I have a horrible feeling why Michael Gregson was going to Munich to pursue his German citizenship and his divorce. After all, why did he have to go *there*? Right in the south of Germany? When it would have been much easier to go to somewhere nearer England?

This story was begun as a reply to a picture posted on Tumblr of Rosamund and Edith and continues from the announcement that the two of them were going to Switzerland 'to improve their French'.

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Arriving

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"Well, it's a very nice hotel" Rosamund was trying to be cheerful.

"Yes, but the weather…." Edith looked out at the unremitting Swiss snow.

"We're warm enough here. And it means you don't have to venture outside and be seen."

Edith passed a hand over her now swollen belly, wondering if this was a good thing or a bad thing. It had taken them nearly a month to get to Switzerland from Downton partly because Rosamund insisted on visiting lots of her very old friends all the way through France, and partly because Edith's terrible morning sickness had slowed them up.

"I think after dinner, we should both get some rest. It was a very long journey, and they don't agree with me. And you, my dear, should be resting more and more now."

That was rewarded with another of Edith's cynical eyebrow raises. But she had to admit that her aunt had chosen a good hotel. The food was excellent, it was elegant but discreet and because of this seemed to be popular with English quality who wanted to hide from something. Over dinner Edith and Rosamund played a game making up fictitious backgrounds and sins for the guests in the tables around them. It was pleasant enough and a bit of fun, although Edith wondered if others were doing the same - what would they say about her, obviously pregnant as she was.

It was while they were leaving to return to their suite that they almost collided with a man just coming down to dinner. Edith gasped. Frozen still, she couldn't form words in her head. The man seemed to be in a similar state.

It was Rosamund who broke the stalemate.

"Sir Anthony. What an unpleasant surprise!"

Anthony pulled himself together.

"Please forgive me, Lady Edith, Lady Painswick. I…"

"How long have you been here, Anthony?" Edith sputtered in her distress.

Anthony hesitated before he replied "A little over two years." The inference was not lost on Edith or Rosamund.

"You came here to get away from me."

"I came here so you should not have any risk of seeing me. It seems I failed, in that as in everything. I will remove myself immediately."

"No, don't. I have an idea" said Rosamund, with that look she had when she'd concocted some cunning ruse.

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Rosamund sat Anthony down in the lounge, all three of them ordering drinks stronger than normal to settle their shattered nerves.

"Sir Anthony, if I remember correctly, you know Germany quite well. Isn't that so?" asked Rosamund.

"Yes, that is quite correct Lady Painswick." He had not looked at Edith since they had almost bumped into each other. Edith, however, couldn't keep her eyes away from him. He had changed: he was thinner, his hair was a touch greyer around the temples, but most of all he had an aura of sadness sharp as razors, as persistent as the tides. She was waiting for him to look at her, longing to see his eyes and terrified of it at the same time. She knew why he would not look at her.

"Then, if you care for Lady Edith even a jot…if you have even a modicum of shame for humiliating her as you did, then I have a request for you. I want you to go to Munich, which isn't that far from the Swiss-German border so it shouldn't take you very long, and find a man named Michael Gregson, who appears to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Will you agree to do this for us?"

Anthony's brow furrowed further, but not from confusion. He was an intelligent man.

"Has Mr. Gregson been missing for long?"

"Yes, just over four months. He was last seen leaving the Hotel Bavaria in Gollierstraße."

"I will need a few more details, such as his description, a photograph if you have one would be helpful too."

"We can get you those, can't we Edith?" Rosamund turned to her niece.

"Yes."

"When I have those I will leave for Munich. Will that be all, Lady Painswick?"

"I'll leave what you need with the concierge in the morning then, Sir Anthony." Rosamund turned to leave.

"Just like that?" Edith's voice was strained, but controlled. "You would agree to take this on and run off on a wild goose chase just on those few little facts?" Edith was still daring him to look at her.

"Yes, Lady Edith, for you I would" Anthony answered, haltingly.

"Why?"

"Because I know I can help. I was an intelligence officer after all."

"But why would you do it?"

Finally, Anthony raised his eyes to Edith and she stepped backward involuntarily. He looked as though he was looking at her through the bars of a condemned cell; there was so much pain there.

"I presume Mr. Gregson is your husband and the father of your child. If he has gone missing, something must be keeping him from you. Nothing else explains why any man would not spend every possible moment by your side…if he had that right…if he deserved it. I pray that I can restore him to you as soon as possible, certainly in time for the happy event. I vow to you upon my life I will do all I can to bring him back to you."

He looked down again, his good hand beginning to shake.

"By your leave, Lady Edith, I will bid you goodnight."

He left, walking away just as he had two years ago; and Edith watched him go, just as she had that awful day. All the toughness that she had cultivated over the months following the jilting, all the joy that Michael had brought her, even the worry and fierceness that becoming a mother-to-be had bred in her…all of it evaporated. What remained was the desolation of loss she felt seeing him leave her all over again.

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That night, Anthony sat in his rooms, preoccupied. Up until going down for dinner his life had been the same for two years. He would wake in the early morning, often from dreams of her, or the War, or both, but he knew now that he could bear them…and bear them he did, knowing that they were what he deserved. He would wash, shave, and dress himself, something that had taken a good while to master even with his man's help, but he had plenty of time. Breakfast would be sombre as he read yesterday's English paper, always wondering if today would be the day he read of Edith's upcoming nuptials. Every fortnight there would be an excitement to his morning as he read her column in The Sketch and then he would bask in hearing the words in her voice in his head, as though reading it to him over their breakfast together. This is the life that I threw away said one voice in his heart. Yes, and I did it so she could live said his head, which was just as much in love with her. This dialogue had continued for two years in self-imposed exile.

Sometime he would have to return; the estate demanded it. Locksley could run itself for a season or three, but sooner or later, he would have to go back and face the possibility of running into Edith again. He had never dreamt it would happen here, where he had hid himself away.

And to add acid to the blow, she was already married and expecting a child. Somehow, he had missed the announcement. Mr Gregson's name had rung a bell for him and on looking through his editions of The Sketch he realised that that was how they must have met. What he had been doing in Germany, Anthony could only surmise, unless what Rosamund and Edith left for him in the morning clarified it, but he did not really expect to be given personal details. Perhaps Gregson was merely pursuing his journalism. After all, Germany was in a wreck of a state these days; reports were needed by the international press. It would make sense.

Near dawn, as he finished packing, Anthony also realised that he had a calm sense of purpose for the first time in some years. If he could find Mr. Gregson and return him to his wife, it might…might…help heal some of his own wounds. It might make him feel less of a worm for what he did to her, and bring him some peace.

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Edith was waiting for him at the lobby in the morning. He was already dressed in hat and coat when he went down to the concierge with his man carrying his suitcases. He politely removed his Homburg.

"Lady Edith."

She immediately noticed that he had recovered his polished demeanour. This was how she remembered him: polite, gentle, reserved…and with all his emotions totally hidden. What she had seen the day before…all that pain…she was never meant to see.

"Good morning, Sir Anthony." She handed him a thick cardboard file. "Here are all the details that I could think of that might be of use to you. If you need anything further, please don't hesitate to wire me here to ask."

"I'm sure you've been very thorough. Your journalistic skills are considerable."

She looked at him, taken aback.

"I've read all your columns and letters, both in The Times and The Sketch. They are marvellous. You are marvellous" he confessed sheepishly. And they've been the most enormous comfort, as though I could still have a little of you with me.

"Thank you." She looked down, shyly, unsure what she felt about his praise.

"There's one thing, one important thing, well, important to me. That file contains a photograph of Mich…Mr. Gregson. It is the only one I have. Please be very careful with it."

"I promise" he said quietly. She raised her eyes to him again, and he saw the tears she was trying to hide. Suddenly, he wanted to wrap her in softness and warmth and reassure her and protect her, even more than in years gone by.

"I promise I will bring you the photograph back, and I will discover what has happened to your husband and return with him here if it is at all humanly possible. And I promise that I will keep you well-informed of my progress, so you won't have the slightest fear that I've disappeared…again."

Edith looked hurt, but whether it was caused by what he'd said or her situation Anthony couldn't tell. It brought tears to his own eyes, which he quickly breathed back, but not before Edith had seen them.

"I must go now, if I'm to catch the Munich train. You will hear from me very soon, Lady Edith. Farewell."

"Good luck, Anthony, and…thank you."

With her words worn in his soul like his lady's favour, he stepped out of the hotel and into a taxi, bound for Munich.