaped from her soul cast from the corners belayed her surprise that he seemed to.

"I am sure that Classic Greek literature is full of complexities and subtly, adventure and tragedy, hope and plenty of classic romance. So yes, I read you."

In that moment she wondered then who this stranger was, and what he did, and if, after tonight she would ever see him again. This man who had crept under her skin, her armour, and already fondled her heart.

Turning back towards the group of men, mineral water in hand, she paused and threw him a glance that smouldered. Brief though it was, he caught it, his pale blue eyes deepened as a result, and he caught the hint of desire.

"One must do one's duty, and on nights like these that one is me." She found it physically hard to walk away back to the awaiting men.

"Looks like your duty has you outnumbered?" Matthew called after her.

Her laughter rose to the rippled golden lit ceiling.

"It takes more men than that to equal one Mary Crawley!"

And Matthew's heart flickered in his chest.


	2. Part 3 & 4

The machine hummed as the black gold poured slowly out of the porter filter into the cup, dripping crème that swirled on the surface. As it finished Mary undid the arm and tapped out the spent grounds, the noise echoed through the cavernous room. She added sugar stirring briefly whilst moving out from behind the long mahogany bar, grabbing her pile of papers on the way to her table.

There was an hour before her meeting with her father and the new Manager, where the handoff would start, and the lessening of her responsibilities. She was loathe to feel anything except resentment to her father for wanting a male head for the restaurant, passing over his elder daughter who had worked to the bone for the last six years in the family business.

She sank into the high-backed lounge chair facing away from the rest of the room, and arranged her paperwork so that she could eat her lunch as well as go over all the bookings for that night making sure that tables were assigned properly, and that everything was in order for the retched new Manager to take over.

It could not really be called lunch as such, but in hospitality a meal was always when normal people had finished and food was usually hurried and at all extreme hours. She stabbed her fork into her 'adjusted' Waldof salad, Mary's usual, as Daisy the sous chef had learnt to indulge her. Goats cheese, not blue, and extra pear and a hint of spinach. She took a monstrous mouthful of greens, trying to get her head around moving tables to fit an extra ten seater, as she coasted her hand down her bare leg to hook her fingers in her heels to slide them off. At this time of day, no customers were in the restaurant, and half an hour of freedom for her toes would give her relief to last another eight to ten hour shift.

She sighed at what the night would bring. The usual performance of providing and entertaining guests with a night they could not forget. Mouthgasmic food that critics raved about, of which Beryl Patmore's cooking helped earn them three Chef's Hats, a spectacular setting for the performance of the dining experience, and some of the best wait staff in the city. Trained and honed not only by the Crawleys and Mary's cutting eye but also with years of experience. They did however attract some of the best, and therefore tried all that they could to keep them, as finding quality in hospitality was rare.

The sigh that hushed from her lips told a tale of a thousand hours hovering between the dance of lunch and the spectacle of dinner. She was imminently grateful for the trust that she had in her staff to be able to create yet another smooth running shift, one where worries really only centred on getting hot food to the table timely, making sure that the art creations that Patmore called food did not cascade all over the plate, and the right wines from the cellar arrived at the table not corked.

Thank God for Carson and his tuned nose, and his ability to snuff out some of the rarest vintages in all the country. Their bar and wine cellar was sought after, and very appreciated, even if only by those that flaunted their money or drank wine like water. And rightly a talking point in food circles.

Her salad done, her coffee downed, the angry red scribbles on her page showed just how many tables had to be relocated just to fit in the extra guests. Thomas would grumble, and Bates would stoically just get on with the job. Every day saw a changing to the puzzle, and every day saw the room reorganised slightly. A change, and yet still the same.

Her world revolved within this dining room, this space that was her home. _Downton at the Abbey_, where once nuns were enlightened, and now people from all walks of life, from the everyday layman, to dodgy businessmen, and those that classed themselves in either the rich or famous, or both, found that they lay worship to a whole different set of parameters.

Her world and her immediate and adopted family were here. For years she had told herself that this was all she needed in life. And yet she felt the growing emptiness of what years in the business had not been able to fill. A yearning for another course, the dessert, the aperitif to finish a fantastic meal, the satisfaction to a hunger that seemed to be rumbling around her chest wanting to be heard.

Shift work left no room for socialising, yet in her line of business there was never a shortage of men. Just a lack of time to get to know them.

And then there was of course, the risky business of fraternising with colleagues.

* * *

When she heard the front doors to the restaurant open, and the rush of air that carried with it the noise of people passing by, she felt the gust of intrusion into her world. Her brow crossed at the inevitable arrival, with sure footsteps down the short wooden floor of the hallway of the person who she would need to attend to.

She leant down to hook her heels on, her long chocolate hair hiding her face as she struggled to find them under the table. Finally she spied them and as she dragged her expensive shoes closer to pull on her eyes peaked between the folds and found _him_ standing close to her table waiting for her attention.

The sight of him again so soon not only made her hands still, it also made her heart skip and her breathing falter. The physical reaction of her body at his close proximity surprised her, and she was left wanting in his presence. Her normal cool and very careful embodiment of the person who she wanted to be seen as, almost melted in front of him. Or rather, that persona had not even appeared upon standing before him. Twice.

Her mind whirled at all the possibilities of why he may be here again. There had been the slightest glimmer of hope that she might one day see him again, but so soon?

The sharp prickles of excitement rolled down her insides and turned her into smashed ice.

The smile crept slowly across her face, shy and beautiful. She had been caught with cracks in her walls and she could do little to stop the sun shining out.

Matthew returned her smile, he was expecting to see her today, but he registered her surprised.

"I'm afraid I have caught you rather unexpectedly."

"As is the moment when your hand is still in the biscuit tin and your mother comes into the room."

"I trust the sight of me is in no way a comparison to your mother."

"Let's just say that you are a more welcome sight. And it is Granny whose knack of knowing all things, seems to catch me out more than Mamma!"

They both laughed at their respective families, as some idiosyncrasies never changed.

"I trust our hospitality was not deemed lacking for what you desired last night?"

There played a wicked smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Quite the opposite in fact! For that brief moment I found it very desirable."

"Although you left quickly?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?" She knew she was pushing what would otherwise be called forward behaviour but she felt reckless and cheeky. "What has you drawn back again so soon?"

_You. I wish it was as simple as saying you._

Matthew had the urge to explain himself. "It may have proved auspicious to have introduced myself last night."

She nodded suddenly understanding where this was going, and feeling disappointment at the edge of her stomach. "You have a propensity towards formalities. Therefore I surmise you must be here on business. That's a pity," she almost sighed loudly, "as I would have asked if you had time for a coffee."

The slight sweep of her hand indicated where she had been sitting, her body righting itself to square her shoulders and her posture upright. Her arm extended to offer her elongated hand, "Mary Crawley."

Matthew reached for her hand with all the hesitation of one who had kept a secret from her. Their fingers melded together like ying and yang, and he allowed hers to stay on top in the power play, whether consciously or not. Her long fingers lay across his large palm, the hint of a caress, as their bodies talked.

Flesh spoke of wanting and knowing, of desire and the question of a promise to come. The echoes in Mary's soul shifted, came closer to the surface and tugged at memories not from this life.

The room imploded. The air sucked in to the point where their hands were joined. And then in the next instant the sparks of the new world were flung out to the edges of space.

They both felt the shift. It was new and unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Until Matthew slowly tore his eyes from where they were fitted together to find his grounding in the depths of her eyes, his mouth opened to speak his name.

"Oh good, you two have met. Hello and welcome to Downton Matthew Crawley!" The voice of Robert Crawley almost bellowed across the short space as he took the few steps to join them.

Mary snatched her hand away faster than would have been appropriate and the lightening behind her eyes struck through the cracks and her body became the arctic.


	3. Part 5 & 6

Mary was angry.

With herself: for showing her cracks and therefore appearing vulnerable. For her body's instinctive reaction.

With her father for only believing that men were the natural successor within the testosterone saturated industry. Even as she had spent more than the last six months trying to prove him wrong.

And more succinctly, with Matthew. For his existence. For the fact that her father had chosen him. For his boyishly good looks. For the ease of charm that radiated from his persona. For the fact that now her ship may steer another course and there may be the inevitable mutiny.

She was angry because she had liked him. And now he was her superior.

The meeting had predictably been efficient, but the tension between Mary and her father was not lost on Matthew, or the coldness of Mary's stare and her cold and crisp replies in relation to the running of the floor of the restaurant and their clientele.

Her understanding of the logistics behind manoeuvring staff, customers and integrating a fluid bar with a productive and high calibre kitchen marked her as a very hands-on Crawley. It may have been Violet Crawley's name on the plaque above the door, and Robert's continued work for years to get the restaurant to the level that it was today. Although, as Matthew watched Mary spit numbers and brief expectations, he was sure that she was the face of the company. And this admiration would neither be separated nor extricated from the fact that she had business panache as well.

Her beautiful angular face.

With the eyes that missed nothing.

An eyebrow that could discourage armies.

And a tongue that caused whiplash.

That's where he found her just before service started.

"Ethel, that is the second time this week that you have been late. I would highly suggest that you donate your tips for today to one of our charities. And if you decide that this job is beneath you and be even close to two minutes late at any point in the next month, I will be suggesting you find another employer that can cherish you more."

"Yes Ms Crawley." A chastised Ethel slinked off to polish the remainder of the cutlery needed for service.

"Do they all call you Ms Crawley?" Matthew ventured, curious but also playful. A hint of his tone from last night.

"Most. If this wasn't a family business, I would only be known as _Ms_ Crawley. Only a few have the privilege of using my first name. Mainly those that I have worked with for years, or are friends with the family."

"What should I call you?"

"You can choose that." She purposefully angled her chin higher, and shot him a sidewise glance, indicating that being Ms Crawley to Matthew was preferable. "Although with both Edith and Sybil still under the same roof, it may become a little confusing."

"Mary, to start then."

"To start? And then what?" She scoffed at the thought that there could even be a beyond now.

"We'll see. Surely you have been in this industry long enough to know we all end up with nicknames. Usually it's something earned, and a rite of passage."

The flick of her head and the straightening of her shoulders told of her disapproval. She rounded on him then, before taking too many steps, to face him front on and challenged him.

"So what is yours _Mr Crawley_?"

Matthew laughed, a deep and hearty laugh, to fling her sharpness and her anger to the ceiling. Wanting in this moment to at least show her he didn't mind her vitriol or her jagged edges.

"That, my esteemed colleague is for you, and you alone to decide!"

His tone had not fallen on deaf ears, and his laughter found the weaknesses within her mending facade. She walked towards the bar with him hot on her heels knowing that with all the hours that they would be spending together here at Downton, she may not be able to keep up the walls of ice, as each time he smiled and his eyes found hers, the sun shone brighter and hotter and she wanted to melt just a little more.

"We have ten minutes until I open the doors and the dance of dinner begins. Are we ready?" Her voice carried through the naked space that would very soon be reaped and consumed by the night.

A chorus of assent came from all points as the smallness of the waiters in the cavernous room seemed only to be insects weaving and flighty through the maze of tables.

Mary stood at the end of the mahogany bar, one hand ready to throw down the gauntlet. She faced the open room, as Carson dimmed the lights, the first song of the night echoed through the hidden speakers, an audio queue that indeed this dance had begun.

Matthew watched her openly as he saw her transformed into the woman that he had only just met the night before. A black and white marbled statuesque form that commanded attention. Each breath that she took filled her chest and he read her pride. He saw the way her eyes combed the room, looking at details and searching for mistakes. He saw the coil that he recognised, bound within her core, tightening, and understood the unmistakable signs of excitement, adrenalin, and the inner pep-talk that happened just as service began, before the marathon that was dinner service.

This night was a test. Matthew's awakening to Downton and the Crawley beast that had a fierce reputation within the food industry. That was why Matthew found himself here. He was proud to have been hand-picked from a completely different city to join a restaurant and team unrivalled of excellence. Had he known that he would be coming in and unbeknownst stepping on toes of said family members he may have considered the position differently. Had he been sure that if he had declined, that Robert may have officially assigned Mary the position, he may have reconsidered.

He watched her in her element. Mary _owned_ this space.

Greeting guests, checking table numbers, showing them across the floor. Her arms extended like a ballerinas', long and slow, with graceful fingers indicating direction. The way her body contorted and flexed as she moved around the guests at table. The flick of a large white napkin to lay across a lap, white like a flight of birds taking off. The presentation of menus, big black volumes to be read with eagerness and the gentle caress of her hand over leather that enfolded over their wine menu.

Those working on the floor moved silently and efficiently, creating a rhythm and flow that beat at the heart of each restaurant. The language of hospitality whispered across the backs of guests, over the tops of tables and flung across the room.

Matthew saw Mary talk her preferred language. A silent one. In contrast her elocution may be short and precise, but her body continually chatted, and spoke volumes.

Nevertheless he read her, understood her nuances, and started talking back.

It surprised her when he did. And a little piece of her actual self, danced in the deep recesses of her chest, as the pragmatic Ms Crawley balked at the fact that she had hoped he would be inept.

"Mineral water for table 26." He passed her the tray with the towering green bottle and the two glasses. The black tray tilting at a decided angle and with one less experienced the contents would have tipped off.

"Could you please get…." She didn't need to finish.

"…dessert menus for 42. On my way." Matthew brushed past her with the slightest whisper of space and strode to the waiters station, lifting the black folders without breaking stride.

Mary almost stood gaping as she realised that in less than three hours he had mastered the floor plan and table numbers and already looked like he belonged. She watched how he inconspicuously approached the table, presented the menus with a flourish and subsequently made jovial small talk without losing a sense of complete professionalism.

Thank god he was a quick learner. The thought of having to spend endless hours orientating and picking up after him was exhausting in of itself.

* * *

"Mr Crawley, here. One for you and a glass for Ms Crawley." Jimmy leant over the bar and pushed the tall wine glasses in Matthew's direction, immediately turning to finish breaking down the bar. He lifted them slowly; hesitant at what was obviously a knock off drink, but marvelling at the luscious red liquid and the expensive glass used- not for customers, but staff.

He approached Mary cautiously, not wanting to disturb her counting of the wads of bills in front of her as she jotted down the takings.

"Thank you," she almost whispered without taking her eyes off her task. Taking a seat at the linen free table, roughly askew from Mary, but in line enough to be able to look over the spread sheets and the nightly report that she was filling in. Numbers jumped out at him randomly, but those that did looked large enough to be impressive.

She punched the calculator with fierce determination, focusing enough at the job at hand, but also very aware of his close proximity.

"Not a bad night in the end. No records mind, but figures enough to keep Robert quiet and Granny from nipping at our heels!"

"You call him Robert?"

"It sounds better than calling Papa across the restaurant!" She huffed at the thought.

"I hope I was more help than hindrance?" His concern evident as he rubbed his eyes, although both knew that either way it did not matter as he was here whether or not he did well this first night.

Mary sat back in her chair, aching to pull off her shoes, and thoroughly enjoying finally being able to sit down.

"I'm sure that Carson would have gently coaxed you if you had stepped over his line of propriety."

"At this stage he has not said more than three word sentences to me all night, so I am unsure if I have displeased or surprised him."

"You must have passed the mettle, for you would know if you had not. Besides how do you think we get the good stuff for our knock off?" Her head tilted at their untouched glasses and a quiet smile hinted on her lips.

"Or would you prefer a beer, much like the rest of the staff?" Her eyes challenged him with a clear refinement of snobbery.

A chuckled threatened to escape the confinement of his chest as he lowered his eyes down in reading her unreserved distinction between the classes.

"Beer has it's time and place. Wine is for every occasion." He lamented as he expertly swirled the dark liquid around the glass, millimetres from spilling.

Her fingers played with the glass stem as the liquid begged to be tried. She lifted and vaguely saluted Matthew across the rim.

"To your first night at Downton. May they become easier as you will soon become accustomed to how we do things here?" She paused as she waited for Matthew to lift the glass wondering if she should congratulate him on surviving the cacophony of activity that goes on behind the smooth façade of the restaurant.

"To Matthew's first night!" Bates shouted from the other end of the bar, as a chorus of shouts echoed with bottles raised.

"If you can survive the Crawley's, you can survive hell or high water."

"Yes, thank you Thomas." Mary turned back to Matthew with smug acquiesce.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Carson's voice resonated through the room bringing the frivolity back down to mumblings between the staff.

"It seems you have impressed the staff already?"

"There are but a few who I want to imprint my mark upon. I will no doubt still need to prove my worth for some time to come."

Her face gave nothing away, the cracks in her armour numb with the exertion from the dance at dinner. Thoughts beyond doing her duty pushed to the far recesses of her mind. But she looked at him now, and remembered how he affected her with walls down and the innocent feeling of being young and flirtatious. Not a good time to be thinking of flirting, when knock off time usually involved alcohol, and the dregs of adrenalin from a long shift.

They smiled shyly as they both swirled, plunging noses deep into the crystal taverns filled with wine, inhaling deeply. It was only Mary who took a tiny sip.

Matthew breathed in and out again as he spoke. "Nectar fit for the gods." He took a mouthful as Mary nodded in acknowledgement.

"Your words," as her chin playfully tipped to the sky, whilst contemplating her grand existence. Matthew caught the sparkle in her eyes, understanding her tease all the while appreciating that she had understood his.

"Ah, but you at this point may only perceive me as a monster here to steal your crown to rule this kingdom. I do not want to take what is rightfully yours Mary." She sighed at the loss of playfulness.

"What I want and what my father wants are two completely different vintages of wine. I like modern blends with hints of tradition. He on the other hand likes the wines stuck dusty in the cellar shelf for decades. I'm afraid you are going to have to bridge that gap."

She stood as she gathered money and papers from the table heading towards the hidden safe.

"Edith will be in tomorrow before service to give you a set of keys, go through the micros system, and codes for security. Then, Mr Crawley, the floor is yours." She had thrown her words at him over her shoulder, wanting in that moment to dismiss him from her domain, and ironically from her last hurrah.

The momentum of the night came into sharp focus and the edge of the end showed clearly with Mary's words. The feeling of tired deflation settled over Matthew, and he felt the stretch of future before him, and the mixture of longing and dread rippled under his skin.

He watched as the staff traipsed out calling their polite goodnights, and how Mary respectfully acknowledged each individually.

He shook Bates' hand as they left, but it was Anna who caught his sleeve as they passed.

"We may be an eclectic bunch, but we really do work well together. You'll soon get used to us." Her little smile definitive of her presence.

"I'm expected to fill big shoes, and yet I feel like it best to partner rather than wear those high heels! You all work fluidly as a team."

"No less so than _she_ who pulls us all together. A heads up Mr Crawley, Ms Crawley may officially start work at 10am, but she is here just shy of peak hour." The look on Anna's face showed Matthew a kindness and the indication that she understood his reference, whilst he regarded her with gratitude at her shared information on the routines of Mary.

_Two could tango_, he thought as his eyes rested on the dedicated Mary.


	4. Part 7 & 8

"I abhor your enthusiasm at trying to beat me to work. You do know that your shift officially starts at ten, right?

Matthew was leaning against the back staff door, head back with his eyes closed. A back pack lay at his feet with a bicycle helmet and in each hand he held two travel tumblers. He hadn't been waiting long before quick deliberate steps grew louder and paused next to him.

He kinked an eye and spied her staring. "And so does yours. So we must be both dedicated to our job?"

"It is not dedication as a way of life." He almost distinguished a sigh from her lips.

"Amen. But I made you something to kick start the day." His hand extended with one of the tumblers and she hesitated before grasping it, aware that theirs fingers did not touch.

"You do realise that we have a fabulous espresso machine and beans here?"

"Just try it." The uncertainty of his impulsion to make her the juice wavered at the sight of her eyeing it warily. She sipped, and the brief flash of surprise that crossed her face was worth the effort of not spilling them on his ride in.

"It gives me a kick start to my morning after my bike ride. It's a fruit and veg mix. Carrot, apple, celery, beetroot and ginger, boosts the immune whilst cleansing."

"You got up, made juice _and_ rode to work?" She unlocked the door and strode down the hall along the empty kitchen.

"I needed to clear the cobwebs. Cycling lets the air rush through the ears and invigorates the heart and body. Surely you can't deny a man that right"

_Deny a man the right, to what. Invigorating hearts. Pleasures of the body. Satisfying a need. And her rights? Should she be denied her rights as a woman? There was a fine cobweb of pleasures and rights, and duty, and the effects of decisions on others, and desires and need. Not a good way to start thinking so early in the morning, with no caffeine and too little sleep._

"To ride his bicycle? No. But it is harder for men to be denied other things, as it is easier to deny them myself."

"You are far too cryptic for this time of the morning." His hand rubbed his forehead, as she had noticed him do before. "Do you ride?"

"Bicycles are not my forte. But I am proficient in other forms of riding, even if a little unpractised." She plopped the leather shoulder bag in a nearby lounge chair and draped the suit bag over the back that she had carried in.

"You do realise that we work in hospitality, and _everything_ can be misconstrued with minds scraping the gutter."

She looked at him momentarily, finally catching on to how her words actually came out. She smirked ironically and tweaked her brow.

"My, my, Matthew. Are you suggesting that you are already at the bottom of the barrel and mix with the downtrodden?' Her movements took her to the end of the bar where she turned on the espresso machine whilst still sipping her juice concoction.

"All I am suggesting my dear, is that two can play that game."

And game on it was.

* * *

"How do you have your coffee?"

Through years of working in hospitality, and taking a plethora of orders, one could judge a man by his choice of coffee.

"Doppio macchiato." He watched her nod, but couldn't fathom the thoughts that raced through her head, as he saw the well-rehearsed motions as she made the espressos. Hers too was a doppio shot, but instead of putting foam on top, she splashed some cold milk in.

"Sugar?" Her hand hovered over his demitasse cup.

"One, thank you. I have it quintessentially Italian. You know what they say…?"

"Then apparently I am definitely not sweet enough," as she heaped two spoonful's of sugar into her own coffee.

The bar lay between them and the vast sunlit room slept quietly at the early hour. Her solitary morning routine compromised, she was resolved to remain professional enough to be able to work with him as much as what would be required. She begrudged what he represented and the choices that her father had made, and she knew already that she couldn't rebuff the man himself.

She smiled lightly, one that showed she was relaxed and unhindered. "I would have taken you for a flat white or a long black kind of guy. Basic, simple, non-complicated."

"Do I really read that way? Well! I like a Café au lait to indulge in once in a while, but only in Paris. Preferably I drink French Press coffee to extract all the characteristics and subtleties of the bean. But then that is for consuming copious amounts and for afternoons with a good book, or Sunday brunches. Which I may add will no longer exist while working here!"

She smiled and nodded again, which he took to mean she was listening with interest to what he had said.

"And I would have thought you a mainstream latte kinda woman?" He waited with what he knew was coming.

"You can't be serious," Mary's eyes bulged with mock horror. "A latte is to mainstream, as my Starbuck's order is to my life. Think complex and layered."

Matthew had no doubt that her Starbuck's coffee tweaked all the boxes, and added just a few more personalisation's.

"A wine _and_ a bean cognisor," she continued. "We are fortunate! You may yet give Carson a run for his money. As for Sundays, I'm surprised that you know what they are after working in hospitality for so long. You should hear Granny's motto '_what is a weekend_?'" They both chuckled at the inside joke.

"I'm afraid I was rather lucky with the last job, that they were closed on Sundays."

"No luck here. To have a Sunday off, you need to earn it. Or do a lot of brown nosing to whom does the roster."

"And _who_ does the roster?"

"I do!" With which she flashed him a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she waltz to the desk at the front of the restaurant to claim two thick books.

He read the covers as she sat next to him on a bar stool. _Rostering_ and _Reservations._

"There is a knack to rostering, as no doubt you are aware. We keep a baseline of staff to maintain a certain level of standard, matched as well with understanding who/what and why people are choosing to dine with us, when we put on the style and show. Carson has a very astute way of looking at it, beware, he is exemplary in his service."

"I will aim at not discrediting the reputation that Downton has achieved." Matthew looked at Mary with a smile and face similar to a loyal puppy waiting for his walk.

"The intrinsic nature of the staff may not be as obvious at first," she continued, "so I will help you with the roster to start. It can be the little things that make the shifts run smooth and keep all floor, kitchen and customer happy."

"Like…?"

"O'Brien and Thomas work well together, thick as thieves, but then you don't want them together every shift as they get up to mischief. Bates is a stalwart, and never complains, but you have to make sure he doesn't lift too many heavy things like tables and chairs as he has a troublesome leg."

"Doesn't that pose problems with ensuring he is able to comply with all the requirements on the floor?"

"His worth with clients, and his food and wine knowledge outweighs the fact that he is unable to sometimes shift furniture. Because he will, if he is asked. Anna will always pick up extra shifts if someone calls in sick, but then you have to make sure she is not overdoing it, as she works twice as hard as most and is one our best employees. Jimmy can be lazy, for all his good looks and charm behind the bar. He may know what he is doing, but loves to skulk off with his phone out the back, so Carson usually is nipping at his heels. Ethel doesn't seem all that serious about this kind of work, so you need to keep an eye on her, especially flirting with customers!"

"Ha, I seemed to have noticed that last night."

"Alfred is a quick learner and soaks up information like a sponge. He may be assigned behind the bar, but he is rather versatile and can help on the floor if needed. And then we come to Carson." Her voice softened and she gazed at her fidgeting fingers. "If you can win him over onto your side, you've made a friend for life, and he will bend over backwards to accommodate your every whim."

"You speak from experience." The tone was soft and not a real question.

"Let's just say that he has _my_ utmost devotion."

"And you? What do I need to know about you?" He perked in playfulness, seeing if she would take the bait.

Again her eyes flashed with tease and a challenge. "Once again Mr Crawley, I wouldn't dream of giving you any clues. Where's the fun in baring myself before you."

"I must say Mary; you are rather adept at creating a visual that is very hard not to unsee!"

There was laughter as they shook their heads as Edith appeared to talk to Matthew.


	5. Part 9 & 10

"I hope that Mary hasn't devoured you yet….?" Edith gazed at him with puppy dog eyes, aware that her sister was more of the pit bull kind.

"She is keeping me on my toes." Matthew fidgeted with the new set of keys he had been graced with.

"Yes- she has that way with people." Her tone implied Edith's resentment that Mary kept them all toeing the line, as she remembers that not that long ago Mary was the one completely disregarding the rules.

"I hope that you can keep up with all the information that we will be flinging at you as you settle in?"

"It seems quite straight forward. A few passwords to remember, the combination to the safe, where the light switches are, most of the other systems in place I am familiar with."

"Well, you can always call me if you need anything at all. Any time, day or night."

"If any problems occur they always happen at 2am." Matthew chuckles with the knowledge of previous experience, "And Mary is always here, I'm sure if I have any questions that she will accommodate."

"Don't be too sure of that. Mary can be a tad too ridged with offering help." Her tone caused Matthew to look closer at her as she spoke. "Unless of course she wants something in return." She griped under her breath, turning however her most sanguine smile towards Matthew, continuing.

"I will make sure that we meet on a regular basis to brief you on functions for the Private Dining Room. We have some big players lined up, and with the Grand Prix arriving soon, we have in the past hosted many of the teams over the week that they are in the city. They eat well and drink big, and often their entourage includes celebrities that bring out the paparazzi."

"Which means free press for the restaurant?"

"I see you are familiar with one of hospitality's best marketing tools."

"In as so much that it can be a by-product of creating a safe and comfortable establishment for the rich and famous. I would hope that we don't associate with the press within the building?"

"No paps inside. But Sybil has her favourites who she works with to get good shots outside the terrace. And she has most of the good rags under her spell, so it works in our favour if we play nice once in a while. Mary on the other hand detests all of them, no matter who they are, so she regularly uses the secret passage to help drunken clients to escape."

He turned a quizzical eye upward to her in question.

"But you'll have to get her to show you that piece of architecture; Mary is full of dark corners and passages! I must dash though, calls and all. Welcome to the inner circle Matthew. And good luck with managing my sister!"

"Thanks Edith, but I have no doubt Mary will prove my equal in every way." Edith was too blinded by her years of sisterly bitterness to catch his slight smirk and the soft shake of his head. Had she seen him through Mary's eyes she would have glimpsed the bashful admition that had as much meaning in relation to work as to the personalities outside of it. Had she been the other sister, she would have understood the hint of a partnership, the equal landscape of a future and how so quickly one could know these things.

Luckily for Matthew, Edith was not like her sister, and was grateful that she could not read him like a book, as he felt more vulnerable as it stood already.

* * *

The day proved to be clear and fine, the bright light streaming in through the cathedral sized windows to play with sparkles on glass that contrasted dramatically to that of night.

There was an airiness, a softness of hope that lifted the atmosphere, and the melody of lunch proved to be a different rhythm that they danced.

As on such days, the terrace filled first, with laughter and the chink of cutlery doing little to disparage the birds in nearby trees. The leaves oscillated in time to the wafts of wind, just as the loose hairs on the back of Mary's neck ghosted like a caress.

It seemed like such a new feeling to her now. As though her body were learning sensations for the first time, the unconscious reminder that her being in solid mass and texture had indeed been frozen for a long time. The thaw melt slipped through her fingers, running like tears down her arms to escape beyond her feet. Her lithe form loosened and she felt lifted and freer, light and amble.

Her flushed flesh tingled with the contrast of the breeze. Was it the breeze? Or could she really feel eyes watching her as she floated between tables, lingered to refold napkins cast aside, or extend across seated bodies to place and remove plates.

She paused at the edge of the terrace, clearing a table emptied by guests, and her eyes were caught by the frolicking flights of two small birds. Twisting and leaping, spinning an acrobatic mid-air dance, filling the air with the romance of playful chirping. The sun broke from the constraint of misguided clouds and suddenly her vision filled with shafting light.

Mary turned her head, a smile creeping across her lips at the simple sight of nature in all her hope and glory. Hope seemed such a distant and muddied feeling to her now. How young and naïve she had been when she could last pinpoint how golden and glorious life had looked before her.

She pushed her breath out, along with the thoughts from her past. In doing so she raised her head to come back to the present, locking eyes across the heads of guests to ones the shade of the clear sky behind her.

* * *

Matthew tilted his head in question and he asked her across the space with searching written in his features. The wine bottle paused in his broad hands in between refilling glasses. The seated guests conversing happily around them, unaware that Matthew and Mary talked in their own language.

A look can say a thousand things, and they spoke in milliseconds.

He had read her wonder and then the flicker of discontent, and he pondered what could have troubled her.

And he didn't miss the slightest flicker of dismissal in her face either.

She intrigued him with the promise of a mystery, the thought tugged at the bottom of his consciousness to unfurl the petals and cast probing eyes deep within.

Matthew knew that to know her was his job. To get to know her was his perogative. But to understand her, was his quest.

They brushed past each other barely avoiding touching as they weaved between tables.

The hairs on the back of her neck felt the air movement. His hand felt her warmth.

Their eyes, quick and all seeing and taking note.

He noted her bare calf muscles flex in her heels as she leaned across the table to rearrange wine glasses, and how as she tipped, her foot raised in the air. He wondered how easily it would be to pull her shoes off and caress her feet. The thought made him smile at how utterly inappropriate that line of thinking was, here and now. And his smile grew even wider as he caught himself at how he had given himself permission to then think of her later.

"Don't let Mrs Patmore see you enjoying yourself. She is ropable after one-O-two just sent back four salmons to be cooked dry. When she is not happy then no one else is allowed to be happy." Mary hovered a hairs breath from him as she gathered side plates and cutlery for resetting. Matthew's fingers punched the drink order into the micros, his smile never faltering.

"Perhaps she needs reminding that there are people who have an innate ability to cheer others up?"

"I realise that you haven't been here long. But surely, now that you have met her, she is not far off the mould of most head chefs."

"Mrs Patmore is not like most chefs!"

"Then how do you intend to placate her ferocious bark?"

"I'm not completely the dull boy," he flashed Mary a crooked grin as he made towards the kitchen. 'I have a small amount of charm, which used in the right manner, can produce pleasant results for both parties."

Mary saw him approach the pass, and if her manners had not been instilled from such a young age, she may have even gawked at what instantly took place. Instead her eyebrows rose a foot at the sight of Matthew schmoozing Mrs Patmore and the unmistakable motion of the Head chef's eyelashes batting up at the taller man.


	6. Part 11

"Oh my god Mary, I am so sorry to call you at this time. Did I wake you?" Matthew was almost bent over double with the weight of guilt that he was feeling by calling her at 1.30am. But it was obvious from the noise down the line that she wasn't tucked up in bed at home.

"It's fine Matthew. Is everything alright?" Her voice seemed distant, but also close to the inner workings of his brain.

His hand rubbed his brow as the wrinkles there furrowed. Where do you start when admitting how inapt you really are?

"Well, you see. The key that I have," he paused, the key was useless, he felt useless, it was ridiculous really. "I just cannot seem to get the back door locked. This key of mine just does not want to budge." He would have continued, but Mary cut him off.

"It's fine Matthew, I'll be there in ten." She hung up instantly, and Matthew stared at the phone, amazed she would arrive so quickly. It was a big city after all.

As he waited inside the front glass doors, he watched as people walked in merriment, or slow tired shuffles into and past the night. These people who had social lives after dark, and time to spend with loved ones or family. Brief moments like these often intruded into his psyche showing the sharp contrast to the life which was his reality.

His reality focused clearly not too far beyond him now. Whatever he was expecting, Mary rounding the corner on the arm of another good looking man scratched his insides. He should have anticipated some such possibility. This beautiful woman whom every finite detail he had been making his purpose to etch into his brain, he had not fathomed her life beyond these four walls.

She stopped and turned to her partner, quickly kissing his cheeks thrice before dropping his arms and turning away to walk towards the restaurant.

If his thoughts had been less clouded with a yet unnamed fog, Matthew would have realised that her farewell kiss held no hint of passion or even the lingering promise of a lover. If his wits weren't stretched with fatigue he may have recognised that it was just as the working-Mary greeted and sent off their customers from the restaurant.

But he didn't. And he envied the man who had spent time with her outside of work. Merriment hidden by the dark.

Her stiletto heels ticked on the floor down the long passage, with each step bringing her closer Matthew felt the ripples of electricity sizzle his body. From guilt of his needing to reach out to her and bringing her here and the simple thought of seeing her.

"I can't leave you alone for one night without desperately needing me?" She slowed as she came into the darkened room, her eyes finding him easily, as if she knew instinctually where he would be in the cavernous space.

Matthew shook his head as he replied, his vision filled with her. "I think I much prefer your wrath at my incompetence than ringing Robert at this hour becoming the disappointment I'm sure he already feels that I am."

"Don't worry; I've got that posting covered already. My father thinks that you are his golden boy, so you could do no wrong in his eyes." She smiled at him, seeing his discomfort. "And don't think I'll let you off quite so easily. I'll have to think of how you are going to make this up to me!" Mary's toe and finger on her chin tapped at the same time as she raised her eyes skyward, jovially pondering many ways of recouping.

"You can't imagine how sorry I am to interrupt your…night." Matthew awkwardly shifted, unsure whether to mention that he had seen her date.

"Your timing was impeccable really. Alphonso was just offering to drop me home. I wasn't sure if it scared me more to get a prospective lift with a racing car driver, or someone who normally drives on the opposite side of the car _and_ street, or even in the very middle of the bloody car. And I think he may have been emasculated if _I_ had offered to drop _him_ off."

"Alphonso?"

"Grand Prix driver. An old family friend known through the restaurant." Matthew nodded with the connection.

"Again Mary, I'm incredibly sorry to disrupt your night." But Mary shrugged it off, finally understanding how it must have looked to Matthew. It cost her nothing to share with Matthew that Alphonso was just a friend, she had actually not thought much about her meal with him, albeit a catch up and some great food. He was always entertaining company and provided a connection to long lost distant foreign shores.

"We have a whole week ahead of us filled with men who choose to smell burnt rubber and petrol fumes for a living. Many are regulars so I will endeavour to introduce as many as I can to you," she paused tilting her head to look through her lashes at him, "including Alphonso." Talk of fast cars and smelling fumes always brought out the testosterone in the men of Downton.

They both turned towards the back staff door, unable to prolong the lingering. With his shoulder bag and bike helmet in one hand, he waved her forward with his other, a slight bow invited her to lead.

The hand that lightly caught his took a moment to register, and then lightening shot heat through his veins, as his eyes sought confirmation. Mary pulled him slightly, pivoting his body in a direction other than the hall which they needed to exit.

"I've locked the doors already." Mary said.

If Matthew had been that naïve school boy again, his mind would have reeled at the possibilities of what Mary was actually going to do to him.

If he had been one of those hot-blooded hormonal young men that frequented night clubs to seduce women, he may have made a move.

He was neither however, and as much as his heart skipped a beat with her touch, and not having a clue to what she was doing, he followed her without question.

* * *

_I realise that this is a very short chapter, but the next is marginally longer and I wanted to give it the space I feel it needs. As always I'd love to hear any feedback you may have, and I hope to continue to offer a taste of my M/M Au._


	7. Part 12

"I want to show you something," said Mary.

It may have been the fact that she had spent her night off out enjoying great food and a bottle of good red with her old friend that she saw once a year. It may have been that she had her hair down, and eyes were smokier than she wore to work. It may have been that she wore a long shift dress in the colour of Shiraz with seed beads stitched on front and it flowed like drink around her legs.

It could have been that they were alone and in her place of worship. Or it perhaps was just instinct.

Mary reached for his hand, and caught it quickly like grasping a soft newborn animal. She was not the Mary that wore black to work and greeted guests with a smile that came easily but held no depth of her soul.

She felt young again, and a tingling hint of excitement stirred in the pit of her stomach. But she was not the young girl that had rebelled against her family and made choices that she felt she was paying still today, professionally and personally. The caution and schooled habit of an older Mary knocked like the dull drum that they were, reverberating in her mind.

But not quite reaching her heart.

Mary led Matthew around past the mahogany bar toward the locked interior front doors. Their hands still joined, both incredibly aware and tuned into the connection.

She stopped a handful of steps from the epic doors with curved door handles, at the nook just inside the entrance, and the quietness of the night enveloped them.

Her eyes wanted to seek the comfort of knowing that he stood next to her and yet also under her skin. The essence of his life seeped through her pores by osmosis, invading her pulse, causing and giving her reason to want to live outside this family soaked institution.

"I probably should have shown you this the first week you were here. But I always love to see the surprise when I do this…." She pressed her free hand, palm down, on a panel of wood, not unlike all the others covering the wall in the entrance hall, but one, directly under a gilded frame of a painted landscape.

Mary saw his eyes open wider as the crack in the wall widened and the panels moved to form the shape of a door. Her grin grew unhindered across her face at his open mouthed expression of disbelief as she finally unveiled the secret passage.

"Edith mentioned something of the sort. But I completely forgot to bring it up after she said I needed to ask you." He stood rooted to the spot, either from not wanting to break their connected hands or being completely dumbstruck.

Mary subconsciously knew the seconds of time ticking past would soon see them having to break apart, but also the timer on the open door demanded immediate focus. She pulled him through the panelled door just as she heard the faint hiss of the mechanism release to close it behind them.

Matthew and Mary stood side-on facing each other, squashed in the very narrow passage, the fluorescent lights flickering with unreality, only bright enough to see clearly down to where the passage tuned sharply. The door behind them locked with a click and Mary felt her heart jump at the sound.

She had rarely allowed herself to be put into a situation where her physicality of being alone with a man may have been misconstrued. And then there was the tiny woman in her brain screaming for this very moment with Matthew.

Her lungs breathed the same air as he did. Her skin felt the charge between them in the ozone that lit up his eyes like swirling glacial melt. The sound of Matthew licking his lips dragged her eyes to hover over them before coming up to see the question in his eyes.

She read it, as she read him, like a poem on thick velum paper. The tenderness that she saw laying there made her physically ache. With hibernated desire, with undisclosed care, with hope of what new promises might offer.

And the practical side of Mary kicked in and burst almost all the dreams that floated around the periphery.

They moved at the same time. He to angle his head as he leant forward ever so slightly, and she who raised her arm that had held his hand. Her middle fingers ghosted across his lips, stilling his movement as he realised they would never connect.

The echo of her fingertips tickled into his soul.

"I'm sorry." Her neck muscles worked to swallow. "I can't." The pause in her sentence weighed heavily with all that she wanted to say, but knew she couldn't yet. Nevertheless she conceded a little more with the beseeching look in his eyes. "I've already made that mistake once."

The walls around them felt smaller than they actually were, the pressures of past lives and current possibilities enclosing them both in the dead of night.

"Mary. I…"

"Please Matthew." She shook her head as her eyes cast down, her voice breathless. "We work well together." _And I need to make sure that is all. _

_Yes. We do_. He wondered if she comprehended that the words she spoke held more than the obvious meaning. _And we would_.

There was a conviction to his thoughts, a strength not born from previous experience, but one of recognition to finding a lost piece of one self. The feeling he was sure had been there all along, but it was at this moment that Matthew allowed the creeping dawn of understanding flow over his heart. The pale light, the colour warm like a zinfandel, dispersed from within and spread through the veins to his extremities. He felt drunk, and yet fully in control.

He saw the shadows play across her face, the muscles on her forehead rippling with emotion. The shade of her eyes caught the storm, her makeup accentuating the depth, and he wanted to brush back the long dark curtain of hair that fell across her face like a shield.

"Mary…." His whisper permeated her clouds inside. "I didn't mean…"

She cut him off before there was more talk of an already too much disclosed possibility. The slightest shake of her head pushed the air between them away.

"Come, we have limited time to exit."

As she turned down the corridor her dress billowed out behind her, reminding Matthew of women that inspired Greek literature. Of Goddesses and tragedy, and passionate love, which also pulled his thoughts to the first night they had met. She had been uniformed in black then, and tonight she pulsed alive before him in colour. Dark red as blood, as wine and the soft velvety edges of rose petals.

Mary flowed through his veins like that: life giving, intoxicating and all that reminded him of the possibilities of love. He was drunk on her, refreshed by the clarity that he saw behind her façade and challenged by the warrior she had maintained on the outer. And even as he walked down the thin corridor and turned sharply to see a door at the other end, the swell of frustration he felt as a man was overridden by the respect that Mary had seen and counteracted to what could be potentially problematic in their working livelihoods.

This dance around the dinner table that was the entity of their lives.

Their pirouette of love.

He surged forward to match her increasing speed, sensing her urgency. One of her hands swept in an arc as they rushed to the door, her arm indicating the alarm panel on the wall with insistent blinking red lights, just as she pulled the bar to open their escape.

"The alarm," she started as she swept them into a quiet side street beyond the restaurant. They jerked to a sudden stop after the momentum of being chased by their desires. Both turned to see the nondescript outer door close with a thick thud, locking behind air heavy with hunger.

Mary had to swallow hard to continue, forcibly calming the beating pulsing in her ears before she continued. "The alarm only allows a five minute window of use of either door. Before it resets and can only be used once every fifteen minutes."

She tilted her head to softly caress his face with her smoky eyes. The smile that played at the edges of her mouth looked apologetic.

Matthew licked his lips responding to what lay between them, "I am not sure I would have lasted another fifteen minutes. We may have…."

"Live life not with regret, but with measured understanding." She broke into his sentence, really not wanting him to imply that it may have been a mistake, had they allowed themselves.

"Sounds like a quote from a wise prophet?" And he chuckled at her succinct ability to deflect.

"Granny actually. She said it to me a long time ago."

Her eyes rose skyward searching for another kind of wisdom, or strength from the boundless energies of the universe.

"Do you need a ride?" She gestured to a row of cars down the street.

"No, I have my bike." He indicated his helmet and pulled it off his bag twisting it in his hands. "And Mary….thank you. For coming tonight and saving me. Really." The scuff of his shoes on the pavement showed his discomfort.

Her shoulders straightened, and her eyes flashed the all too familiar stance of Mary, and whilst his demeanour reminded her of an awkward school boy, she felt compelled to lighten their goodbye. "Let me remind you _Mr_ Crawley that I have no intention of forgetting that you owe me a favour. And I will make sure that it will be recouped at the most inconvenient time possible for you. Mark my words."

Their banter often incited laughter, and he let it rumble in his chest at the thought of Mary deliberately plotting her revenge. "I am sure you will." They both smiled at the unspoken treaty between them. "May I walk you to your car?"

"It's fine, thank you Matthew. It's just here. And I have been alone in these streets more times than I have been hit on, on the dance floor."

She turned to leave, a solitary figure in the quietness of the night, her feet heavy with lost dreams, and yearning tugging on her dress. _If she turned, would he be….No_, her armour kept her spine straight and the rigidity would not allow her neck to crane a fleeting glance.

The flames whooshed thunderous amounts of fire into the air on the other side of the building, pillars of light from monolithic stone forms that lined the Promenade and marked the hour. The golden flash illuminated her retreating form, causing a camera flash effect on Matthews eyeball's, burning the image of her leaving into his heart. But the thought was too much for him and pushing it aside he sought to stay her departure if only briefly, calling to her.

"The alarm code Mary? You didn't tell me what it was?"

Her laughter tweaked his ears before he saw her twist, hair waving in the movement, and her hips sweeping the material of her dress like a splash.

"Four letters. Think Queens and battles and something almost out of your reach!"

_Almost._


	8. Part 13 & 14

_I hope you are still wanting to come back for seconds, as I am a hopeless updater. And I know these are a short order of tease, but come and visit when you can, and we will be giddy over a glass of wine and gossip about M/M!_

* * *

"Is Mary in yet?"

"I believe she just headed upstairs to Mr Crawley's office, Mr Crawley. She said to tell you to come up as soon as you got here."

"Thank you Anna. And please, at least when it is not service, call me Matthew. It saves the confusion with the other more rightly Mr Crawley."

"And here, she made you this." Anna passed him a small demitasse cup, the tiny saucer acting as a lid to keep the warmth in.

His crooked smile showed Anna his pleasure at his coffee, still holding its heat, which also indicated that Mary had just made it. He looked up to her openly earnest face, glad at having her working today, like always, making a promise at an easy shift. He had become selfish in the rostering, favouring those wait staff that he knew did their job well, or who he enjoyed their company. And he made sure that his path crossed Mary's as much as was plausible, considering he viewed their roles as shared.

"What time did she come in?"

"She opened up this morning Matthew. Like usual." They both nodded at the admission, aware that Mary may not like being discussed so. But also admiring in the other that they were centric in their care for Mary. It had happened rather by accident when Anna, who rarely spoke out of turn, had commented to Matthew one night after closing as they stood side by side polishing cutlery.

_"Mary is looking immensely tired lately. More than I have seen her in years. She works too much." Concern etched hard working lines of Anna's face._

_"She doesn't seem to do anything but work. And tirelessly too." His eyes wanted to stay with her lithe form as she wove between tables clearing and resetting. The white tablecloths glowed stark against her all black clothes. He purposely looked down at his busy hands, conscious of all the others in the lit room._

_"I'm afraid our Mary has little outside the family and the restaurant. Not like she used to."_

_"Oh?" Her implication caught his interest, keen to hear anything that may gain him insight into the woman she waltzed before him. His forehead crinkled in question, but the chance slipped away in the next instant as Mary called to them._

_"Anna, can you bring some of that cutlery here so that I may reset?"_

_"Yes Ms Crawley." _

"You had better go up," Anna brought him back staring at his espresso in hand. "You'd not want Mary thinking you're running late!" He smiled at her teasing, handing her back his empty cup and running up the stairs in the back-of-house by twos.

* * *

"Mary it has come to my attention that you need to step back a bit, and not work as hard as you have been." Robert stood in his small office, an imposing force of a man, yet his voice held the barest hint of tender concern for his eldest child.

"I don't know if I should be more affronted that my movements at work have been made known to you. Or whether it is only now that you think me working too much."

"Mary, it didn't go unnoticed that you worked harder than anyone else here before Matthew's arrival. You did do a marvellous job." His quizzical expression at her protest hinted at the reality of his understanding of her.

"Did I? I see your appreciation by your marked determination to hire him though." If she could only separate Matthew the 'Manager of Downton' from the Matthew that embodied the beating of her heart.

"Surely you can see how essential he is to the running of Downton now? I wanted to ease the weight of all the responsibility that you feel lies upon your shoulders."

"Papa, I don't just see a million bricks, leaky windows, and wonky tables. I see my life's work. Our family's life work! I have two generations of a successful family institution within the food industry to uphold." She breathed feeling how words seemed always to fall on deaf ears when it came to her father. "This is _my life_." There was the whisper of the child she had once been, and the woman that stood here now. "Please do not ask me to step back."

"I'm afraid Matthew agrees with me on this." Robert raised his hand in salute as Matthew entered the office, caught before his hand could knock.

Mary spun, her face a mixture of surprise at being caught beseeching her father, and shock at the knowledge that Matthew had spoken to him about her. Her eyes after last night were completely different, as Matthew saw the strength of her walls and the door to her heart shut again. She was the impenetrable ice castle once more, dressed in stark darkness closed to the light of his eyes.

"And Matthew," Robert continued, unaware of the silent conversation that filled the room. "You were right. I have thought about this coming week, and I agree that it would be better if both you _and_ Mary started directly at lunch service, that way, no matter how long these Grand Prix aficionados stay into the night, at least you get a short lie in. Either Cora, my mother or myself will open in the morning. Just like the old days."

"Papa, surely Matthew or I can take turns in opening this week like normal? It will be no trouble."

"It's just for this week, Mary. You both have been working so hard lately, and I know that you don't leave until everything is set for the next day, anyway. There will be little for me to do, and I'll actually enjoy it. Besides, I don't have the stamina for those god awful late nights, and this week is so colossally busy that your mother and I feel we need to help out a little."

Robert pointedly looked at Matthew, seeing in him the need to object, but held his hand up in defence. "You too Matthew, I don't want to see you before five to twelve at all this week. Sleep in, read some books, eat a good breakfast. And try to keep Mary away as long as possible."

Robert missed the astounded look on Matthew's face, as he swept past him, a stack of paperwork to give Mrs Hughes.

"What the frozen gooseberries did my father mean by that?" Mary filled Matthew's vision, her question low and loaded with fury.

And the shrug Matthew couldn't help his body from expressing, did little to sooth the situation. "I fear your father may think that I have some influence in your decision making!" He looked at her then, a slow smirk spreading across his face at the thought that anyone could influence Mary.

Oh, but how he wished she may at least listen to him.

"Are you conspiring now with my father to have me step back and hand you the restaurant in all her show and style to be yours, and yours alone?" Her challenge came from the pit of her soul, peppered with disappointment at the quick turn of feelings that raged within her since last night.

She had read poetry in his eyes just hours ago, had tasted promise in the charged air between them and felt the whispers of what a future could hold. It had been tangible, and the thrill that it had given her had stayed with her all through the remainder of the night. Her body betraying the old mantra she had taught herself over the years that one had control over such a shell.

And in the darkness of her room, in the vast emptiness of her king size bed, in the soft caress of her sheets, she had allowed herself to bathe in the pale blue light of dreams.

Mary could not look at him now, aware of how her body may betray her again, of how she could melt just by his gaze. Her frustration seemed endless. Not only with herself for what was becoming a weakness, but also with her father for eagerly taking her life away piece by piece, and with Matthew for any amount of reasons if she found the time to separate them all.

"Mary, I would never willingly step between you and Downton, let alone your family. But I must admit that I am partly responsible for causing this minor change your father has imposed onto both of us."

"Oh? You so keenly rush to talk to my father, at god knows what hour? As opposed to approaching _me_ with your concerns?"

Matthew did little to hide the sheepish display of consternation that played across his features. "You're right, of course. I should have brought it up with you." His strong fingers massaged the creases in his brow as he was, once again, about to admit to his short comings. The email that he had sent Robert at 3am seemed a good idea at the time. Matthew's mind filled with visions of red fabric that turned into wine, his mind had eventually hooked onto how he could have made up to Mary calling her in the middle of the night. He had reached for his phone and emailed Robert whilst lying on the couch winding down from the adrenalin of the night and the poignant moment with Mary.

Her tongue felt like barbs as she felt the acute sense of disappointment, and the look on Matthew's face did little to stop her from lashing out. "My god Matthew, this is so pathetically minor in the whole scheme of Downton, you had no business bringing my father in on how I conduct my working hours. If you didn't want me to be here, all you needed to do was approach me."

The way her hands spread between them, her long fingers holding the weight of air around them. A weight that felt as heavy as the world, and the gravity of where they stood with each other.

_Why did they constantly misinterpret each other?_

"Mary please. It is not that I don't _want_ you. My first thought was to save you being here 17 hours a day this week, it is busy enough without you working yourself ragged. I need you to be rested enough to be in peak performance for all your regular Grand Prix clients." He had followed her out and down the passage, trying to no avail to keep his voice from carrying.

The hint of quiet tenderness slowed Mary's pace, until she paused at the top of the stairs that led down to the restaurant and turned to him.

"You did this for me?" She matched his tone, yet she was riddled with insecurities. The widening of her eyes showed to him the brittleness that lined her armour, and he wondered why she felt the need to always hide herself from the world.

"We are all tired lately Mary. I know you work harder than the rest of us. I was just trying to ensure that you were left with a little oomph at the end of the day, and that this place didn't leave you hating it after the burn out." Her body stood still, her breath regulating a deep pattern in her chest, and the only movement as her eyes sought answers in the scuffed grains of wood on the floor, was her thumb scratching the surface of the handrail. Matthew felt the need to fill the silence with words. Even if they were not the ones he would have preferred to say right now.

"I'm here to make your life easier Mary. To make it better."

"I'm not sure that easier would be the word. And saying 'better' is optimistic and an idyllic inference to a far off future." Her head arched in a sweeping gesture reminiscent of contempt, but Matthew knew it was her way of dismissing the thought. Her eyes lifted, finally meeting his again.

The light illuminated the shade. And she realised just what power he must be holding over her, as through the seismic cracks of last night, she melted a little bit more.

"You need to talk to me directly, every time. Even about the smallest things."

"Even at 3am?"

_"Especially_ at 3am."

The swagger which he followed her down the stairs, accompanied with promises to call her in the middle of the night had Matthew's heart thumping gregariously, ensuring that the busy day ahead felt insurmountable.

* * *

_Feedback is always appreciated, doppio macchiato's all round._


	9. Part 15 & 16

If they weren't busy enough preparing for a full house for lunch, and prepping for a double seating at dinner Matthew's thoughts kept him preoccupied further.

Robert's words crept around his head, twisting and morphing into images and playing with the hope string of his heart. Words associating leisurely time off, and Mary in the same sentence were almost too much to hold as images ran away and danced across his vision. One that flickered constantly, like a memory, too stubborn to be tossed to reality held a snapshot of white linen, coffee mugs with croissants, ripe strawberries blush red, and a singular flower in a tiny chinotto bottle. With a flash of skin, faded by moonlight. It was an image of promise and happiness and Matthew wondered now why he would think it may have been from his past, when he decidedly knew it wasn't. Or if his wishful fancies were generating into something more tangible and his grasp of how farfetched they were from his current life.

The arrival of a bevy of staff just before twelve jolted Matthew from his reverie, instead the coffee machine spluttered dark amber comfort, filling two cups as his eyes sought her form around the sunlit room. The way his mind had been working this morning, he was surprised that he even had to search for her. His bearing seemed to be off kilter, shifted slightly by the eruption of feelings of last night.

Was it the echo of promise that rattled around in his head, or the hangover from possibilities unfulfilled? Matthew shook it as he filled the demitasse cups, adding sugar, as his senses adjusted to seeking her in other ways.

He smelt her first. His nose keen to all fine things, and he smiled as he acknowledged that he recognised her perfume.

It brought to mind spring meadows, vanilla white clouds and woody truffles of the forest. It was delectable and exotic and wafted inside him stimulating his nerves. She was like a heady and complex wine, one to be opened and breathed before delicately tasting.

His smile erupted into a giddy private smirk he doubted he should share with her now. With coffee in hand he approached her at the front desk. Her back was to him as she put away her bag, having changed into her uniformed black ensemble. A few strands of molasses hair had escaped her loose bun, and Matthew fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

"Peace offering." He extended his hand holding her preferred drink.

Mary's long fingers stretched to grasp the tiny cup, their fingers almost touching as she took hold.

If it only took one small cup of comfort to bring that, her mind raced, and yet felt peace still, as her eyebrow slightly cocked.

"Perfect timing," and she continued under her breath so that Matthew could not even grasp what she said, "with the coffee at least!" She turned back to the reservations book, flipping pages and scribbling notes into the margin for tonight. "Thank you."

Matthew cleared his throat, unsure how to kick off his idea with her. After their previous conversation he needed to make sure that he was getting it right, but not also rushing to her with haste after such an admission.

"I thought I may run something past you? An idea that may just prod some friendly competition between the staff, and also line the coffers of Downton."

"What is it?" How easily her interest was piqued when Matthew talked of ideas and implementations. If it was anyone else, save Carson, normally she would huff her objections. But she had recently come to the conclusion that when it came to work, they literally thought alike.

It was ridiculous that he needed to breathe in courage, as this was an incentive trick tried and tested at his previous employment, which he thought might just work here to boost wine sales. And alcohol was predominantly profit. He described to her then of ways to pushing bottles of wine, selling not just from the wine list, but also how by generating a separate exclusive VIP list of rare and expensive wines and alcohol, that would be offered to only a handful of customers with a promise of the ultimate fine dining service lavished on them.

He watched as Mary's head nodded and she asked questions as he explained and finally saw understanding and admiration write melody across her face.

"I can imagine it working with the likes of Thomas and Bates pitting against each other. Even O'Brien and Carson will take it on wholehearted. You'll quickly need to run it past Carson though to make up the VIP lists. And it may be best coming from him to the rest of the staff so it appears that you all have equal footing in the stakes. I think his sommelier ego would love to take your idea on." Her body stood open to him, almost mirroring his stance and lopsided head. Their hands bracing on the desk were no more than a wine glass stem apart.

"Do you really think he will embrace it?" Matthew said with still the traces of uncertainty.

"_I_ embrace your idea. There is no question he'll give it a swirl."

* * *

With Carson erecting a table on the board in the back-of-house, Bates and Thomas subtly rushed to memorise the wine list so that they could recommend the most expensive bottles. Carson then disappeared down into the cellar to create the VIP collection for the deeper and vain pockets.

Matthew knew he too should have been skimming the wine folder to faithfully roll off his tongue at the drop of a hat. But he knew, for the moment he was safe in that which was already banked. He had two secret weapons up his shirt sleeve. The first was one particular wine that he knew like the back of his hand, classed in the category as his only favourite, and one which he understood and held dearly its origins.

The second of course was his skill at the recitation of stories of his encounters at various vineyards around the world. It always helped to personalise the experience at table and added another layer to help recommend certain labels for both consumption and enjoyment.

He had learnt the trick long ago in a little place that was frequented by hardworking lawyers and doctors. Professionals that rarely travelled, so by the painting of a picture of vines falling down a hill, or the way the leaves turned a certain colour in autumn, or the smell of oak barrels piled high in old barns, or the play of sunlight in the evening as one stood at the distillery's large doors, watching the end of a hard day's work come to close, those businessmen felt they too drank of memories.

Customers consumed those tales, wanting to grasp that connection, as the bottle was opened at table and the first sip lacquered the tongue. They claimed Matthew's experience as their own, and brought the ritual of breaking bread, knowing that someone else's dream was intermingling with their own current experience.

Patrons entered the hospitality of restaurants, dined and paid for an individual experience. It was a moment of expectation, suspended in reality and enjoyment. That was the duty of Downton at the Abbey, to fulfil dreams and feed souls. Ultimately they bought into that, albeit an experience not entirely their own.

Yes, Matthew was very good at reading people which helped in anticipating their needs. It had been the exemplification of his career and he had managed to do well in some of the industry's best establishments almost due to that fact alone, with perhaps a smattering of moral goodness, loyalty and a hell of a lot of hard work.

Hard work which at this particular moment, he relished. With shirt sleeves rolled up, muscles bulging as he lifted the last of the round table tops, manoeuvring around the maze to the place Mary directed.

Carson had suggested they get Thomas or Alfred to lift them, sighting a level of propriety, but Matthew had insisted, as he happily complied with Mary's every direction, stealing the little amount of time they had to interact before service. Mary on the other hand, relished the sight.

Her orders were succinct, clipped even, but efficient and he could tell she was always ten steps ahead. He had grown to admire that about her, how her eyes took in all the details in one glance, how the list ticked over in her mind's eye, and he knew she had contingencies waiting if additional changes needed to be made in an instant. The air around them held the quietness of breathing, as they scurried to finish set up before the night ahead. The clock held the momentum of heartbeats, and he watched as the coil wound tighter in her, ready to spring forward once dinner began.

"The ten seater round, Matthew, on 2-0-6. And we have 15 minutes left until open. Hurry up slow coach." Her mocking was quiet so the others didn't hear, which made Matthew smile all the more at the implied intimacy of it.

"Is that your nickname for me then?" said Matthew.

She stopped to look at him then, a foggy conversation of the industry's tendency to baptise its workers. Her eyes cast down to finish her quick hands work setting the table, a rueful smirk and shake of head played with the space between them.

"I'm surprised the others haven't labelled you something more true to your character!" They both chuckled. "But you should have more faith," Mary continued. "If I name you, and granted you would be the privileged first, it will be iconic and suitably appropriate."

"I'm surprised you," he imitated her "haven't called me something yet, even under your breath?"

"Oh," Mary paused for dramatic effect, "I have!" the two smiles mirrored each other, wide in acknowledgement and light hearted jousting.

They both had reached a place where grey confusion of the unknown and denial swirled like mist around the stark black and white of factual truths and reality. That is what they found hard to balance between them -the ballast of duty and expectation and the depth and levity of a shared spirit.

Mary continued, "If my father had anything to call you, it would be along the lines of prodigal son or The Heir." Her mouth pouted in a forced look of disgust, one Matthew was sure never to have seen her face do before. "Not my words though."

Matthew's hands folded the starched linen in an automated functionality. Mary paused as she went to pass him though, the heat from her body pervaded his pores and her perfume coating his senses.

She whispered to him, unable to hide the sudden thought of shock that jolted her brain cells. "What do they call me?" It was something that she would not normally care that much about, but since Matthew's arrival, the way they seemed to connect had allowed her to trust him and she trusted his honesty. Would he share that with her?

His inability to hide his smirk almost infuriated her with his smugness. The urge to belt him around the head flickered briefly in her periphery.

"They wouldn't dare call you anything other than Ms Crawley. Their respect for you transcends that ritual." She at least gave him points for trying to sound convincing.

"Thank god for that small miracle then."

He didn't miss a beat, "I, on the other hand have one on ice which I may christen you all in good time. Half the fun is finding a name."

"Mr Crawley, we are more than mere labels." Her body simpered to leave him to the coming night.

"That we are, Ms Crawley." He liked the way it sounded, and the shared thought, that to any outsider their shared name held another connotation, perhaps may indeed be made truth one day.


	10. Part 17

The dance at dinner held no time for normal conversations. Rather like having children, one was constantly interrupted. A few words thrown here, mouthed there, snatched from the wind in passing. Conversations lasted all night, or paraphrased to microseconds. The language of bodies spoke. The eyes took in everything. Gossiping was easy. Bantering was constant. Flirting sometimes flitted around the room. Insults traded. Swear words an integrated vernacular.

….."Did you see 1-10's date?"

"Escort?"

"God I hope so, surely she can't be the real deal?"

"He must have money."

"Loaded. They're on their fourth bottle of Moet."

…"You going to the pictures after?"

"What time is it?"

"Starts at 12:30."

"Will we…"

"…be finished in time?"

"We'll have to work our asses off."

"Only if Daisy's going."

….."I'm allowed to dream, you know."

"Ethel, your dream consists of men and money."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Yes but the men who come in here are not necessarily going to be looking at the staff for a wife rather than a good time."

"Nothin' wrong with a good time."

"True, but you need to be careful."

…"A couple more years and I'll have enough for a deposit for a little farm."

"You want to farm, William?"

"You'll have mud up to your knees and shit up to your elbows."

"I've always wanted to have horses."

Like insects the staff crisscrossed the floor, plates in hand, pause, bend, place, take, refill, and flit away. The waiter's stations acted as hubs, drawing them and pushing them in soft repose. Paths intersected, words whispered, lives danced on.

She knew the warmth at the nape of her neck was not from the sun that stretched through the windows. Her head was down as she typed the orders into the micros, she felt him though angle up behind her with recognised assured movements. The down coating of her exposed skin felt the movement of air, and her nerves responded to the electrical fission.

"Do I get three guesses?"

"For what?"

"For the alarm."

"And then I give you the answer? If you don't guess right? Sounds too easy." She stabbed the send button on the computer screen, turning a raised eyebrow at him as she waltzed off to attend one of her tables that had suddenly caught her attention.

They crossed paths at the pass in the kitchen, waiting as Mrs Patmore and Daisy lined up plates to take out.

"Then a clue?"

'I already gave you four clues. Anymore and I'll have given you the answer."

"You seem to have a penchant for games Mary." He prodded her in a whisper that would not have been heard over the exhaust fans that ceilinged above the hotplates.

"You seem to be a worthy opponent."

They parted with plates delicately piled with food that was also art, to opposite sides of the room, small smiles lingering at the corners of their mouths.

The sun arched in the sky, and the golden beams shifted to lengthen across the floor.

Matthew stood at the marble topped sideboard, rearranging the bread boards and making room to plate up the tiny saucers of olives speckled with chilli for the night. Her line of sight across the room was uninterrupted to him, as she worked at the end of the bar, organising bills and swiping cards to settle accounts, her eyes were drawn upward. His hair glowed in the shafts of afternoon sun behind him, and she almost snorted to herself as the word halo seemed to lodge itself between her ribs. Matthew caught her then, and smiled in return, not understanding. His face contorted in an exaggerated look of contemplation and question.

There always stretched a question between them.

Life moved quickly in this line of work, a form of fast momentum that allowed little of a life beyond. She was born into it, had been brought up in it, understanding how consequences of choosing a normal life outside of hospitality meant choosing other than her family. She had been marked by the acute awareness of how life could pass by too quickly, and how there was the ingrained mantra to relish the small daily particulars, instead of dreaming for grand gestures of a fairy-tale life. All that mattered in the end was the love of her family, good food, a shared glass of wine and the knowledge that she was good at her job.

Her job, which meant spending almost every waking hour of her day in this cavernous place that felt more like a home than her top floor apartment, with a bed she visited only briefly and a kitchen barely used. She breathed in the safe feeling of comfort that Downton washed over her, and by extension how that also encompassed her family.

And Mary realised as she took in his goofy lopsided grin, how Matthew had silently manoeuvred himself into her thoughts as already being under that umbrella. Matthew had taken up more space in her daily thought processes, than she was willing to admit, more than Edith and her parents combined. He pervaded her brain matter and melted her heart, but it was confusing to understand how she could be affected so easily, given her natural rejection of anything of a personal nature.

Yet the light-hearted ease with which they effortlessly danced around each other brought sunshine into her heart. It had been too long and exhausting playing the games of an untouchable dutiful woman bound by expectation and the challenges brought by reaching for the glass ceiling. Matthew's acceptance of her striving to make Downton an exceptional place worth the challenges she had to face with her father. He succinctly got her vision, and as she gazed at his emblazoned golden hair now, made her feel like he actually got a little piece of her as well. It lifted her spirits, that tiny thought and she understood why she didn't seem to be able to stay angry or feeling ill-just at him for long. He was unlike all the others that had wanted to invade her world.

She held up four splayed fingers, her palm openly facing him, as Alfred asked her a question arresting her mind, but not skipping a beat with communicating with Matthew across the room.

She saw his hands pause briefly in their work, olive oil dripping from the spoon, his eyes fixed on her expectantly as he waited for her to continue. A brief glance around the room showed her that no-one was paying them any particular attention, so she raised one finger.

_First clue_

Mary rocked her hand side to side and then touched her ear.

_Maybe sounds like..._

Her body then went ridged, a straight point of attention and she saluted briefly, then immediately traced a figure of eight in the air, whilst punching numbers into the micros to appear that she was totally engrossed in her task.

_Army... maybe sounds like army..._

Two fingers were thrust into the air. A peace sign?

_Second clue._

The wisp of metal indicated that the cash register's drawer opened. Mary held up a coin as Matthew squinted trying to make out the denomination across the distance. Maybe he should get his eyes checked? She briefly pointed at it with her other hand and quickly placed it back, closing the till. She looked at him openly then, and seeing his befuddled expression, sighed audibly as she looked for the closest ice bucket, flourished an ice cube between two fingers and then placed an imaginary crown on her head.

_Queen..._

Three fingers wiggled like leaves in the wind, as his focus honed in again.

_Third clue._

This time Mary did consciously slow down and check where each and every staff member was within the room. Their attention had to be elsewhere, the barmen occupied with drinks and coffee orders, Carson decanting a dark red at one of the stations in the middle of the room, the kitchen staff with heads over plates or hidden by some kind of steam or smoke. Matthew watched her eyes, and how they took everything in, as always. He waited, his hands stilled over the bucket of dark ovals, as he was happy to patiently wait, how could he not?

Shade found light across the room and they fused. The lengthening sunlight reflected in her eyes, twinkling with mischief as Mary held up her left hand and pointed to her ring finger. The air seemed warm and thick in the cavernous space, weighted somehow with meaning and intent. A simple gesture really, but one with very little deviation of explanation. It was meant to be light hearted in the name of the game that they were playing, although it was far from that.

Mary suddenly shifted, unable to physically hide the wave of discomfort that bringing up the implied clue had caused in her. Which immediately followed self-chastising at her slip of armour, and self-loathing that even now, years later, she was still affected by it.

Matthew frowned trying to follow. She didn't wear a ring there, but was obviously indicating something about commitment, or engagement or marriage. Her awkward body language confused him, whether it was meant in relation to the clue, or whether Mary had somehow shown him something hidden in her soul he wasn't sure. It muddied his immediate guess and the answer felt almost out of reach really. He was sure it was on the tip of his consciousness...

She pinched her fingers together, to shorten the word perhaps, and he knew then how ironic Mary's humour actually was.

* * *

The night held them both apart and too busy for idle chatter. The constant long days had quelled the need for anything other than the most basic necessities. Nerves were also tested by unreliable patrons and ever changing table numbers. Matthew and Mary orbited each other, wanting to connect and knowing it required more than service would allow.

She wondered if he had grasped her clues and whether they were ridiculous enough for him to have guessed.

He wanted to laugh with her over a glass at the end of the night, and tell her how he could still feel the laughter rumbling around his belly at her efficiency of the game.

They never got the chance.

Matthew found a desolate and broken Alphonso weeping drunken tears in the men's lavatory and pried him out into a dark corner of the lounge, before urgently whispering to Mary to go and comfort him. His fellow team and entourage all gone, misunderstanding that he probably had escaped to the casino, Alphonso blubbered some Italian woman's name over and over again. Mary seemed to understand the situation, and knew the only course of action was to get him back to his hotel safely. Matthew fetched her bag and coat, and just as she supported the stumbling and clearly incoherent racing car driver towards the front doors to drive him home, Matthew ushered them quickly to the secret passage, where he confidently punched in the code and told Mary that he would lock up. She barely had time to raise an eyebrow in Matthew's direction before disappearing into the bowels of the building.

* * *

Matthew swung the heavy metal gate slowly so that it wouldn't creak, the metal wheel spokes clicked loudly in the stillness of the very late night. His breath extruded until there was no longer any stale air left. A very late night, as he looked at his phone, or early morning really.

His apartment felt cool after the day's physical exertion. His bag dropped near the kitchen table, the keys clattered on the worn wooden surface. Matthew clicked the 24 hour news on to see what he had missed going on in the world, and strode towards the bedroom stripping off his shirt laden with the smells of the kitchen as he went.

He missed it the first time, thinking the noise was only part of the murmuring television. The methodical patter of the shower slowing down his heart and mind as he relaxed. The second time the vibration on the wood piqued his ears, and he strode to his phone, water drops sliding down his back to cascade to the floorboards. A drop swelled at the end of his hair sticking out from his brow and splattered across the illuminated screen as he swiped it.

_You guessed? I wasn't sure you would!_

_You had me at ice..._

_It's melting you know..._


End file.
