A/N: Ach, these crazy goobers and their LOOKS and KISSES and SMILES. Asdfghkl. Gah! *headdesk*. Sleep doesn't come, but plenty of Chelsie fics do! Every song I listened to in the past three days seems to be for them. Every. Single. Song. Here's a one shot inspired by the classic by The Shirelles. S6 spoilers/speculation.

That night, that magical Christmas Eve when he finally asked, he was hers completely. Tears came to her eyes when she saw the look on his face. Of course, I'll marry you, you old booby! Perhaps she would not have chosen the words 'I do want to be stuck with you', but the sweetness combined with his natural reserve melted her heart. After she got over the shock of him finally asking, of course.

It was later when she began to doubt.

She woke while it was still dark, but too early yet to rise. She smiled blissfully in her bed as she recalled his visible emotion. Then a distressing thought creeped into her heart.

What if she got up in the morning and nothing had changed?

She told herself not to worry. Everything had changed. He had bought the house and put her name on it as well as his. He had proposed, for goodness' sake! Surely there would be bumps in the road, but they would ride them together. They always had.

She went back to sleep.

But the next day, and the days after, confirmed her worst fears. He spoke to her with a formality that bordered on coldness. She understood that they could not give free reign to their feelings in front of the staff, but his propriety hurt. As if that wasn't bad enough, once the news got out, it seemed everyone was staring at them, upstairs as well as down. What did they expect? That the Butler and Housekeeper of Downton Abbey would break the rules they had enforced for decades?

She began to waver under his stiffness and her own uncertainty. Oh, they would be married. But she realized it was to be a marriage of convenience. Not one of mutual love and understanding. He had said once that he didn't understand her. She had replied that no, he wouldn't. That had been before Christmas. Before she thought that he loved her.

The magic of that moment in her sitting room was just that, a moment. Not a treasure to last forever. He had told her that he wouldn't marry anyone else, but he had left words unspoken.

He would not say he loved her because he did not.

Her heart was broken.

She spent more nights than she could count in tears. Finally, Mrs. Patmore took her aside and asked if anything was wrong. She thought about saying something else – rumors about cutting staff were rife, she could blame it on that worry – but told her friend the truth.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" The frizzy-haired cook asked, her mouth in a straight line. "Or give him a good smack over the head?"

"Neither," she said, already regretting saying too much. "We will have to talk to each other at some point, I couldn't ask you to-"

Mrs. Patmore snorted. "It took him years to cotton on to the fact that he cared for you. If you're waiting for him to start that conversation, Daisy will be my age before that happens." She held up her hand. "He'll probably think it's none of my business, but I'll talk to him." Her voice softened. "I hate to see you upset, especially by him. He deserves a smack, that oaf-brained-"

Thankfully, her tirade was cut off by Anna, who came into the kitchen looking for Mrs. Hughes. She was grateful for the distraction and went ahead with her work. She had barely had time to think of him or what she had said to Mrs. Patmore until that evening. Dinner upstairs was over, and she was at her desk. He stood in the doorway with the same hesitant, frightened expression he had worn when he had asked, exactly, what it was they were celebrating.

Oh Lord, Mrs. Patmore, what did you say to him?

She got up. "Come in, Mr. Carson." She hated the sound of her voice. So distant. So formal.

So unlike the feelings roiling inside her.

He closed the door behind him and took a breath. "I needed to see you, before dinner." He straightened, before his shoulders went forward again, almost like he was forcing himself to relax.

She felt tremendous tension in her neck and shoulders, the beginning of a headache.

"Well, what is it?" She folded her hands in front of her.

He swallowed, his tongue licking his lips. A gleam of sweat reflected in the electric light. Now is not the time to think about his tongue.

"I've been a fool," he blurted out. "A stupid, stupid fool."

Yes, you have, was the thought that went through her mind. She bit her own tongue to keep from saying anything, instead raising her eyebrows to communicate curiosity.

"I-I've never said-never told you," he stuttered. "I thought you knew, when I asked you."

"Tell me what?" she croaked, trying to keep the tears back. That you don't love me.

He cleared his throat, looking terrified. "That when I asked you to marry me, it wasn't – just as a friend." His bushy eyebrows lowered, softening his face. "I never wanted to hurt you, but it seems that I have. I have cared for you as more than a friend for many years. I never felt it was proper to tell you before." He let out a long sigh.

She stared at the floor, gripping one hand in the other. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to say.

"You have been much more than a friend to me, for a long time," she quavered. "I looked forward to our marriage, to you being my husband, not just my friend." She blushed, bit her lip and looked up into his eyes. "Are you saying you want me as your wife?" I won't ask again. Her voice broke on the word wife. She felt as if she had removed her own heart, and held it out to him, for him to either accept or reject.

He stepped forward, so that they were nearly touching. "I want you as my wife. On our wedding day, and all the days after." She saw a glimmer, an unshed tear in the corner of his eye. He stepped forward once more and took her face ever so gently in his hands. At his touch, her tension dissolved and her heart beat again. She closed her eyes, feeling peace flood through her and a smile return. She felt his smile on his lips before they pressed against her forehead.

"I love you, Elsie Hughes," he rumbled, resting his head lightly on hers. She slipped her arms around his waist. There were tears on her face, but they were tears of joy.

"And I love you," she whispered. "I have for a very long time." For how long, I'm not sure. He looked down at her, his big hands still cupping her face.

"You had more faith in me than I deserved."

"I don't know about faith. Certainly patience," she teased. He smiled and tilted her head up. Before she could think or speak, she felt his lips against hers. They were softer than she expected, with a hint of wine. She sighed into his mouth.

He reluctantly stepped away, but took her hands in his. "I wouldn't mind continuing this conversation, but perhaps we had best go into dinner before they discover us breaking rules?" He jerked his head in the direction of the servants' hall. She laughed.

"And before Mrs. Patmore goes berserk wondering what happened." He held the door open for her and followed behind her down the hallway. She never felt a single step on the floor.

He would love her tomorrow and forever.