This came out of a prompt submitted to me on tumblr. It may be continued as a series of drabbles which I shall post here and on my blog.

Downton Abbey is not mine, but how I love to play with those wonderful characters. To groveyswife, who sent the prompt that started all of this. :) And as always, I cherish your feedback!

It had been in the hospital corridor when he had first noticed her, standing alone yet regal, tugging self-consciously at a silken scarf worn to conceal blatant pain. He had moved stealthily in her direction, tingling the moment she made eye contact, brown orbs brimming with courage and fear that halted him in his tracks.

God, she was so lovely it hurt, and he wondered how she would look with hair the hue of her lashes cascading freely down her shoulders. He reprimanded himself silently. Those were not appropriate sentiments to entertain when desperation looked back at him under a mask of ivory skin.

"You can beat this," he assured her as her gaze narrowed then dropped. "Don't ever give up."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me," she answered, her erect posture drooping slightly. "But it's not easy. Sometimes I get so tired."

His throat constricted as he moved into her space.

"That's completely normal," he returned softly. "I assure you."

He took her hand, something washing over him with the fresh delicacy of a spring rain. As a minister, he was used to encouraging those facing impossible circumstances, was used to praying with strangers and carrying burdens that would weigh on him with the heaviness of lead, was used to offering support for those simply trying to survive.

But this—this was different. And he knew instantly that this woman would change his life.

He had been hoping to see her again, cursing himself for not giving her his card, glad his parishioners were unable to hear words that slipped from his mouth when concerns about image fell away and his soul felt exposed. He wished he had asked for her name, prayers for a woman he thought about more than he could understand somehow not feeling as potent as they should when he could call her little more than "she".

He needed a name. He wanted to know her.

Then she was there, several weeks later, in the main corridor, somewhat thinner but with a spark in her eyes he was certain had been absent before. She smiled when she saw him, putting to rest any questions he had about if she would even remember their brief encounter, and he walked deliberately in her direction, feeling his pulse pounding unnaturally hard.

"Hello," he smiled, swallowing down the crack in his voice that made him sound like an adolescent. "Fancy meeting you here."

A grin flickered across her cheeks.

"Hello," she returned. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"It's my job to remember people," he returned, hating the impersonal nature of his response the moment it left his mouth. "And you're rather difficult to forget."

Something he couldn't read flashed across her expression.

"Do you work here, then?" she inquired, adjusting the scarf on her head self-consciously.

"No," he admitted. "But I visit frequently."

"Someone you know is ill, I take it," she assumed, eyes brimming with cautious understanding.

"Many people, actually," he replied. "I'm a minister."

Her eyes widened as she drew in a breath.

"So you're about granting hope to the hopeless," she observed, eyeing in him interest.

"I don't believe that anyone is hopeless," he argued gently.

"You wouldn't, would you? I suppose that would put you out of a job."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her observation, rubbing his neck as his cheeks warmed.

"True," he grinned back at her. "But I do mean it. There is always hope for everyone." He then paused, wondering what news she may have just received. "How are you doing, by the way?'

She swallowed audibly before looking back at him.

"Hopefully better than I have been for some time," she answered. "If everything has worked as it should, this will be my last treatment."

He couldn't help the smile of relief that beamed across his face.

"That's quite an achievement," he mused, watching her face crumple slightly.

"I can't get my hopes up yet," she whispered. "We won't know until they run some tests in a few weeks."

Her uncertainty tore at his heart.

"You can allow yourself to be happy," he interjected, touching her arm. "Even when the future is uncertain"

"That's just it, isn't it?" she observed cautiously. "The future is always uncertain. That's why it's so difficult to keep up the faith."

His larynx grew thicker, forcing him to swallow.

"That's why it's necessary to keep up the faith."

She stared at him without pretense.

"And what if I'm too far gone for God's interest? What if he gave up on me a long time ago?"

He stepped in closer, feeling something for her he couldn't name.

"It doesn't work like that," he assured her, losing a part of himself at the slight quiver of her chin. "I've been praying for you, you know."

She smiled then, eyes still heavy as she touched his elbow.

"That's good," she breathed. "I'm sure your prayers get through much clearer than mine."

"I doubt that very seriously," he stated, mesmerized by the nervous fluttering of her lashes. "Matthew," he stuttered, shaking himself and handing her a card. "Call me when it's time for you to learn your results. I'd like to be there, if it's alright with you."

She took the paper and examined it, looking back at him in interest.

"Mary," she stated, her name pirouetting through his veins. "And alright. I'll call."

"Call sooner, if you like," he added. "You don't have to wait. I mean, if you need anything at all…"

She eyed him matter-of-factly, and he was certain his face was unnaturally red.

"I could use a ride home," she admitted, sliding her arm into the crook of his own. And at that moment, he knew he was forever lost in all the right ways.